#but in the direction of a mental rebuild so like. its not all terrible or anything its actually positive maybe

[anakinthetrashking]

Everytime i read something about nature therapy, forest bathing, etc — without fail I just think of Dr. Dev

as if I can somehow email him links as tribute to his growing file of research that proves the effectiveness of nature therapy, despite the fact that he continues to be a person who regrettably,,,, does not exist,,,

[ectonurites]

My least favorite type of fic!Tim is when he’s portrayed as depressed/very mentally and emotionally unstable, but also at the same time as someone who is like lauded as being super dangerous/the most skilled or something like that?? Those fics where Tim is chugging caffeine and barely sleeping, but characters are still like “oh I wouldn’t wanna piss off Tim he is Dangerous” and that’s annoying enough but then there are fics that at the same time as that portray him as like on the edge of a breakdown. It’s very irritating even if I’m not sure I can articulate exactly why, it just really rubs me the wrong way. Like, I definitely do think Tim has some issues with depression and stuff, but in fics like those it’s treated more like a quirk sort of instead of a serious issue

LMAOO I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT i’m not a fan of that either. I’m apologizing in advance if I sound mean in any of this critique i’m about to give of that fanon version of him. I want to preface this by saying that people can write whatever the hell they want, like, they’re allowed to! And I’m not referencing/calling out any specific works here. Just trends. But I’m gonna bitch about some things I’ve noticed that annoy me, personally. (so again, not saying other people can’t enjoy this stuff! just. not for me)

so like sorry if im mean but this is just me ranting and also this is my blog anyways so:

(nobody take this as an attack on them please because it’s really not)

The problem is a lot of those fics seem to interpret Tim’s behavior in Red Robin (& especially like that last whole arc of his Robin run also by FabNic) as if that’s his normal, rather than the result of a few years of CONSTANT traumatic incidents pushing him to a breaking point (because while all the shit he went through with his Dad, Steph, Kon, Bart, and then Bruce dying was spread out over several years for us as readers, it’s regarded as like within two years in canon! It all happens when he’s 16 and 17. According to the Batman comic right after War Games, Jack was murdered only days after Steph died.

(Batman #634)

That’s a LOT to process for one kid jesus christ) 

I love Red Robin honestly, I do, but it is about Tim at the lowest points in his life. It’s the grand finale of Tim’s story, and everything crumbles, that’s kinda the point! The end leaves him in a position to either rebuild himself or fall apart. It’s all about how he chooses to continue after this point!

(Red Robin #26)

The way he acts and the things he does in that comic should be regarded as such. He can’t live the way he does in Red Robin forever or he will literally burn himself out/become something unrecognizable, like, jesus it’s kinda even acknowledged in the comic when he thinks about what his potential futures would be if he keeps it up like he’s doing:

(Red Robin #25)

He sees himself as dead, as Batman (which he has countless times said he doesn’t want to be and at this point in his history almost every time he’s seen a future he became Batman in he had become a killer), or needing to retire and taking over an Oracle-esque role, likely because he exerted himself too much to continue. 

When you look at him around this same timeframe when he’s not isolating himself/too deep into the mission and is instead working with his friends back on the Titans, you can see that he is starting to heal and work in a more positive direction. He’s choosing to work on coming out of this rough period by being together with his friends who he loves.

(Teen Titans (2003) #100)

Not to say that you can’t write about situations in which he doesn’t start to come out of it, but if you are doing so it’s something you should be taking seriously because that’s the idea you want to explore, not just acting like it’s perfectly okay or normal? (And again, there are a lot of works that do explore it in good ways, there’s just also a LOT that don’t)

Like, so much content I see just make any sadness and depression and tendency to over-work himself that’s rooted in his traumas (which! those do have a basis in canon!) into a quirky personality trait rather than a response to trauma. Acting as if he’s always been this way and it’s normal for him. That’s what bothers me. If people want to seriously explore the effects of all these incidents and how that plays into his ability to do his job as a hero, then hell yes do it! But when it all gets brushed off as ‘oh thats just tim, he just doesnt eat or sleep or feel any happiness but like its fine he’s just always been like that’ I feel my blood boil. 

This also often strikes me as related/tied to fanon’s seemingly never-ending quest to make Tim into this victim of so many things he really wasn’t. They make his childhood 10x worse than it actually was (yes he was lonely because he was sent to boarding schools rather than having his parents around, but he was NOT just left home alone all the time as a child. 

(Batman #441)

He snuck away during a school vacation week to follow Bruce one (1) time and to then track down Dick. This is established in his introduction story! PLEASE read Lonely Place of Dying!) and it just... going with those fanon assumptions as being true changes so much of how people characterize him! 

Some people will also (not to call out tim/kon shippers especially because I  literally am also one but) vilify the shit out of Steph and make their relationship out to be some abusive thing rather than just... a messy teen relationship between vigilantes because they had really complicated lives and baggage with one another? Which they both acknowledge they made mistakes in!

(Red Robin #10)

Or people will vilify the shit out of Dick in regards to the situation at the start of Red Robin, or literally just make anyone who Tim ever had a disagreement with out to be the bad guy despite the actual situations always being way more complex and multi-faceted than that.

And then on top of all that, aside from making him into this ‘im broken 24/7 and not doing anything to fix it also everyone around me is terrible to me’ type of character, because he’s a lot of people’s favorite, they also want him to be as cool and strong as he is at his high points. So they’re projecting all this stuff onto him that makes him what should be a barely functioning person but then also act like that’s fine and he’s able to be a dangerous badass on top of it. 

Like I’m sorry but someone who is going out and actively acting as a vigilante like that which is incredibly physically taxing is NOT surviving on coffee alone and no sleep. That’s literally not possible, he’d fucking collapse. (And like, again, if you want to explore him pushing himself to that point, that’s one thing! but acting like he can manage all of that for more than a few days at a time/maybe while working on one really tough case is nuts!) and like, even canon can be a little guilty of this type of thing particularly since the New 52 (Detective Comics 2016 had more than a few references to him barely sleeping, but at least they also made references to him eating normally/healthily and he wasn’t completely self isolating or anything) (and also that comic had him be so self sacrificial he was ready to die to save everyone and only didn’t die because of Mr.Oz’s interference, he’s definitely not in his best place there) but usually it’s still within some realm of possibility.

Also like. The fanon ‘chugging coffee to survive thing’ just annoys the shit out of me because, like, yes there’s a few moments in canon where he’s under a lot of pressure and pushing himself further than he normally would and had some coffee (one of the only times I can even remember him having it on panel is... oh... during that last Robin arc I just mentioned a little while ago shouldn’t be where you source your normal characterization of him because it’s a very difficult situation that pushes him further than he normally would go! huh!) But the thing is like, people play it off for laughs, or like it’s a normal thing he would do at any time in his life! If you want to explore him pushing himself and using coffee as a crutch, like, there’s ways you can write it that takes it seriously, but almost every time I see it come up in fics it is like a core part of his personality and just ‘oh haha silly tim always with his entire pot of coffee he must chug every morning or he’ll die :^)’ And that bothers the hell out of me. 

In general it’s just... people treat Tim so weird. They want him to be so many different things that he’s shown himself to be at different times for very specific reasons, except they want him to do all of it at the same time which just doesn’t work. A person can’t function like that, and it’s not even close to who he is in canon. 

Again, people can do what they want, and this is just my opinion obviously, but yeah. My two cents on the matter.  Read Lonely Place of Dying, read Young Justice, read his Robin run. Read his comics and get a feel for who he was before all the rest of his trauma, and see how he canonically reacts to it along the way. I know reading comics can be tough for some people but so much stuff just echo chambers and becomes barely recognizable in this fandom and it’s just... a shame when it happens with a character ya love. 

[veliseraptor]

What kind of plot lines and main characters do you like?

This is...a very big question, anon, and I feel like I can’t encompass it fully without going on for a very long time, because while I am very predictable there are a lot of different things within that predictability range that I like, and sometimes I like unexpected things, and really my list of narrative kinks when you factor in things like plot and style is as long as my arm. 

But like, a few things that come to mind as sort of...characteristic Lise Bait in a work of fiction:

Depressed and/or fucked up protagonists. If your protagonist isn’t a mess of mental health issues then what is even the point!!! 

Ends-justify-the-means protagonists. This one is definitely not an always - I’m picky about it, and how it works, but I do really like a ruthless protagonist who has a very definite end goal and will do a whole lot of bad things getting there. Bonus points if the thematic angle is the question of when it crosses the line.

Mirroring/parallels, particularly between a protagonist and their antagonist. I’m a sucker for parallels. They make me lose my mind every time. Shadow/reflection parallels are even better. Dark mirrors! Distorted reflections! Like, I know the “we’re not so different” thing gets a lot of flack, and I understand why, but at its base it’s something I find very interesting, particularly when it doesn’t come with a straightforward rejection or repudiation of that comparison.

I want people to be uncomfortable. I want there to be questions. I want there to be recognition of the fact that it’s not as simple as “one person made good choices and one person made bad choices.” I want the parallels to be uneasy and not entirely resolvable. 

But also just like. Narrative parallels and reflections. Cyclical time, things that have come around once coming around again. Not just parallels between characters but parallels between events. 

A strong relationship between a protagonist and an antagonist. By which I specifically mean a personal relationship. I want them tied together in some way beyond “we want different things”! I don’t care if that means they’re related, or exes, or old friends, or...whatever. But I’m always going to be more compelled by a story that has, as part of its central conflict, an interpersonal dynamic that has to do with the protagonist’s personal investment or emotional connection to their antagonist.

Too-clever-for-their-own-good protagonists. I love a good chessmaster or just very smart protagonist, and I especially love it when it gets them into trouble. People who think themselves into corners! Like, he’s not a protagonist at all but the iconic motivation that is Elan Morin Tedronai’s thinking himself into a nihilistic spiral leading to his becoming one of the Forsaken? *kisses fingers* perfect.

So actually really this is just “too-clever-for-their-own-good characters” because it’s also a thing I love in a good antagonist, where part of their problem is a tendency to overthink. 

I’m pretty sure it’s an anxiety thing. I like characters who vibe with me on an anxiety level and “overthinking yourself into knots” is a very Me thing.

Corruption/redemption arcs. Either direction! Even better is both directions. It’s just that...arc of change, and choice (I’ve talked before about how apeshit I go over themes around choice and agency, yeah? cause...yeah), and seeing how step-by-step someone can either collapse (see below) or rebuild. The redemption arc part of this is a very gut-level desire for me in a lot of ways, particularly in the hard work of it. But a corruption arc can also be...mmm. Tasty. Love to see, as sort of explored above, someone starting out with the best of intentions and sliding gradually, little by little, into something very different.

And if they come out of it afterwards? Also fantastic. *waves at book four Xie Lian*

A good downward spiral. I mean, this is kind of aligned with the “corruption arc” but it is also just about the tragedy of it. Watching the gradual collapse of a person or structure, how things gradually just...gather into an almost inevitable seeming crash even as you can see, meticulously, every step that led there. People trapped between bad and worse choices and not being able to find a good way out. I’m a sucker for a “this is terrible but it is very hard to see it going anywhere else, there were all these roads off but because of who everyone involved is, no one would’ve taken them” story. 

Tragedy! In the classical sense! Yes thanks. 

I mean, also love to see how people pull out of it after, but sometimes you also just fuckin’ love the trainwreck. Like...I will write 1 million Yi City fix its but what pulls me toward that arc in the first place is how miserably doomed the whole thing is.

Prideful and narratively doomed. This was originally something I think I used to refer to the Feanorians, but it really is just a thing generally. As much as I love the absolutely lethal combination of arrogance and basement level self-worth, I also love Lucifer-type figures - full of pride, and stuck in a narrative that’s going to punish them for it. Not because I want to see proud characters humbled, either - that’s not the button that’s getting pushed here. It’s a tragic catharsis/hubris thing. 

I don’t really know how to explain it, I just know that I like it and it’s also very frustrating to me.

Other thematic things...I gravitate toward, like, works about imperialism/colonialism but also more generally about power and power dynamics, choice/agency (like I said before), explorations of narrative and how the power of narrative drives people in various directions...that’s a few cursory thoughts, anyway. Engaging with questions of what makes a person good or bad, things about perception/reality...idk, a lot of this is sort of ‘I know it when I see it and lose my mind over it.’ Oh! Narratives of futility. I have a thing sometimes for narratives of loss and futility, particularly of the ‘but keep going anyway’ stripe. *waves at thesis about The Silmarillion*

Honestly, when it comes to like...plot, I tend to be pretty interested in a variety of plots, and tend to prefer when they feel at least somewhat unfamiliar. When I read fanfiction I will seek out story tropes over and over again, but I think I’m less inclined to do that in my other reading. I’m much more likely to seek out themes than I am to seek out plots.

Loosely speaking I think my hierarchy of how much I care about a thing tends to go more or less like:

Characters

Theme

Prose

Plot

With prose sometimes taking precedence if it is very good, or theme coming higher on the list if it’s a particularly compelling exploration.

Anyway this is a very long-winded way of saying that I don’t actually have a list of plot tropes I feel like I seek out, unless you count certain types of character arc in that category.

[howwelldoyouknowyourmoon]

Cracking the Cult Code for Therapists: What Every Cult Victim Wants Their Therapist to Know

by Bonnie Zieman 

June 16, 2017    paperback   142 pages    ISBN-13: 978-1546894681

After being born into and raised in a cult that masquerades as a religion, Bonnie Zieman left the cult and obtained the education she'd been denied while in it. Training in two schools of psychotherapy (Gestalt and Psychosynthesis) and obtaining a master's degree in education, Bonnie then became a licensed psychotherapist. She worked in private practice for over twenty years. Once learning about this new phenomenon of the constant stream of people now exiting high-control groups and cults, and understanding the toll the cult abuses take on lives (isolation, rampant depression, PTSD, and suicide) she wanted to apply her education and experience to help. Writing cult-recovery-related books seemed like the obvious course. Bonnie has written: “Exiting the JW Cult: A Healing Handbook”; “The Challenge to Heal After Leaving A High-Control Group” and its accompanying volume “The Challenge to Heal Workbook & Journal”; as well as “Fading Out of the JW Cult: A Memoir” about her thirty years in the cult, the struggle to leave it, and the challenges faced trying to create a new life once out. You can learn more about Bonnie Zieman and her work at her website,   https://bonniezieman.com/

Contents

Foreword

Introduction

Chapter 1 Cult — Definition & Description

Chapter 2 Why People Join a Cult

Chapter 3 How Cults Recruit, Control & Retain Members

Chapter 4 Working with Cult Victims 

Chapter 5 Love-Bombing & Belonging 

Chapter 6 Indoctrination

Chapter 7 Isolation

Chapter 8 Personal Reality & Personal Identity

Chapter 9 Doubts & Questions

Chapter 10 Learned Helplessness

Chapter 11 Individual Freedoms

Chapter 12 Control & Automatic Compliance

Chapter 13 Elitism & Exclusivity

Chapter 14 Higher Education & Careers

Chapter 15 Threats & Punishments

Chapter 16 Fears & Phobias 

Chapter 17 Overview of Most-Used Cult Controls

Chapter 18 Repression of Basic Human Needs

Chapter 19 Challenges of Being Born & Raised in a Cult

Chapter 20 Dissociation

Conclusion

Cult Strategies Used to Control Members – 1

After-Effects of Cult Strategies on Members – 2

Recommended Reading

Educational websites

Cult Victims’ First-Hand Accounts of Control & Abuse are from the Following Groups & Extremist Religions

About the Author

Note to former cult members: While some of you may dislike seeing yourself referred to as a ‘victim’, the reality is that while in the cult we were ‘victimized’. The goal for any of us who were members of a cult is to move from ‘victim’ to survivor to ‘thriver’. If you feel you have already moved beyond being classified as a victim, I applaud and support you. That is evidence of your hard work on the path to recovery. I use the word ‘victim’ throughout the book in part to accentuate to therapists not yet familiar with cults, how damaging and destructive membership in a cult can be. You know where you are on the road to recovery. Please do not let a word define or disturb you.

Conclusion to the ‘Cracking the Cult Code’ book

Part of the purpose of the mixed cocktail of control and indoctrination in any cult is to convince members that while being psychologically and spiritually captive, they are actually free – free because they are among the few on the planet who are in possession of the truth, free because only they have been liberated from the delusions, depravity and immorality of the rest of the world, free because only they would be exempt from the fate of the world of non-believers, etc. These are, surely, the ultimate cult deceptions.

Once an individual does leave the cult they may wonder how they could ever have allowed to themselves to buy into such blatant lies, and perhaps then doubt their ability to make rational assessments and decisions. There may also be self recriminations – anger at the self, disgust at allowing oneself to be duped, outrage at having wasted so much time – which can result in despair, demoralization and depression.

The ex-cult member may wonder if they can trust themselves going forward and, therefore, proceed gingerly to make choices or decisions while trying to rebuild their values, worldview, life, and relationships outside of the cult. It may be challenging for friends, family and social workers to help motivate someone fresh out of a cult. The after-effects of so many deceptions make it hard for the ex-cult member to trust anyone – including social services or mental health professionals – for a time.

While believing they were free and exclusively chosen to engage in work that would better the world, cult members forfeited their real self, their values, their autonomy, their agency, their family and any support system outside of the cult. Cult victims forfeited their financial future, a sense of competence, their self esteem, their well-being – their life. Listen to the following recollections and reflections of two ex-cult members:

“When your own thoughts are forbidden, when your questions are not allowed and our doubts punished, when contacts with friendships outside of the organization are censored, we are being abused, for the ends never justify the means. When our heart aches knowing we are we have made friendships and secret attachments that will be forever forbidden if we leave, we are in danger. When we consider staying in a group because we cannot bear the loss, disappointment and sorrow our leaving will cause for ourselves and those we have come to love, we are in a cult… If there is any lesson to be learned it is that an ideal can never be brought about by fear, abuse, and the threat of retribution. When family and friends are used as a weapon in order to force us to stay in an organization, something has gone terribly wrong” – Deborah Layton

“I could not undo overnight the damage that had been done to my psyche over many years. The only way over was through – I knew that – but it was still debilitating and stressful. All I could do was face the fear and keep going.”  – Carolyn Jessop

Cult expert, Madeleine Landau Tobias, in the book, “Captive Hearts, Captive Minds” says: “More often than not, leaving a cult environment requires an adjustment period, not only to reintegrate into ‘normal’ society, but also to put the pieces of yourself back together in a way that makes sense to you. When you first leave a cult situation, you may not recognize yourself. You may not know how to identify the problems you are about to face. You may not have the slightest idea who you want to be. The question we often ask children, ‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’ suddenly takes on a new meaning for adult ex-cult members.”

After reading this book it should be clear that people leave cults or any high-control group have been traumatized by multiple losses, betrayal, thought control, deception, coercion, exploitation and abuse. Once out of the cult, victims have a long road ahead to reclaim their suppressed identity and to build a new, self-directed life. They need help and support and many hope to find it with a prepared, competent, understanding, non-judgmental therapist.

After taking the daunting step of finding a therapist, ex-cult victims need to sit across from a clinician who has “cracked the cult code” and understands what the ex-member endured in the group and what they will face trying to reclaim the self and the life they had to abandon to be in the cult.

I hope that after reading this book, clinicians will now have a better handle on what cult victims want their therapist to know, so that their work together can be more open, collaborative and productive.

The therapist who has cracked the cult code will surely be enriched by the privilege of viewing the determination, courage and resilience that manifests before them as they work with cult victims to release the beautiful human being unduly encased in the cold, unyielding stone of cult constraints.

“The long day wanes: The slow moon climbs; The deep Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends, Tis not too late to seek a newer world.”

– Tennyson, Ulysses

[omgkatsudonplease]

[ficlet, bagginshield] shock and delight, pt 1 (bridgerton au)

The banks of the Brandywine River are packed with strolling couples on the day of the promenade, their chaperones following shortly behind. Thorin and the Fundinson brothers arrive exactly on time, Thorin carrying a bottle of Old Winyards. According to the sommelier in the shop at Bucklebury, this particular bottle was their last vintage one.

Bilbo and his chaperone Mr Greyhame show up a couple minutes late, the Hobbit fretting and dabbing at his brows with a monogrammed handkerchief. “I’m so terribly sorry for my lateness,” he flusters, hopping on one foot to the other like a nervous rabbit as he peers up at Thorin with a sheepish grin. “I forgot my pocket-handkerchief and had to go back for it.”

Thorin is caught between the absolute adorableness of Bilbo’s contrite pout and the absolute absurdity of the reason for his tardiness. 

“You are forgiven,” he declares instead. Bilbo’s pout smooths into a heart-melting smile.

The two of them begin to head down the path alongside the river, their pace leisurely. Other promenaders pass them by, as well as several open carriages pulled by unprotesting ponies. Thorin finds his gaze oddly drawn to the way the spring sunlight seems to burnish Bilbo’s curls into gold. Probably where Lord Stormcrow got the Golden Hare moniker, he thinks, before forcibly looking away towards a young Hobbit family having a picnic by the river. 

It’s a picture-perfect image of marital bliss. Thorin supposes something like that is what Bilbo is looking for, which Thorin himself obviously could not provide. Though he has yet to hear of any pushback against what must be an odd coupling by both Dwarvish and Hobbit standards, he is sure opposition will make itself known eventually. A marriage of true minds often lacks the productivity factor of a standard marriage, something which would be keenly felt in the family of a gentleman as distinguished as Bilbo Baggins’s. 

He, on the other hand, has already named his sister-children as his heirs. So it didn’t matter whether or not he married at all, nor did it matter whether or not his One (wherever they may be) possessed the physical apparatus or mental inclination for childbearing. 

“I have a question,” says Bilbo after a moment, breaking through Thorin’s thoughts like sunlight through stormclouds. “How do you know Gandalf? He’s an old family friend of mine, and apparently my cousin Fortinbras was the one who suggested he watch over me this season, but I don’t know how he would know you.” He looks thoughtful, hazel eyes peering inquisitively into Thorin’s face. 

In spite of himself, Thorin feels exposed, almost vulnerable. 

“I suppose Gandalf does have a lot of fingers in a lot of pies, though,” muses Bilbo after a moment, before laughing and shrugging it off. “So? How do you know Gandalf?”

“To use your phrasing, Mr Greyhame has a finger in Erebor’s pie,” replies Thorin simply, not wanting to discuss how, years upon years ago, the Wizard had found his father in the depths of the Greenwood lost in enchantments and his own memories. King Thráin had, as the story went, finally succumbed to his grief about the deaths of his father and son, and had gotten lost in the Greenwood on his way to Azanulbizar to mourn them. 

He half suspects that telling Bilbo all of that would just make the poor Hobbit run off screaming in the opposite direction. So instead he bites his tongue, folding his hands behind his back. 

“I see,” says Bilbo, fiddling nervously with one of his cuff-links. “I’ve never been to Erebor. I’ve barely even left the Shire as-is.”

Thorin arches an eyebrow, remembering the abundance of maps and walking-sticks in Bag End the first time he’d gone over for dinner. The smial, though grand in size and luxurious in room variety, didn’t have the same cold ostentation as the mansions of Dwarves or Men. It felt homey, well-loved. A testament to lives well-lived.

No wonder Bilbo was so picky about the search for his One. If Thorin were not king, he would have wanted his halls just as cosy and warm, and he would have wanted to share it with only those who would brighten its nooks and crannies. 

“You certainly give the appearance of being well-travelled,” he says neutrally, still thinking of the maps and walking-sticks.

“Within the Shire,” demurs Bilbo. “I have had to go to Annúminas on business, of course, and once I went to Fornost with my parents on holiday, but Hobbits as a rule try to stick within the four farthings of the Shire. After all, why go out to see the rest of the world when the world comes to us every year?” 

His last question is both rhetorical and bitter. Thorin’s heart aches a little just hearing it. 

“So it is a matter of respectability?” he wonders wryly. Bilbo raises an eyebrow, so Thorin explains. “There is not much stopping you from running out of your front door and into the Blue, after all.”

Bilbo chuckles ruefully. “No,” he agrees. “But every time the side of me that craves adventures begins to make plans, the other side of me protests mightily, saying I’ll miss my books and my armchair and having six regular meals a day.”

Thorin has, indeed, noticed that restaurants and tea shops in the Shire have a more constant cycle of meals than anywhere else in Middle-earth. He’s honestly not complaining. 

“Speaking of meals,” he says, nodding towards the basket that Mr Greyhame is carrying, “I brought Old Winyards. Shall we find somewhere to sit?”

Bilbo checks his pocket-watch. “It’s halfway between elevensies and luncheon,” he remarks. 

“Yes,” says Thorin. “Consider it ‘lunchensies’.”

Bilbo bursts out in laughter at that, a bright joyful sound that rings through Thorin like one of the golden bells of Dale. His own stomach flutters a bit, and it takes all of his self-control to simply gesture for Balin and Dwalin to come help them set up their picnic on the banks of the Brandywine River. 

~~

Lunchensies is a success. Bilbo immediately takes a liking to Balin the moment they all sit down on the blanket together, happily chatting with him about books and history in between bites of his sandwich. Thorin watches them, unable to stop the smile on his face as he watches the way his old friend brightens under the Hobbit’s genuine inquisitiveness. 

“Yes, the road between here and Erebor was not as arduous as it used to be,” Balin is saying. “There is, of course, the stray highway robbery within Orc territory, but rumour has it that after the Shadow was broken at the end of the last Age, the majority of the Enemy’s armies have fallen out of its thrall and prefer to keep to themselves within the Mountains.”

“Occupying the ancestral halls of Khazad-dûm,” growls Dwalin. Thorin, too, feels the cold resentment deep in his stomach, but he tempers it by watching Bilbo chew thoughtfully at his sandwich, his nose twitching like a rabbit’s.

“While Durin’s Bane continues to live, Khazad-dûm cannot be retaken,” he reminds Dwalin. 

“If it continues to live,” muses Balin, before hastily switching the topic. “On the other hand, we are fortunate not to have awoken anything similar within Erebor. Though we did almost lose it to the firedrake Smaug.”

Thorin remembers the flames, remembers the lives lost to the dragon. The tragedy had seemed insurmountable at the time, but now he supposes rebuilding a Kingdom within the ashes of dragonfire was not as bad as being forced to flee for a new home like what had happened to his ancestors in Khazad-dûm.

“Almost?” echoes Bilbo, his eyes wide. Dwalin hands him and Thorin both glasses of the Old Winyards. Mr Greyhame, too, is helping himself to a liberal portion of the wine. 

“The Lady Mika, wife of the Lord of Dale, requited her husband’s death upon the dragon by shooting him with a black arrow,” explains Thorin as he pops a strawberry into his mouth. The fruit’s juices spill over his fingers; he hastily licks it off before wiping his fingers with the handkerchief.

Bilbo’s cheeks are dusted light pink when Thorin looks up again, and Thorin can feel his own cheeks heating in response.

“Well,” flounders the Hobbit, “that must have been terrible to go through. We haven’t had anything quite like that in the Shire, save for long and fell winters and the odd plague outbreak. But enough talk of dark and grim things! What is your favourite part of Erebor?”

The question throws Thorin for a moment. “Everything,” he says, but Bilbo raises a doubtful eyebrow at that. “All of Erebor is connected,” explains Thorin. “From the mines to the forges to the crafting halls, every part serves the whole.”

“Cogs in a machine,” muses Bilbo. “But what about a location? If you’ve grown up there all your life, surely you must have a favourite place. Secret hideouts from childhood, all of that.”

Thorin considers the question again, and this time the answer comes almost as if he had always meant to say it: “My mother’s garden,” he replies. “She kept a well-tended terrace beside the Royal apartments. We still take care of it, of course, and in the spring the cherry and apple blossoms blanket the grass like petalled snow.”

Bilbo’s expression lights up. “That sounds incredible,” he says.

“In the summer, the entire terrace is flooded with fireflies. I remember thinking once as a child that they were stars come down to play with us.” 

Bilbo’s hands tighten against the stem of his wineglass. “I should very much like to see that,” he says quietly. Thorin smiles, before noticing the knowing glint in their companions’ eyes.

He glares at them until they subside. 

[ryttu3k]

All Night Road Journal entries! For players who are new to VtM, this is absolutely invaluable. For those who are familiar with VtM, it's still pretty neat! Find it in the menu below your stats.

Note - the Characters list changes depending on your in-game actions; this list is based on my Banu Haqim hot mess Courier, Pyre.

Characters

Kindred

Aila: A powerful Daughter of Haqim. You consumed her, Blood and soul, ten years ago.

Edouard Chambet: A member of the Ministry and influential fixer. Or he was until you and Raúl destroyed him.

Julian Sim: Your sire Technological visionary, data scientist, and (by Camarilla standards) an "Anarch" bent on bringing down the Masquerade. You and he worked together under the Camarilla's thumb for a few years before going your separate ways. Now you're both back in Tucson.

Prince Lettow: A Gangrel, originally a minor aristocrat from the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth—making him one of the few elders left in Arizona. Lettow came to America after serving as a pilot in the Great War.

Called the Eagle Prince on account of his eagle servant, Riga, Lettow seized control of Tucson after the last Prince launched a murderous and doomed campaign against all non-Ventrue in the city. He magnanimously spared the old Prince's childer and has sought to rule with as much compassion as an undead crime lord can allow himself.

Millicent Rue: A blood trader whose specialty is finding obscure vintages for fussy Ventrue. From a clan called Lasombra, which you don't know anything about. After the fall of Camp Scheffler, has started to rebuild her "business."

Dove: Prince Lettow of Tucson's second in command, a Nosferatu and former courier. Keeps her mouth shut about her past, but she has known Lettow for many years.

Invidia Caul: A Tremere sorceress who works for Julian Sim ever since Prince Lettow forced the closure of her research facility, Kiowa Xenogenetics.

D'Espine: A Toreador. Manages the Cinderblock, a jazz club in Dallas. Obsessed with surgically modifying her ghouls.

Elin Olivecrona: A Ventrue. After the fall of Camp Scheffler, Olivecrona disappeared into the bureaucracy of the US government to work against the Second Inquisition.

Lampago: An ancient vampire—or some kind of related creature—who lurked in Tucson for years until hunters finally drove her away. She now dwells in Biosphere Zero.

Pattermuster: A Brujah. You helped him block a proposed renovation to the hospital.

Reremouse: A Nosferatu elder that dwelled beneath the sands of the California desert. You and Julian spent a depressing year feeding the elder to keep him dormant. When he finally arose, you helped Julian teleport him across the world using ancient sorcery that you do not fully understand.

Z: Julian Sim's mysterious acolyte.

Ghouls

Raúl Cañedo: Vampire hunter you first encountered when a wight attacked you after your CR-X broke down. Now your retainer. Knows how to fight and hunt; also a capable investigator.

Miguel: One of Lettow's retainers and couriers. Killed at Camp Scheffler, probably by hunters affiliated with the Second Inquisition.

Carlos: One of Dove's retainers. A police detective and the local Camarilla's contact with the Tucson police.

Nadia Goh: One of Julian Sim's retainers. Works as a delivery girl for a Malaysian restaurant when not helping Julian.

Others

Elena Prodan: Owner of Covenant Pawn Shop.

Agent Samantha Donati: Technically just a special agent with the FBI's Special Affairs Division, Agent Donati in fact controls most Second Inquisition activity across the Southwest. Her lightning-quick strikes have destroyed dozens of vampires and thrown the local Camarilla into chaos.

Clans

Banu Haqim

Originally from the Middle East, the "Assamites" were once feared assassins and sorcerers. They have recently entered into a tentative alliance with the Camarilla, the vampire shadow-society of Europe and the Americas.

Disciplines: Blood Sorcery, Celerity, Obfuscate. Some Banu Haqim focus on rituals, while others favor inhuman speed and the powers of invisibility.

Clan Weakness: Thirst for vitae. Banu Haqim are compelled to commit diablerie—the sin of draining another vampire, body and soul.

Brujah

Once a proud clan of philosophers, the rage-fueled "Rebels" are now scattered and disorganized.

Disciplines: Celerity, Potence, Presence. Unnatural strength and speed help the unsubtle Brujah in a fight, but the secret to their survival is in shaping crowds with their eerie charisma.

Clan Weakness: Temper. Brujah are prone to losing control of their Beast in terrible rages.

Gangrel

The savage "Outlanders" are shapeshifting beastmasters who, almost alone among vampires, can survive outside of the cities.

Disciplines: Animalism, Fortitude, Protean. Gangrel flesh is both hardy and able to change its form; the Outlanders also have various powers over living animals.

Clan Weakness: Feral. Gangrel struggle to relate to normal humans, especially as their Humanity declines.

Malkavian

The "Lunatics" are all mad, but their madness gives them strange insights. They often serve as court seers and mad prophets.

Disciplines: Auspex, Dominate, Obfuscate. Keen senses and the power to vanish from sight give Malkavians their reputation as prophets. Their mental compulsions often spread their insanity.

Clan Weakness: Madness. All Malkavians are incurably insane.

The Ministry

Formerly the "Followers of Set," the Ministry are friendly and good. There is nothing bad about the Ministry. They are here to help and to get you what you need. They are not a snake cult.

Disciplines: Obfuscate, Presence, Protean. Vampires of the Ministry can become invisible, control minds, and turn into giant snakes (it always helps).

Clan Weakness: No problems here, nothing to worry about.

Nosferatu

The "Sewer Rats" are hideous and malformed vampires whose information-gathering skills make them invaluable. They once managed electronic communication for the Kindred, until the Second Inquisition infiltrated their servers.

Disciplines: Animalism, Obfuscate, Potence. Nosferatu use their shadow-powers not just to turn invisible, but to hide their hideous faces. When exposed, they can call on their unnatural strength, or their allies among the Creatures of the Night.

Clan Weakness: Hideous. All Nosferatu are monstrous in appearance.

Toreador

The elegant and sophisticated "Aesthetes" would prefer you didn't call them "Degenerates." Obsessed with beauty, the vampires of Clan Toreador can seem almost alive when their passions move them.

Disciplines: Auspex, Celerity, Presence. Supernaturally keen senses and a beguiling aura let the Aesthetes thrive among high culture; when things go wrong, unnatural speed helps them escape.

Clan Weakness: Distracted. Toreador are so obsessed with beauty that it can endanger them.

Tremere

The "Usurpers" of Clan Tremere are said to descend from a mortal wizard who stole immortal life from an ancient vampire. Once organized into a disciplined arcane hierarchy, the sorcerers of Clan Tremere are in turmoil after the destruction of their greatest occult stronghold.

Disciplines: Auspex, Blood Sorcery, Dominate. Though famous for their Thaumaturgy—their intricate sorcerous tradition—many Tremere also possess supernaturally acute senses and the power to command mortals with a word.

Clan Weakness: Frail Blood. This manifests in different ways for different Usurpers. Some mend their flesh slowly; others cannot form Blood Bonds or create ghoul servitors.

Ventrue

The Clan of Kings rules from the shadows, controlling modern boardrooms as they once controlled courts and cathedrals. The mental powers of the "Blue Bloods" also protect the Masquerade.

Disciplines: Dominate, Fortitude, Presence. Ventrue study two distinct paths of mental control: Presence is more subtle, Dominate more direct. Some are also nearly indestructible, even when exposed to banes like fire and sunlight.

Clan Weakness: Refined palate. Ventrue cannot drink bagged or animal blood, and most are restricted to a particular kind of human prey.

Caitiff

Not a clan at all, Caitiff vampires are the Clanless—those whose Blood is too thin or whose education was too inadequate for them to join a proper clan.

Disciplines: Varies based on ancestry and inclination.

Clan Weakness: Outcast. The Camarilla has little respect for Caitiff, and other vampires don't treat them well either.

Hunger and Willpower

All vampires suffer from an undying Hunger for blood. Using Disciplines (vampire powers) and mending wounds uses some of the blood you've stolen and increases your Hunger; so does the simple act of rising every night. Only killing and fully draining a living human slakes your Hunger fully, and then only for a time. As a Child of Haqim, drinking vampire Blood also increases your Hunger.

If you become hungry enough, you lose the ability to activate Disciplines or mend your wounds. If your Hunger equals or exceeds your Willpower, you suffer penalties to actions that require concentration and self-control. That includes most actions you take, except those that risk a messy critical—see that entry. The penalties grow as your Hunger grows.

Willpower is based on your Resolve and Composure scores. Increase those scores to increase your Willpower and ignore the distraction caused by your Hunger. Certain actions, like extended negotiations or staying out too close to the sun, can mentally exhaust you, temporarily reducing your Willpower. You can regain lost Willpower by embodying your Convictions (see Experience and Convictions).

Messy Criticals

Succeed too well on certain actions and you run the risk of unleashing your Beast. The monster within you assures your success…at any cost.

Any choice that ends in an exclamation point ("!") risks a messy critical. Most of these are attacks or other aggressive actions where you risk losing control, such as threatening people or bashing down doors. Any choice that involves hunting and drinking from a human also risks a messy critical, and messy criticals there usually result in you draining the mortal completely, reducing your Humanity and leaving you with a corpse to dispose of.

The good news is that choices that risk a messy critical aren't more difficult due to Hunger (see Hunger and Willpower). Your Beast guides you in these savage actions, even when you're desperate for blood.

Experience and Convictions

After a decade of lethargy and routine, you find yourself bursting with newfound creative vigor!

You gain experience in two chief ways: first, by going on missions and succeeding in your goals. Second, by gaining Convictions and living up to them. To gain a Conviction, select choices that increase that personality trait: if you want to Defy the Traditions, then you must Defy the Traditions: ignore vampire laws like the Masquerade (see that entry), disobey elder vampires, and defy the Camarilla. If you want to Seek Luxury, then demand money and inducements as often as possible.

The Masquerade

The First Tradition of the Camarilla—what passes for civilization among the undead—is to hide the existence of vampires from the mortal herd. This is the Masquerade. You can violate the Masquerade by openly using obvious supernatural powers (such as shapeshifting), feeding in public, or failing to dispose of a body you drained.

Violating the Masquerade risks the wrath of elders among the Camarilla. Worse, with the Second Inquisition raging across the United States, a breach of the Masquerade risks sending an entire Second Inquisition kill team to your doorstep. Such an attack usually comes in daylight and can destroy you if you're not careful.

Humanity and the Beast

Vampires aren't human. They're dead things animated by stolen blood, with a screaming monster in their head they call the Beast. Perhaps because of this damned state, most vampires cling to their Humanity and struggle to control the Beast's savage urges.

But the Beast is always waiting. Acts of callousness and brutality strip vampires of their Humanity until, in the end, they are nothing but mindless animals that lurk in the shadows and hunt at night. Even before that point, low-Humanity vampires struggle to act with kindness or empathy.

Killing mortals (unless attacked first, such as by hunters or assassins) is a sure way to lose Humanity. The Beast permits no excuses—killing to feed and killing to hide your true nature (and protect the Masquerade) will stain your soul as surely as killing for sport.

Regaining Humanity is arduous but possible through great acts of sacrifice and by risking yourself for others. But beware: if your Humanity falls low enough, you'll have to spend Willpower (see Hunger and Willpower) to perform even small acts of decency.

The Camarilla

The Camarilla—the so-called Ivory Tower—is a secret society of vampires dedicated to hiding their existence from mortals, a guiding ideology called the Masquerade. Most Camarilla cities are ruled by a Prince (the term is gender neutral). Beneath this monarch is an elaborate hierarchy of underlings and overlords, bound together through favors, mutual enemies, the Traditions (including the Masquerade), and the overwhelming nightly drive to find more blood. Vampires of the Camarilla call each other "Kindred." They all appreciate the bitter irony of that term.

The rise of the Second Inquisition has made the Camarilla more paranoid and restrictive. Where once the Princes tolerated "Anarchs" and fringe types (like independent couriers), now they retreat into their Elysiums—hidden sanctums where they can conduct their business in peace—and try to weather the storm. These nights, the Camarilla are the vampire elite, and like any elite, they are happy to sacrifice everyone else for their own safety or convenience.

The Second Inquisition

The first Inquisition taught the arrogant vampires of the Middle Ages that they were not invincible. They learned that mortals, while weak alone, were almost unstoppable when organized and when they knew their enemy.

The vampires of the Camarilla took the lessons of the Inquisition to heart, hiding their actions behind the Masquerade. But no deception is perfect. As digital technology proliferated in the twentieth century, young vampires adapted, leaving their elders in the dust. They didn't know that mortals were listening in. And even when they realized the danger, many in the Camarilla believed they could direct these hunters at their enemies.

The results of this arrogance were catastrophic: the fires of the Second Inquisition blazed across the world, destroying elders and fledglings alike, cleansing whole cities of vampires. Embedded in the security and intelligence agencies of various national governments, including the FBI and the CIA, the Second Inquisition employs every weapon at its disposal to hunt down and destroy vampires. Now the SI has turned its sights on Arizona. Its goal is nothing less than the total eradication of every vampire in the state.

The Beckoning

A strange event called the Beckoning recently started luring elder vampires to the Middle East. No one knows the source of the Beckoning, but the sudden loss of so many elders—and the vast supernatural power they possess—has thrown the Camarilla into chaos and allowed Anarchs and other independent groups to seize power.

The Nature of the Blood

A vampire's vitae—the stolen blood that flows through your veins—has a variety of supernatural powers.

Disciplines. A vampire's supernatural arts are called Disciplines. Different clans manifest different arts, from mind control and shapeshifting to superhuman strength and speed. Most Disciplines require Blood to activate (increasing your Hunger) and grant a significant bonus to any relevant action you undertake. This bonus increases with your level of mastery.

Mending. You can use the blood you take to repair your dead flesh. In fact, this is the only way vampires can "heal," as they cannot do so naturally.

Ghouls. A vampire who feeds vitae to a living mortal creates a ghoul. Sometimes called a retainer or a thrall, a ghoul does not age, manifests minor supernatural powers such as occasional bursts of great strength, and is loyal to their vampire regnant through the Blood Bond (see below). Most established vampires make use of one or more ghouls to handle their daylight business.

The Embrace. Feed a mortal your vitae and you create a ghoul. Drain a mortal to death and feed that mortal your Blood and you create a new vampire of your clan. You are now the sire to a childe. This act is called the Embrace. Most Princes of the Camarilla forbid Embracing new vampires except under special conditions, as there are always too many vampires and never enough places to hunt.

The Blood Bond. Drink a vampire's blood three times on three separate nights and you are bound to that vampire, forced into service through a supernatural compulsion called the Blood Bond. If you create a ghoul, that ghoul is soon Blood Bound to you. Beware of your sire—you've already tasted your sire's Blood once, when you were Embraced and turned into a vampire!

Learning from the Blood. Vampires of different clans begin with different Disciplines, but you can unlock more Disciplines by tasting the Blood of another vampire and then receiving instruction from them.

Diablerie. To drain another vampire, body and soul, is called diablerie, and the Camarilla consider it the most awful of crimes. But young vampires practice the art in secret anyway, hunting their elders, in order to lower their generation and gain greater power.

Generation. According to legend, the first vampire was Caine, the first murderer. Legend further says that Caine had three childer, who had childer of their own, and that those vampires of the Third Generation founded the clans. Whether or not you believe this story, when a vampire Embraces a mortal, that childe's Blood is thinner and weaker than the sire's. Vampires of high generation are sometimes Caitiff (the Clanless), and those of very high generation are thin-bloods—barely vampires at all. Though a vampire's Disciplines develop with age, generation does not change…except through diablerie.

Functions of Abilities, Skills, and Disciplines

Abilities

Strength: Punching, wrestling, clawing (if you have claws). Most climbing where you haul yourself up.

Dexterity: Balance, speed, reacting quickly. Attacking with a bladed weapon or in coyote form (if you can change shape), reacting quickly. Most shooting that relies on speed.

Stamina: Adds to your Health. Not used actively.

Charisma: Getting people to like you. Leading people into battle or giving them orders. Impressing a crowd.

Manipulation: Getting people to do what you want (even if they don't like you). Most kinds of lies and deceit.

Composure: Adds to your Willpower. Staying cool, in social situations or in a fight (especially when threatened by fire or sunlight).

Intelligence: Education, reasoning ability, analysis. Most forms of research.

Wits: Cunning, cleverness, noticing things on the go. Intuition, "following your nose." Shooting when you can't see clearly.

Resolve: Adds to your Willpower. Determination, patience. Performing tasks that take all night or that are mentally draining.

Use the language of the choices to determine what is being tested. "Quickly" usually means Dexterity, "clever" signals Wits, "patient" implies Resolve.

Specific descriptions override general rules. You normally use Dexterity to strike with a sword, but if there's a lot of smoke and the choice says you need to be clever to hit, that's Wits.

Skills

Athletics: Jumping, swimming, running, dodging.

Combat: Brawling, wrestling, wielding swords or improvised weapons, using claws or teeth.

Drive: This gets your AE86 to its destination in one piece.

Firearms: Shooting a gun.

Clandestine: Sneaking, moving silently, hiding, picking locks, forcing doors.

Intimidation: Threatening, bullying, and forcing others to back down.

Leadership: Giving orders. Commanding your ghoul; also adds a passive boost when you work together with your ghoul.

Persuasion: Getting people to do what you want in a more or less straightforward manner, without lies or threats. Also covers etiquette and manners.

Streetwise: Bribery. Knowing streets and alleys (useful for quick getaways). Interacting with criminals.

Subterfuge: Lying, swindling, and deceiving. Also includes palming, picking pockets, and similar deceptions.

Academics: Nonscientific education—everything from history and philosophy to occult lore. Used in Blood Sorcery.

Awareness: Noticing things just by looking around (or listening or sniffing around).

Investigation: Careful, systematic exploring. Helps you both find hidden items and interrogate people until you find something.

Technology: Crafts, car repair, computer use, and hacking, as well as scientific acumen.

Survival: Finding shelter (especially from sunlight!), hunting wild animals.

Disciplines

Most Disciplines increase your Hunger when used but add a bonus to your actions.

Animalism: Grants you a wolf companion who grants significant bonuses to actions when activated. Your lobo gains power as you advance this Discipline. Low risk of a Masquerade breach; your lobo is just a "big weird dog."

Auspex: Enhances your senses, typically improving skills like Awareness, Investigation, and (if you're shooting where you can't see clearly) Firearms. Low risk of Masquerade breach; Auspex affects only you.

Blood Sorcery: Not a proper Discipline so much as a collection of ritual techniques developed over millennia. Most rituals take time and grant automatic success to an action; particularly challenging rituals, or those opposed by another sorcerer, often rely on Intelligence and Academics. Risk of Masquerade breach varies based on the ritual.

Celerity: Supernatural speed and quickness. Offers only a modest bonus, but helps with a huge number of activities, especially when you need to fight or flee. Mortals will be surprised by but not suspicious of the lowest level of Celerity; any more than that breaches the Masquerade.

Dominate: Overwhelming short-term mind control. Usually succeeds automatically, especially on mortals. A blunt instrument; doesn't gently boost your natural abilities like Presence. Low Masquerade risk since it's so uncanny. Dominate can also be used to scramble memories, which protects your secrets.

Fortitude: Unnatural resilience, even against the vampire's natural banes (fire and sunlight). Not used actively; it works automatically when you're hurt to absorb injury. Low risk of Masquerade breach—maybe you were wearing body armor?

Obfuscate: Fading from sight. Not literal invisibility; people just don't notice you. Mostly used to enhance Clandestine when sneaking. Low risk of Masquerade breach unless you just vanish in front of someone.

Potence: Monstrous strength. Increase your ferocity in combat and smash right through obstacles. Like Celerity, mortals will accept the lowest levels of Potence as the effects of adrenaline, but any more than that breaches the Masquerade.

Presence: Unnatural allure and charisma. Use it to fill mortals with dread (enhances Intimidate) or to enhance your natural charm (pairs with a large number of social skills). Lacks the immediate and inescapable power of Dominate, but more flexible. Low risk of Masquerade breach; people just believe you're unusually magnetic.

Protean: Three distinct shapeshifting powers. Beginners can grow wolflike claws to rip their enemies to shreds. Intermediate students learn how to meld with the earth, sinking into the ground to escape pursuers (or the rising sun). Masters take the form of beasts—in your case, a coyote. Any use of Protean is a huge and obvious Masquerade breach.

[labetalol]

little fires everywhere thoughts

so i like doing this just because it kinda like. gives closure to these open-ended shows that get me like doozy the days after finishing it because its just SO much. anyways thoughts below!

-the direction was really well done, honestly, like all the scenes were so picturesque, the acting gave exactly the vibes that they were going for- elena  acting so perfect that it’s almost ingenuine, that there’s something far worse underneath, a facade to hide what a monster she really is. pearl and mia’s relationship, where it seems to be good to the richardsons, but obviously mia’s secrets dictate pearl’s actions, where she’s lying where she is/who she’s with, seeing the richardsons behind mia’s back... it overall gives the story of two families, both with their own problems, in which some sort of blazing fire, whether literal or not, destroys everything as they know it, and they rebuild it accordingly. mia decides to set things straight with her daughter, to allow her to meet her family, to acknowledge pearl’s needs, to stop with the secrets. elena finally admits to her wrongdoing, leading to vvv

-i HATE elena but reese did an EXCELLENT like aboslutely excellent job of executing that horrible, self-absorbed woman who will never acknowledge her own faults in anything. there was this song in the soundtrack, marvin gaye’s piece of clay, which pretty much exemplifies exactly what elena did to her kids, to everyone in her life, where she has this perfect little plan and everyone needs to follow it. when her ex was against it, it like... crushed her, to the point where she still needs to visit him in the middle of the night while her husband keeps calling her, wondering where she is. that sure, izzy wasn’t expected, but elena was so willing to blame everything wrong in her life to izzy, that she didn’t get the promotion or whatever... that her husband and her were on thin ice, that she had to buy a pacifier late at night. and this sort of abuse when on izzy’s ENTIRE LIFE! elena constantly degraded her, making her siblings hate her too, like, izzy was so alone and bill at least kinda was nice to her, or at least more understanding than elena, yet even he has his limits of how understandning he can be, so its like. absolutely horrid how elena treated her. like even in the little scenes, where elena’s like, ‘oh why don’t you keep your hair down? its your best feature” and when izzy was ready for homecoming, elena’s like “eh, could be better, here’s some lipstick.” like... its terrible how elena aligns all her actions to ensure that where she is in life? the kids, the house, the job, the stagnancy and boredom? it’s all that 4th child’s fault. so when that fire happens, burning down her entire house, she finally like. GETS it and its like... insane, that she DID burn down the house. SHE DID!!!

-i love mia and her story is so sad. i love kerry washington, i rewatched scandal like a billion times, but kerry delivered a totally new character that is so like. strong-willed, so proud yet humble, like. i love her but obviously there is flaws with her. this show also offers the question- what really makes a mother? love? genes? money? mia was paid to have this baby, so she wasn’t technically pearl’s mother. yet, mia knew that because pearl came from HER body, she is HERS and that sort of mentality, is that wrong? immoral? i personally think not at all, it’s natural to feel that, but the ryans didn’t deserve that sort of betrayal. ok but also about the ryans...

-the scenes in the subway. this show gave some scenes that were absolutely haunting, that were super terrifying, like the obvious elena’s “YES YOU ARE!!!”, when mia took elena’s photo and burned it, and the number 1 in my opinion was the scene in the subway, where mia looks over to see joe ryan, then it quickly shifts to elena. that scene comes early on in the show, leading me to think that (without knowing who that man was, i assumed it was a past abuser) that mia sees her abuser in elena. but now knowing who that man actually is, i think its sort of saying, how the two are these rich people who can hold power over her, like if joe ryan wanted, he maybe could take pearl away, or at least sue mia, send her to jail, something, and elena can do the same, she has that sort of power too as a rich white woman. so i just. really liked that scene it was so powerful.

-bebe and may ling. i didn’t like the mcculloughs, but may ling... i hate to say it, but may ling would have had a better life with the mcculloughs. so this brings that question back- what makes a mother? a GOOD mother? bebe gave up everything for may ling, and shes a good mother for that. but would she have been a better mother for letting may ling go? what about the mcculloughs, i forgot the lady’s name, but she obv loved may ling, yet there were things she could never provide that may ling deserved- that cultural aspect. so its like. really sad. i dont know what to think of how their story ended.. its hard.

-this show was GOOD!!!! 

[radiantmists]

rhythm of war part two thoughts

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa  (spoilers through the second interludes under the cut, and at the very bottom some comments based on what i have to assume is a major spoiler for the entire book, or close to it, though i'm warning again beforehand.)

well, last things first: taravangian's working against odium! i'm super excited about this, and very happy about the support for the concept that Taravangian's compassion isn't his curse, it's just the division of his intelligence and compassion that's sthe problem.

so we've been able to talk to the sibling, who is mostly trying to help despite genuinely feeling that what navani is doing is wrong. except now they're locked away, and navani is under the direct scrutiny of rabaniel and messing around with her is going to be risky. that being said, we're on our way to some very interesting revelations about how investiture works on roshar:

the stormfather is purely of honor. the sibling is a mix of honor and cultivation. the nightwatcher is purely cultivation

the sibling should not be able to function on pure stormlight, because it's purely of honor.

lift may not run on stormlight at all-- we already knew she can't pull it from spheres.

adhesion, which is somehow a fake surge and purely of honor, is not totally cancelled by whatever rabaniel did to the sibling. from lift's interlude, neither is regrowth when she uses it, which if i had to pick is the surge i would choose to be purely of cultivation.

as far as we can tell, people can still draw in stormlight with no issue, they just cant use it to power surges.

windrunners, who bond honorspren, are less affected by the fabrial: this applies especially to kaladin and syl, and we know syl is different from other honorspren, older. my money is that she's in some way more fully of honor than the others. lift, who's been hugely modified by cultivation directly, is also immune. the edgedancers as a whole are not immune and apparently are reacting as badly as anyone else.

...syl notes in the last set of interludes that she's different from other honorspren, mentally. is this a byproduct of whatever she did to sneak out of shadesmar, or of her being older? interesting.

To me, this all implies that whatever rabaniel did interferes with how cultivation and honor interact. lift, who seemingly only uses cultivation's investiture, can power the surge that seems most directly associated with cultivation; kaladin, probably closest to honor, can do the surge that seems to be entirely honor. the regular edgedancers aren't immune at all because they run on stormlight; the windrunners are somewhat but not fully immune because they're almost fully of honor, but cultivation likely had some hand in the way honorspren were made after the shattering.

Regrowth really is a very odd surge, compared to the others, which seem to deal with much more fundamental physical forces.

the fused do have access to regrowth while powered by voidlight, though. interesting.

speaking of: did navani's weird sphere contain some kind of... cultivationlight? or maybe it's some kind of combination, and that's why the sphere exploded right around the time of rabiniel's experiments (or the sibling was drawing on it somehow?)

on a more immediate level, the current tower resistance is as follows: navani, under constant monitoring but she has the best chance to figure out how to fix this shit. kaladin, who's a mess, being hunted by the pursuer, and who's about to start getting suicide-baiting nightmares from odium, but he does know how to fight! lift, who's amazing and knows how to sneak around the tower but is being hunted by someone who i assume has to be mraize. and rlain, masquerading as a singer (im so worried about him i hope he's okay).

if this somehow ends with kaladin killing mraize to protect lift before he can give shallan answers, i'm going to fucking SCREAM.

speaking of frustrating things: lirin turn on ur location i just wanna talk. Kaladin was actually rebuilding himself until this whole invasion thing, and i don't understand how lirin can look at a man who's that committed to doing good, sees exactly what it is that drives him to kill, and then calls him a monster.

I loved Kaladin's efforts to deal with mental health care! He's in the unique position ofhaving way more political power than any medical professional, darkeyes, or mentally ill person could ever have hoped to have, and I really want to see him come back to this once the world is burning down a bit less again, especially because it genuinely seemed to be helping him.

navani's plots have sorta been subsumed into this whole plotline, but i enjoyed what we got-- the little episode with the other scholars taking bets on whether she'd use tomor's fabrial was adorable, and i also liked how clear it is that they look to her to make things work.

moving on, uh... shadesmar stuff.

adolin's making some progress at waking maya! she doesn't talk but she shows a clearly unusual ability to learn and make independent decisions. i love it.

...also the thing with notum's horse implies that ryshadium are sentient enough to imagine spren. that's fun, and also terrifying.

adolin offering to stand trial for the crimes of humanity is fascinating, but all i'm thinking about is the episode of avatar where he agrees to stand trial for kyoshi, except in this case we already know that humanity did actually do the thing he's in trouble for. it would be unjust to punish adolin for it, but... i worry.

especially because there are, apparently, new deadeyes. this isn't extraordinarily surprising as syl was two skips away from death (though, im curious, does it work differently if the spren's never been a blade prior to dying? or are there just deadeyes wandering around who aren't tied to blades?) but it is very alarming.

and then there's the other thing: pattern is lying to shallan. i frankly don't think it's as simple as him being a spy for the ghostbloods; we saw even here that he's a terrible liar, and to have concealed this he'd have to have been pretty impressive.

on the other hand there was clearly some shit going on between shallan, her family, and the ghostbloods when she first got pattern. he's admitted that he has more exposure to humans than most spren. it doesn't look great, honestly.

i also appreciate that brandon is acknowledging how fucking weird shallan's timeline is. hopefully we get some answers about this.

adolin and shallan's relationship continues to be adorable; the sequence with the starspren is lovely and i totally get why it's brandon's favorite chapter in this part. between this and part one, he clearly enjoyed how the shadolin came out in this book and i agree. the fact that his romances continue after the marriage, with issues beyond just jealousy, is one of my favorite things about sanderson books.

venli's whole set of pov's this part was about walking up to urithiru. i really do want to like her, but she spends a ton of time just following more dynamic characters around and observing in these first two parts, and if not for the juicy secrets rabaniel's been dropping, it would make me just want to get back to other characters. hopefully that'll change in the next few parts.

i was going to make a comment about how we havent even had flashbacks yet, but i just glanced at the POVs for the next part, so I guess those are coming. I do wonder if these eshonai flashbacks will be info venli knows, or what.

she did kill someone for the first time, and attuned the rhythm of the lost for the dead man. the whole incident disturbs her, and i appreciated that as the rest of our viewpoint characters are extremely accustomed to death. i'm interested in seeing how this affects her going forward.

the epigraphs are so exciting! sazed is writing to hoid again, but this time he's gotten his bearings and spoken to some new shards... ones we haven't heard from before! also he asks hoid to say hi when he's on scadrial, which, fair enough tbh. i dont remember whether hoid shows up much in mistborn era 2 but for some reason i have the feeling he is not going to oblige this request.

the epigraph where sazed mentions he wants someone who can both preserve and kill immediately made me think of kaladin. (i think this is what he ends up trying to do with wax, but shhhh) he and sazed would agree on a lot of things philosophically, i think. (omg au where kaladin ends up working for sazed?? i have no idea how this would work the idea just fascinates me.

...where are the heralds? did dalinar take them with him, or are they in the tower? if the latter, are they also passed out? probably not, since they're not radiants, right? although whatever they are is very investiture-dependent so who knows. vasher's probably alright.

why is odium afraid of nightblood? is he worried it could eat him?

lots of POVs for the next part, but no shadesmar crew, so i guess we'll find out whether adolin gets executed by honorspren later. i do wonder why so many pov's from the battlefront; i guess something more is going to happen along those lines than i'd really expected. crossed fingers for some actual insight into renarin, finally.

in light of said spoiler: holy god i hope that division (between taravangian's intelligence and compassion) doesn't continue, though I have the horrible feeling that it will. This puts sazed's discussion of the intent of a shard combined with the cleverness of its vessel into a terrifying light: a godlike being who is at his smartest when he's a complete sociopath is like, the worst case scenario,  not even taking into account that the odium shard is uniquely suited to make people act on impulses. this is so bad.

but i can't know the full extent of that until i read the context, so let's move on!

[whiterosebrian]

Nazism and Romanticism

This is something that I mean to write and post a good while ago. I meant to offer it shortly after putting up my thoughts on the seventy-fifth anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz (but I deleted that text on some of my pages due to mentions of my own mistaken appropriation of Jewish mysticism). I suppose that I needed the extra time to gather my thoughts into a delicate whole. I have meant to offer a take on how Nazism rose in the first place.

There has been much written on how the original Nazi party seemed so attractive in the 1920s and 1930s. You might already have read about the harsh punishments for Germany within the Treaty of Versailles, the grinding poverty that so many citizens faced, the viciously polarized politics, and the failures of a liberal-democratic government to maintain peace. As a man with a not only artistic but also mythical and mystical bent, I would like to focus on one aspect of what helped Nazism lure so many souls.

To better contextualize my following thoughts, let me go further back in time. During the nineteenth century, intellectuals and artists in different countries reacted to the apparent sterile rationalism of the Enlightenment. They became known as Romantics. In part they recovered the old myths and legends, finding much romance (pun intended, I admit) within them. In regards to Germany, the Germanic and Nordic sagas and poems were becoming prominent. The composer Richard Wagner is notable for his heroic and tragic operas. Wagner has since developed a reputation as a proto-fascist, largely due to a notorious essay depicting Jews as rootless, parasitic, vulgar, and dreary.

Wagner was dead for decades by the time the Nazis took power, so of course he had nothing to do with them. Nonetheless, Nazi leaders drew upon historic myths and legends as a means of stirring minds and hearts. A populace hungry for nobility and transcendence glommed onto the total package that the Nazis presented, both in terms of promises to lift up the nation and the heroic facade. The rest is terrible, terrible history.

Take a look at the Nazi party’s ideological successors. Yes, there is hatred and bloodlust and nihilism. However, they project their nihilism onto their enemies. Neo-Nazis promise heroism and romance to their fellow-travelers and those whom they funnel through the pipeline. They promise to turn recruits into more than worker-bees and pleasure-seekers (or “small-souled bug-men”). The fruits of fascism are all too clear from a march in Charlottesville turned deadly or multiple shootings and attempted bombings. Incidentally, religious fundamentalists promise mental and spiritual boons as well.

Furthermore, some within “geek culture” employ disturbingly similar rhetoric, however unintentionally. I’ve seen some of their videos. They appeal to beauty. They appeal to heroism. They appeal to romance. They appeal to purpose. In the process, though, they neglect the need for marginalized and vulnerable people to be lifted up as equal partners. That’s the idea behind the push for representation and the wider discourse over intersectionality. These nerds seem to ignore the subtler ways that fascism can worm its way into people’s minds and hearts.

What I’m getting at is that romanticism can be turned towards good or evil. Romanticism can, by nature, easily become utterly detached from reality and feed into toxic delusions. Some may decide to cut off mythology, idealism, and mysticism when provoked by such abuses. That would be a mistake. If friends of humanity and the earth don’t pay attention to human wishes for high aspiration, fascists will. If friends of humanity and the earth don’t guide such human wishes towards common goals, fascists will. What I mean is that mythology, idealism, and mysticism can become anchored in the real world and in real humanity. Human wishes for high aspiration can be directed towards healing and rebuilding instead of oppression and destruction.

Where does that leave me, a man who is beginning to delve into Nordic mysticism and magic along with the revived religion? The sad thing is that the Nordic neopagan community is notorious for its vocal minority of folkish reactionaries and outright Nazis who threaten to suck out all of the oxygen. The more conscientious Heathens vocally oppose those ideologues and do their best to educate others about the real meanings of their myths and symbols. I became drawn to the runes their associations due in part to my own Northern European ancestry. However, another reason is that I gradually became drawn to gods with whom I can stand and walk. I’ve come to appreciate a sense of connection to the whole web of life as well. If I’m going to be even remotely associated with Heathenry, I’ll have a duty to publicly oppose Nazism whenever I can.

Even though I’m only beginning to learn about the historic culture associated with Heathenry, I’ve learned much that resonates deeply. I’ve learned of the reverence for the web of life. I’ve learned of the emphasis on community, both among humans and among different groups of spiritual beings. I’ve learned of the travels that Vikings embarked on while meeting interesting people in far-off lands (and they were traders and not just raiders). I’ve read of the emphasis on freedom along with responsibility. Essentially, the ideals of contemporary humanist neo-pagans are far closer to the old ways than are the ugly caricatures from fascists.

Admittedly, I do write a lot of words. I trust that you can understand that I genuinely try to say a lot. Here is where I’ll try to tie everything together into something more cohesive and succinct. A life of repetitive consumerism and pleasure-seeking can leave one feeling empty, especially when one is well-off or privileged in some major way. There is surely more than that in life. That may sound like a cliché, but it’s true.

Yes, let us have mythology and heroism and romance and beauty and mysticism. Let us not leave them for fascists to exploit. Let us take in mythology, heroism, beauty, and mysticism then spread them as gifts to our peers and fellow citizens across all demographics. Let us also root them both in well-informed, nuanced history and in the real world in which we now live and continue to grow and learn. There is a reason why classical myths and legends still resonate. There is a reason why a growing number of people show serious interest in neopagan and occult practices rooted in ancient religions.

As for myself, as always I wish simply to do great and good things as a magician, writer, and cartoonist. Perhaps what I’ve been reading lately will be a great influence on what I create and share with the public. Count me as an enemy of Nazism and, more importantly, an earnest worker for justice and peace.

[bygosscarmine]

We Who See Thestrals

a post-canon Harry Potter fic

This is one of my oldest, dearest headcanon ideas finally written out. It came to me right after I read Deathly Hallows, soon after it was published, so it’s been a private thought for a long time. But I thought it might make some good pandemic relaxation reading--it certainly made great pandemic stress-writing. 

This series is 10k and finished. Even beta-read! Incredible.

1: Luna Lovegood Gets a Joke-Shop Job

1924 words/10k

"Look," said Ron, "I don't think she'll last here long, either, but with The Quibbler and everything Luna doesn't need money. She just needs something to do. Hermione should be the one asking, but she said she was delegating it to me. So pretend this was a super-persuasive pitch on why an old friend should be given a chance."

George cocked an eyebrow at his brother, more to make him squirm than because he was particularly interested in arguing. Ron was a decent shop clerk and a better trainer, since he liked to get out of doing things but didn't like to see them done wrong. Until their youngest was old enough to go away to school, Ron was the home parent which meant he only could work the slowest hours of the day. George also knew it was good to let his people show some initiative, even if the person was Ron.

They had a lot of young people come and go, since the job wasn't all playing with the products, and George had the bad habit of moving anyone with potential up to R&D (Recreation & Development) or to pop-up sites. Which often turned into managing new stores. Dennis Creevey had been their biggest success so far, though the Hogsmeade location was a no-brainer. Dennis wasn't much of an innovator himself, but he sold all their newest products with the passion of a very small child and the tenacity of a survivor.

They all were survivors, their generation of Hogwarts students. Some of them, like George, had decided that the best thing to create in the world was a time of innocence they couldn't even enter. And that's why so many parents bought so much delightful nonsense from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.

"I don't mind having you hire and train her," he said, as if having wrestled with himself, "as long as you make sure she doesn't blow up my shop in vengeance for what you did to her house."

He left Ron sputtering an unformed rebuttal, and went through his vanishing cabinet to the lab.

Luna started the next week. That day George was too busy trying to get the topiary algae to form itself with a longer nose to go down to the shop for niceties. When he heard a whump all the way through the door, through the other vanishing cabinet about five miles away, he decided it was time to check in on the new hire. He carefully finished his notes, told Neville he'd call him back and took out the prototype earplugs he'd made, improving the extendible ears beyond all recognition. They really helped when he needed to trouble-shoot things like recalcitrant botany with friends, so he'd given sets to several of the usual suspects and occasionally owled his spare pairs to others. He took off his slimy gloves and went down to the shop.

There was a glittering purple cloud of smoke pluming into an onion shape in the middle of the floor, with a blast-radius of knocked-over toys about five feet in diameter. Ron had taken cover behind the counter, while a white-blonde head was half-obscured in the cloud. There was no doubting this witch, in purple robes with appliques of cabbages dotted around them, was Luna Lovegood.

"Hallo Looney," said George, "I thought that must be you making a bang. My hearing isn't what it used to be, but I heard it clear in my flat down the road."

"Hello, George," said Luna, unperturbed and sliding out of the cloud sideways, as if it were something she had to sneak away from. "The good news is there are no Snorkaks in your shop. If there were, that is, they'd be dead now."

"Good to know. Ron, stop mentally rehearsing your plea to not be fired and clear up this cloud. A simple scouring should take care of it--not using any dark charms, are you, Luna?"

"I don't think so," she said.

"Yes, Scourgify will be fine. Has Ron given you the tour yet?"

George knew himself to be a bit of a ladies' man, so he was mostly unsurprised to find himself grinning winsomely at Luna.

"I believe he was trying," said Luna. "But I'm not always the best at paying attention."

"I see he wasn't giving you the tour properly, then. You don't have to pay attention, just play with everything you think looks fun. Neverstop Pop?"

"Thank you," said Luna, at last looking apprehensive. She glanced at Ron, who didn't even pause in his vanishing wand-waves to say, "You'll taste banana for about six hours, but otherwise harmless."

"Oh, banana!" she said, and took the lolly. Its purple and green swirl of candy was innocent enough, but the stick it was on began smoking a blue color as soon as her tongue touched it.

"I would have pegged you for pink smoke," George noted. "Intriguing."

He showed her around the shop properly. He had really gotten the knack of sales in the early shop days and now around holidays would work the floor himself to keep his hand in. He kept a keen eye on where her eyes fell, and they tested out all the products that he saw some interest in.

Luna may not have been great at paying attention to workplace tours, but she actually had an unusual knack for toys and games. She had blown enough Self-Shaping Bubble Shot to discover that you could somewhat steer the shape by focusing on one of the forms it took, and produced a steady stream of rabbits that were more robust than any bubbles George had seen anyone but Ginny's girl Lily make. He had to gently steer her away to see the sweets area and puzzles. Most adults had disappointingly short attention spans for play, he had found.

But Luna was an adult. Of all his sister's classmates she was the one who had always struck him as a little more childlike than her age, but possibly this was more a determined positivity and self-expression than thoughtless innocence. After all, none of them had gotten this far untouched. Luna had put the Quibbler on the map as the most outspoken political news of the wizarding world, soliciting articles about the need for reform in the Ministry, magical education, and species equity. She had to be made of a springy sort of steel to have done that. It still ran controversial creature features and terrible celebrity gossip, and the tone of the articles was inflammatory in a way that made George think of Rita Skeeter's flair for drama, but it was read.

"Why are you looking for a job?" he asked, only realizing after a second that this was an abrupt question, coming rather late.

"I am not really suited for teaching or ministry work," she answered, unperturbed. "So I need to look around a bit for what to do with my life. My mum was a charms inventor and my dad started a magazine, but I never was very good at keeping track of details the way you do with either of those professions."

"You did good work writing with the Quibbler--why did you retire?"

"I think I did the Quibbler stuff for my friends," she said, gently brushing one of the Pygmy Puffs. "But once I nudged it in the right direction, I found that there were other people who wanted to do it really badly and I just thought it was all right. I was thinking of going out on some research trips to write some articles."

"Yeah? Anything stopping you?"

"Just that I don't particularly want to. Not by myself, anyway."

He tasted blood, for just a second, heard a shrill sound cut in half.

"I don't blame you," he said, trying to blink back the memory.

The light from the high windows was hitting her silver-blonde hair so it glowed, and he noted a very small patch of magenta cloud still caught in her curls. Her lips pursed over the pygmy puff, a soft pink interruption in her somewhat sharp, white face.

"George, I'm going out for a smoke since you're here," said Ron.

George hadn't realized he was having a moment until he felt an instantaneous desire to strangle his younger brother.

"Fine," he said. "We don't need you, anyway."

"I literally just finished cleaning up after Luna," Ron snorted, and stalked away. "You're both welcome!"

Anyway, George had no business noticing the light on his newest employee's hair. He showed her how they fed the pygmy puffs and cleaned the cage, before retreating into his lab the second Ron seemed to be coming back in.

But later that afternoon when Ron had left he went down to see how Luna was faring training with Rhodendra, a cousin of Lee Jordan's who was fresh from Hogwarts and a whiz with the calcu-labe. He foresaw losing her to Gringotts or a newer financial firm. These were making an appearance in the wizard economy as it flourished after the rebuilding. He had seeded money into one of them himself.

School had let out for the day, and some London-local wizarding children had come through The Leaky Cauldron to hang around and play with some of the toys. Luna apparently was getting on with Rhodendra just fine. The two of them were seated on the floor surrounded by these children, playing a fierce round of Incendiary Snap, which was a brilliant idea Ginny had started by accident. It was particularly brilliant because it didn't just add an extra edge to Exploding Snap, with the very real if child-safe fire, but it also eventually charred the cards to the point where they had to be replaced.

The Snap happened. As Rhodendra shrieked, batting away the illusionary fire, Luna Lovegood summoned a Shield Charm with deceptive ease.

"Did I win that round?" she said, mildly surprised.

"Oh, please," said Rhodendra. "You've won every round. My cards are getting too hot to hold."

"Can we play now?" asked one of the nine or ten-year-olds.

"Sure," said Rhodendra, getting up. Luna followed her example, and they handed the "demo" pack over to the kids. During the school year, their main clientele besides parents were the children too young for Hogwarts, especially the ones with parents who didn’t let them play magical games until they were of age.

Rhodendra noticed George observing and hurried to the counter where she began doing inventory busy-work. Luna instead went to the Muggle tricks display where she seemed to be doing a deep study of the card-tricks brochure. He went back up to his lab, satisfied no personality clashes were forming.

He didn't go down into the shop later than noon for the rest of the week. Instead, if he finished work early he went to the pub to make some winning bets on the qualification rounds of the Quidditch World Cup, as everyone listened on the radio. (Occasionally he dreamed of bringing a wizarding form of television to Quidditch fans, but abandoned it. Someone would do it eventually but he preferred to live a little longer in the charmingly medieval world of wizarding technology a little longer.)

He had all but forgotten his new hire when Ron came bursting in from the cabinet.

"George, you have to come see this. I think we should keep Luna on after all!"

George was intrigued, though a bit puzzled. He hadn't realized Luna's status was probationary, though this was very Ron of Ron. Ron had hired himself on probation.

Go to Chapter 2

Graphic’s George image from the @renissance moodboard I posted https://seagod.co.vu/post/168723892062/ 

[firesign23]

Author Asks, 2 and 16 (oh Queen, my Queen)

When you’re writing a new story, what is the one thing you need to know before you can start?

I need at least two of the following three things (for a longer fic I prefer all three):

a clear picture of a scene – it might not be a full scene, but just some mental image that give me a place to start.

a sentence that came to me – I need something that sounds like the story I want to tell, and tell via the characters/narrative voice. (So a funny fic need a funny sort of line, an angst fic hits on something in the POV character that makes it ache, etc)

a 2-3 sentence summary that distills matters – It may or may not bear a real resemblance to the fic I eventually write, but I want to know this little nugget at the heart of it. 

So, using yonder as an example because it’s the most recent longfic, it hit all three, and yet I also had no idea what I was getting into. Which about sums up my writing.

a clear picture of a scene – There were actually a few for yonder, which is one of the reasons I thought it was just a series of snippets, but as of right now the first on the list in my master doc was: There needs to be a bruised ribs scene from an overzealous recruit, complete with touching-not-touching. “It is a month after they are wed that Brienne comes back to their rooms one afternoon, disappearing into her inner sanctum. A maester arrives a few minutes later, and Jaime hovers in the outer sitting room, certain he was unwelcome but less certain where to go.”

a sentence that came to me – So, as above, you can see an example of what those sentence might look like. The very first bit I had though was (most of) that opening snippet, which is too long to quote in its entirety--it has that establishing of the narrative style I was going for, wide and sweeping and almost a degree of emotional removal while also making it clear that this is Brienne’s story. (See point about how fics don’t always turn out as expected)

a 2-3 sentence summary that distills matters – Well, there were two versions for yonder, one significantly more obscenity-laden than the one I’m going to quote here: After Jaime survives King’s Landing, Sansa and Tyrion push for a Political Marriage between Jaime and Brienne (but are also very much “Get your heads out of your asses”), and they agree. Fasforward slow burn where we see them over the course of a year (unintentionally at first) rebuilding their relationship while learning to live with choices made and choices still to make. It’s like fake dating but BETTER, because they are married and also exes and I am weak trash.

What is your best piece of advice for writing angst scenes?

Okay, first of all, because you outed yourself, I want you to know that I have Get Down running through my head?  I’m the queen of the castle, get down you dirty rascal… WHATEVER, I AM TIRED.

My number one rule is that no matter how angsty you want to make something, dial it back by 10% and trust on the subtext to carry the reader through. And yes, I feel strongly enough about this that I bolded it. The more space you give the reader, the more they fill in the gaps so long as you have a strong structure underneath. Still using yonder as an example, but... right now there’s a subplot between Brienne and Sansa that is really sad in a lot of ways. I know why it’s happening, so there’s a consistent emotional resonance, but I’m not spelling out every emotion behind it. And because I’m not spelling out every emotion behind it and dictating how it’s read, different readers are bringing different aspects of those emotions to their reading--one person might focus on the growing pains of female friendships when priorities change, another might focus on how Sansa’s traumas are filtering her perceptions in terrible ways, one might empathise with Brienne’s feelings of been pulled in different directions by opposing obligations, etc. And all of these things are true, it’s just that what matters to (and hurts) the reader varies from person to person, and it needs space to flourish.  (I could use Like Juno’s Swans as an example, because I think it’s a really good example as well, but you’d probably kill me 😂😂😂)

| Author Asks |

[neuxue]

Wheel of Time liveblogging: The Gathering Storm ch 44

Balefire: the solution to every problem! (Except those it causes)

Chapter 44: Scents Unknown

Huh, with a title like that I’d have expected a Perrin chapter, but we’re back with Rand. This is the Book of Rand and Egwene, it would seem. Which is fitting, given where we are in the story—this is the beginning of the end, and the Dragon and Amyrlin are taking their places, two of the greatest forces on the side of the Light. Of course those storylines parallel each other. In their own particular ways.

Oh wait we’re actually with Nynaeve, but Nynaeve is with Rand so it’s almost the same thing except she feels things like a functional person.

“Tarwin’s Gap,” Rand said, shaking his head. “No. The more I think about it, the more I realise that we don’t want to fight there. Lan is doing me a favour. If I can coordinate an assault alongside his own, I can gain great advantage. But I don’t want to distract my armies with the Gap. It would be a waste of resources.”

He named you friend…

At the same time, this makes sense from a strategic point of view, if we accept that Rand is in fact heading straight for Shayol Ghul. Which comes with its own massive host of strategic…complications…but sure. Fine. I guess we’re doing this.

Does that mean next book is going to be mainly catching up all the other timelines? We’ve touched on a few of them this book but it’s mostly been focused on Rand and Egwene, so it does seem like there’s a fair bit of catching up to do before we’re ready to actually start in on Tarmon Gai’don.

He seemed so emotionless, but she had seen the beast get free and roar at her. It was coiled inside him, and if he didn’t let his emotions out soon, they would devour him from the inside.

Emotions are like dogs: you need to let them out at least twice a day so they can do their business and not wreck the house.

Not that I would know, given that I have neither emotions nor dogs.

(‘But Lia,’ you say, ‘you had an emotion just last chapter, on this very blog.’ Lies and slander).

Each day brought Lan one step closer to a fight he couldn’t win.

Are you sure about that? If there’s one character I’d bet on in that situation, against those odds, it would be Lan Mandragoran. In part because he doesn’t look at it as a fight to be won. It’s a fight he has to fight, but he has always expected it to claim his life; he’s not holding anything back, and he’s not looking for a way out, and he has nothing left to lose.

If Lan was going to fight an impossible battle, then she longed to be at his side. But she stayed. Light take Rand al’Thor, she stayed. What good would it do to help Lan, only to let the world fall into Shadow because of a stubborn sheepherder’s stubborn…stubbornness!

Ah Nynaeve. It’s a quiet sacrifice, but not a small one for her. She has almost the opposite problem to Rand: she cares so deeply about so many people. But she can’t just go where she wishes she could; she knows she can’t go to Lan any more than Rand can. It’s a strategic decision on her part as well, even as it hurts her to have to make it. But she’s right; helping Lan does nothing if the Dragon Reborn fails. And so they come to the same conclusion but from entirely different directions.

This, also, avoids the thing I hate most in fictional romance: when it gets in the way and causes problems by making characters do absurdly stupid things In The Name Of Love. I have many issues with the WoT romances, but on the whole that at least is not one of them. Characters are mostly able to put aside their pants feelings when needed, and I appreciate that. Instead, we mostly see the more…plot-positive sides of those relationships, in how they provide support or an anchor or a source of comfort and strength for those involved.

Well, except for Gawyn. But he’s not in this chapter (yet, anyway) so I don’t have to talk about him.

Don’t worry, Nynaeve; Lan is at least not alone. You did well. If Malkier is to die, it will die thoroughly and finally.

“We cannot let the enemy dictate our battlefield. The last thing we want to do is fight where they want us to, or where they expect us to.” He turned his eyes northward. “Yes, let them gather. They seek me, and I shall not deliver myself. Why fight at Tarwin’s Gap? It makes the best sense to jump most of our armies right to Shayol Ghul.”

Um.

Sorry, run that by me again? You can’t let your enemy dictate the battlefield, and you can’t fight where they expect you to, so you’re going to drop yourself right into the epicentre of the Shadow’s power? That makes sense…how, exactly?

Nynaeve’s still trying to convince him to move on Tarwin’s Gap instead, but it all touches too closely on strategy, and that’s…not going to work. It’s too easy for him to dismiss her arguments, to look at Lan’s possible death and a Trolloc invasion as just part of what must be done, as pieces on the gameboard that he can use. It’s too easy for him to retreat into emotionless analysis of the battlefield. You’re going to need to find a different angle of attack, though I’m still not sure what. But something that can appeal to who he was, to the few things he still cares about, as much as he cares about anything. To something he can’t actually let go, no matter how much he’s convinced himself otherwise.

“Rand,” Nynaeve said, her anger fading to horror. “Lan will die!”

“Then who am I to deny him that?” Rand said. “We all deserve the chance to find peace.”

Oh.

I…the worst part is, Lan would not even disagree. He has been functionally suicidal for…his entire adult life, at least, if not longer. His whole life has been wrapped up in his death, in the death of Malkier, in this war he knows he cannot win and has been bound away from by various means but to which he always, always returns in his thoughts. There is no peace for him until he can meet that destiny. He and Rand share that now, more than ever, but that doesn’t make them right.

(You fell off a roof knowing it would mean imprisonment rather than let go when he looked you in the eye and told you to, Rand. But now…now he understands that desire to just fall. To stop fighting and let gravity and destiny take you where they may, and to know the relief of finally letting it all end…)

He actually believed that! Or he was convincing himself to believe it, at least.

Some of both, really. In part it’s just that he can’t let himself hope, so he has resigned himself to death because that way he can let everything else go; if there’s nothing to save it doesn’t matter what he does. But some of it is just that he’s so tired and in so much pain and has been trying to do far too much for far too long, and just desperately wants it to be over. Prophecied hero jobs should at least come with some serious mental healthcare, is what I’m saying here.

“My duty is to kill the Dark One,” Rand said, as if to himself. “I kill him, then I die. That is all.”

Yeah that…still sounds like a terrible idea in approximately every way I can think of. What of balance? What of choice? What of the Pattern, because surely destroying the Dark One in this Age would break the cycle of the Ages past and to come. This is not the sort of series where killing a god is going to end well.

But it suits his current mindset perfectly. A focus so narrow that this looks like victory, a desperation for an ending, a loss of any sense of why, a willingness to let everything else be destroyed in the service of this one purpose. Ending the cycle forever rather than facing this battle again and again (because like his supposed enemy, he now just wants it all to be over). Destroying the Dark One, just as the Dark One plans to destroy the Pattern. It seems like at some point those come down to more or less the same thing. (A world without entropy is just stasis).

Is it really his own conviction? Or is it born of his strange link with Moridin? A path to an absolute ending, rather than one that preserves the endless cycle of time…’When you are victorious, it only leads to another battle. When he is victorious, all things will end’. Is it true reversed? When all things end, is the Dark One victorious? Even if that ending is brought about with his own destruction?

This should have been a place where farmers didn’t need to turn good lumber into quarterstaffs, nor watch strangers with eyes that expected attack.

But the storm is coming, and they must go north. There isn’t anywhere that can hope to remain truly untouched by what is to come, but that doesn’t stop Nynaeve from hating the thought. They need people like her, just as they need those who can accept that price in the name of victory. It’s a balance, of sorts. Someone has to care, and at least try to preserve what can be preserved, and spare pain where possible, and keep in mind that these are the people and the lives they are fighting for, so what good does it do if all of that is lost? Change is one thing, collateral damage is one thing, sacrifice is one thing. But to be willing to write off everything for a scorched-earth victory that leaves nothing behind to rebuild from is…beyond that. Because who does that victory serve, in the end? Except perhaps the one who wants the destruction of everything, that it can be remade in the image of chaos.

The Dragon is one with the land but the Dragon cares nothing for himself, is using himself up and just waiting to die and so why would he treat the land any differently, but to drag it behind him into this same all-consuming battle, with no hope of survival and nothing to save, to claim victory at the cost of everything?

(Self-care is realising that your wellbeing is literally linked to that of the entire world? Man, this hero business sucks).

Nynaeve is still not pleased with Cadsuane’s secrecy regarding her plan for Rand—she could learn something from Egwene, there—but is still trying to work out where Perrin might be.

Wait, she went back to the Two Rivers? That’s…the first time since EotW, and given how much that once meant to her, and how much it has shaped who she is, I’m kind of surprised we don’t get more than a throwaway line implying a visit. That seems like an important thing, for her. Even if it is just to realise how far she has come from Wisdom of Emond’s Field (and how much of that she still carries with her).

Wow, asking Rand? A character asking another character for information? I’m shocked.

Though to be perfectly honest it didn’t even really occur to me that that might be an easy way to find out. I suppose that says something about these characters and transparency.

Of course, it’s too much to hope that Rand would actually tell her.

“I am worried about him, Rand al’Thor,” she said. “He has a peaceful, unassuming nature—and always did let his friends push him around too much.”

There. Let Rand think about that.

“Unassuming,” Rand said musingly. “Yes, I suppose he is still that. But peaceful? Perrin is no longer too…peaceful.”

Wow okay yeah this is fine. That didn’t hurt unexpectedly or anything.

The way he says it so calmly, like it’s little more than discussing the weather, like the changes in his friend don’t affect him at all. He, who once tried to drive both Perrin and Mat and the rest away to avoid hurting them, and then tried to tell himself he wouldn’t use them, and then smiled like a boy when Perrin found him again in Lord of Chaos despite everything else that was happening and just wanted to talk of home. But now…nothing. No worry, no resignation, not even something like amusement or puzzlement or even self-hating satisfaction. Perrin has a beard now and also is no longer peaceful. Those two things carry approximately equal weight.

The Aiel learned, and adapted, quickly. Surprising, really.

Not at all surprising if you’ve been through the glass columns of Rhuidean. Their entire history is one of change, of adaptation, of becoming at every step something new, something further from what they once were, yet holding all the while to some core of identity to keep from being lost.

(‘Lia, you really cannot deny you have emotions when it comes to Rhuidean at least.’ JUST WATCH ME).

This particular crossroads hadn’t been important in years. If Verin or one of the other Brown sisters had been here, they’d likely have been able to explain exactly why.

TOO SOON.

Yes, go talk to Narishma. We haven’t seen nearly enough of him, given how promising his introduction was.

Also, where is Logain these days? I don’t think we’ve seen him since…Semirhage? Why is he not with this group?

“I was a cobbler’s son, Nynaeve Sedai. I know not the ways of lords and ladies.” He hesitated. “Besides, I’m not a Borderlander anymore.” The implication was clear. He would protect Rand, no matter what other allegiances tugged at him. A very Warder-like way of thought.

A Warder-like way of thought, maybe, but if so it’s one with a distinctly Lan-shaped exception.

Also, at least we’re finally dealing with that whole Borderlander situation. Even Narishma doesn’t get what could possibly have brought them here.

“A Borderlander’s place is guarding the Border,” Narishma said. “I was a cobbler’s son, and yet I was trained with the sword, spear, bow, axe and sling. Even before joining the Asha’man, I could best four of five trained southern soldiers in a duel. We live to defend. And yet they left. Now, of all times.”

SAME, NARISHMA. SAME. Seriously, how much of this current clusterfuck could have been avoided if the Borderland rulers—or at least their armies—had stayed put on the Blight like they’ve been doing for the past several centuries? They’d better have a good reason for this but I cannot for the life of me work out what it might be.

So the Borderlanders were told to bring no more than two hundred and instead they sent…one. Everything about this situation is just bizarre.

Hurin!

On second thought, delete that tone of excitement. Rand is not who he was when Hurin knew him and this seems unlikely to go well.

“Why, Lord Rand!” Hurin called, voice uneven. “It is you! Well, you’ve certainly come up in the world, I must say. Good to—”

Oh man wow that one line brings back such a strong memory of…everything about Rand in TGH. Rand when he was still young and uncertain and trying to find his way, Rand when all he wanted was to protect his friends, and counted Hurin as one of those simply because he was there and looked to Rand for help. Rand who tried to tell Hurin he was no lord, and when Hurin didn’t believe it, did his best to act the way he thought a good lord should. Rand when he joined the hunt because he just wanted to help Mat. Rand, afraid of his power but willing to use it for the sake of those he loved and cared for. Rand when he told Ingtar that to abandon Egwene would be to damn himself. Rand when he offered Ingtar redemption and then calmly defied Ishamael and—

It feels like a different character entirely, and this small reunion is such an effective way of forcing that contrast, by evoking the memory of who and what Rand was then and having to place that alongside who and what he is now.

Hurin still calls him ‘Lord Rand’. At one time, Rand was shocked at the title. Now…how long has it been since he’s been called anything but ‘Lord Dragon’? Now, ‘Lord Rand’ sounds almost informal, almost like an odd sort of endearment. Like an appeal to the person he was.

I think part of what makes this work is how…innocent Hurin’s greeting is. As if he doesn’t know everything that has changed since he last saw Rand—which he probably doesn’t. And so he comes into this scene with the assumption that Rand is the same as he was, which forces the reader to, just for a moment, share that perspective, or at least be jarred out of the present by it.

He cut off as he was raised from the ground.

Well that didn’t last long.

Though I can’t blame Rand for asking him a question only he would know the answer to, to verify his identity. And for treating him with uncertainty until then. After the disaster with Semirhage masquerading as Tuon, that’s only common sense really.

But once that’s been established…well, it would be far too much to expect of Rand, as he is now, to be friendly. To share a moment of simple reunion. Or, apparently, to even treat Hurin with anything resembling civility.

Nynaeve felt a stab of pity for the man. He was absolutely devoted to Rand.

Once, that would have meant something.

Poor Hurin. He was so good, and he didn’t ask for any of this, hasn’t done anything to deserve this, and now the man he came to idolise simply because that man was a good person to him is…well. Not.

And while someone like Nynaeve, who has been with Rand for some of the intervening time, at least has the context to understand what has changed and why, Hurin has none of that. He can’t know why Rand has suddenly become…this, or why his Lord Rand is so cold to him or any of it.

Anyway, it’s all incredibly effective use of basically an NPC to evoke a sense of…pain and loss and an even clearer, almost shocking moment of understanding just how much has changed, and what that means. Well done.

“Now that…that’s strange. Never smelled that before.”

“What?” Rand asked.

Probably just the Eau d’Indifference you’ve taken to wearing lately…

“I don’t know,” Hurin said. “The air…it smells like a lot of death, a lot of violence, only not. It’s darker. More terrible.”

A halo of darkness, a scent of violence and darkness, a ta’veren effect that twists things to the darker side of chance, a warp in the air around him…it’s been perceived and described a number of different ways at this point, but it is undeniably there. This aura of death and violence around him, this darkness, this… ‘death and betrayal. It is HIM.’ I think it’s quite likely this is, at least in large part, an effect of his touching the True Power.

Rand is not distracted by this revelation that he smells like death and violence—why would a hero be bothered about that, after all?—so we just get straight to business. Hurin’s here as a messenger to set up the real meeting, but oh wait nope Rand’s not quite done being disturbing.

“I no longer feel anger, Hurin,” Rand said. “It serves me no useful function.”

That’s…fine and normal.

Oh. They want to meet in Far Madding. Somehow I don’t think that suggestion is going to go over too well, for, oh, about a thousand different reasons.

“Well, last time you were in Far Madding, there was—”

Pain? Pain is the word you’re looking for, Hurin. Lots and lots of pain.

(Also a desire to help Lan, which he seems to have misplaced somewhere along the way, so maybe a trip to Far Madding’s Lost and Found could be of use, actually…)

“You’ll have to come inside the protection of the Guardian, you see, and—” Rand waved a curt hand, cutting off Hurin. A gateway opened immediately.

I have such a very bad feeling about this. He doesn’t even respond. Because that’s right, he doesn’t feel anger anymore. Why waste words arguing when he could be moving? But there’s no way in hell he’s about to walk into Far Madding, so…what exactly is he doing? And that’s where said bad feeling comes in.

(And when I say ‘bad feeling’ I mean…uh…feeling that this could go very badly but in a way that I am anticipating with something that is far closer to excitement than dread because as I’ve said, I like this Rand. Don’t judge me).

Rand stopped Tai’daishar, looking across the open meadow toward the ancient city of Far Madding.

Ah, yes, because Rand looking out on population centres has worked out so well in the recent past. This could go very, very wrong.

“They will know we’ve come,” Rand said softly, eyes narrowed. “They’ll have been waiting for it. They expect me to ride into their box.”

“Box?” Nynaeve asked hesitantly.

I get the feeling Nynaeve is also remembering watching Rand look out on a different city from afar. She’s clearly on edge here, afraid to say the wrong thing but also afraid of what Rand might be thinking, of what Rand could do.

“They want me where they can control me, but they don’t understand. Nobody controls me. Not anymore. I’ve had enough of boxes and prisons, of chains and ropes. Never again will I put myself into the power of another.”

Oh how Moridin would laugh, to look upon where the Fisher piece stands, and which side it currently serves. You can’t just…step out of your context like this, Rand. He sees it as being free, never realising that he is just binding himself more tightly and to all the wrong things, trapping himself, letting himself be manipulated into doing exactly what his enemy wants him to do and all the while believing it his choice. He’s trying to force control; a long time ago, he realised the futility of that, recognised that by accepting his fate and his role he could find some modicum of control. He told Mat, then, to stop running. But now…this is just another form of denial. He tells himself he accepts who he is and what he must do, but still he finds ways to fight it.

It doesn’t help that he has been imprisoned and caged too many times; how could he trust? How could he willingly walk into another’s power, when so many times before it has brought him pain? And yet he has to, somehow.

Is that what this is about? Is that, somehow, what the Borderlanders are trying to force, or test?

Still staring at the city, he reached to its place on his saddle and removed the statuette of a man holding aloft a globe.

No. Oh, no.

“Perhaps they need to be taught,” Rand said. “Given encouragement to do their duty and obey me.”

No no no.

(Yes? Maybe? I am a terrible person).

“Rand…” Nynaeve tried to think. She couldn’t let this happen again!

Oh, Nynaeve. How utterly terrifying it must be to watch this with that horrifying sense of déjà vu, and with the knowledge that if he decides to do it again there is absolutely nothing she can do to stop him. Because she’s seen him do it, she’s seen what he is now willing and able to do, she knows how far this could go and knows how close they are to that edge again, knows there is nothing truly holding him back. And yet she has to stop him, because this cannot be allowed to happen, this cannot happen again, and there is no one else here who stands a chance of talking him down.

The access key began to glow faintly. “They want to capture me,” he said softly. “Hold me. Beat me. They did it once in Far Madding already. They—”

“Rand!” Nynaeve said sharply.

He stopped, looking at her, seeing her as if for the first time.

“These are not slaves with their minds already burned away by Graendal. That is an entire city full of innocent people!”

It’s like watching him cross a line and believing it to truly be the last one, and then realising that no, he could still fall even further. Natrin’s Barrow was an atrocity but it could, just, fall under the category of ‘collateral damage’. This…these aren’t slaves to Compulsion, and they’re not even his enemy. These are his own allies, his own people, and here he stands calmly considering their destruction. Because while there apparently are still some lines he has yet to cross, he doesn’t see it that way, and so there’s nothing holding him back. And so this seems like a perfectly reasonable option—quick, effective, certain to make his point.

To see this through Nynaeve’s eyes, watching almost in slow motion as Rand stares at the city (again) and the access key begins to glow (again) and Rand is cold and unreachable (again) and she is desperate.

And somehow, because she is Nynaeve and because, perhaps, she has always felt so deeply and always worn her heart on her sleeve and never been able to make herself not care, because Rand knows this and has entrusted to her the duty of caring where he cannot…something in that manages to reach him. At least enough to get his attention.

She is his conscience, in a way. One last, tenuous check. Because she does still see those lines he has not yet crossed, those lines he is approaching all too quickly, those lines he no longer sees because in his mind he has already crossed the last and is now just in freefall.

What a position to be in, for her.

“I wouldn’t harm the people of the city,” Rand said, voice emotionless.

You say that like it’s obvious but at this current point, it really is anything but, Rand. And it’s not because he has any…aversion to it. It just wouldn’t serve his purpose.

(I have such a weakness for that in a character—that wholly amoral pragmatism that looks like moral limits purely because there are things that don’t make tactical or strategic senseThings that seem to be off the table because ‘even I would never do such a thing’ but really are just off the table in this particular situation because they bring no advantage).  

(But it’s not how Rand should be).

“That army deserves the demonstration, not the city. A rain of fire upon them, perhaps. Or lightning to strike and bite.”

This from the man who despaired at having to strike some of his own at the gates of Cairhien, to keep the Shaido from reaching the gate. This from the man who all but wept, sitting in the rain and mud, after Callandor caused him to kill his own army and the Seanchan indiscriminately. This from the man who begged Lews Therin, when he was controlling the weaves, to take a few seconds from fighting Trollocs to put out the fires that were killing his soldiers. Hell, this from a man who didn’t even try violence to put down a rebellion. And now he speaks so calmly of what these allies of his ‘deserve’. As a ‘demonstration’.

“They have done nothing other than ask you to meet with them!” Nynaeve said.

She could not get through to him about Lan, not when strategy and Lan’s own choices were against her, but here…this is different and she knows it, and she desperately needs Rand to know it, and to understand. Or at least to listen to her, and to…trust that she understands something even if he doesn’t. He trusts her to feel for him, to dream on his behalf, to care on his behalf. And so he needs to trust her to do that now, trust her to act as a check on his power. To listen to her and hold back, not because he sees any reason to but because she does and he trusts her to feel the things he cannot, and therefore to know that this is something he should not do. It’s an odd sort of dynamic, but it could just work. Maybe.

Most of what she has going on her behalf here, I think, is that she’s not trying for persuasion or ‘reasoned arguments’ or manipulation of any sort. She’s literally just…begging him. She is desperate, and more empathetic than most could tolerate, and it’s just a raw, naked plea born of that desperation and empathy. Not just for those people, but for Rand himself; even if he refuses to acknowledge what this would do to him, she doesn’t.

That ter’angreal sat like a viper in his hand. Once, it had cleansed the Source.

Wow, that was…an unexpectedly impactful line. Okay. Uh. That came out of nowhere. Damn.

“Rand,” she said softly. “If you do this, there will be no turning back.”

“There’s already no turning back for me, Nynaeve,” he said, his eyes intense.

(Okay, fine, I admit it, I have emotions. Maybe one or two. At most four.)

A few things here. The first is the way Nynaeve’s words imply that it’s a simple fact that there is still a way back, as far as she sees it. She doesn’t even bother to make that point, because it doesn’t need to be made; she takes it as a given. Even after what he has done, he has not yet gone too far. There’s a certain…grace, almost, in how she gives him that implication without even thinking about it, without being asked for it. She does not for a moment think he is beyond forgiveness.

Yet.

And then, combined with Rand’s response, it makes the point I was dancing around earlier: she can still see gradations where all he sees is darkness; she can see lines he has not yet crossed, where all he sees is that last one behind him. She fears for him, because he is approaching the truly unforgivable, while he believes he already is.

The ‘freedom’ he has found is the belief that nothing matters now—that there is nothing left for him to hold on to, that he is already beyond forgiveness or redemption, that he can’t make it worse because he’s already crossed over the last line where those gradations matter, so there’s no point holding back because nothing makes a difference.

Except that morality is relative and Nynaeve does not see those lines the same way Rand does, and so Nynaeve is watching him move closer and closer to the edge of the cliff and is trying desperately to keep him from falling, while in Rand’s own view, he already has.

And so the fact that he believes himself past that point is itself what would enable him to truly cross it; it’s a terrifyingly sharp contrast in just two lines of these viewpoints, and of what it really means that Rand sees himself as beyond the point of turning back. That, almost more than what he’s actually done, is the truly frightening part, and I think this is where Nynaeve really sees that.

“My feet started on this path the moment Tam found me crying on that mountain.”

It’s the issue of agency versus destiny again; Rand is now in a place where not only does he think he’s crosssed all the lines and therefore is free to act as he may because he’s damned anyway, but he’s also in this weird place where, for all that he does consider himself damned by his actions, he almost absolves himself of all responsibility for them.

Or, no, that’s not quite it. He just…absolves himself of all agency and all self at all. He has the freedom to do anything he chooses, anything he deems necessary…and he also has no choice at all, no self he is allowed to claim. It’s a paradox and it makes my brain hurt but it also makes perfect sense, from where he’s standing. It’s like he looked at ‘shoulder all the responsibility’ and ‘take no responsibility’ and ‘find the freedom to act as you will’ and ‘chain yourself to destiny’ and somehow managed to find that one central place in the venn diagram of all those circles where it just maximises pain.

Also…the moment Tam found him crying on the mountain. Could that be what ‘stand on his grave and weep’ is about? I suppose it’s possible but that would feel a little…cheap, somehow, given that we’re only getting that line of the (Seanchan versions of the) prophecies now, and there’s so much else pointing at Dragonmount, but…maybe. Or maybe I was right earlier and this is a form of foreshadowing, which would be fitting.

“You don’t have to kill anyone today. Please.”

He turned to look back at the city. Slowly, mercifully, the access key stopped glowing.

A much more accurate use of ‘mercy’, all things considered.

She’s just…all she has is her desperation and the last threads of a connection to him and she’s pulling him back from the edge of a cliff he can’t even let himself see, and the fact that she manages it, that she manages somehow to reach him, is remarkable. She’s not trying to manipulate, here. She’s not even shouting at him or angry at him or scolding him. It’s just stripped-down desperate pleading, and from Nynaeve, the one he trusts to carry his dreams and his caring and to some extent his conscience, it reaches him.

Maybe because she so easily offered him the forgiveness he no longer lets himself seek. Without even saying as much—just by saying that this would make it impossible, thereby implying that as things stand, it is possible. He may not believe her, but perhaps that was enough to reach some part of him, still. Enough to make him go along with her, to let her hold on to that dream a little longer (to let himself, even if he cannot admit it?)

Anyway, the result is that Rand is now using his words rather than his balefire, to dictate his own terms. Terms that amount to ‘go to the Blight like you’re supposed to or else your great-great-great grandchildren will call you cowards’, but still.

Hurin stayed behind. He still looked shaken. His reunion with ‘Lord Rand’ had obviously been far from what he expected.

Poor Hurin. He did absolutely nothing to deserve this (except be Rand’s friend, once. And now he pays the price for that, as Rand always feared his friends would pay the price for his existence and friendship).

So much for that. We still don’t’ know why the Borderlanders are here, and here they still are, and it’s another negotiation or treaty or whatever you want to call it that he’s just…walking away from.

As Nynaeve climbed off of Moonlight and handed the reins to a ruddy-faced stable worker, Rand walked past her. “Look for a statue,” he said.

“What?” she asked with surprise.

He glanced back at her, stopping. “You asked where Perrin was. He’s camped with an army beneath the shade of an enormous fallen statue shaped like a sword stabbing the earth.”

‘Just look for the giant beacon of symbolism and you’ll find him’.

It’s so…surprising, though. And yet it’s very, very Rand. To unexpectedly offer her this, something she asked for a while ago but now feels out of context, freely, because that’s how his sense of honour works.

It reminds me of that scene between him and Egwene in LoC when just about everything else goes straight to hell but then he answers her questions about Travelling, honestly and directly and with no other motive but that she asked and he knows the answer.

Add to that the fact that he didn’t tell Nynaeve this the first time she asked, and it’s as if he’s thanking her, in the only way he really can at this point, for holding him back. He can’t let himself feel, but he has delegated that to her and she’s doing it and this much, he can give her. Maybe it will help.

Mostly though, this just gets to me because it feels so like how Rand used to be, even for just a moment. Trusting. Helpful. She asked him a question and then all kinds of other things happened but he made a point of remembering it and giving her the answer. There are remnants, still, of who he was and they show up at these odd points and it’s…lovely and so very sad.

Ah. She sees it too.

“Why tell me?” she asked, walking alongside him across the yard of packed earth. She hadn’t expected him to give up the information—he had gotten into the habit of holding onto whatever he knew, even if that knowledge was meaningless.

“Because,” he said, striding toward the keep, voice growing almost too soft to hear. “I…have a debt to you for caring when I cannot.”

I’M FINE.

I could have saved myself some words by just turning the page, because Rand straight-up says what I was thinking, but me being pleased with myself is being crowded out by ‘dream on my behalf’ and ‘I have a debt to you for caring when I cannot’ and Rand still having that strange sense of honour and recognising exactly what he’s doing even if he can’t stop it and yet listening to Nynaeve and knowing how deep his debt to her runs because she does care, and it matters to him that she does, and he knows what he’s lost and what he’s become and I am completely okay with all of this. Totally fine. Entirely unaffected.

It hurts.

But in the best way.

There was a wet scent to the air, the smell of new rain, and she could feel that she’d missed a sprinkle. Not enough to clear the air or muddy the ground, but enough to leave wetted sections of stone in shaded corners.

I see what you did there. The Land is one with the Dragon, after all, and Nynaeve’s weather sense has long since moved into the realm of the symbolic.

I really like this particular example, though. Soft and barely enough to make a noticeable change, not enough to ‘clear the air’, but it’s something. Rand telling her where Perrin is, after he’s destroyed one fortress with balefire and nearly destroyed a city and still thinks he is beyond redemption and therefore beyond limits, is…a small step, and perhaps not even a step, but it’s something.

Also, for all that in my head Rand is linked with the wind because that’s what we start every book with, and it is itself linked to the notion of beginnings and endings and something pervasive and all-reaching, we do see Rand linked to rain as well at significant moments. Bringing rain to the Waste as he declared himself, and water to the fountains of Rhuidean before he leaves. Letting the rain fall on him as he recognises his failure outside of Ebou Dar. ‘I am the storm’. But here it’s not a storm, nothing dramatic, just a barely-noticeable fall of new rain.

Time to report to Cadsuane.

Cadsuane herself was speaking quietly to Min, whom she had all but appropriated in recent days. Min herself didn’t seem to mind, perhaps because it wasn’t easy to spend time with Rand these days. Nynaeve felt a stab of sympathy for the girl. Nynaeve only had to deal with Rand as a friend; all of this would be much harsher on the one who shared his heart.

And that Min of all people has reached that point, that even she who has stayed by Rand’s side through just about everything in the last several books is finding it painful to be near him, is telling.

Yet it’s Nynaeve who Rand relies on to care when he cannot. His friend, not his lover. It’s a different sort of bond, and a different sort of anchor, but in this case no less…strong, or valuable. Or maybe that’s just me projecting.

Cadsuane manages the sort of dismissive compliments only she can, and still doesn’t want to talk about her plans. Maybe she and Egwene should have a chat about the values of transparency.

“You’d hold this knowledge back, even if it means the lives of those you hold dear?”

Really, Cadsuane, one could ask you the same thing. But secrecy and evasion are hard habits to break.

“Did he take it well?” Nynaeve repeated flatly. “That depends. Does pulling out that blasted ter’angreal and threatening to rain down fire on the army strike you as ‘Taking it well’?”

Min paled. Cadsuane raised an eyebrow.

“I stopped him,” Nynaeve said. “But just barely. I don’t know. It…it might be getting to late to do anything to change him.”

And what it must cost her to admit that. Nynaeve, who will do anything and everything to protect those she loves, but how can she protect him from himself? And what can she do when it is the world that needs protecting from him? But it’s not in her nature to just give up, and to do so with Rand would mean ceasing to protect him, ceasing to try to Heal him, and she cares too much to do that, but what else can she do? She’s caught in a place where no matter what she tries, there will be pain for someone.

Meanwhile Corele puts way too much stock in prophecies. You’re missing a crucial piece, Corele: for prophecies and visions to work, the world has to exist.

“If Rand loses, there is no Pattern.”

As readers, we know that there is a Fourth Age, at least, from some of the epigraphs. But the point here is something I talked about recently—it’s not so much about whether Light will win against Shadow; it’s not about whether the world will survive or perish, but instead is about what it will take to get there, what it will cost, how they can possibly bring about that success from this point and what it will demand of them. How much farther they can fall and still have a chance of survival. What kind of survival that will be.

To the characters themselves, there is no guarantee. But I think this serves a secondary purpose as a sign to the reader that even if there seems to be evidence that everything will be okay—for a given value of ‘okay’—there is still so  much at stake here, and it’s not a simple path. It’s not going to be easy, and it may not come without a price, and it’s not a simple guarantee.

It’s a focus not on the ‘what will happen’ but on the ‘how’, and it’s a reminder that whatever you think you know about how this ends, it is not so simple.

As far as Nynaeve is concerned, that adds up to needing to tell Cadsuane what she knows of Perrin’s location, even if she’s annoyed at Cadsuane’s secrecy. This is not the time to hold anything back. And yes, that could easily be said of Cadsuane as well, but the point is more that someone has to take the first step. Nynaeve can’t afford a power struggle with Cadsaune over information right now, not with the entire world at stake.

“In answer to your question earlier, child, Perrin actually isn’t important to our plans.”

“He isn’t?” Nynaeve asked. “But—”

Cadsuane raised a finger. “There are people with him who are vital. One in particular.”

TAM?

I’m not sure if that’s in capslock out of excitement or total dread but…let’s just go with both.

Because given Rand’s entire…*waves hands at everything*…it seems all but impossible for this to go well, which means it could go so, so badly, but on the other hand, TAM. AND RAND. IT’S BEEN TWELVE BOOKS.

I HAVE BEEN WANTING THIS REUNION FOR LITERAL YEARS.

But like this?

Next (TGS ch 45) Previous (TGS ch 43)

[virmillion]

Exoskeleton

the honors zoology-inspired fic that no one asked for

Warnings: OCD, heavily described food, fighting, unhappy ending, derealization, let me know if there’s any more

Words: 3850 (22000 characters tho which is 10/10)

Exoskeleton - ek’sō-skel’ə-tən - (Gr. exō, outside, + skeletos, hard) - A supporting structure secreted by ectoderm or epidermis; external, not enveloped by living tissue, as opposed to endoskeleton.

    Exoskeletons were one of the major turning points in evolution, following the development of annelid cuticles and allowing an external shell to protect the animal from harm. The Cambrian Explosion, some 550 million odd years ago, gave rise to arthropods with such a feature. Ever since, smaller advancements have been made, varying from one species to another.

    “Hey, Logan? You want some food?” Patton interjects at Logan’s door, tearing his focus away from the laptop.

    “You know as well as I do that we do not require food,” Logan replies. Nevertheless, he puts the screen to sleep, rises from his desk chair, and follows Patton to the kitchen. It really doesn’t make any sense for the sides to have a kitchen in the mind palace, yet here it was, as Roman couldn’t deny Patton any last request. Ridiculous in every sense of the word. Logan straightens his tie in the hall, watching Patton disappear around the corner. Just as ridiculous to have a kitchen in the first place as it was to think that the sides, figments of Thomas’ imagination, required any real sustenance. Of course, he’d been online before. He’d seen the jokes, about him eating books, about Patton eating candy hearts, all of that manner of intelligence. But that’s all they were, really, just jokes from people he didn’t know.

    “Okay, so I know Thomas was gonna take a vegetarian cooking class to surprise Talyn, so I thought I’d do a little structural support from the inside to get him going,” Patton says. Logan slides into his little wooden chair at the little wooden table, not looking at the little wooden smile on Virgil’s little wooden face. “Ta-da!” Patton twirls around from the stove with a flourish of his free arm, the other raising a platter of fake meat things in the air. As the tray is set in the middle of the table with the air of a famous chef in front of a king, Patton takes his seat one spot counterclockwise of Logan, across from Virgil.

    “Pat, I never even conjured any ingredients for this,” Roman says, furrowing his brow at the mountain of food in front of him.

    “I know!” Patton bounces excitedly in his seat. “I found this recipe for using vegetables and stuff that we already had from last time I made dinner, and I got to use them to make something different! Isn’t that so cool?”

    “It’s great, Pat,” Virgil concedes, stretching a sleeve-covered hand out to grab something vaguely burger-like.

    “That it is, Panic at the Dork-sco,” Roman smiles.

    “Not your best. Four out of ten,” Virgil says, tearing off a piece of his not-burger. Logan reaches a hesitant hand out for one of the nugget-things, wrinkling a disgusted nose at the crumbly texture, the bread sticking to his fingers.

    “Oh, the veggie nuggets! I had one of these when I was making them, they’re so good!” Patton gushes, popping one in his mouth. Logan steels himself, swallowing a gag reflex, and takes a hesitant bite. Disgust washes over his soul as he holds the piece under his tongue, desperate to avoid tasting it. He needs to eat it, just swallow the darn thing and move on like everyone else, but he can’t. Just moving the chunk to his molars, he feels the artificial taste squelching out through his mouth. The ghost of a wince crosses his face as he forces the thing down his throat, every impulse fighting it.

    “Tasty, right?” Patton asks cheerfully, eating two pieces at once. Logan offers a nearly imperceptible nod, trying not to look at the remain two thirds of nugget in his hand. He can still taste the last bite on his teeth, the ghost of the crumbs sticking to his gums. The next bite is supposed to go faster, be easier, but no, two thirds of a nugget at once is terrible, latching onto would-be cavities and in his throat and to his stomach, where it sits like a stone.

    “You know what? I’m not hungry,” Logan says, drawing the cloth napkin from his lap and wiping it over his lips. “I’m going back to my room.”

    “Lo, you say that every night,” Roman whines. “We know that we don’t eat food, but this is the fun part of being part of Thomas! We get to do human things!”

    “Yeah, no thanks.” Logan pushes his chair back and heads for his room, still feeling the horrible substance forcing its way through his system. He downs one of some fifty water bottles in his room, trying to wash the remainder of the food away. In his haste to calm down, he didn’t close his door on time, which is never a good thing.

    “Why doesn’t he just pretend he enjoys it?” Roman’s voice drifts down the hall, garbled through whatever non-meat thing he happens to be eating. “Pretend like he actually likes us for once, I don’t know.”

    “Roman, it’s fine. Food just isn’t his thing,” Patton responds. Logan licks his lips, feeling the residing taste there. Even a forceful wiping of his bare hands isn’t enough to get rid of it.

    “He’s just so weird sometimes. Why can’t he just be normal or something?” Roman again. No input from Virgil. Not even a word, let alone one to defend him. Logan shuts the door softly, furrowing his eyebrows. They aren’t human, their words shouldn’t hurt him. If he just rebuilds the walls around the heart he doesn’t have, he’ll be fine. Not like his feelings are real, anyway.

————–

Exoskeleton - ek’sō-skel’ə-tən - (Gr. exō, outside, + skeletos, hard) - Derived from the annelid cuticle but hardened by addition of chitin and sometimes calcium to be tough, chemically resistant, and waterproof, with proteins for flexibility and chitin for strength.

    Logan scowls at the bright screen of his laptop as he hunches over it on the couch. Just a few more paragraphs, a little more research, and he can have this project finished for Thomas before it becomes a problem. As long as no one else has to lose sleep over it, Logan doesn’t mind the rapidly forming bags of exhaustion under his eyes. Thomas is happy, and that’s all that matters. That’s the only reason the sides exist, is to help him.

    “What’re you still doing up?” Virgil asks, shifting from under a blanket on the other couch. To tell the truth, he’d been there the entire night, shivering away when Logan had come in, laptop in one hand, stacks of notebook paper and pens in the other. Rather than wake the hoodie-clad side, Logan tossed a blanket over him before sitting on the adjacent couch and getting to work. Sure, he could’ve done just as much in his room, but with the sounds of Roman living out his dreams in his sleep across the hall? Not so much.

    “Working.” Logan continues maneuvering his fingers over the trackpad with one hand, scribbling furiously on lined paper with the other.

    “On what? There’s nothing big due yet, Thomas said so himself when we were setting up the last video.” Virgil’s voice is slow as he struggles to pick it up, sleep trying to pull him back down into oblivion. Logan doesn’t let his eyes drift to the hair poking out of the blanket, or to the tired eyes illuminated by the glow of the computer screen.

    “Getting ahead. Project’s due in a few weeks, but he wants to do another three videos in that time frame, too. Need to be prepared.” Logan fights the rising yawn in his chest, determined not to show how much of a toll the work has taken on him. He isn’t real, anyway, so the physical and mental effects aren’t real, either.

    “You should’ve told us, we would’ve helped you,” Virgil mumbles. His phone screen lights up the room a little more as he thumbs his way through tumblr.

    “It’s fine. You three need sleep anyway.” Virgil’s protests die out as sleep takes him once more, his phone dropping to the carpet. Vindicated, Logan returns to his work with a vengeance. He had hoped at the beginning that a few paragraphs would be easy, but then paragraphs turned to pages, and pages turned to sleep he wouldn’t get back. He didn’t need it.

    “Logan, you need to go to bed,” Patton announces, parading into the living room an hour or so later. Logan jolts awake, his eyes dry and his vision blurry. Glasses gone, computer dead, and a pretty line scribbled through his last page of notes. Awesome. “I have your glasses and your computer charger, now go get some sleep or you don’t get them back.” Logan scowls in the general direction of Patton’s voice, trying to glean some semblance of coherence from his writing. Nothing.

    “Patton, just give me the glasses back.”

    “Not until you get rest.”

    “Patton. Now.”

    “No! I’m not going to, and you can’t make me!”

    “Hey, what’s going on here?” Roman’s voice interjects. “Logan, where are your glasses?”

    “He took them.” Logan points roughly where he thinks Patton is standing. Everything is just a blob of color.

    “Virgil took your glasses?”

    “No, Patton did. Make him give them back, please.” A minor scuffle sounds, made all the more infuriating in that Logan can’t see what’s going on, before Roman speaks again.

    “Patton, why don’t you explain why you confiscated Logan’s glasses?”

    “Because he refuses to take care of himself! I’m just trying to look out for him.”

    “There’s nothing to look out for!” Logan shoots back, letting his temper flare up. “I’m perfectly fine, and none of you seem any worse for it, so why can’t you leave it alone?” When none of the others respond, Logan huffs out a sigh, ignoring the papers that scatter as he stands. “Fine. Whatever. I don’t care.” He heads for his room, shouldering past the featureless blobs standing in his way as he goes.

    The door slams shut behind him, an echoing bang that consumes his mind, but not before he can hear the last little comment from a voice he can’t distinguish. “We’re just trying to help. Why is he being such a freak about it?” Logan sets about rebuilding the imaginary walls surrounding his imaginary heart. Each brick shatters as soon as it’s laid.

————–

Exoskeleton - ek’sō-skel’ə-tən - (Gr. exō, outside, + skeletos, hard) - A protective outer shell that can withstand more force than the human skeleton.

    “This is gonna be great!” Thomas squeals as he shuts off the camera. “This video is gonna be so awesome, I can’t wait to post it! Just gotta edit it a little and we’ll be good to go!”

    “Thomas, you need ample rest before you can set about working on this project,” Logan informs him. A collective groan rises around the room.

    “Can’t you let him do what he wants? Killjoy,” Roman mutters, sinking out to wherever it is he goes to sulk about Logan.

    “Really, Logan, you’re the last person to be ragging on Thomas about sleep,” Patton tuts, shaking his head. He sinks out, quickly followed by a silent Virgil, leaving Logan alone with a baffled Thomas.

    “What was that about?”

    “You know that big research project?”

    “Yeah, I knocked that out really fast. It was so easy!”

    “That’s because I stayed up for a long night doing the harder work beforehand, so you’d know what you were doing when the time came for you to finish it.”

    “So that’s how your work impacts mine.” Thomas nods thoughtfully. “I guess it makes sense why they were telling you to get sleep, though. That can’t be healthy for you, staying up so much.”

    “It doesn’t matter. I’m not real, anyway.” Logan takes a long breath, forcing back a yawn as Thomas looks on in concern.

    “What do you mean by that?”

    “What is this, an interrogation?” Logan pinches his nose. “You imagined us. Me, Roman, Virgil, Patton. You made us up. We aren’t real. We’re figments of your imagination that you keep around because you feel bad about your own miserable life. If you would get over yourself and your never ending parade of problems, none of us would have a reason to exist. As it stands, we only remain to groom your ego. Figure out your own life, and we’ll be gone. If our existence depends on someone else’s state of mind, then we. Are. Not. Real.” Ignoring the look of shock and hurt on Thomas’ face, Logan sinks out. The yawn on his face looks like a scream.

————–

Exoskeleton - ek’sō-skel’ə-tən - (Gr. exō, outside, + skeletos, hard) - the external skeleton that supports and protects an animal’s body, in contrast to the internal skeleton (endoskeleton) of, for example, a human.

    “You really didn’t need to hurt Thomas like that,” Roman accuses the next morning, barging in on Logan as he sips at his coffee, scrolling through his computer. “Patton’s in his room and he won’t come out, and it’s all your fault. He’s Thomas’ heart, you should know that. Logical side, remember?”

    “So you, being the creative side, should be able to think of a reason for what I said, yes?” Logan clunks his cup on the table, not flinching at the arc of stray drops that scald his hand. “Or maybe you could craft some magical world in which I do what everyone wants me to, but here I am, the only side that bothers to give any thought to my actions. Patton can stay by himself, but he knows that it’s better to be with others. It’s not my fault he’s locked himself away.”

    “For someone who’s supposed to be smart, you’re really stupid.” Roman scowls, folding his arms. “You need to consider how others feel.”

    “I’ve said it before, I will say it again. I’m not going to protect the nonexistent feelings of nonexistent people. If you would just listen to me for once, maybe you’d know that.”

    “Don’t you care that what you say hurts the rest of us?” Roman’s face crumples as Logan glares back. “Don’t you feel bad?”

    “I don’t feel anything, Creativity. So you can go tell Morality and Anxiety as much, because I do not care.” Logan slams his laptop shut, not caring about the danger to the screen, and rams his shoulder into Roman’s as he passes him.

    “Fine! Run to your room again, see if I care!” Roman drops himself into a chair, shouting at Logan’s retreating back. “Actually, you know what? I do care! Because I’m a good person who knows that other people have feelings!”

    “Is that so?” Logan asks, stopping in his tracks. A cruel smile spreads across his face as he turns his head back to sneer at Roman. “Then would you care to explain why you were so cruel to Virgil before? Or was he just not a person until it was convenient for you?” A sharp gasp is what makes Logan lose his composure, turning back toward his bedroom door. Virgil steps out of the shadows from down the hall, his face expressionless.

    “Maybe you should take some alone time.” His voice wavers between octaves, contrasting the utter lack of emotion in the rest of his face. Logan feels the imaginary walls around his imaginary heart threatening to shatter.

    “I’m sure you’d know so much about that, wouldn’t you?” Logan cocks his head to the side, considering Virgil’s still form. “Given how alone you were before Thomas decided you were worth listening to. Too bad it took getting rid of you a second time for you to stick around.” Virgil’s jaw twitches, water threatening to leak from his eyes, Roman running to his side, but Logan doesn’t see any of it, slamming his door shut behind him.

    The imaginary walls go back up, busily rebuilding themselves harder, stronger, better. Steeled against the soft sobs in the hall. The walls stand taller than before.

————–

Exoskeleton - ek’sō-skel’ə-tən - (Gr. exō, outside, + skeletos, hard) - Exoskeletons contain rigid and resistant components that fulfill a set of functional roles including protection, excretion, sensing, support, feeding and acting as a barrier against desiccation in terrestrial organisms.

    It’s been weeks. Nothing has changed, except for Logan’s habits involving the other three. Hide out in his room, sneak to the kitchen for food, and ignore any calls for help or interaction. Basically what Virgil does, but productive. Granted, his eye bags of sleeplessness are far more pronounced than the anxious side’s, and his fingers tremble when he writes, but he’s fine. He’s getting things done. He’s making himself useful, when his opinions are what put the others off from him. He’s just being realistic. He’s just telling the truth. It isn’t his fault that they can’t accept their own nonexistent mortality.

    “Hiding away from us won’t fix your problems,” Roman calls through the door. A daily occurrence at this point, and one Logan has learned to ignore. Just like always. The computer screen swims before his eyes, letters dripping into incoherent nonsense, towers of paragraphs wobbling back and forth, ready to fall off into the white oblivion of the internet. He glances at his fingers, can’t make his eyes focus, blinking too much, can’t see anything. He doesn’t remember putting his hand over there. He doesn’t remember crashing off of his chair. He doesn’t hear the shouts of concern from the hall. He doesn’t hear the replies to ignore him.

    His fingers twitch over the carpet, scratching the fibers. Can’t feel anything. Shouldn’t have expected to, anyway. Not real, can’t feel, no big deal. His mind feels like an overturned bucket in a rainstorm, pounded by a million thoughts it can’t retain. He wants to scream, but he’s not real, so why bother trying? He lets his eyes bounce across the floor, at the coffee cup on the ground. He doesn’t remember knocking it over. He doesn’t remember its burning contents pouring over his bare feet. He watches with morbid fascination as his skin roasts, turning bright pink. He feels nothing.

    “Logan, you really should come out,” Patton says with a knock. Cotton stuff itself in Logan’s mouth, preventing any words from escaping. Can’t respond. Why bother, anyway, if this interaction isn’t real? Nothing is real. He can’t feel anything, so why bother? “If you don’t give me a verbal answer, I’m going to come in.” Honey sludges through Logan’s head, mucking up the gears and blocking any sense of reason. He watches the coffee drip, drip, drip over his foot. The door clicks open.

    “Logan, are you—Lo, what happened?” Patton darts to Logan’s side, grabbing his hand. Logan doesn’t feel it. Patton pulls at his hair, looking at the rugburns on Logan’s cheek. He doesn’t feel them. “Lo, your coffee’s everywhere. Why didn’t you ask for help?” Logan can’t even muster the energy to blink. “Roman! Get in here!” The sound of trudging feet screams in Logan’s ears, the sound of an unwilling prince, ready to assist. “Get his arm, he’s not moving.” Through some form of teamwork that Logan doesn’t move his head to watch, his arms are raised and he’s dragged down the hall to the common area, where his limp body is deposited on the couch. He doesn’t feel the way his ankle twists under him, ready to snap.

    “Is he okay?” Virgil asks from the other couch, pocketing his phone.

    “A little brain dead, but what else is new?” Roman scoffs. Logan doesn’t care enough to think of a witty response. He doesn’t care at all.

    “Roman!” Patton hisses. “He needs food or water or something, I don’t know. We can’t leave him alone anymore, that’s for sure.” A whispered scream escapes Logan. No food, please God no. The others don’t hear it, busying themselves finding sustenance for someone who would rather wither away in solitude. Logan finds some kernel of energy deep down, whipping himself off the couch and onto the floor. His head smacks the edge of the coffee table on the way down, the world spiraling into dark. Better than this artificial hellscape the others think is reality. Why can’t they just listen to reason?

————–

Exoskeleton - ek’sō-skel’ə-tən - (Gr. exō, outside, + skeletos, hard) - Since exoskeletons are rigid, they present some limits to growth.

    He wakes up back on the couch, covered with a weighted blanket, glasses at an angle on his face. The other three are squeezed onto the smaller couch, watching the television. Roman is the first to notice Logan shift, nudging the other two.

    “Lo, are you okay?” Patton asks, leaping up from the couch. “We came back with food and you were on the ground and—”

    “I’m fine.” Logan waves a hand flippantly. “Not real, therefore don’t get hurt.” He rises on unsteady feet, ignoring the way his sight goes fuzzy. Patton runs to block Logan before he can get past the staircase, a hand held up to emphasize it.

    “Regardless of how imaginary you may think we are, we still care about you. We want you to be safe.” When Logan doesn’t respond, instead staring at the ground, Patton advances, arms outstretched for a hug. Wrong move, as Logan notices a split second before impact.

    “Get off me!” Logan shouts, shoving Patton away. The latter stumbles backwards, his back slamming into the guards around the stairs, the railing digging into his back as he sinks to the ground, a look of hurt in his eyes.

    “Logan, we just wanted to help. If you would just listen—”

    “I don’t want to hear it, okay? I have work to do, and you three keep interrupting it with your nonsense!”

    “Logan, I think you need to calm down.” Roman moves to kneel by Patton, a hand raised in defense.

    “Calm down? I need to calm down? That’s rich, Roman, really. I, the logical side to Thomas, as well as a non-corporeal being, need to calm down. But wait, I don’t, do I? Because I’m not real.” Logan can see the emotions racing through the three in front of him, Virgil’s terror, Patton’s disappointment, Roman’s flaring hatred.

    “Not real, huh?” Roman rises, leaving Virgil with Patton. “What we’re feeling right now isn’t real. Okay. Sure. Makes sense.”

    “Just stop it, stop it both of you. Please.” Patton wavers his focus between the two, desperate to keep the situation from escalating.

    “None of it’s real.” Logan crosses his arms, not backing down.

    “You may not think it’s real, but what you’re feeling is,” Patton insists. “Let us help. Please.”

    “Your help isn’t real, either, Morality.”

    “How about this?” Roman punches Logan square in the nose, sending him crashing to the floor. “Was that real enough for you?” Roman takes Patton’s wrist in one hand, Virgil’s in the other, and marches down the hall, leaving Logan alone to rebuild his imaginary walls by his imaginary self.

    The imaginary walls are not made of chitin or cartilage or calcium carbonate this time.

    The imaginary walls are made of steel and diamond and graphene.

    They do not break this time.

Tag List:

@sakurahayasaki @erlenmeyertrash @lemonpepperpizza @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @milomeepit @leesacrakon @virgilmood @pantasticpanini

[leonraan]

awakening

   Sweat built on his forehead, the backs of his gloved hands wiping it away on a consistent basis, fingers fidgeting over tools and heat, broken wires. “Vera, what time is it?” He said out loud after what must have been hours of vocal silence. A voice responded, crackling from a nearby speaker, ringing out in the room left sweltering with heat. “It is 2:36 AM, Gael.” The voice said, sounding tired with its slight crackle, it’s age evident. “Thank you, Vera.” He responded immediately, brain running over how many hours he had already spent on the project and how many more it would take to complete. A deadline rang in his head, a household pleasure android needed its legs replaced in order to do its job. Gael had qualms about it, about fixing the machine, its age near crippling, its parts difficult to find, but perhaps his biggest issue had been with the fact that the legs had been broken by its owner’s own hands in a fit of rage, intentional. If it had been up to Gael himself he would have refused service, but his father had a contract, which meant all the man’s machines were insured and it forced his hands.

  Of course, he had his own inflated sense of advocacy, he was rather liberal in beliefs, considering protos as much sentient as himself, but it didn’t take his level radicalism to think destroying the machines, something slaved and salvaged over, was immoral. Even if you didn’t believe protos were anything more than robotics, it was equivalent to spitting in the creator's face yourself, cracking his hard work. Not at all unlike the way Gael had to spend days rebuilding legs that would surely be shattered again in a matter of weeks. In five hours she was due to be shipped back to her owner, and it would likely take just that to finish her entirely. She had been in terrible shape, even beyond the crippling injuries. Her mechanisms filled with dust and dirt, joints unoiled and skin very unfortunately… tacky. Visually, of course, she was immaculate, hair brushed, and face painted. It was never difficult to see the owner’s priorities caked inside their androids, the lack of care. Even Vera, who was old and not much more than a speaker, was carefully well-kept by his hands.

  He stepped back a moment, eyeing the plug to her internal battery as it flashed green; fully charged and functional. He still had work to do on her cosmetics, rebuilding the silicon of the skin and tying and tucking wires, but other than that she was good to go. “Someone needs to save that man’s wife.” He heard Vera crackle across the room and he shivered, his stomach rolling in his body as he processed what she said. He made the quick decision not to think about it.

  “Should I turn her on?” He asked, not entirely sure of himself, not positive he would want to hear what she has to say. He was never very good at small talk.

  “I’m sure it’ll be the first time anyone’s tried to do that.” He was sure Vera was making joke, but her voice only was created with one tone – rather dull and indifferent. He made a mental note to see if he could implement some lightness to her at some point, and maybe more appropriate humor while he was at it. “But go ahead, let’s see what she’s got.” Gael nodded distractedly, hands fidgeting again before reaching over and pressing the button to pull her out of hibernation. It took a moment, the muted noise of a smooth boot-up as her limbs twitched once each, regaining movement, and her eyes flickered open in a flash of sharp green.

  Her eyelids batted as her vision kicked in, gaze shifting around the room before landing on Gael himself, focused. He smiled, it showed the exhaustion on his face, weary, but welcoming. He was pleased she rebooted, seemingly without flaw. She smiled back at him the way that only protos do, all teeth and cheeks that do not meet her eyes, empty, before she looked down at herself, body open and wires exposed, blinking slowly. “Am I broken?” She asked him, head tilted and voice curious, gentle.

  He shook his head, smile falling at the edges as he turned to find his skin kit, to smooth over and heal any signs of breakage. When he was done, she would look brand new; a specialty he was proud of. “Well, not for long, anyways. A few more patches and you’ll be better than ever.” He said, tone carefully reassuring, as if he could possibly upset her. His eyes shifted back to her, long dark hair framing her face and cheeks artificially blushed under the surface, eyes green and eyelashes long, of course, she was beautiful. She sighed, head nodding.

  “Yes, I feel much smoother than my last reboot.” She affirmed, and he gave her another small smile, his dimples flashing as he pulled the edges of the open skin together slowly and sunk his flat tool into the thick mixture, applying and smoothing it along the seam as he did. He tried to ignore her eyes boring into him, silent for what felt to be far too long, and he wondered what made him decide to pull her from hibernation before she finally spoke again.

 “You are also part proto.”

  Gael looked back up suddenly, surprised. It wasn’t common for androids to make such comments, to address other’s appearances or personalities, especially ones designed like her; to be nonjudgmental and unassuming. However, he didn’t flinch away from it, didn’t become unsettled. He held up his robotic arm, almost unrecognizable for what it was when he hid it, but now revealed in a shell of hard metal, the skin casing removed as to not be damaged while he worked. His eye that matched it on the opposite side, fluorescent blue as opposed to his human brown, looking back into her own pair of green. “I suppose that’s a way to look at it, yeah.” He nodded slowly, dropping his hand back down. “I needed to fix myself a few times in the past, replace a few parts.” He laughed, albeit a little bit awkwardly, but still brightly, his face becoming more awake for a the briefest moment. “It’s kind of cool though, don’t you think? The chance of improvement for you and my arm are a lot higher than that of the rest of my body. Humans are stunted, but you have immeasurable room for growth.”

  She listened to him, her eyes trailing between her own ripped skin and his face slowly, expression blank. It was moments like that were he could see how old her technology was, how placid she was in his presence. It didn’t make him squirm, he was too used to the machines for that, but it made him feel oddly sympathetic. There was something about the ones that looked perfectly human but acted just a little too robotic that gave him a sense of empathy, almost as if there were so close but just off mark. Androids like her would never be seen remotely equal to human, not passable nor treatable. Her face did not show her wires, but it showed her synthetic fiber, her lack of humanity.

 “When am I returning to mister Gordon?” Was her only reply, and “Soon,” was all he could say in return before they lapsed back into silence. Vera didn’t speak again, and he wondered if she turned herself off, if she hated this robot as much as she hated all the others he fixed. He wondered if he should change her settings, stop her from being able doing that. Gael didn’t create her with jealousy, but she seemed to have developed it on her own and there was something almost amusing about it.

  “What’s your name?” He asked, if not just to break the silence then just to stop referring to her as nothing more than her programming as he finished closing her wounds, turning on the overhead light that would dry the mending. “Blue.” She said, and he gave her another smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Blue, I’m Gael.” He responded, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms, eyes shifting down her body to ensure he didn’t miss anything, looking for cuts in her skin or exposed pieces.

  “Gael.” She repeated his name, almost like she was testing it in her mouth, and he nodded distractedly, wiping the sweat from his forehead once again. “Okay, I have to check and see if you have any more breaks, just to be sure. I’m going to have to move you around a little, hope that’s okay.” He moved back in her direction, turning her limbs and shifting her body over to do a more thorough look over, an action she seemed entirely unaffected by. “If you’ve have any other problems recently let me know and I can check it out for you, we have about three more hours so…” He trailed off with a shrug.

  Blue continued to stare at him without reply, and he continued to try to ignore it. He was about to conclude, tell her she’s fine, when her voice broke through the silence, quiet like a whisper and his whole body froze.

 “Don’t send me back.”

  He stood with her arm in his hand, every muscle in his body seized as he tried to process what she said, tried to think of an explanation for the words that passed her lips and he came up blank. It took him far too long to put down her limb, to work up the courage for his eyes to meet her face again and suddenly all his past assessments of her were void. He looked at her, and for a moment, she was human. Her emotion still didn’t reach her eyes because they were made too long ago, not capable of such a feat, but her expression was pained and dark and so unbelievably real. He stared at her, eyes wide and mouth slightly open, brain whirring, refusing to accept he had heard her correctly.

 “Please, you’re my last chance, my only chance.”

  He continued staring at her, his shocked expression, his mind struggling to catch up. Protos don’t beg, protos don’t ask for freedom, they don’t show signs of disdain towards their owners, and they don’t ask about robotic parts. Even though he had just seen her hardware, he found himself wondering if she were flesh and blood, despite having opened her skull thinking she might have a human brain. It took approximately sixty seconds for Gael to regain his own functionality, for his mouth to close, then open, then close again before finally gathering a response.

  “I-I don’t know, I can’t not send you back, I don’t--” He cut himself off, sliding his chair back, still not breaking their eye contact, confused, hands fidgeting again but more spastically, almost violently, tugging on his fingers and twisting into fists.

 “What are you?” He asked, his face paled and upset, almost scared, but not for the reasons that were expected. He wasn’t scared because she was capable of begging but instead because she had to. He wasn’t scared of her ability to fear, but instead of her fear itself. He was upset over her broken legs and dusty part, her sticky skin and pulled plugs. His fear mirrored hers and suddenly neither of them were human nor proto, but equally half of both. His chest and head both ached, a sharp pain from overuse and a lack of sleep, like a wire short-circuiting in his brain, his chest burning from what he had to say, from what he knew.

He had to send her back, he didn’t have a choice, no other options. If he didn’t he could be charged with stealing, abduction, or worse, and as for her? He swallowed a lump in his throat, body panicking. They would do worse than disable her, they would send her out of the city, they would release her to the desert, make her a proto for the wasteland, and he’d heard stories of what happened to them, of what was possible.

 This was something he was not, in any form, ready for. It was not something he could handle.

 “I-I’m sorry, I can’t help you, it’s... it’s not possible. I just…. I-I can’t.”

  And she looked as if she had expected those words but was disappointed by them nonetheless, expression falling, hands clenching by her sides. He was close enough that he could hear her moving, her joints and pieces. His thoughts from earlier resurfaced, anguished and harsh, ‘Androids like her would never be seen remotely close to human, not passable nor treatable.’ He felt sick as she stared at him, almost as if he’d been the one to shatter her pieces, like he was the villain, and something inside him told him that maybe he was; a bystander, if nothing else, there to crack her bones back into place before shipping her back to the slaughter house.

  “I’m not going back.” She said before moving, her arm shooting out to her side and grabbing one of his tools off the table, sharp and dangerous, and he jolted back, moving backwards so quickly he slammed into the wall, eyes not leaving hers. “I’m not.” She said again, and barely a second after her words left, hardly enough time for them to linger and echo, to meet his ears more than once, she jammed the sharp end directly into the back of her neck, shattering her kill switch. There was a thump as her head fell back on the table and the room went silent once again, the only noise left being the whirring of his computer, the electricity running through everything in the room.

  Gael stood a lone vigil, mouth open and eyes widened, his vision went blurry and limbs weak before he leaned over and wretched onto the floor, hands shaking. He pulled his arms to his chest, sliding down the wall, knees to his stomach as he looked at the limp mechanical body on his work table. She looked exactly as she had before he’d turned her back on, she looked like the same robot that came to his workplace in a fucking brown box, the same one he’d spent hours meticulously cleaning, but now something was different.

  Gael shook again as he placed it, skin pale and eyes still wide with confusion, a loss for what had happened as tears broke free from his left eye, his human eye.

   “Vera?” He said out loud, voice choked and shaking, hands vibrating, clenched into loose fists as she didn’t reply, speaker mute, turned off.

   “Vera… please...” He said again, trying to hold in a sob, terrified as his chest ached and stomach lurched.

   When he worked on her she was a system in hibernation, but now she was a human.

  She was Blue.

  And she was dead.

[multiimuse]

All of those questions! >:) For any/all of your KH muses, but specifically Dilan.

// …I’m a masochist apparently, so I’m going to do all three. RIP me. Readmore because wow long.

Dilan

1: Describe their routine of a normal day/how do they feel when this routine is disrupted?

Dilan’s routine has gone through a number of changes over the years, and is a very different thing lately from what it was either as Xaldin or even before losing his heart. His current routine, however, simply involves waking up (be it from proper sleep or from dozing off over his own tea), getting his day started, and then spending most hours doing one of a few things: working at cleaning and repairing the castle, training, or cooking. 

It’s a calm enough routine, he supposes, if terribly dull. Disruptions are more than welcome, at this point, because they might mean a chance to do something that has a little more importance to it.

2: Greatest strength?

His determination, mostly. The man does not give up in the face of hardship, and has spent long hours perfecting the things that are important to him. Of course, the downside of this is that he’s incredibly stubborn about everything, not just when it’s a good thing, but still - determination and an unwillingness to surrender will get you pretty far. (An honorable mention goes to his honor code, which has effectively made him rein in his temper on more than one occasion, and that is difficult to do.)

3: Greatest weakness?

His temper, by far. As Xaldin this trait was scraped away, leaving only a sort of bitterness and a hollow echo of it, but now that he has his heart again, it’s back in full force, and regaining the control he had over it before losing his heart has been… an adventure. (And his control wasn’t that great then, though he’d made progress from how bad it was in his youth.)

4: What one thing would your muse change about themselves?

…Can he remove his heart again? Life was easier without it. This is only partially serious, but he’s frustrated with himself for how complicated having a heart makes everything, even things that should be simple, like Braig having turned on them. He can’t simply write him off as a traitor and be done with him - he cares too much about the man he’s known for years. The same with Lea, even though he knows in a general sort of way what he got up to at Castle Oblivion: he still remembers the teenager who’d sneak in and (get thrown out) all the time, and his damn heart won’t just let him focus on one set of feelings over the other.

5: Introverted or extroverted & why?

Dilan is actually neither! He’s an ambivert, which means he’s not quite so extreme in either direction. Instead, he’s pretty balanced between needing alone time versus needing company. He’ll lean more toward introversion some days, and more toward extroversion others. However, given the instability he struggled with upon first awakening, he probably comes across as closer to an introvert of late, due to how difficult his returned emotions can be to deal with.

6: Organised or messy & why ?

Organized and clean. He thinks everything should be kept as efficient as possible, and keeping things clean and sanitary is a part of that. He’s less strict about things like paperwork, but clutter is something he’s never been fond of.

7: What three things do they consider themselves to be very good/bad at?

He considers himself to be very good at lancework (and combat in general), very good at cooking … but very, very bad with looking after plants. (He had a bonsai tree once, because he’d heard that keeping one could be good for your mental health … Aeleus had to rescue the poor thing before he pruned it to death.) 

8: Do they like themselves?

… Honestly? No. Not at all. He doesn’t see himself as good company or a good friend. A good ally, perhaps, but he knows he’s irritable, impatient and all-too-often in a poor temper, especially since getting his heart back. And when you know yourself well enough to be aware of how difficult you are, it’s really hard to like you. (Really, he has a hard time seeing any of his good traits, and tends to brush them off as a fluke whenever he can’t outright ignore that they exist.)

9: What are the reasons for their profession? Are the REAL reasons different than what they TELL others?

Dilan’s reasons for being a guard are, in fact, a bit complicated. Early in life he simply wanted to do something that would make his father proud of him, when it seemed like there was only one very specific path he could follow to earn that, and that still holds true - but he also came to genuinely love the structure and the discipline, and he can’t imagine himself in a civilian life now. (As for what he tells others? ‘It was a job that needed doing, and I could do it.’)

10: Where do they see themselves in five years?

He hasn’t actually thought about this, much. Probably doing much the same as he is now: trying to rebuild the Garden and the life he’d lost, while knowing that most of it can never be the same as it was.

11: How do they want to die?

In combat, preferably with honor and dignity.

12: What would they want to be remembered for?

… Not for spending so much time hanging around Beast’s Castle and bullying him, that’s for sure. Honestly, this is another thing he hasn’t thought about too much, considering his initial answer of ‘having served King and Castle with honor’ has already been dashed to pieces.

13: What three words do they use to describe their personality?

‘Done with this.’

14: What three words would YOU (the mun) use to describe their personality?

Cranky, honorable, caring

15: What advice, as the mun, would you give to your muse

Stop being so grumpy about having a heart and accept it already, you silly man. And that breakup was over twenty years ago by this point, let yourself heal properly, because clinging to that bitterness has really left its mark.

Isa

1: Describe their routine of a normal day/how do they feel when this routine is disrupted?

Isa doesn’t really have much of a specific routine at the moment, though he does have a daily ritual he’s taken up: he reminds himself of who and what he is the very moment he wakes up, and spend a few moments deliberately focusing on his stronger, positive memories to help reinforce that. Only then does he start his day properly - not that his daily routine is of any great import at the moment, as he’s mostly just trying to adjust to his state of being and stay off the radar until his other half can be freed from Xehanort’s possession. As he doesn’t have a particularly strict routine, there’s really nothing to disrupt.

2: Greatest strength?

Isa used to think that his greatest strength was his mind, being relatively smart and capable of taking care of the details Lea would often overlook in his bigger plans, but given his inability to work out what had happened to him as Saix and being marked as a vessel, he doesn’t really consider himself that smart any more. Instead, he’s trying to rethink his view of himself, and is in the process of trying to find a new ‘greatest strength’. (Really, that in and of itself may be his true greatest strength: his willingness to change what he needs to without losing the core of who he is.)

3: Greatest weakness?

Isa tries to bottle his more negative emotions, such as jealousy, anger, or even simple hurt feelings, and that’s his greatest weakness because when you bottle something up, it will come out eventually. (Ironically, the state he’s in at the moment makes it much harder to do this than it would be were he whole. However, it does come with a trade-off of a temporary weakness of a different sort: his fragile hold on himself, and the efforts he has to go to in order to cope with it.)

4: What one thing would your muse change about themselves?

Besides getting both his heard and body back together with no hitchhikers? Phyically, he wants a haircut. No ifs ands or buts about it, he wants some kind of a haircut once he’s complete again, so he can celebrate being properly whole. Other than that… he’d like to get rid of the jealous streak he knows he has. He doesn’t want to be selfish and monopolize Lea’s time, not when there are other people who love him and who Lea loves right back - but he can’t quite make it not sting, sometimes.

5: Introverted or extroverted & why ?

Isa’s another one that’s kind of in-between, actually, if leaning more toward introversion - he needs time to recharge and pull himself together, but he’s not actively exhausted by socializing. He is, however, more comfortable letting Lea put himself out there and biding his time until it’s the perfect moment for him to step in. After all, if a person doesn’t like Lea, then they’re simply not worth bothering with in the first place.

6: Organised or messy & why ?

Organized. Very organized, albeit not with military precision - just the sort of organization of someone who has a lot to juggle and refuses to lose track of it. Originally it as pretty mild, just a tendency toward cleanliness and orderliness, but all those years of being Xemnas’ adjutant made what was already a habit nigh-unbreakable, and even now he has an ‘everything in its place’ way about keeping things in order. (And a habit of alphabetizing things that he really can’t shake.)

7: What three things do they consider themselves to be very good/bad at?

He likes to think he as pretty good at astrophotography once upon a time, but he hasn’t had the opportunity to do that in years. He knows he’s good at managing people, and likes to think he’s decent with technology. (However, he will never, ever draw anything for anyone, because he cannot so much as doodle anything beyond kind of wobbly moons and star-shapes.)

8: Do they like themselves?

He… liked himself well enough as a kid, but he doesn’t like who he became as Saix, especially with Xehanort’s influence. Right now, the answer is no. He doesn’t. He doesn’t like who he became and what he did, but he wants to be someone better, now. Someone that he can like, someday.

9: What are the reasons for their profession? Are the REAL reasons different than what they TELL others?

Well, at the moment, he doesn’t really have a profession? Apart from half of him acting as Xehanort’s vessel, if you really want to count that. He’s thinking about trying to see what he can do to find work, though, so nobody has to keep him funded. (Having lost his heart and home as a teenager, however, makes that a little more challenging, even without counting the state he’s in at the moment.) 

10: Where do they see themselves in five years?

He hopes that in five years he’ll be whole at last, still alive, with Lea, and home. As an actual prediction… Well, he’s trying to hang on to Lea’s refusal to give up on him, and he hopes they’ll all survive whatever is coming.

11: How do they want to die?

He would like to die whole, forgiven, and loved. None of the other details matter.

12: What would they want to be remembered for?

He’d mostly just like to be remembered for being Isa, and not a vessel. But he really is afraid that the latter is how the world’s most likely going to remember him.

13: What three words do they use to describe their personality?

‘Rebuilding that, thanks.’

14: What three words would YOU (the mun) use to describe their personality?

Witty, loving, playful

15: What advice, as the mun, would you give to your muse?

Hang in there, and have faith in your friends. They’re pretty good at beating the odds. (And don’t be afraid to lean on them, it’s okay to I swear.)

Riku

1: Describe their routine of a normal day/how do they feel when this routine is disrupted?

Riku’s days start early, with stretching to work out any stiffness from the injuries that never quite healed correctly, then he trains for a while before eating, and after that he finally turns his attention to whatever he needs to be doing that day. Mostly, that’s working with Mickey on how to get to Master Aqua, but occasionally it’s checking in with other groups or places, just to make sure Xehanort hasn’t made his next move yet. He handles disruptions to his routine pretty well, unless it’s his morning stretching - if he can’t do that, then he will pay for it the next day and be cranky as a result, so it’s best not to interrupt him or anything until at least his stretching’s done.

2: Greatest strength?

His devotion to his friends and his willingness to walk through fire for them. It’s been one of his driving forces for a while now, and the amount of things it’s allowed him to accomplish is pretty staggering. A close second, however, is his self-mastery. Seriously, he’s still a teenager and he’s reached a level of understanding himself that some people never manage.

3: Greatest weakness?

He’s not… really that great with people. Once upon a time this was a little less noticeable because his cockiness and pride overshadowed it, and then his guilt and shame did similar, but the truth is Riku’s just a little too shy and awkward and reluctant about opening himself up to others, even when he needs to. He’s working on it, and he’s come a long way, but he’s never going to be quite the natural at connecting with people at large the way Sora is, and he knows it. (He’s also fine with it - not everyone can be like Sora.)

4: What one thing would your muse change about themselves?

Actually, at the moment, there’s not a lot that he would change! He’s finally gotten to a point where he’s mostly comfortable with who he is and what he can do, so there’s no point in stressing too much about changing anything. Sure, he’s still got some rough edges to work out, but he’s proud of who he’s becoming, and has no intention of diverting from the path he’s on now.

5: Introverted or extroverted & why?

Introverted. He can manage dealing with people if he has to, but Riku isn’t really that comfortable around large groups of people. He draws strength and energy from quiet time alone, and tends to do his own thing more often than not when given the chance.

6: Organised or messy & why ?

Somewhere in between. He likes his spaces to feel like someone lives there, so he doesn’t go overboard with cleaning or organizing, but he also doesn’t like his spaces looking like a storm went through them. Overall, he generally knows where he’s left something, and if he’s misplaced it it’s not usually too far off from the place he thought he’d put it.

7: What three things do they consider themselves to be very good/bad at?

Riku considers himself bad at connecting to people, but good at athletics and following difficult, complicated topics.

8: Do they like themselves?

More or less - he has good days and bad days, but more good than bad as time passes. He knows he’s made mistakes, and hurt the people he cares about - hurt a lot of people, really - but he also knows that he’s done a lot of good things too, that he regrets those bad things and will never do them again. So… yeah, he likes himself well enough. Riku’s put a lot of effort into making himself someone he can like, and it’s starting to pay off.

9: What are the reasons for their profession? Are the REAL reasons different than what they TELL others?

Riku’s only profession is that of a Keyblade Master, and his reason for it isn’t a secret at all: to protect the people he cares about.

10: Where do they see themselves in five years?

Hopefully alive and in a world that’s survived Xehanort’s plans, whatever they may be.

11: How do they want to die?

With his loved ones nearby. Specifics don’t really matter - he just doesn’t want to die alone.

12: What would they want to be remembered for?

He’d like to be remembered for being a loyal friend, and for being a person who overcame his mistakes and inner demons to do something good.

13: What three words do they use to describe their personality?

‘The cool one.’

14: What three words would YOU (the mun) use to describe their personality?

Devoted, sappy, brave.

15: What advice, as the mun, would you give to your muse?

You’re just as sappy and over-dramatic as everyone else is, Riku. Embrace it.

[nixonsmoviereviews]

"The Village"- The beginning of M. Night Shyamalan's fall. Fascinating ideas and genuinely eerie set-pieces brought down by a meandering pace and contrived eccentricity.

The career of M. Night Shyamalan has been a fascinating and harrowing thing to follow over the past twenty years. His explosive success with 1999's "The Sixth Sense" was something of a revelation, and it rocketed him to super-stardom in the annals of film history. After following it up with two films I feel are equal in every way to that iconic and indisputable classic in the form of contemplative superhero drama "Unbreakable" and the mind-warping alien-invasion thriller "Signs", Shyamalan could do no wrong as far as many were concerned. Little did we know what the near future would hold, and just how far he would fall before finding rebuilding himself back up. In some ways, it could be argued that 2002's "Signs" was the last truly great Shyamalan thriller we'd get until 2017's remarkable and brilliantly entertaining "Split." And for many people, it was his fourth major release, the period- piece supernatural thriller "The Village", that signaled the start of his downfall. While by no means a terrible film and benefiting from sharp direction and strong performances, "The Village" is where the confident idea that Shyamalan always knew exactly what he was doing began to crack. On one hand... yeah, it had a lot of the things that we ate up in his previous efforts. The quirky characters, the bone-chilling horror... and yet, it was starting to feel a bit stale. Often feeling like someone else trying to imitate Shyamalan's style than an actual Shyamalan feature. His previously careful, deliberate pacing and focus was starting to feel aimless and meandering. His idiosyncratic humor and peculiar characters began to feel contrived and shoehorned. And his oft- shocking twists and turns became shallow and predictable. Now don't get me wrong... "The Village" does have a lot to offer thanks to the elements that do work and on the whole I think the film is enjoyable. But it's still a massive step in the wrong direction. In the 19th century, in the village of Covington reside a small and tightly knit community of families, who all live in fear of the treacherous creatures who stalk the woods around them at night- "Those we don't speak of." In order to maintain balance, a set of rules has been crafted to keep everyone safe. Two young villagers- Lucius Hunt (Joaquin Phoenix) and the blind Ivy Walker (Bryce Dallas Howard) admit their attraction to one-another and intend on marrying. However, their happy news comes at a cost, when their close friend, the mentally-challenged Noah Percy (Adrien Brody) cannot accept their love and attempts to murder Lucius in a fit of jealous rage. After pleading with village elders, Ivy is given a chance to help her love- she is permitted to enter the Covington woods and try to navigate past the devious monsters that populate it, so that she can obtain medicine from the next town over to try and save Lucius. However, her journey will bring about revelations regarding Covington and the men and women who populate it... revelations that may threaten to destroy the once- strong community. The greatest strengths of the film lie in its exquisite beauty from a production standpoint, in addition to the generally stellar performances of our three main leads. This is one very good-looking and sounding movie, with some of the sharpest camera-work and jaw- droppingly gorgeous music of any Shyamalan feature. The visual guidance is top-notch from start to finish, and Shyamalan is able to paint a dark and troubled portrait of a town haunted with his stunning storytelling. James Newton Howard's score rightfully earned an Oscar nod, and it's some of his best- complimented by the expert violinist Hilary Hahn, who performs a great deal of work on the score. Our three leads in Joaquin Phoenix, Bryce Dallas Howard and Adrian Brody are all absolutely incredible in their respective roles and will immediately earn great admiration from the viewer. Particularly Howard, who gives one of the best performances of her career in this film. Unfortunately, the supporting cast is mixed, with some of the actors including William Hurt and Sigourney Weaver feeling woefully underutilized and out of place. And unfortunately, as I mentioned above, this is the film where Shyamalan begins to go a bit too far with his material, at times making the film feel like a borderline self-satire. I almost get the feeling that the film was rushed into production without a second draft having been written, because it all feels a bit sloppy. Shyamalan's quirky characters are there... but they're a bit more stale and a bit less defined. The focus and pacing is methodical and deliberate... and yet all too often the film begins to feel tedious and overwrought. Rules are established and ideas introduced... and yet the film does little with the concepts presented, lacking payoff. And without spoiling anything, anyone who is aware of Shyamalan's penchant for introducing game-changing twists into his finales will be able to see what's coming from a mile away. In a lot of ways, the movie feels like its slaving to try and be the next great Shyamalan film by trying to repeat what he does well. But it's not organic. It's a bit too cold and clinical. Even robotic. It's like a computer wrote the film based on a Shyamalan algorithm. The ideas are there... but the humanity is lacking. "The Village" is a troubled film. And it is the movie that signals the start of the dark age for the promising filmmaker behind it. And yet, the stellar performances, sharp visual storytelling and absolutely gorgeous musical score are able to salvage and indeed save the film from imploding. It's not a great film... it's probably not even a good film. But it's solid enough that I'd recommend it to open-minded viewers. It might not be the classic that "The Sixth Sense", "Unbreakable" and "Signs" became. But it's adequate. I give it an ever-so-slightly above average 6 out of 10.