#but then again it's questionable if either faction was actually correct.

[usyrps]

something something rook's rest ironically being the catalyst of aegon's strength and bravery. he's already angry and in pain after b&c, but i think this is the first time he directly faces his own mortality and is forced to acknowledge the grim reality of the situation, that this is war. he takes the kids and leaves with larys in the wake of KL being stormed. they orchestrate the takeover of dragonstone. he goes on dragonback, again, into another battle against a dragonrider even though he was noted to be in chronic pain. injured and distraught, he shows more agency than he had before. goes on to take back KL and begin the restoration. he held court, even if he could not make it to the throne. and of course, none of it matters and he was doomed to fail from the beginning because the dance is a tragedy of a dynasty torn asunder by its own ambitions, and not something that could have been won. but so much of his motivation is rooted in the love he has for his family and wanting to protect them, keep them alive. that, and a copious amount of anger. love and rage.

[loopy777]

How do you think Mai would handle being The Bachelorette? Her bachelors are Zuko, Kei Lo, Ruon Jian, and Sokka. Who would get her final rose? 

To begin with, let's note that I have never see an episode of The Bachelor or The Bachelorette and I have no idea what the competition involves. Dating-like activities, I guess? But do they all go as a group while the men try to discreetly (or discretely) murder each other, or does the Bachelorette just run through the same date multiple times and the last guy on the list really needs to being his A-game to keep her from getting bored? At least with Mai, every guy will have to work hard to keep her from getting bored, so that's a bit more fair.

But before we get too deep into the game itself, I think we have to take a moment and explore something critical. Why is Mai picking a husband on a reality show? That makes so little sense there has to be an agenda at work.

Is she being put up to it by her parents? Is it some kind of ironic comedic performance on her part? Is Azula torturing her? Did she swap bodies with Ty Lee in a zany magical adventure again?

The explanation we pick is going to heavily affect who she chooses as her Reality TV Husband, so we have to be responsible about it. We can't just come up with an explanation that will allow Sokka to win, even though that's the objectively correct choice. Mai's clearly not in it to actually find a long-term romantic partner. You don't have to be as cynical as Mai to know that these Reality TV Romances don't last a week beyond the airing of the final episode, if that. And a quick search on my part turned up that The Bachelorette does not award prize money to the winning couple, so it can't be that she needs the cash.

In the end, I think we should stick with the classics- the most common reason for going on Reality TV.

Mai wants the attention, for some reason. And since most of the contestants are from the Fire Nation, it's specifically that nation's attention which she wants.

The fandom can't seem to settle on what the Fire Nation thinks of Mai, and sadly the comics have not really elaborated on the situation. Sometimes it's convenient to make her reviled, either for betraying the Fire Nation or for sticking her tongue in Zuko's mouth or not sticking her tongue in Zuko's mouth or not being Ty Lee or her strange lack of affinity for just-bear-bears. Other times, she's popular for her support of Zuko and/or being the coolest girl in the cast with the knives and the dour sarcasm and whatever is going on with her hair. Her reception amongst the Evil Factions isn't any more consistent, what with her complicated relationship with her father and her father's complicated relationship with being a villain. Even her temporary terrorist boyfriend couldn't decide which side he was on, thanks to her.

So I would personally avoid the question of whether Mai is loved or reviled. Instead, let's once again go on the most well-trod road of the Reality TV Star: she just wants everyone to know her name so she can get a better job later. This mandates that Mai does not start as a famous figure, despite how notable her life has been. But then, Upper Class Fire Nation Teenagers one island over from the capital didn't recognize Zuko's face, arguably the most famous face in the entire world, so obviously if you're not a Reality TV Star, the Fire Nation doesn't care about you.

All right, so we know why Mai is doing this. She wants to be famous. Now, what do the guys want?

The most simple of them is Zuko; he just wants Mai. Even the comics agree on this point.

Kei Lo also wants Mai. We know he doesn't have any other friends, and he seems to really like her, so I can see him being willing to debase himself on Reality TV just so that the girl he likes will consider pretending to date him until a week after the finale airs.

Ruon Jian, from what little we saw of him, seems to be honesty interested in Mai, perhaps even fully attracted to her. She helped wreck and burn down his best friend's beach house, but perhaps he found that amusing. Perhaps he likes dangerous girls. Perhaps he was always looking for the same kind of excitement as she was, and before he met her, he could never really admit it. So he's on the show to give wooing her a go, sure, but also to discover his best, true life.

Sokka is here as part of a scam. Disappointing, I know, but he's too much like Mai -- too perfect as a potential romantic partner -- for him to take Reality TV seriously, either. I can see him annoying Katara, who loves both The Bachelor and The Bachelorette, by insisting that these things are scripted. So he has to have ulterior motives. Perhaps Mai is even in on it with him, helping him out while she's pursuing her own agenda. She probably thinks it's funny.

So with that established, how does the elimination go?

Kei Lo goes out first. I have nothing against the guy, but when he's not being a terrorist, there's nothing interesting about him. The most amount of spice he can bring is offering to pick a lock, and let's face it, he's no charismatic criminal gentleman. In contrast, Zuko lights things on fire and struts around like he owns the place (never mind all that delicious backstory on him), and Sokka is a strange foreign hero who even other foreigners think is compellingly odd. And Ruon Jian calls everyone else a loser while preening for the camera, so he's a natural Reality TV star and will probably be recruited for Survivor next season.

In the next episode, sadly, Sokka is out. He managed to use one of the dates as a cover to sneak his way into Ruon Jian's rooms and find evidence of Lord Ruon (Ruon Jian's father, of course) defrauding his international trading partners. Mai smirks, tells Sokka to hit the road, and he happily does so after giving her a peck on the cheek and asking how much prize money he gets for lasting two episodes. He walks away in a slump when he's informed the only prize is Mai.

In the final episode, it's down to Zuko and Ruon Jian. There's tension in the air on every activity. The boys spend more time insulting each other, sometimes even brawling, than paying attention to Mai. Despite this, neither one is stopped by any of the pitfalls prepared by the show's producers. Neither notices Ty Lee trying to seduce them. They sabotage Azula's attempt to assassinate Mai without even realizing she's there. When they get trapped together in the Spirit World, they manage to work together long enough to defeat the Reality TV Spirit (it's a giant glowing gross bug, formed from the tortured energies of all the gross bugs people have eaten on Reality TV for attention) and get back home. They even manage not to burn the mansion down (I think this franchise takes place in a mansion?) when doing the baking challenge, although Sokka proclaims neither one's bean pastries are sweet enough. (Oh yeah, the producers bring Sokka back for the finale as a surprise guest because he's so popular with audiences. He enjoys judging the baking competition but doesn't understand why the producers insist he not wear a shirt.) At last we come to the final scene, where Mai has to award her rose.

Mai tells Zuko that she's loved him since the day she met him, since before she even knew what love is, and that no one will ever be more suited for her.

Mai tells Ruon Jian that he's kind of good-looking when the lights are low and not quite as boring as most other people, even though she can't remember his name.

Then she gives Ruon Jian her rose.

There's scandal in the Fire Nation! No one can believe Mai picked this random dude over the Fire Lord! Everyone is talking about it. Zuko's fangirls are torn between being relieved and being offended on his behalf. Mai becomes a celebrity world-wide for her individualism and standing up to the weird culture of the Fire Nation that has people compete on Reality TV for love, instead of competing on Reality TV for money and singing contracts like normal people.

Mai becomes the most famous woman in the Fire Nation. Everyone wants her at their parties, even if they hate her. She cuts celebrity endorsement deals and appears at every big social event. She even gets to host the Tonys, which suits her fine because no one watches the Tonys. Mai becomes rich and everyone does what she says. Mission accomplished, she and her family never have to work a day in their lives again!

She also breaks up with Ruon Jian a week after the finale airs, without ever having gone on a real date with him.

She's seen going out with Zuko a month later, but by then everyone is more concerned with how Sokka has managed to get through eight episodes of his The Bachelor season without eliminating a single girl. It's a happy ending for everyone, except maybe Kei Lo but that's okay because he ends up on Celebrity Big Brother a few years later and wins when no one notices that he's been living there the whole time.

That's reality for you.

[tomorrow-and-tomorrows]

SNK 139.5: Towards the Final Pages with no Final Answers

The final pages of the updated ending are bold, but I think ultimately more evocative than the original preliminary ending.

Even after the intensely polarized reader reception that took issue with the lack of storytelling precision and clarity when it was most needed, SNK chose to end with a decisively ambiguous symbol. In literature, a symbol is something that clearly means something -- but with the most "literary" symbols, their meaning cannot be absolutely defined; any attempted answer as to what a symbol represents has no finality or certainty, and interpretation will remain ever open to debate. A symbol both invites and resists interpretation.

Naturally, the immediate response to the symbolic tree on the final page is to try answering the invitation to the question, "What does it mean?"

One prominent answer I've seen is that it symbolizes the continuation of the cycle of war and violence either because a) of the symbolic parallel to Ymir or b) on a more literal level, that it implies the actual potential revival of new era of Titans. A reasonable interpretation either way, but also, I think, an incomplete one.

The first reason for this is that "the endless cycle of war" was already clearly and powerful represented in the preceding panels:

The cycle of war was already continuing in the decades or centuries before the child arrived at the tree. A culminating image symbolizing the persistence or resurgence of an era of war as the final panel would thus arguably be redundant and unnecessary.

Furthermore, the chapter is entitled "Toward the Tree on That Hill." If the tree were simply a symbol of war, by implication the chapter could equally be called 'toward the endless cycle of war'. But such a relentlessly bleak and tonally flat ending sentiment would be firmly incongruous with the story's recurrent conviction in the equal cruelty and beauty of the world -- a conviction that I believe it has been faithful to all the way to its end.

The Long Defeat

But while on this topic of war, let's linger a moment on the "cruelty" side and the consequence of this wordless construction and subsequent destruction of a city -- the most bold and possibly controversial additional panels that are also my personal favourite additions.

One objection that has emerged against this brief sequence of Paradis' apparent destruction is that it renders the entire story to be "pointless". Eren's 80% Rumbling, Armin's diplomatic peace talks between the remnants of the Allied Nations and Paradis, and before that, the proposal of the 50-year plan and Zeke's euthanasia plan... everything, to the very beginning to the Survey Corps' dreams of some kind of freedom; was it all for nothing? All that striving, that hope, that final promise bestowed upon Armin: was it all a pointless story? Even more radically, is the story suggesting that Eren might as well have continued the Rumbling to 100% of the earth? Was Zeke's euthanasia plan the cruel but correct choice all along? What was the point of rejecting the 50-year plan if that had a greater chance of success at preventing this outcome?

I think Isayama suddenly pulling back to such a long-term view of history to the scale of decades or even centuries into the future calls for a reorientation in attitude towards exactly what kind of story we have been reading. Yes, if the metric is Paradis' survival, maybe it was indeed all "pointless". But that's also to say that, on the broadest scale, SNK is a story about futility, that it is a deliberate representation of the struggle to make one's actions historically meaningful.

In the long view of history, all the events, from Grisha running beyond the wall to see the airships and the first breaking of Wall Maria to Erwin's sacrifices, Paradis' discovery of the outside world, and finally to the Battle of Heaven and Earth, it would all merely be a handful of chapters in the history textbooks of the future. A future in which war and geopolitical conflict will continue even without Titans. That does not mean that all paths to the future are equal -- the 50-year plan would not have put an end to Titans, and Zeke's euthanasia plan distorts utilitarian ethics into just another form of oppression; there are better and worse decisions that lead to more and less degrees of suffering, but no decision can ever be the final one.

The additional panels remind us that in history, there never exists a singular "Final Solution". The reason there are readers who vehemently support Eren to have flattened 100% of the world, and the reason the Paradisians supported the oppressive, authoritarian, proto-fascist Jaegar Faction under Floch and even after the Rumbling, is that because they want to believe that a Final Solution to end conflict exists and will work. They resist the fundamental uncertainty and complexity of the situation, instead preferring a singular, unified, and coherent Answer to Paradis' struggle to survive. I'm reminded of the scholar Erich Auerbach's theorization of why fascism appealed to many people during periods of political and social crisis, change, and uncertainty. Writing in exile after fleeing Nazi Germany, he observed that:

"The temptation to entrust oneself to a sect which solved all problems with a single formula, whose power of suggestion imposed solidarity, and which ostracized everything which would not fit in and submit - this temptation was so great that, with many people, fascism hardly had to employ force when the time came for it to spread through the countries of old European culture." (from Mimesis p. 550)

This acutely describes the Jaegar Faction's rise to power and continued dominance in Paradis. But their promise of unity, of a single formula to wipe out the rest of the world either literally through the Rumbling, or to dominate them with military force, is a false one. Even if Eren had Rumbled 100% of the world instead of 80%, history would still go on. The external threat of the world may have been eliminated, but internal conflict and violence would still continue onward throughout the generations born on top of the blood of the rest of the world. Needless to say, out of all the options, Eren's 80% Rumbling is the very epitome of perpetuating the cycle of violence as it creates tens of thousands of war orphans like Eren once was, and it would justify employing violence for one's own self-interest to an extreme degree. For the generations to come that would valourize Eren as a hero, it would set a dangerous precedent for what degree of destruction is acceptable for self-defence -- nothing short of the attempt to flatten the entire world. It is no surprise that Paradis would meet a violent end when its founding one-party rule of the Jaegar Faction has their roots in such unapologetically bloody foundations.

Neither the 80% Rumbling nor the militaristic, ultra-nationalistic Jaegar faction that come to govern Paradis are glamourized as the "correct" solution to ensuring Paradis' future. (This can also put to rest any accusations of SNK's ending as "fascist" or "imperialist" propaganda, since the island's modern nation that they founded ends in war. All nations must fall eventually, but not all do in such blatant destruction). Importantly, neither is Armin's diplomatic mission naively idealized as that which permanently achieves world peace. No singular or unifying formula can work because reality is complicated. Entrusting oneself to seemingly simple Answers is simply insufficient, even if they are ideals of peaceful negotiation; that method may work given the right conditions, but the world will always eventually complicate its feasibility.

After all in the real world, there's the absurd irony that some in the West had called the First World War "The War to End all Wars". These days, WWI is merely one long chapter in our textbooks just a few pages away from the even longer chapter of the Second World War that is followed by all the rest of the conflicts that have followed since then even with the establishment of diplomatic organizations like the United Nations. In this sense, showing Paradis' eventual downfall is perhaps the only way to end such a series that is so concerned with history, from King Fritz's tribal expansion into empire, the rise and fall of Marleyan ascendency, and finally of the survival and apparent shattering of Paradis.

From its beginning to its end, SNK has poignantly evoked J.R.R. Tolkien's conception of history as The Long Defeat. In one character's words, "together through ages of the world we have fought the long defeat". That is to say, "no victory is complete, that evil rises again, and that even victory brings loss".

No heroes, only humans

Eren's desperate, fatalistic resignation to committing the Rumbling, along with the characters' rejection of all the rest of the earlier plans to ensure Paradis a future, are merely the actions of human beings to that began with the need to find not even necessarily a Final Answer, but at least an acceptable and feasible one for the time being. But the characterization of Eren's confusion, childishness, and regret in the final chapter is startlingly real in how it demonstrates how, all along, we have been dealing not with grand heroes, but simply people who have no answers at all. SNK has always been about failures - and often ironic failures; it has always been a story about painful and frequently futile struggle.

People make mistakes, they can be short-sighted, selfish, biased, immature, petty, and irrational, and I think the ending follows through with depicting the consequences of that.

Erwin's self-sacrifice before being able to reach the basement (and his regression to a childhood state in the moments before his death), Kenny's futile chasing after that universal compassion he had seen in Uri, Shadis never being acknowledged by history despite his final heroic action, and so on -- these stories of ironic, futile failures are still meaningful in their mere striving. Eren's ending and Paradis' demise despite Armin's endeavour to ensure them a peaceful future are entirely consistent with this.

SNK certainly follows the shounen trope in which young individuals are bestowed great power and correspondingly great responsibility, and must then reconcile the burden of possessing that greatness on which the fate of the world depends. Yet it is equally defined by its representation of the state that us normal human beings confront everyday: the struggle against the apparent powerlessness to enact any meaningful or lasting change at all. Simultaneously, this helpless state does not exempt us from the responsibility to act in whatever small capacity we are able to resist oppression, ideological extremism, and the perpetuation of violence.

Towards That Symbol

That was a rather long but vital digression about the additional "construction and destruction" pages. To return to the issue of the symbolism in the final panel, here I will turn from seemingly affirming the tree as symbolizing the cycle of violence, towards what I think is the greater complexity of what the tree might "actually" symbolize.

As I've said above, I don't believe that the final chapter title is synonymous with 'toward the endless cycle of war'. In tone, theme, and characterization, SNK has always been defined by the tension between cruelty and beauty, the will to violence and the underlying desire for peace, and the rest of the contradictory impulses that all simultaneously coexist. The end of SNK as a whole commits to a similar lack of closure, ambiguity, and interpretive openness.

So far I have rambled on about only a view of the perpetual "cruelty" of history. Where, then, is the "beauty"?

In short, the "tree = cycle of violence" interpretation is obviously based on how that this tree recalls the original tree in which the spine creature, as the source of the power of the Titans, resided. But it's worth first considering, what exactly is this creature? We seem to get our answer in the chapter that most precisely crystallizes the dual "cruelty and beauty" of the world:

The spine creature might be said to be life itself. Or more specifically, the will of life to perpetuate itself, for no reason at all but for the fleeting moments in which we feel distinctly glad to have existed in the world.

The creature at the source of the Titans, and in extension the Titans themselves, is neither inherently a positive or negative, "good" or "evil", creative or destructive force. It's both and all of those at once. As with any power, the Titans were merely a tool that was put to use to oppressive ends.

So as I now suggest that the tree at the end is symbolically a "Tree of Life", I don't at all mean "life" in the typically celebratory or optimistic sense: rather, I mean it in the ambiguous, ambivalent, uncertain, and complex sense that has been evoked throughout the above discussion of the inevitable continuation of war.

The title "Toward The Tree on That Hill" is derived from its associations with Eren and Mikasa, but more specifically of course, from Armin's affirmation of existence. However, the tree as a symbol of existential affirmation is undercut with the revelation that, despite Armin's diplomatic mediation between the Allied Nations and Paradis, the island nation never escapes war just as no nation in the history of the earth has ever fully escaped war.

The image of Armin running toward that life-affirming tree by the end becomes twisted and complicated, as the image of the anonymous child approaching the Tree of Life evokes both awe at its beauty and grandeur, and a deep dread at the foreboding of its cyclical return to Ymir's tree that signalled the beginning of a bloody era.

And I think that is precisely it: Life is not some idealized, beautiful vision that we always want to run toward; it is also ironic, complicated, and dreadful. It is ambivalent. Like a literary symbol, the meaning of life cannot be pinned down absolutely. The tree therefore becomes itself a symbol of uncertainty, of an open future that is cyclical both in its beauty and war.

As a final observation, it is surely no coincidence that, the small, black, birdlike silhouettes of the war planes destroying the city from the sky is replaced by the similarly small black silhouettes of birds in the final panel.

If the birds represent freedom from war, the irony is that the immediately surrounding land appears to be one completely empty of people save for the exploring child; it is a freedom attained only without people's presence. Yet at the same time, a child from some existing civilization has reached it; perhaps it is freedom that they have reached, perhaps it is something else that they see in the tree. What is it that they were looking for? What does the tree and its history represent for the child, and what does it mean for their future? Alternatively, does the child-in-the-forest imagery negatively recall the warning that the world is one huge forest of predator and prey that we need to protect children from entering?

Rather than providing answers, this tree embodies all of the potential questions, and all of the potential answers. These possibilities will unfold themselves into an uncertain future beyond the chapters of history that Eren, Armin, Mikasa, Zeke, Erwin, and all the rest of the characters were part of and left their mark on; and whatever future this child will witness or create, it will similarly be one of the struggle against futility, as the journey begins anew with each generation in every new era. Neither - or both - hopeful or despairing, the final image of this tree, just like life itself, contains those innumerable irresolvable tensions as it gestures towards all possibilities, both oppressive and free.

[golden-pickaxe]

Hi, you could do: Fem! Reader x Eric (or neutral gender) where the reader is temperamentally similar to Eric and is not afraid to challenge him, this intigrates him, and leads him to flirt with the reader (possible smut);

Closer

Reader Gender: Female

Fandom: Divergent

Pairing: Eric x Reader

Warnings: Violence, (slightly rough) smut

Word Count: ~5.000

A/N: I should actually study for my master’s exam, but well… here I am. I rewrote a draft I had on my computer for 6 years, and I hope this is kind of what you wanted!  It is also past 1 am now, so.. yea.

Also thanks for my first request :D Also, pro-tip: don’t write smut while continuing to listen to your classical music study playlist, that really does not convey the mood! (even though Johann Strauss slaps!)

   “Alright, listen up!” Eric’s loud voice echoed through the training halls, strong and confident as usually, attracting the attention of the initiates around him. The teenagers stopped their various exercises, looking over to the leader, some curious, some with a worried expression on their faces. Eric was standing by the door, next to you and Four.

 You stepped forward slightly, as the initiates jogged over to the three of you, gathering around you. You raised your voice.

 “My name is Y/N! I’m head of the weapon development and weapon repair team here at Dauntless, and for the next few days I will be your instructor for correct weapon handling and weapon training. Of course, you already had some shooting lessons since your arrival, but frankly, they are not.. to my standards.” You crossed your arms behind your back, ignoring the low snort of Four behind you.

 “I’d suggest you lot pay close attention, because incorrect handling of some of the weapons we use will lead to injury, and in the worst-case death.”

 There was a murmur going through the initiates, but it stopped when you glared at the few who had dared to talk to each other. You knew how you appeared to them, what impression you made on them, and used it to your advantage.

 “Over the course of the next week I will show you how to use, dismantle, reload, clean and repair the different kind of guns and firearms we use here at Dauntless. Don’t underestimate the importance of these lessons, they will be crucial in your later life. If you have any problems or questions, never hesitate to ask.”

 You paused for a moment, mustering the faces of the initiates in front of you, most of them staring back with curious and interested expressions. You still remembered being one of them, although you had been a Dauntless born.

 “In the future, if you have any troubles with your rifles, our workshop is where you drop by to get it fixed. If you make it through initiation, that is.” Your eyes wandered over to the ranking board, and you noticed how the group in front of you visibly tensed up. You turned around to Eric and Four, nodding at them before facing the teenagers again. “We will soon all go up to the shooting range, to start your training. But first we will go over theory.”

 You walked towards the door, picking up two large cases standing next to it, returning to the initiates where you put them on a large Table the other instructors had carried into the training halls earlier.

 With trained fingers you opened the cases, revealing an array of different types of handguns.

“Today we will work with pistols. Good for close combat and handy in urban situations. Best choice if you find yourself in the ruins, dealing with factionless.” You started, taking one of the weapons out of the case.

 “Do we really need to know all that?” someone of the group suddenly asked after you had started to explain the mechanisms of the weapon, and you looked up, your eyes fixating him. He flinched, raising his shoulders a bit defensively.

 “Step forward.” You said, quickly loading two pistols with munition. The boy was pale as a corpse, when he slowly came forward, the rest of the group holding their breath.

 You took one of the pistols, you knew this model very well, purposely inserting the magazine in a way, you knew it always jammed. You pushed the weapon into the boy’s hand, taking the other pistol and aiming it directly at the initiate’s head.

 “You are out, patrolling. You get separated from your group, and are faced with a bunch of factionless who have nothing to lose. One point a gun at you, ready to fire, because believe it or not, they get their hands on firearms. You did not pay attention when you learned how to handle weapons properly, and your handgun jams. What do you do now?” you asked, tilting your head. The boy was shaking. “Ten..”

 Panic appeared in the initiate’s eyes, and he looked down, trying to un-jam it, trying anything. The magazine was not moving and he could not pull the trigger either.

 “Nine.”

 “I can’t, oh god, I’m sorry.” He looked as if he was about to cry.

 “Eight.”

 He continued to struggle and you continued to count down, taking a step forward, the cold metal of your gun now touching his forehead.

None of the other initiates was talking, although you saw pure panic in their eyes. One almost looked as if she was about to say something stupid, but a raised eyebrow from you and an intervening friend apparently stopped her from opening her mouth.

 “Three. Two. One.” You raised your gun at the ceiling, firing a shot. The boy in front of you flinched and fell to the floor, apparently half thinking you actually shot him.

 “See, without ‘all that’, you’d be dead. So pay attention.” You took the gun from his hand, showing everyone a quick trick to unjam it, before returning to the table. You noticed how the other instructors looked at you, Four with supressed shock, and Eric with not so supressed amusement. He seemed almost impressed.

 “Where were I..?” You asked rhetorically, before resuming your theoretical instruction.

 As you continued to explain the different models you had brought with you to the group in front of you, telling them how to load, unload and dismantle them, the other instructors were standing behind you in silence.

 “And always, always, at least five times, check if your gun is unloaded before you clean it!” you said, glaring at a brown haired boy, called Peter if you remembered correctly, who snorted at your remark.  

 “You laugh, but I had a fair share of stupid friends who shot themselves because they were too lazy to check, completely sure it was unloaded. You might survive a pistol, but if it happens to be a shotgun and, say, you shoot yourself here..” you pointed at your hip. “Trust me, you won’t have any children in the future.”

 The boy turned a bit pale, and others around him started to giggle. You smirked, turning back to the table.

 “Please build teams of two, we’re going to go up to the shooting range now. Take turns in shooting, and every fifteen minutes or so we will swap guns, so everyone gets at least one shot out of every different type. You will unload, reload and shoot. If a weapon jams, you tell me, and I will demonstrate for the group how to deal with that. Any questions?”

 No one seemed to have any questions, so you packed up the guns, while Eric and Four lead the group up to the shooting range. You followed them, handing out the guns at the roof top, while Eric and Four distributed the ammunition among the initiates.

 You usually were not the person to do the weapon training, but Max had politely forced you to do it this year. You were one, if not the best in handling the firearms used in Dauntless, able to repair every single gun your faction used in your sleep.

It was your passion and your hobby, and you were glad that you had been good enough at initiation to work as what you wanted. Your mother had also been a weapon tech, and you always wanted to do the same.

 You watched the other two instructors oversee the shooting. They had been in the same year as you, both transfers while you were Dauntless born. They were right at the top, and you right behind, being fourth in the ranking. Involuntary your eyes stuck onto Eric, who had crossed his arms in front of his chest, while mustering one of the transfers loading a handgun.

 You had to admit, Eric was one of a kind. Incredibly handsome, strong, dominant and rough, also often cruel and arrogant. Dauntless though and through, although he still had some Erudite inside of him. He looked very different now, from the blue-clad boy who had arrived at Dauntless years ago.

He had something fascinating about him. His strong arms and muscular legs were also quite nice to look at. Eye candy, one could say.

 Shortly before lunch every group had fired every kind of weapon, and you packed up, checking if the guns really were unloaded, before putting them back in their cases.

 “How are they holding up?” you looked up, seeing Eric standing next to you, his hands casually on his hips, while looking at the group of initiates, who slowly dissolved, and headed for the stairs leading down back into the building.

 “They’re not too bad.” You admitted, closing the case in front of you. “Some are actually quite good.” Then you thought about that one girl, Tris her name was if you remembered correctly, who manage to hit the target only once. “Others maybe not so.”

 Eric chuckled looking back at you, and you noticed his eyes wander over your body.

“Yea, but they will get cut anyways.” He shrugged.

 “Still don’t really get the ‘cut’ thing.” You sighed, pricking up the cases from the table, one in each hand. “If that’s the new way of handling the weaklings, we will soon run out of janitors and kitchen staff, not to mention be overflown by angry factionless. There are enough of those poor sods as it is.”

 “Well, we are not Abnegation to hand out charity. If they want to be in Dauntless, they have to be good enough.” Eric crossed his arms in front of his chest.

 “They chose our way of life. They chose to be here. I think that is proof enough. And some take longer to be their best.” You shrugged. “I think changing the rules is a stupid arse decision, and we will have to face the consequences sooner than later.”

 You turned away, making your way down to the arsenal, located right next to your workshop, to put the guns away. Eric just stared after you, a frown on his face.

 The next week was full of tutoring the transfers in handling everything from standard rifles to flame throwers and shotguns. Once you had made Peter shoot an apple off of the head of one of his friends, as he had been too cocky about his abilities for your taste.

 “You really think you’re the best shot? Proof it!”

 After that he had kept his big mouth shut, and the initiates were now completely sure that you were not to be fucked with. It was the perfect balance of them having respect for you to not act foolishly, but also having enough trust to ask you if something was unclear, or if they had any problems. You also helped the ones low in ranking, empathising a bit more what they had to do, to give them a better chance at making it. The cut really was a shit decision, but Max had refused to change the rules, even when you had yelled at him.

 There were also many weird and casual after-work conversations with Eric while you packed up. Before this week you had never really talked, and only ever seen each other a few times while he had been training to be an instructor and leader.

 You sometimes even thought he tried to.. flirt? Complimenting you handling the weapons and initiates. He wasn’t very good at it, though.

Still, he was intelligent and quite interesting, and the conversations were never boring.

 ----

“Is there something going on between Y/N and Eric?” Christina asked frowning, turningher head to Tris, who mustered the two instructors standing at the table. Over the past week they had always seemed to talk to each other after training, and most of them had noticed how Eric stared at her, when he thought no-one was looking.

 “I don’t know, but he seems to like her?” Tris shrugged.

----

 It was about two weeks later, quite late, and you had just returned from the wall, where you had overseen the installation of a kind of gatling gun, after a few factionless had attacked an Amity caravan. It only shot non-lethal ammunition, like the nerve agents used for training, mimicking the pain of a real gun shot.

 The government had decided that you should not aim to kill the factionless, but scare them away. Pointless, you thought, as you knew if they were desperate enough they would go there anyways.

 You were sitting in the mess hall, eating a late dinner, when you noticed the door open. Eric entered, wearing just a t-shirt and combat trousers, smiling when he spotted you. You raised an eyebrow at him, but continued to eat.

 Eric came over to your table, sitting down in front of you casually.

“Heard you were back.” He said.

 “Seems so.” Was everything you answered.

 “How did it go?” he asked, grabbing your glass and taking a sip of your water, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. You blinked a few times at him, but he just chuckled. “You want to grab a drink, or are you too tired?”

 Was he.. asking you out? It was hard to tell with him. But his smile seemed sincere, not like the one his initiates received.

 “If you’re buying. Sure, why not.” You smirked. “Wait in the pit, I’ll join you in a bit.”

 “And how do I know you’ll come?” Eric leaned forward a bit, his eyes fixed on yours. There was a provocative smile on his lips.

 “Well, you have to take the risk, no?” you quickly raised your eyebrows once, before breaking eye contact and resuming your dinner. Eric chuckled again.

 “Ok.” He said, before he got up, leaving the mess hall, not looking back at you.

 You had to grin and bite your tongue. You had not really thought that you were Eric’s type. You had thought that he would be into women he could easily handle, that were just pretty and would hang on his arm while he was in the pit. But it seemed more as if he wanted someone who was his equal in ability, skill and intelligence, someone he could always compete with. Something like a fun, sexy rivalry. And if you were honest, that sounded really, really fun.

 You certainly didn’t hurry to finish your dinner, and bringing the dishes back to the kitchen. You also headed back to your apartment for a quick shower and to change your clothes, putting on a tank top and combat trousers which looked really good on you, and styling yourself up a bit.

 Finally, you made your way to the pit, which was filled with people. Dauntless members and initiates mingled together, it was noisy and as always full of life. You waved a friend you spotted a bit to the side, but made your way to the bar at the bottom, hoping to find Eric there. It was a bit hard to see him in the mass of moving bodies, even with his tall height.

 You leaned against the bar, letting your eyes wander through the crowd. Had you taken too long? Had he already gone? Maybe he hadn’t been that interested after all.

But your worries were blown away jut a moment later, when you noticed Eric approach you, making his way through the crowd of people. He had not changed, but he also had already looked great.

 A smirk was on his handsome face, and he leaned against the bar next to you, so close that your arm was touching his.

 “You look good.” He said into your ear, having to bend down a bit.

 “Worth the wait?” you shot back.

 “Worth the wait!” he chuckled. “What do you like to drink?”

 ----

Eric ordered drinks from the man at the bar, leaning against it sideways so that his front was facing Y/N. He was very obviously flirting with her, but she seemed to also enjoy it a lot.

 “I don’t know why, but seeing them together like this makes me super uneasy.” Christina shuddered a bit.

 “Why?” Will frowned at his girlfriend.

 “I don’t know they are both so.. scary.” The girl looked at her friends. “Don’t you think? The meanest people in Dauntless being all flirty.” She obviously had not forgotten Eric throwing her down the chasm, or Y/N pretending to shoot an initiate.

 Tris chewed her lips.

“Even scary people should be happy.” She finally said, causing the others to laugh.

 “Seriously? Can you imagine them together? The next round of initiates will all either die or end up factionless.” Chris looked over to them again, seeing Y/N sipping her drink, and Eric laughing. His arm was positioned behind her on the bar now. “Yuck.”

----

 “I tried to hit him, but he shot me in the leg first, hurt like a bitch.” Eric shook his head, and you noticed his fingers carefully stroking your back. A shiver ran down your spine, the good kind.

 “Maybe I should teach you how to shoot then. Didn’t know you were so bad at it.” You bit your tongue, before downing the rest of you drink.

 Eric gaped for a moment, probably unsure if he should be mad or not. Finally, he just chuckled, nodding.

“Yea, maybe a private lesson is what I need.” He grinned. He raised his glass, taking a sip.

 “If you need instructions how to use your weapon properly, we can start tonight, my place.”

 Eric choked on his drink, turning away when it shot out of his nose. He put the glass down onto the bar, grabbing a napkin from behind it to wipe his face, all the while unable to stop laughing.

 “Fuck, Y/N!” he growled. You had to laugh too, pushing yourself away from the bar.

 “The offer stands.” You winked, making your way through the crowd and towards the corridors, leading to the living area of Dauntless.

 You had just entered the corridor, when suddenly a hand grabbed your arm and turned you around. Before you could really react, Eric pressed you against a wall, his hands on your waist, his lips on yours.

 You immediately returned the kiss, opening your mouth a bit to deepen it, exploring Eric’s mouth with your tongue. You honestly didn’t give a shit that you were still kind of in the pit, with everyone able to see you. Both of you were known and quite prominent figures in Dauntless, so you already knew that there would be a lot of gossip, but you didn’t really care.

 Everything that was important now was Eric, and the kiss you shared. It was a pity that his hair was so short, you really would’ve liked to pull it. You ran your hands over his broad chest, before pushing him away.

 He looked a bit startled, but relaxed seeing your grin.

“I said my place. Not any place, Eric.” With that you turned around again, walking on and towards your apartment. Eric was right beside you, his hands snaking around your hips.

 Even though you made sure that he would not see it, you were very excited in this moment. Eric was not only insanely attractive, but you also grew to like him a lot. You would not even mind for this to.. become more. More than just a hook up.

 You finally reached your apartment door, and you tipped your personal code into the pad next to the door. As soon as you were in and the door was shut behind you, Eric was on you again, his hands wrapped around your waist, kissing you passionately.

 With uncoordinated hands you grabbed his shirt, pulling it over his head in a swift move. The tattoos on his neck stood in stark contrast to his skin, and you could not hold back but to kiss them, before strongly biting into it.

 Eric growled, lifting you up with his arms, and you wrapped your legs around his hip. Apparently he had seen the open door to your bedroom, as he started to slowly walk over there, while you still attacked his neck.

 He pushed you off of him, right onto your bed. Instead of following you though, he got down onto his knees, opening your boots and pulling them off. You just let him go to work, interested what he was planning. Your shoes were followed by your socks, and he also made quick work of his own. Then he climbed onto the bed, looming over you, before kissing you again.

 “How thoughtful.” You murmured against his lips. He did not answer, only bit you into your bottom lip, hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to break skin. You moaned against his mouth, hands running over his exposed chest. Eric’s hands ran underneath your tank top, taking it off quickly, his hands running over your torso.

 The kiss was passionately and intense. Literally breath-taking , and you had to push Eric away to get some air. He only used the break to kiss your neck, moving downwards your body. Your nails dragged along his back, when you felt his fingers move underneath your sports-bra, pulling it off just like your tank top.

 Eric leaned back, taking a moment to muster you. Lust was in his eyes, and he licked his lips as he looked at your exposed skin.

 “Like what you see?” you teased, wiggling your eyebrows.

 “Oh, Y/N, you have no idea.” And with that he was over you again, one hand supporting himself on the bed while the other one moved to your breasts. You gasped against his mouth as he kissed you once more, his taste intoxicating. Maybe that was also the whiskey he had ordered at the bar, you were not quite sure.

 Your hands moved own his chest and stomach, opening the fly of his trousers. You were really glad he wasn’t wearing a blet, you were really not in the mood to fiddle with that.

 Eric groaned when you pushed your hand into his underwear, a grin appearing on your face when you found his member already fully erect.

“Oh you really like what you see, eh?” you laughed, and Eric growled.

 Eric’s hand now moved down your body, opening your trousers with a way too skilled hand. He moved back, grabbing the waistband your trousers and your pants, pulling them down together, leaving you lying on the bed completely naked. You sat up, pulling him back onto the bed, turning the two of you so you were now on top of him.

 Eric seemed a bit surprised at that, but rolled with it, a smile on his face as he bit his lip in expectation. Just as he had done with you, you pulled his remaining clothes off, and just had to take a moment to look at him.

 Eric was incredibly muscular, and there were tattoos on his stomach and right leg that you had never seen before. They had the same style as the rest, in stark contrast to his skin. He was incredibly attractive, and the piercings above his brow shimmered lightly in the faint light inside of your apartment. You straddled him, moving your head down to kiss him again, your hands finding his hair. It was short, yes, but not too short.

 You pulled hard, making him groan, but at the same time buck his hips up. Yea, you could tell he liked it a bit more rough.

 “I’m going to make you scream, before I’m done with you..” he almost hissed against your mouth. You bit his lower lip, unable to supress a grin.

 “Let’s see who’ll scream first.”

 With that you moved your lips to his neck, sucking and biting his skin, moving downwards, over his chest and stomach. You bit his hip, so hard that he actually almost shouted, but the twitch of his cock against your chest told you that he enjoyed it.

 “If you bite down there, I swear Y/N, I’ll kill you!” Eric growled and you moved down even further, and you had to laugh.

 “I’m mean, but not that mean.” You said, before lowering your head and licking over his erection, enticing a moan out of his mouth. He looked down at you with hungry eyes, clenching his jaw.

 Suddenly he sat up, grabbing your shoulders and pushing you onto the mattress, before he rolled over you, his lips finding yours again. His hand moved down and between your legs, the moisture he found there making him groan.

 “How are you so hot, damn.” You barely understood what he was saying, but it didn’t even matter, because his fingers quickly found your clit, circling it. You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders. Eric growled, his fingers moving more quickly, before they suddenly dipped down, pressing into you.

 A loud moan left your lips and you rolled your eyes, your hips bucking to meet his fingers.

 “Eric!” it came out of your mouth, and you moaning his name seemed to turn him on even more. He quickly moved his fingers in and out of you, causing you to clench around him. His thumb was in a position to hit your clit with every thrust, and your nails now were so deep in his shoulders, you knew that even if you didn’t draw blood, you would surly leave marks.

 Eric kissed and bit your neck, his hand not slowing down.

“Do you have..” he started to murmur into your ear, and you nodded quickly.

 “Bed.. oh my.. bedside table.” You barely managed to bring out.

 “Good.” Eric stopped his movements, his hand gone, and this time it was you who groaned.

 Eric laughed, pressing a kiss onto your cheek, which was such a contrast to the otherwise rough actions that you had to raise an eyebrow.

But Eric didn’t even notice that, as he had sat up, and opened the drawer of your bedside table, quickly finding what he was looking for.

 He opened the shiny package of the condom with his teeth, putting it onto himself. Just as he wanted to crawl over you, you pushed him, so he fell onto his back, climbing on top of him again. This whole thing kind of felt like a battle for dominance, and you really liked that.

 Eric just looked at you with hungry eyes, his hands finding your thighs as you straddled him. You bit your lip as you grabbed his cock, guiding it to your entrance, slowly, very slowly lowering yourself onto him.

 You closed your eyes, breathing steadily. Eric was.. thick. And stretched you a bit more than you had expected. You had almost expected him to push his hips up, but he kept steady, not moving until you were all the way down. You opened your eyes again, looking down at the man, who started to grin when your eyes met. You grinned back, lifting your hips again, and moving down, this time a bit quicker.

 Your started up a hard, even if not so fast pace, and the sound of both of your moans filled the bedroom. You were sure the person in the apartment next to yours was probably able to hear you, but you didn’t really care about that.

 You leaned back a bit, throwing your head into your neck, your hands on Eric’s strong thighs, supporting yourself. You felt Erics hand run down your torso, before his thumb found your clit again, rubbing it in tandem with your movements. You felt yourself edging more and more towards the end, the feeling of him inside of you and his hands on you was just.. amazing.

 “Eric..” you moaned again, and just as last time this seamed to turn him on even more. Eric sat up, wrapping an arm around your torso, and supporting your movements, quickening them while his mouth found your neck again.

 “Y/N!” his voice was coarse and deep and so god damn sexy it drove you insane.

 Your hands wandered into his neck, and one into his hair, pulling it strongly, so his head was back in his neck. You moved your head to kiss him, all tongue and teeth, uncoordinated but extremely erotic.

 When you let go of his hair he rolled the two of you over once more, him now over you again. Eric sat up a hard and quick pace, his hand automatically finding your clit and rubbing it just as fast. You moaned loudly, arching your back as you felt your orgasm draw nearer and nearer.

 Eric’s face was next to your ear, and you heard him moan and that was what finally pushed you over the edge. You came hard, your legs wrapping around Eric’s waist and you clenching around his cock. Your moan was loud, but nothing compared to Eric. One, two more thrusts, and he collapsed on top of you, breathing hard and fast.

 “Shit.” He murmured, before rolling off of you.

 “I won. You screamed.” You laughed breathlessly, and he chimed in.

 “Oh fuck off.”

[unpopularly-opinionated]

I don’t play WoW but I used to play Overwatch and Diablo and this touches on just the general issues that are inside of Activision Blizzard right now regarding the major decline of World of Warcraft and how they’re losing to Final Fantasy XIV, how if the latest WoW expansion or Overwatch 2 flop as they’re projected to do then Blizzard’s most definitely going to pivot almost entirely to mobile games, and how the differences in age demographics are actually dividing the company into multiple camps.

It’s important to note two things: 1) this could be fake but also 2) the link came from Grummz, a former team lead on WoW and producer on Diablo II and Starcraft. It still could be fake despite this, but if he’s sharing it then I feel like there’s at least some measure of truth in this.

Transcription below in case this gets deleted and/or you don’t wanna click the link. Warning, it’s fairly long.

“I’m dropping this here after getting chewed out for three hours over shit the chewee did at work so fuck it. Assume larp and let me vent.”

>Shadowlands is a shitshow. Critical response, Player drop off and just about every engagement metric outside of cash shop have been catastrophic. No higher up expected this because of their “we are too big to fail, if we built it they will come” mentality. They refuse to accept their focus on the world being a begrudged mechanic to funnel players to raiding is not appealing to the player base at large because it appeals to them. They have spent the last 4 months trying to course correct but there is no solid direction and the response to 9.1 has only made things worse.

>Sylvanas is planned to replace the Arbiter despite so many people in the company and god knows how many online saying this would be a total replication of Kerrigans storyline in Starcraft 2 that killed none competitive interest in the brand entirely and you can only go “no, no they WILL like it eventually” for so many real world years before its time to change course. Thus far that has not happened.

>The elephant in the room is FFXIV. To the people in charge they are acting like this came out of nowhere and don’t even seem to understand why its drawing players away in their tens of thousands. We have all tried to highlight things it is doing that are clearly appealing to an mmo audience and not, in my opinion, focussing more on mobile game style retention traps to keep MAU users and habit forming personalities logging in. Its not that they don’t care. They just seem so pig headed and digging their heels in with their fingers in their ears thinking all the problems will go away because WoW is “too big to fail”, there will never be real competition and “they will keep coming back”. But they aren’t coming back anymore. Not in the numbers they used to.

>The people making the spending choices know this. The new model for WoW is market the hell out of a expansion pack for a huge quarter then use 6 month lock ins to pad numbers for the quarters after that. Even if corona had not happened 9.1 still would have been dropping after the initial 6 month subs expired to “keep the chain holding”.

>The mood in the company is tense but also very much “its just a rough transition period”. Activision has been pushing hard for Blizzard to release more regular product and to generate more income per user. As far as i know this is going to be a transition over the next 5 years to a much larger mobile/tablet gaming focus. By all accounts not just WoW but Overwatch was intended to be the moneymaker in the interim but once again someone had the bright idea to kill a game casual players loved on the alter of e-sports hoping for another Brood War. From what i hear the “told you so’s” were loud and a lot of people walked beyond Kaplan.

>The sentiment that was shared quietly in private but being spoken more often is simply that the leadership at Blizzard are not bad people, nor incompetent people but people who had to fill seats left when the old guard jumped ship wether they were suited for it or not. Brack is a genuinely good man out of his depth, Ion is a fantastic raid designer put in charge of designing a virtual world he has no interest or real ideas for and so on. They have been taking form the roles they excel at to be put in positions where they get to do far less of that purely because there is nobody left with the experience to do so and the trickle down is a lack of concrete direction, ambition and focus.

>2021 has seen the playerbase, media and gaming at large “turn” on WoW to a degree i don’t think the leads in their “positivity dojo” bubble considered possible. Its gone from people going “This is how Blizz needs to fix WoW!” to “WoW is no longer salvageable, time for greener pastures” and i think on some level this was never considered as a possibility so there have never been any major plans beyond the usual “try and minimise player drop off by arranging releases around competitors launching updates/products”. The official forums being filled with talk of FFXIV and worse “why do we actually pay a sub?” hasn’t helped.

>There have been some testing the waters lately from certain higher ups if we can remove the line “No King Rules Forever”. Read into that what you will.

>There are still arguments going on about the Kael’thas Voice actor shitshow. I don’t know much about it but i know its heated, wouldn’t be the first time a knee jerk reaction only seemed to generate bad press. We lost a noticeable amount of pvp engagement after the Swifty thing.

>The Preach interview was treated as a disaster and there was talk of more strongly vetting interviewers for “bad actors” and only engaging with a list of questions Blizzard provides. Some pointed out that could just be used to create some form of Fireside Chat akin to the FFXIV “Live letters” but that fell on deaf ears.

>The two sentiments right now among the team are either “we really need a win” or “theres a dedicated cabal of internet trolls out to kill WoW”. Right now we are crunching hard to get 9.2 ready to wrap up the jailors storyline so we can get an expansion out early 2022. If that doesn’t happen there are talks of major shakeups coming down from Activision that have been threatened for a few  years now. Its an all hands on deck feeling thats been around to some degree since the “Is this an out of season April Fools Joke” Blizzcon. A make or break deadline is coming closer and things like Diablo 4 were not planned before then. Blizzard needs a significant win not just in initial profit but consumer goodwill. Nobody likes working at what the public now seems to see as “the bad guy” of the mmo industry.

>This has also made new hires decline. Not significantly but the “you WANT Blizzard on your resume” line doesn’t seem to have the appeal it used to. This has lead to more hiring via friend of a friend, to some rumblings about nepotism, and people severely lacking in experience “because they get great twitter optics”.

>On the topic of Twitter we are not being told to “disengage” from it. Multiple employees like Nervig and Holisky publicly attacking paying customers because they got too heated and couldn’t keep quiet is bad press that could have been avoided. A email reminder has gone around more than once lately stating “if you are not customer relations you should not be representing the company to customers, especially if you cannot remain professional”.

>Lastly the biggest elephant in the room is “yo’ boy” Asmongold. The newer hires cannot stand him. They have used terms like “toxic masculinity” and “dogwhistles to dangerous males” while some of the oldest crowd still remaining have called him “based” or “telling it like it is” which has lead to friction to put it mildly. People are told not to talk about him and the recent FFXIV stuff only made it all worse. The idea that an outside element can have such an effect on the product genuinely upsets people. Like Zach is engaging in some malicious act of cyberwarfare. Many of us have point out the now famous quotes by Naoki Yoshida about understanding that players will drift and we need to make something worth coming back to because they want to but some people for lack of a better word see out customers -or “consumers” as they refer to them nowadays- as some kind of antagonistic relationship where the goal is not being an entertainer putting on a show for a crowd but some kind of game hunter trying to trap a large, profitable kill. I wish i could blame Activision but this is a sentiment from more of the younger crowd than the “tech boomers”. Which personal opinion is probably why so many folks like Metzen and Morheim left.

>Before you ask, yes the topic of “wokeness” has shown up in group talks. Its not all some grand sjw conspiracy, people really do want to feel welcome and represented. However the “we need everything veto’ed by people not working on it to see if its inoffensive and bland enough” rubs some of us the wrong way. Like anything in life you can take something too far and lose sight of the core ideals and with everything gone on since Blitzchung it feels like people are forming little factions to pull people in different directions to decide “What Blizzards identity is now” and how to appeal to new players. There has been some drop offs with “go woke go broke” as the only answer in the survey when unsubbing but honestly we are losing subs in unforseen numbers anyway and still making more money than ever through cash shop “heavy users” so it honestly doesn’t make an impact.

>All in all things are rough right now. Blizzard doesn’t have the love of the customers anymore, is no longer treated as an industry giant and while D4,D2R and Immortal aren’t going to kill Diablo even if they fail the sentiment for World of Warcraft and Overwatch 2 are a lot more tense and stressful. The phrase “it might be good to brush up on your mobile development portfolio if we get another underperformer” has been doing the rounds a lot. If Shadowlands continues its stark decline and Overwatch 2 is looking to underperform like its current projections suggest i think the Blizzard of a few years from now will be imitating King a lot more than trying to learn any lessons from Square Enix’s mmo division.

[dragonturtle2]

Charting Penny's course, on the eve of the V8 finale.

I just realized that one of the lengthiest essays I ever posted online was never copied or cross posted over here to Tumblr.  A huge mistake on my part.  For one, as a big fan of transhumanism, I got a kind of enjoyment mapping out the distinctions Penny Poledina’s series-wide arc, even with the flaws.  Two, I’m actually kind of proud of the predictions I made at the end.  Not because I was correct about one of them; I remarked how I’d LIKE Rooster Teeth to do something, not that they’d actually take the shot.  But some of the stuff I thought of was fun, and I do feel a bit of validation for having my thoughts line up with the actual writers; especially in lieu of how heated other people’s reactions were to something sorrowful and unexpected.  

Tonight I had been responding to a critique I'd found earlier on Tumblr. They had remarked that Penny's conflict in Volumes 2, 7 and 8 were just recycling the question of whether Penny was a real girl. That doing so was just boring as heck, when the question has been answered firmly with Penny becoming the Winter Maiden. I thought the question of “what makes a person a person, and not just a simulated pattern of behaviors with the instinct to survive?” was broad enough to get a few arcs’ worth of visitation.  But I thought just responding with that one lengthy sentence could come off as belittling sarcasm. So tried to offer up an my actual interpretation and clear opinion. I got this monstrosity.

Volume 1 has Penny reaching out to make friends, V2 is finally admitting her robot nature to someone and vocalizing her fears about being a real girl.  Volume 3 dangles the upcoming conflict of her wanting to exercise independent action, step away from the national military organization that bankrolled and housed her, and go to Beacon with her friends.  But that got cut short.

Volume 7 picks up the thread of Penny’s independent actions.  Not just with the ability to disagree with or full-on disobey orders, but her own value system and initiative.  Not only is she asking Winter about how to make decisions in life, she is also silently (and not-so-silently) judging whether Winter is morally right, or even truly happy with her own choices.  When she takes Freya’s hand, she asks something that no one has probably said to Freya in awhile: “Are you OK?”

Volume 8 is focused on the things being taken from her.  Her previous family-unit-facsimile of James, Winter and the Ace Ops have labeled her a traitor and are now hunting her.  Being targeted as the Maiden makes her distance herself from her friends, so they aren’t further harmed .  In doing that, she also leaves behind her previous dedication, protecting Mantle, to launch Amity Tower and assist in the bigger picture of warning the entire planet.  Then in the pursuit of that goal she damages herself, pushes her body to it’s limit, and says goodbye to her father.  

Volume 8 might seem to backpedal, and spend much of the season emphasizing how inhuman Penny is. That’s the point.  After Freya essentially canonizes Penny as human, with her ‘blessing,’ Penny’s new identity (to herself and the audience) is arrested in the most traumatic ways possible.  Her body is peeled back and cut open.  Her schematics are passed around and assessed by characters and factions more than ever.  The hacking is the Atlas military complex literally claiming ownership over her, exploiting the body and code they created alongside Pietro.  (In contrast with the earlier consensual control and teamwork with Pietro, which even then she hardly enjoyed).  How much pain can you inflict on a person until they devolve, or abandon rational thought?  Little wonder Penny ends up begging the team to end her own life.  She’s now taken Winter’s role from Volume 7, her self-esteem having sunken even lower.  “My life doesn’t matter!“

When that ghastly moment was (temporarily) resolved with a quick revelation and Jaune’s Semblance, it was a moment of mixed feelings for me in an episode I otherwise loved.  But I really came around to it afterword.  They have to head to Vault for a permanent fix pretty much immediately, so it doesn’t feel like the writers used Jaune to kick the can down the road until they felt like tackling it.  A very direct benefit is that by pausing Penny’s affliction, Penny gains the ability to actually have a conversation with people, to have scenes beyond just desperately wrestling her.   It also spared us the repeated dialogue of “I must go to the Vault.  I don’t want to!  I must - I don’t! - I MUST- I DON’T!”  Seriously, that routine was wearing thin.  

Whether any fans predicted Jaune’s Semblance being able to help or not, I’m pleased when characters are able to quickly conceive applications of in-universe fictional powers.  This is such a refreshing improvement over how CRWBY previously couldn’t bring Ruby to even ASK about the Silver Eyes that put her in a coma.  

There were missteps along the way.  Ruby really should have reacted more to her friend coming back to life; RT leaning on the Fourth Wall doesn’t fully remove the sting. ("It seems we will have to wait!”)  We also never see any of our protagonists outside of Ruby even react to the revelation of a robotic life form.  When they meet Penny again at V7′s start, apparently ALL of them, even Oscar, were so acquainted with Penny’s story that none of them had any questions for her the entire Volume.  There was no sense of betrayed trust, or trauma from watching one friend be ripped apart by another.  These are disappointments, but not deal breakers.  Now, I want to talk about how post-Ambrosius Penny may fit in with the rest of the story.  Maybe it’s stupid of me to try to get this out by 4 in the morning the day the finale drops, but I’m on a role, and I want to get my ideas out in the open before they’re tainted by hindsight.  Otherwise I won’t feel like even finishing this.  

I’m not going to launch into a tangent with the metaphysical mechanics on whether Penny’s new body would have ‘logically’ been conjured or not.  (For the record I think it works).  I just want to talk about the message the show is conveying, and what they could do with it.  My base assumption is that Cinder is going to get the Winter Maiden power.  It would be great way to coincide with her (GASP) actual character development this volume.  But more importantly, if she doesn’t succeed in her goal, and get an upgrade to compete with our leveled-up protagonists, I can’t see how she can be an interesting or threatening villain going forward.  A few ways this can end for Penny:

Pietro could give up the last bit of his life to bring her back.  He’d probably need to get assistance from Abrosius, since he’s lacking in equipment; he’s a brilliant scientist, so explaining it certainly wouldn’t be an obstacle.  Maybe Penny would be back to being a synthetic, maybe she remains organic.  Either way, it’s a compromise with having a functional villain, while keeping around a fandom darling.  Personally, I think RT needs to evoke the spirit of Volume 3, and make people cry.

Actually killing Penny would be bold and stand-out.  By taking away Penny’s function of a core that can be salvaged (as explained at the start of Volume 7), and having her body get incinerated just like Pyrrha, RT can fully signal “This character is dead, and can’t be resurrected.”  The heart break would be brilliant, with Penny getting to know the joys of an organic body just to be immediately ripped away from life.  This would beautifully parallel with General Ironwood.  James clamped down on human emotion because he thought it would give him the strength to stand against the darkness.  Penny’s friends made her MORE human in a loving act of rescue, but now have to watch as she dies like any other human.  Both characters would be cautionary tales regarding the Atlas Arc’s question of Trust.  To leave yourself open.

Alrighty, now that I’ve gotten to feel like an intellectual by making some proclamations of doom, I want to throw out a tinfoil hat theory that actually combines the two previous versions.  What’s fascinated me for years, and the show hasn’t re-visited, is the nature of Cinder’s parasite.  Can Cinder talk to it?  Will it begin gaining sentience?  What’s relevant to Penny is what exactly this thing DOES.  When it comes to it’s soul-power-absorbing function, we’ve never actually seen it’s full extent.  The process with Amber was interrupted, with half the power just zipping over to Cinder after Amber expired.  With Raven and Penny’s power, Cinder’s arm only got a little taste of them both, since both of their captures were unsuccessful.  What if Cinder’s parasite can absorb more than raw power?  Pinnochio is eventually swallowed by a monstrous beast.  We were all sure it would be The Whale.  But what if it’s Cinder?

I’ll be watching the finale in about 5 hours.  The idea that I could be correct about something that takes everyone else off guard (Penny’s death) has an electric feeling, and I totally understand why people can get hung up on the stories they compose in their head.  But I don’t want to start thinking any of MY ideas HAVE to come true for me to get joy from whatever happens to Penny or Volume 8.  Regardless, reviewing character arcs that preceded wherever we are in the present is always worthwhile.  

[eluminium]

Uh oh it’s a debate! (Fic)

Well uh, I’ve been dead for half a year. But now I’m back! Schools been a bitch but Summer break is here and I’ve written something out! Lets watch two idiots argue! Tracy Spacey belongs to @reginaldcopperbottom go follow them and Lucien Rousselle belongs to @quec-two follow her too

"Conductor, with all due respect, what will we gain from this plan?"

The varying tone of the Council Members' voice felt like acid in the Conductor's ears and the pressure inside her skull only increased. Elg felt a simmering irritation nip under her skin and she swore that she just popped a blood vessel. The sleek figure of her biggest rival, Tracy Spacey, stood with arms crossed across the table, unyielding in their questioning. A predominant frown showed their dislike, along with their stiff but straight posture. The air in Elg's lungs left in a huff, and the soft padding of her fingers traced her temples in circles.

"Didn't the older members of our honorable council teach you that you should never play all your cards on one possibility?" Elg challenge as her eyes traveled over the quarreling Council Member.

"Of course they did and that is why I am objecting to this self-destructive plan." Tracy fired back, a harsh glare treating Elg's larger form as she did theirs.

"To hide a large portion of our loot from our ally is only going to inspire mistrust Conductor, and for someone who fought so hard to establish it, I find it strange you'd risk it based on unfounded paranoia." They continued with a small smirk resting on their lips, the smugness leaking off their words.

Elg's lips were sealed while her form rose from her seat, the wooden chair digging into her hand. Her head lolled to the side, not unlike a curious dog.

"Unfounded paranoia? Mind elaborating on that?" She questioned, her fingers tightening around the rim of the chair.

"Tell me, do we have any reason to not trust The Masqueraiders and their leadership?" They spoke while their legs carried them towards the nearest window, gloved hands moving from gripping the other arm to gripping each other behind their back.

"There is no evidence of backstabbing after all." They continued.

"At the moment...Yes, there is no evidence of betrayal from our ally" The Conductor admitted through grit teeth, feeling the annoyance bubble in her veins as her eyes bore into the Council Member.

A satisfied sneer sneaked onto their face as their body twirled around to meet Elgs, displaying a feeling of victory and command despite standing a fair distance away from the Conductor.

"Then why are we having this debate in the first place? Order the Metallics to cease the transfer-"

The chasm that leaked words abruptly stopped as their gaze locked onto the finger that rose into the air, signifying them to shut up. A simple gesture for most, but those used to debates with the Conductor, it's a warning. Tracy felt a similar rage seething in their veins as the Conductor, but they chose to obey, crossing their arms with a grunt and a glare. They were however curious of what her counter would be.

Elg, satisfied with Tracy's silence, spoke.

"You are correct by saying there is no evidence of dishonesty from our ally-"

A snobbish glint danced in their eyes as they kept eye contact with Elg. In response, Elg's feet carried her forwards, closing the gap between them ever so slightly.

"-But have you forgotten what world we operate in Council Member?" She continued sharply while her steps danced closely to Tracy's personal space. Tracy felt their body react by taking a step back, and their arms sneaked back into a defensive position.

"I don't follow your line of thinking, Conductor" They rumbled as a counter, their asphalt-colored gaze hardening as they were locked with Elg's sharp ocean blue eyes.

With a confident step forward, and a small squeak from Tracy as their personal space was breached, Elg felt a dark chuckle escape her lungs.

"We're criminals, Council Member. We operate in a space where betrayal is rewarded greatly, and so are the Masqueraiders. Yes, they might not plan to betray us now, but in the future? Anything is possible. Besides, they might be planning to stab us in the back right now, we just haven't noticed."

For a split second, the room was silent. Not a single sarcasm-filled sound bounced off the metal walls. The only noises either of their ears could pick up were their own and the other's breathing. The space between them barely existed, their chests squished up against each other. Despite Tracy slightly outclassing Elg in height, Elg's more bulky form made them look quite small pressed up against her. The stillness continued. Tracy's mind drew a blank, Elg waited for a response.

But as the clock in Tracy's pocket ticked, both their gazes averted and both moved back a step, with the Conductor doing it calmly while the Council Members step was more panicky. Despite this, Elg quickly reestablished eye contact, refusing to look away until Tracy gave them an answer. Tracy, in their turn, fumbled a bit.

"D-Don't you think I know that?!" They spat out, flustered, while their body moved into a guarded stance. Their spine was erected and their foot hit the floor repeatedly.

"Well, If you did maybe you wouldn't be so naive!" Elg snarled back angrily, the rage in her blood starting to boil over. Both their tones drowned the room in toxicity.

"Don't patronize me, Conductor! I'm not a fucking child!"

"Stop acting like one then!"

"Oh, I could say the same to you! You're putting the stability of our alliance in peril because of some childish fear!"

"Why do you even care so much?! You were one of the biggest opponents of said alliance in the beginning! You fought tooth and bloody nail to prevent it, constantly calling me a false conductor who doesn't care about her people! And now that I'm actually prioritizing the Bowties you fucking fight me on it! What happened?!"

Their feet shifted their balance to their toes as a preventive scoff left them. Their body kept dragging in itself.

"It doesn't matter! People are allowed to change their god damn opinions Conductor!"

Suddenly, something clicked in the Conductors head, and her stare once again traveled over the huffing Council Member. The defensive position, the avoidance of the question, the almost fearful tone in their voice, bouncing around in her ear...

"You gotta be kidding me" She muttered spitefully, her stare turning into a glare.

"Wha-?" Tracy started but was caught off guard by the Conductors' sudden change in volume.

"It's that wasp-looking guy isn't it?! Lucien Rousselle, right?!" She raised her voice, the sound of fury echoing.

"W-What about him?! What the hell are you on?!" Tracy spluttered, a red heat traveling through their cheeks.

"Don't play dumb with me you clock-obsessed moron! It's so obvious even I can see it! I see the looks you give him! You're prioritizing your dainty little feelings over the safety of our faction!" Elg roared, the stomp of her steps slowly approaching Tracy once again.

"U-Uh n-no! That's not true! Uhm...uh...but but BUT WHAT ABOUT WEASLEY? YOU TWO ARE CLOSE! DO YOU SERIOUSLY THINK HE'D BETRAY YOU? YOU THINK HE'S JUST ANOTHER LUIGRA?!" Tracy bit back, panic rushing through their bones. They HAD to change the topic, and fast. Even if it meant hitting some weak spots.

Now it was Elg's turn to be completely bewildered. Her footsteps ground to a halt as she was forced to recalibrated her brain.

"What the...What?! Just because we're close and work together doesn't mean I'd sacrifice the safety of my fellow Bowties! And don't you DARE compare him to that...that greedy blue-haired fucker!" Elg stuttered out, confusion and anger dribbling off her voice.

"Well, maybe you should ACT like it then you daft idiot!"

"Hah! Rich for you to say love bird!"

"S-Shut up! I'm not in love with a fucking economics minister! You tried to teach Weasley how to play fucking POOL yesterday!"

"That has nothing to do with ANYTHING-"

"Oh doesn't it-?!"

"Conduta' Elg?"

Both of their mouths clamped shut as that familiar Arabic voice filled the room.

"Y...Yeah, Aynan?" Elg huffed out, completely out of breath from the shouting match.

"We nee' to le'ave tha' area soon, ya nee' to prepa' tha' train" He continued, his words soft and delicate like a cloud.

"Yes, yes of course. I'll head out now" Elg responded, her body taking her towards the door like she was on autopilot, with her Young Soul waiting outside.

Before she left the room, she once again stared into Tracy's thundercloud-like eyes. They were both gasping a bit, exhausted from the dispute turned screaming match. She was met by anger, confusion, and fear. Her own sky blue gaze showed similar emotions. From this, both of them knew this debate was far from over, and that they'd clash again one day soon.

[downwiththeficness]

In the Bond-Chapter 5

Summary: Lilah often wished she’d never said yes to working with the Gecko brothers—usually while dodging gunfire. At no time was she regretting that decision more than when she’s hanging upside down from the ceiling, staring down a group of hungry culebras and one (1) extremely powerful sun god.

Word Count: ~3,700

Warnings: None

A/N: This is an AU of my Story In the Blood, which can be read here. Basically, this fic explores what would have happened if Lilah had met up with Geckos before she met Brasa.

Taglist: @symbiont13

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Lilah sat at a conference table, hands at her temples, groaning. The meeting was going nowhere. There had been so much goddamned bickering in the last hour that Lilah was tempted just to get up and walk out to see if they would even notice. The fucking testosterone in this room was thick enough to choke her.

They’d been arguing on and off for hours, save for a few breaks that Lilah had mandated when the urge to either bludgeon them to death or to pee arose. Every little thing had to be discussed, debated, twisted every which way. Nothing was simple, especially not when it came to the territory assigned to each side.

“Alright!” She yelled, finally having had enough. “Let’s just go over this again.”

Standing, Lilah leaned over the map.  The surface was covered by solid, clear plastic, onto which they were outlining territories with dry erase markers.  The current argument centered around the delineation of land around a fertile riverbed.

“Okay,” she grunted, “We aren’t planting crops, we’re just trying to figure out what land we’re going to be responsible for.” She put her hand over the area on the map, giving her friend a meaningful look, “We don’t need it, Seth.”

Making a derisive sound, Seth held up his hand, “Hold your horses. This river cuts through our liquor supply chain. We need access to the highway over there.”

Brasa shrugged, having leaned back from the table, “No one is saying you can’t import your liquor. Your horses will be safe.”

Lilah felt her eyes roll, couldn’t keep the sigh from escaping her lips, “He wasn’t talking about literal horses.”

Acting as if he hadn’t heard her, Seth barreled forward, “Yeah, but let’s say things get tense between us.  You could cut off our supply just like that.” He snapped his fingers to emphasize his point. “No, we’re going to extend out past the river and over the road.”

“An extra fifty miles,” Brasa drawled, “For an uninterrupted supply chain.”

“Correct,” Seth answered, a smug little smirk on his mouth.

As he eyed Seth, Lilah could feel the barest brush of warmth across her hands. Reflexively, she drew them back, closer to the safety of her body. The heat dissipated as Brasa stood, leaning his weight into his palms as he braced them on the table.

Like the rest of him, Brasa’s hands were large, the fingers spreading wide over the wood. Lilah noted how the gloves he was wearing stretched tight across the backs of them. She wondered, not for the first time, why he wore them.

“Then, I want the desert land here,” he pointed to a swath of empty land, “And here.”

Seth considered it before giving a nod. Lilah marked it out on the map with the coordinated colors she’d chosen before the meeting began.

“Wait,” Seth said, and Lilah’s jaw clenched, “What would you want with a couple hundred square miles of empty land?”

Brasa lifted a brow, “Are we holding more horses?”

“Forget the horses,” Seth bit out with a wave of his hand, “No one willingly chooses to own land like this.”

“Is that so?”

Lilah did not like the way he said that. A question wrapped around a veiled barb, wrapped in ridicule. She glanced at Seth to see if he caught the undertones in the words. He hadn’t. She didn’t know whether to be annoyed or relieved.

“There is a group of my people who have made camp there,” Brasa explained lightly.

Seth looked unmoved, “You don’t want us going out there and doing population control.”

Lip curling, Brasa replied, “Is that what you call what you were doing? Looked a lot like chaos to me.”

Without blinking, Seth shot back, “Well, its not our main bag, alright? This shit is new to us, since your people came along and infected my brother.”

And, there they were, talking in circles around the thing that made negotiating such an arduous task. Seth would never forgive Brasa for the hell he’d put them through, for the uncrossable gulf that now existed between him and his brother. Fighting with Richie about it only made things worse, and Seth was resorting to striking out at the only other available target.

“This isn’t the time for this,” Lilah edged, fingers tightening on the marker.

“When is the time?” Seth nearly yelled, “We started out killing them and now we’re marking out territories and writing fucking policies and procedures together.”

Lilah drew in a calming breath, “This is business, Seth.”

She’d explained it to him several times over. They needed the cooperation of Brasa and his people. There were just too many factions, too many rogue culebras to hunt down all by themselves. It would take scouring the land every day for years to make that happen. Brasa had already assured them that anyone getting blood at their sites was vetted intensely. Anyone who broke the primary rule and killed humans without regard for the safety of the group was eliminated.

Seth looked at her with ire, “Fuck business.”

“Yes,” Lilah countered with a sneer, “Fuck business. Fuck ending a war. Fuck peace.” She sat back in her chair with a huff, “You want to keep fighting forever? Guess what? You don’t have forever. He does.” She pointed at Brasa, “He has all the time in the world to wait you out, and he’s offering a solution—now, not later.”

Seth went quiet, jaw working. His fingers drummed on the table, eyes cutting.

Lilah saw the crack in his resolve and kept talking, “This sucks. It all sucks. Ironing out details fucking sucks.” She tapped her fingers on the map, “But these details are going to save lives. Possibly yours and mine. Let’s just get this done so we can get back to shit we used to do, the fun shit.”

There was a heaviness in the air as she trailed off, her expression urging Seth for some sort of compromise.  She was being honest when she said she wanted to get back to what she was good at. Lilah had been itching for a job for months, had actually stooped low enough to snag a pair of sunglasses at the gas station just to satisfy the restlessness in her hands. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to end out figuring out who the richest person in the country was and rob them blind.

Brasa spoke, his voice piqued with interest, “What did you do before...population control?”

Seth cut a look at him that was both suspicious and angry, “We’re thieves. I run point, Richie is the box man, Lilah monitors with tech.”

“That is fortunate,” Brasa said as he sat, with a little smile that was far too easy for Lilah’s taste, “I happen to need a few items stolen for me.”

Lilah leaned her head on her head, motioning for him to continue. She was intrigued by the idea that he would be interested in contracting with them. A job was a tasty idea, at the moment, and found that she didn’t much care that it would be Brasa that would be directing them.

“As you might be aware, relics are often stolen from indigenous people and either put on display in a museum or kept in a private collection. I’d like some of those relics back.”

Lilah’s brows lifted. That was certainly not what she had expected him to say. The idea had some merit, though. Lilah’s favorite jobs were museums. So many pretty things that definitely needed a new home.

Seth considered it, “We’re not a cheap crew.”

True.

Nodding, Brasa simply said, “I have money.”

Definitely true. Every inch of Brasa’s office and the bar adjacent screamed money at her in an understated way. As old as he was, there was no denying that he likely had a cache of assets squirreled away.

Lilah looked back and forth between them, already calculating cost, labor, and expenses. Depending on what he wanted, she could potentially negotiate a hefty profit. And, if there happened to be something else in the museum that caught her fancy—bonus.

“Say we do this job,” Seth began, slouching in his seat, “And you pay us—and, we iron out all these details,” he gestured to the map. “Is that going to be it?”

“It?”

“Yeah. Or, are we going to have a dual relationship, here. Both contractor and partner.”

Lilah was actually a little impressed that Seth not only knew how dual relationships worked, but also applied it to their unique situation. She turned her attention to Brasa, curious to hear his response.

“I can contract others, if you like. But, I like to work with people I know, people that I...trust to have a stake in things going well for them.”

Logical. Practical. Efficient. Lilah was quickly learning how skilled Brasa could be when he wanted something done. He might want whatever these relics were back in his possession, but she wasn’t stupid enough to dismiss the fact that he was creating yet another tie between them, anchoring her nearby with every task they agreed to take on. It wasn’t possible to deny his motivations any longer. Denial wouldn’t do her any good. She was undecided on how she felt about it.

Seth remained silent, watching, waiting.  Lilah was holding her breath.

Brasa’s eyes narrowed, “I will give you the river, and the connecting highway from here,” he pointed, “to here. In lieu of payment, of course. You make take your horses wherever you like within that boundary.”

Mildly offended, Lilah cut in, “In lieu of payment, but you will cover expenses.  Air fare, hotel stays, food, and equipment.”

His attention, when it turned to her, was keen.  Though his expression did not change, there was a twinkle of laughter in his eyes, possibly pride, as well, “Done.”

“What if,” Seth began, “We took this deal, and our horses, and added this area, too.”

He pointed to the desert Brasa had originally bargained for.  It was surrounded by enemy territory, across the river they’d just gained, with no inherent resources. Lilah glared at him, knowing he was needling his opponent. The man just couldn’t help it, consequences be damned.

“Well,” Brasa responded levelly, “I’d say that you might have your horses, but you’d be isolated, alone, and on the wrong side of the river.”

Seth conceded the point with a nod of his head, “Not a fan of sand, anyways. Unless its a beach. Beaches, I can do.”

Unmoved by the sentiment, Brasa simply replied, “I will keep the desert.”

Lilah blinked slowly, and when Seth made no move to argue, she asked “So its settled, then?”

Both of them indicated in the positive, with Seth saying, “There’s one thing I don’t understand.”

“One thing?” Lilah commented, though she didn’t expect him to respond. He’d started on a tangent, and getting him back on track would be difficult.  Better to let him roll through his thought process.

“You’ve got a whole group of culebras that you’re feeding, right?”

Brasa nodded, though his expression had shuttered.

“How are you doing that?”

A valid question that she had figured out not longer after these meetings had started. Lilah cut in, trying to head off any insult he might inadvertently blurt out, “He’s having it shipped in.”

“From where?” Seth asked, hands gesturing widely. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re in kind of a food desert, here.  Literally and figuratively.”

Without an answer to his question, Lilah looked to Brasa, brows lifted. She was curious enough about his process to let the question stand.

Cocking his head to the side, Brasa licked his lips, “I run a rather complex medical supplies company. We ship all over the country. Part of that business is blood donation.”

Seth’s mouth thinned, “You’re stealing blood.”

Brasa huffed, “We transport most of it to where it needs to go. Call it a finder’s fee.”

“What about the sick people who need it?”

Where was all this compassion coming from? Lilah wondered. Although far from heartless, Seth didn’t usually care this much about the people he ripped off. Why should this be any different?

“Would you rather we feed on the humans in the area?” Brasa’s voice was low, dangerous. Lilah could feel the offense, as if it were her own.

“No.”

“Alright, then.”

Sensing that the conversation had come to an impass, Lilah gathered up her paperwork, “I’m going to get this all formatted and polished for both of your signatures. Shouldn’t take more than a few days.”

“Great,” Seth muttered as he rose, “Let’s get out of here.”

***

Later, when her eyes started crossing from staring at the computer too long, Lilah shut down her laptop and sat it on her nightstand. Rubbing at her face, she yawned and settled against the headboard. Furtively, she glanced to the side, her hand already reaching for the candle she’d tucked away. After checking that the door was closed (despite having closed and locked it a few hours before), Lilah lifted the lid and inhaled deeply.

Coffee. Caramel.

A little too quickly, Lilah replaced the lid and set it back in its little hideaway. Embarrassed, she crossed her arms and stared at the ceiling.  Lilah was feeling things she hadn’t really ever felt, not since she’d been in high school. And, even then, it was never this intense. She managed to get through their meetings solely because there was always something else to focus on. Every one on one interaction with him left her feeling frazzled and lightheaded. She’d stolen rare artifacts with less trouble.

In this business, Lilah had what most would call a late start.  She’d had a normal childhood, had gone through high school and done the work thing for a bit. Lilah had even sat in a cubicle, bored out of her mind. It wasn’t until she’d met a chop shop owner named Chewie that she’d been introduced to theft.  First, cars, then she’d set her eyes on higher things—art, diamonds, one time she managed to steal a yacht.

It had been a steady rotation of teams that were well-established in their own right, but never did more than a few jobs together before they split to keep the heat down. Lilah had spent almost a decade running in those circles before she’d run into Seth at a dive bar south of the border.  He’d hit on her, laughed when she’d knocked him off his barstool, and offered her a job.

And, here she sat. Hip deep in a relationship she didn’t understand and brokering a deal between her friends and the people they’d taught her to fear. Sneering at the course of her own thoughts, Lilah pushed her feet under the covers and turned off the light. It took longer than she wanted to get to sleep.

***

Oh, fuck, the bed was comfortable.  Lilah turned over, burying her nose in the pillow and kicking out her legs.  With a sigh, she settled back into the mattress that she was pretty sure was more expensive than her car. So comfortable was she that Lilah could be forgiven for taking a little longer than normal to become aware of another body in the bed with her.

She took a few seconds to assess and decide on what she was going to do, which was pretty much nothing.  Eyes opening, she waited for them to adjust to the warm light emanating from the lamp sitting on the nightstand. Cast in shadow, Lilah recognized the slope of Brasa’s profile. His eyes were closed, but she couldn’t tell if he was sleeping.

Her fingers curled with the urge to reach out and touch, her brain a little foggy from sleep. Lips parting, she breathed, lids falling to half mast Lilah let it roll over her tongue. She had to clench her jaw to stifle a pleased moan.

Lashes fluttering, Brasa opened his eyes, his head rolling to the side on the pillow. He looked her over calmly, unsurprised that she’d somehow ended up in his bed. Lilah, however, had questions.

“Is this real?”

His mouth quirked, “Does it have to be?”

She started to answer, and then stopped. Did it have to be? Lilah wasn’t sure which she preferred. When they were together, she felt excited and eager, even when she was outwardly annoyed. When they were apart, she struggled to reconcile the two versions of him that she knew to be true. With barely a thought, he’d eviscerated his opponents, hands tearing them into literal pieces. And then there was the way he was looking at her right now—all softness, all quiet affection.

Lilah’s silence continued, the space between them spreading thin with her indecision. Brasa shifted slowly to his side, lifting up onto his elbow so that he was looking down at her. His body was cut in half by lamplight, eyes too bright to be merely natural reflection.

Lilah’s skin drew up tight around the curves of her body as she worked to keep her gaze on his. Every inch of her seemed to be viscerally aware of him, responding to the smallest movement. Her nerves sizzled with his nearness.

He tilted his head to the side, eyes tracing the contours of her cheekbones, her neck, and shoulders. Lilah swallowed, disconcerted by the scrutiny, but unable to think of any way to break it. He studied her as if he’d never look at her again, memorizing details with tender care.

Finally, when she couldn’t take the silence anymore, she said, “How am I here?”

Brasa lifted a shoulder, “We had so little time together last night. Perhaps we needed more.”

She didn’t know what to do with that. Next question, then.

“You sleep during the day.”

Not really a question, more of a statement, but she waited for his answer nonetheless.

“Sometimes,” he replied, taking her change in subject in stride, “I need less sleep than most.”

“Why?”

He smiled, “I am very old. We need to sleep less, to feed less, as we age.”

Lilah had heard a little about this from Richie, who’d lamented that it took so long to build up a tolerance to going long periods without feeding.  And, she knew Richie only slept a few hours a night. She wondered just how often Brasa would need to sleep, given how much older he was. Lilah was no longer surprised at his efficiency with getting his projects together. If she could miss a few meals or miss a few night’s sleep every once in a while, she could get a hell of a lot done.

“That’s a nice perk,” she commented lightly, “When I go too long without eating, I get grumpy.”

Nodding, Brasa reached out and traced the pad of a finger over her shoulder and down her arm to her wrist, “I will keep this in mind and endeavor to keep you well fed.”

Would she do the same? He hadn’t mentioned that she had taken his blood without giving any in return. Whenever Lilah thought about it too deeply, she always came back to the same line of thought—his bite. She had tried to do a little covert research about the venom, but only found a few vague references to ‘donors’ seeking it out. Venom, it seemed, could be a popular drug in certain circles.

“I’m sorry that we left so quickly,” Lilah murmured rolling her wrist to place her hand over his, “I know that I didn’t...fulfill my end of our agreement.”

Twice. Two interactions in a row, she hadn’t. He hadn’t brought it up, but the disparity between what she’d promised and what she’d done nagged at her. She didn’t like to be made a liar.

Brasa’s brows lifted, “Are you afraid I’ll tell them?”

“No,” she replied quickly, “I just don’t want you to think I’m avoiding it.”

He smiled flirtatiously, “Are you offering now?”

Eyes widening, Lilah’s mouth parted, voice silent as her brain stumbled over forming a reply, “This is a dream. Is—is that even possible?”

He laughed, a real laugh. It made his face, so predisposed to severity, brighten in such a way that he fairly glowed in the dim light. Lilah felt her breath catch in the back of her throat, struck by just how goddamned pretty he was to look at.

“I don’t know,” he breathed, when he was able, “Would you like to try?”

The word ‘okay’ was out of her mouth before Lilah could stop it, her eyes wide, her heart beating hard. Brasa’s smile faded, his eyes focusing on her, the pupils bleeding out into the whites until there was nothing but blackness looking down at her. She drew in a shuddering breath, her fingers curling over his.

Sliding closer to her, Brasa cupped her jaw, tilting it back just a little. He glanced at her face again, checking for her consent. She gave the smallest nod, licking her lips. The motion drew his eyes to her mouth, his body growing hot against her. He leaned down, but instead of hovering over the thin skin of her neck, he moved to the side. The realization that he intended to kiss her came to Lilah in a slow, honeyed wave.

“Yes?” He asked, his breath fanning over her mouth.

“Yes.”

It was so, so slow, this kiss. Light pressure that grew heavier in the smallest increments. Lilah gripped his bicep, trying to ground herself as every nerve in her body screamed to life, reaching out desperately to get more stimulation. He drew back, changed the angle, and kissed her again—deeper, hungrier, tongue running along her bottom lip.

She was too hot, her skin seared by the heat emanating from him. Sweat rose and pooled in the hollows of her arms, beneath her breasts, the crease between her hip and thigh. She heard herself moan, felt her muscles relax as he rolled her beneath him. Brasa pulled away, nosing along her jaw and down to her neck. Lilah surprised herself when her lifted her chin, giving him more access.

The sharp press of his teeth snapped her awake. She sat up, breathing as if she’d been sprinting. Her entire body was shaking, her sheets damp with sweat.

“Well,” she croaked, “That’s new.”

[and-then-there-were-n0ne]

George Orwell, Notes on Nationalism

Somewhere or other Byron makes use of the French word longeur, and remarks in passing that though in England we happen not to have the word, we have the thing in considerable profusion. In the same way, there is a habit of mind which is now so widespread that it affects our thinking on nearly every subject, but which has not yet been given a name. As the nearest existing equivalent I have chosen the word ‘nationalism’, but it will be seen in a moment that I am not using it in quite the ordinary sense, if only because the emotion I am speaking about does not always attach itself to what is called a nation – that is, a single race or a geographical area. It can attach itself to a church or a class, or it may work in a merely negative sense, against something or other and without the need for any positive object of loyalty.

By ‘nationalism’ I mean first of all the habit of assuming that human beings can be classified like insects and that whole blocks of millions or tens of millions of people can be confidently labelled ‘good’ or ‘bad’. But secondly – and this is much more important – I mean the habit of identifying oneself with a single nation or other unit, placing it beyond good and evil and recognizing no other duty than that of advancing its interests. 

Nationalism is not to be confused with patriotism. Both words are normally used in so vague a way that any definition is liable to be challenged, but one must draw a distinction between them, since two different and even opposing ideas are involved. By ‘patriotism’ I mean devotion to a particular place and a particular way of life, which one believes to be the best in the world but has no wish to force on other people. Patriotism is of its nature defensive, both militarily and culturally. Nationalism, on the other hand, is inseparable from the desire for power. The abiding purpose of every nationalist is to secure more power and more prestige, not for himself but for the nation or other unit in which he has chosen to sink his own individuality. [...]

It does not necessarily mean loyalty to a government or a country, still less to one’s own country, and it is not even strictly necessary that the units in which it deals should actually exist. To name a few obvious examples, Jewry, Islam, Christendom, the Proletariat and the White Race are all of them objects of passionate nationalistic feeling: but their existence can be seriously questioned, and there is no definition of any one of them that would be universally accepted.

It is also worth emphasizing once again that nationalist feeling can be purely negative. There are, for example, Trotskyists who have become simply enemies of the U.S.S.R. without developing a corresponding loyalty to any other unit. When one grasps the implications of this, the nature of what I mean by nationalism becomes a good deal clearer. A nationalist is  one who thinks solely, or mainly, in terms of competitive prestige. He may be a positive or a negative nationalist – that is, he may use his mental energy either in boosting or in denigrating – but at any rate his thoughts always turn on victories, defeats, triumphs and humiliations. He sees history, especially contemporary history, as the endless rise and decline of great power units, and every event that happens seems to him a demonstration that his own side is on the up-grade and some hated rival is on the down-grade. But finally, it is important not to confuse nationalism with mere worship of success. The nationalist does not go on the principle of simply ganging up with the strongest side. On the contrary, having picked his side, he persuades himself that it is the strongest, and is able to stick to his belief even when the facts are overwhelmingly against him. Nationalism is power hunger tempered by self-deception. Every nationalist is capable of the most flagrant dishonesty, but he is also – since he is conscious of serving something bigger than himself – unshakeably certain of being in the right.

Now that I have given this lengthy definition, I think it will be admitted that the habit of mind I am talking about is widespread among the English intelligentsia, and more widespread there than among the mass of the people. For those who feel deeply about contemporary politics, certain topics have become so infected by considerations of prestige that a genuinely rational approach to them is almost impossible. [...] And there are whole strings of kindred questions to which you can only get an honest answer from someone who is indifferent to the whole subject involved, and whose opinion on it is probably worthless in any case. Hence, partly, the remarkable failure in our time of political and military prediction. It is curious to reflect that out of all the ‘experts’ of all the schools, there was not a single one who was able to foresee so likely an event as the Russo-German Pact of 1939. And when news of the Pact broke, the most wildly divergent explanations were of it were given, and predictions were made which were falsified almost immediately, being based in nearly every case not on a study of probabilities but on a desire to make the U.S.S.R. seem good or bad, strong or weak. 

Political or military commentators, like astrologers, can survive almost any mistake, because their more devoted followers do not look to them for an appraisal of the facts but for the stimulation of nationalistic loyalties. And aesthetic judgements, especially literary judgements, are often corrupted in the same way as political ones. It would be difficult for an Indian nationalist to enjoy reading Kipling or for a Conservative to see merit in Mayakovsky, and there is always a temptation to claim that any book whose tendency one disagrees with must be a bad book from a literary point of view. People of strongly nationalistic outlook often perform this sleight of hand without being conscious of dishonesty. [...]

Obviously there are considerable resemblances between political Catholicism, as exemplified by Chesterton, and Communism. So there are between either of these and for instance Scottish nationalism, Zionism, Antisemitism or Trotskyism. It would be an oversimplification to say that all forms of nationalism are the same, even in their mental atmosphere, but there are certain rules that hold good in all cases. The following are the principal characteristics of nationalist thought:

Obsession. As nearly as possible, no nationalist ever thinks, talks, or writes about anything except the superiority of his own power unit. It is difficult if not impossible for any nationalist to conceal his allegiance. The smallest slur upon his own unit, or any implied praise of a rival organization, fills him with uneasiness which he can only relieve by making some sharp retort. If the chosen unit is an actual country, such as Ireland or India, he will generally claim superiority for it not only in military power and political virtue, but in art, literature, sport, structure of the language, the physical beauty of the inhabitants, and perhaps even in climate, scenery and cooking. He will show great sensitiveness about such things as the correct display of flags, relative size of headlines and the order in which different countries are named. Nomenclature plays a very important part in nationalist thought. Countries which have won their independence or gone through a nationalist revolution usually change their names, and any country or other unit round which strong feelings revolve is likely to have several names, each of them carrying a different implication. The two sides of the Spanish Civil War had between them nine or ten names expressing different degrees of love and hatred. Some of these names (e.g. ‘Patriots’ for Franco-supporters, or ‘Loyalists’ for Government-supporters) were frankly question-begging, and there was no single one of them which the two rival factions could have agreed to use. All nationalists consider it a duty to spread their own language to the detriment of rival languages. [...] Nationalist thought often gives the impression of being tinged by belief in sympathetic magic – a belief which probably comes out in the widespread custom of burning political enemies in effigy, or using pictures of them as targets in shooting galleries.

Instability. The intensity with which they are held does not prevent nationalist loyalties from being transferable. To begin with, as I have pointed out already, they can be and often are fastened upon some foreign country. One quite commonly finds that great national leaders, or the founders of nationalist movements, do not even belong to the country they have glorified. Sometimes they are outright foreigners, or more often they come from peripheral areas where nationality is doubtful. Examples are Stalin, Hitler, Napoleon, de Valera, Disraeli, Poincaré, Beaverbrook. The Pan-German movement was in part the creation of an Englishman, Houston Chamberlain. For the past fifty or a hundred years, transferred nationalism has been a common phenomenon among literary intellectuals. With Lafcadio Hearne the transference was to Japan, with Carlyle and many others of his time to Germany, and in our own age it is usually to Russia. But the peculiarly interesting fact is that re-transference is also possible. A country or other unit which has been worshipped for years may suddenly become detestable, and some other object of affection may take its place with almost no interval. In the first version of H. G. Wells’s Outline of History, and others of his writings about that time, one finds the United States praised almost as extravagantly as Russia is praised by Communists today: yet within a few years this uncritical admiration had turned into hostility. The bigoted Communist who changes in a space of weeks, or even of days, into an equally bigoted Trotskyist is a common spectacle. In continental Europe Fascist movements were largely recruited from among Communists, and the opposite process may well happen within the next few years. What remains constant in the nationalist is his own state of mind: the object of his feelings is changeable, and may be imaginary. But for an intellectual, transference has an important function which I have already mentioned shortly in connection with Chesterton. It makes it possible for him to be much more nationalistic – more vulgar, more silly, more malignant, more dishonest – than he could ever be on behalf of his native country, or any unit of which he had real knowledge. When one sees the slavish or boastful rubbish that is written about Stalin, the Red army, etc. by fairly intelligent and sensitive people, one realizes that this is only possible because some kind of dislocation has taken place. In societies such as ours, it is unusual for anyone describable as an intellectual to feel a very deep attachment to his own country. Public opinion – that is, the section of public opinion of which he as an intellectual is aware – will not allow him to do so. Most of the people surrounding him are sceptical and disaffected, and he may adopt the same attitude from imitativeness or sheer cowardice: in that case he will have abandoned the form of nationalism that lies nearest to hand without getting any closer to a genuinely internationalist outlook. He still feels the need for a Fatherland, and it is natural to look for one somewhere abroad. Having found it, he can wallow unrestrainedly in exactly those emotions from which he believes that he has emancipated himself. God, the King, the Empire, the Union Jack – all the overthrown idols can reappear under different names, and because they are not recognized for what they are they can be worshipped with a good conscience. Transferred nationalism, like the use of scapegoats, is a way of attaining salvation without altering one’s conduct.

Indifference to Reality. All nationalists have the power of not seeing resemblances between similar sets of facts. A British Tory will defend self-determination in Europe and oppose it in India with no feeling of inconsistency. Actions are held to be good or bad, not on their own merits, but according to who does them, and there is almost no kind of outrage – torture, the use of hostages, forced labour, mass deportations, imprisonment without trial, forgery, assassination, the bombing of civilians – which does not change its moral colour when it is committed by ‘our’ side. The Liberal News Chronicle published, as an example of shocking barbarity, photographs of Russians hanged by the Germans, and then a year or two later published with warm approval almost exactly similar photographs of Germans hanged by the Russians. It is the same with historical events. [...] If one looks back over the past quarter of a century, one finds that there was hardly a single year when atrocity stories were not being reported from some part of the world: and yet in not one single case were these atrocities – in Spain, Russia, China, Hungary, Mexico, Amritsar, Smyrna – believed in and disapproved of by the English intelligentsia as a whole. Whether such deeds were reprehensible, or even whether they happened, was always decided according to political predilection. The nationalist not only does not disapprove of atrocities committed by his own side, but he has a remarkable capacity for not even hearing about them. For quite six years the English admirers of Hitler contrived not to learn of the existence of Dachau and Buchenwald. And those who are loudest in denouncing the German concentration camps are often quite unaware, or only very dimly aware, that there are also concentration camps in Russia. Huge events like the Ukraine famine of 1933, involving the deaths of millions of people, have actually escaped the attention of the majority of English russophiles. Many English people have heard almost nothing about the extermination of German and Polish Jews during the present war. Their own antisemitism has caused this vast crime to bounce off their consciousness. In nationalist thought there are facts which are both true and untrue, known and unknown. A known fact may be so unbearable that it is habitually pushed aside and not allowed to enter into logical processes, or on the other hand it may enter into every calculation and yet never be admitted as a fact, even in one’s own mind.  Every nationalist is haunted by the belief that the past can be altered. He spends part of his time in a fantasy world in which things happen as they should – in which, for example, the Spanish Armada was a success or the Russian Revolution was crushed in 1918 – and he will transfer fragments of this world to the history books whenever possible. Much of the propagandist writing of our time amounts to plain forgery. Material facts are suppressed, dates altered, quotations removed from their context and doctored so as to change their meaning. Events which, it is felt, ought not to have happened are left unmentioned and ultimately denied. In 1927 Chiang Kai-Shek boiled hundreds of Communists alive, and yet within ten years he had become one of the heroes of the Left. The re-alignment of world politics had brought him into the anti-Fascist camp, and so it was felt that the boiling of the Communists ‘didn’t count’, or perhaps had not happened. The primary aim of propaganda is, of course, to influence contemporary opinion, but those who rewrite history do probably believe with part of their minds that they are actually thrusting facts into the past. When one considers the elaborate forgeries that have been committed in order to show that Trotsky did not play a valuable part in the Russian civil war, it is difficult to feel that the people responsible are merely lying. More probably they feel that their own version was what happened in the sight of God, and that one is justified in rearranging the records accordingly. Indifference to objective truth is encouraged by the sealing-off of one part of the world from another, which makes it harder and harder to discover what is actually happening. There can often be a genuine doubt about the most enormous events. For example, it is impossible to calculate within millions, perhaps even tens of millions, the number of deaths caused by the present war. The calamities that are constantly being reported – battles, massacres, famines, revolutions – tend to inspire in the average person a feeling of unreality. One has no way of verifying the facts, one is not even fully certain that they have happened, and one is always presented with totally different interpretations from different sources. What were the rights and wrongs of the Warsaw rising of August 1944? Is it true about the German gas ovens in Poland? Who was really to blame for the Bengal famine? Probably the truth is discoverable, but the facts will be so dishonestly set forth in almost any newspaper that the ordinary reader can be forgiven either for swallowing lies or failing to form an opinion. The general uncertainty as to what is really happening makes it easier to cling to lunatic beliefs. Since nothing is ever quite proved or disproved, the most unmistakable fact can be impudently denied. Moreover, although endlessly brooding on power, victory, defeat, revenge, the nationalist is often somewhat uninterested in what happens in the real world. What he wants is to feel that his own unit is getting the better of some other unit, and he can more easily do this by scoring off an adversary than by examining the facts to see whether they support him. All nationalist controversy is at the debating-society level. It is always entirely inconclusive, since each contestant invariably believes himself to have won the victory. Some nationalists are not far from schizophrenia, living quite happily amid dreams of power and conquest which have no connexion with the physical world.

[...] If one harbours anywhere in one’s mind a nationalistic loyalty or hatred, certain facts, although in a sense known to be true, are inadmissible. Here are just a few examples. I list below five types of nationalist, and against each I append a fact which it is impossible for that type of nationalist to accept, even in his secret thoughts: 

British Tory. Britain will come out of this war with reduced power and prestige.

Communist. If she had not been aided by Britain and America, Russia would have been defeated by Germany.

Irish Nationalist. Eire can only remain independent because of British protection. 

Trotskyist. The Stalin régime is accepted by the Russian masses. 

Pacifist. Those who ‘abjure’ violence can only do so because others are committing violence on their behalf.

All of these facts are grossly obvious if one’s emotions do not happen to be involved: but to the kind of person named in each case they are also intolerable, and so they have to be denied, and false theories constructed upon their denial. I come back to the astonishing failure of military prediction in the present war. It is, I think, true to say that the intelligentsia have been more wrong about the progress of the war than the common people, and that they were more swayed by partisan feelings. The average intellectual of the Left believed, for instance, that the war was lost in 1940, that the Germans were bound to overrun Egypt in 1942, that the Japanese would never be driven out of the lands they had conquered, and that the Anglo-American bombing offensive was making no impression on Germany. He could believe these things because his hatred for the British ruling class forbade him to admit that British plans could succeed. There is no limit to the follies that can be swallowed if one is under the influence of feelings of this kind. I have heard it confidently stated, for instance, that the American troops had been brought to Europe not to fight the Germans but to crush an English revolution. One has to belong to the intelligentsia to believe things like that: no ordinary man could be such a fool. [...] The point is that as soon as fear, hatred, jealousy and power worship are involved, the sense of reality becomes unhinged. And, as I have pointed out already, the sense of right and wrong becomes unhinged also. There is no crime, absolutely none, that cannot be condoned when ‘our’ side commits it. Even if one does not deny that the crime has happened, even if one knows that it is exactly the same crime as one has condemned in some other case, even if one admits in an intellectual sense that it is unjustified – still one cannot feel that it is wrong. Loyalty is involved, and so pity ceases to function.

The reason for the rise and spread of nationalism is far too big a question to be raised here. [...] It can be plausibly argued, for instance – it is even probably true – that patriotism is an inoculation against nationalism, that monarchy is a guard against dictatorship, and that organized religion is a guard against superstition. Or again, it can be argued that no unbiased outlook is possible, that all creeds and causes involve the same lies, follies, and barbarities; and this is often advanced as a reason for keeping out of politics altogether. I do not accept this argument, if only because in the modern world no one describable as an intellectual can keep out of politics in the sense of not caring about them. I think one must engage in politics – using the word in a wide sense – and that one must have preferences: that is, one must recognize that some causes are objectively better than others, even if they are advanced by equally bad means. As for the nationalistic loves and hatreds that I have spoken of, they are part of the make-up of most of us, whether we like it or not. Whether it is possible to get rid of them I do not know, but I do believe that it is possible to struggle against them, and that this is essentially a moral effort. It is a question first of all of discovering what one really is, what one’s own feelings really are, and then of making allowance for the inevitable bias. If you hate and fear Russia, if you are jealous of the wealth and power of America, if you despise Jews, if you have a sentiment of inferiority towards the British ruling class, you cannot get rid of those feelings simply by taking thought. But you can at least recognize that you have them, and prevent them from contaminating your mental processes. The emotional urges which are inescapable, and are perhaps even necessary to political action, should be able to exist side by side with an acceptance of reality. But this, I repeat, needs a moral effort, and contemporary English literature, so far as it is alive at all to the major issues of our time, shows how few of us are prepared to make it.

[littlemisssquiggles]

Is it just me or is anyone else getting slowly uncomfortable with the fact that Ruby is still trying to act like everything happen was not her fault or a result of her poor judgement. Dor example, when Penny brought up Ironwood and team RWBY's disagreement. Ruby look generally surprised that Penny was even thinking about Ironwood. It is lowkey, Team RWBY ruined that the alliance with Ironwood fell apart in the first place. Even Oscar apologized about confronting Ironwood alone. But I don't feel any ounce of sorriness from Ruby about how bad this situation has gotten. This situation ia only going to worse now that Oscar is gone. I firmly believe Penny will betray them or disappear and try to confront Salem on her own as a sacrifice but it will be futile. It just seems Team RWBY made so mistakes and lied so much...

...What I personally don’t get is why are folks (fans as well as the actual characters within the show) placing all the blame for the heroes divorce from working with the General and the Atlesian Military on Ruby Rose and Ruby Rose ONLY while ignoring the all-important that detail that it was in fact the actions of Yang Xiao Long (and by extension Blake Belladonna) that landed the group in hot water and not really what Ruby did.

Don’t get me wrong anon-chan. You are correct in the fact that Ruby’s choice to deceive the General was the first mistake the heroes made and while I agree that Ruby does deserve to be pulled up for that failed leadership choices, she isn’t the only person meant to be on trial here for the repercussions of their mistakes. Are we forgetting that the bit about the heroes choosing to lie and withhold the truth about Salem was all brought to light before the General and ironed out by Oscar?

Are we forgetting that back in RWBY V7CH9---after the others left to go assist in the evacuation down in Mantle with the Ace Ops, Oscar and Ironwood had a discussion where not only did the little prince shed light on the truth about Salem but he also explained the rationalization behind the group’s choice to withhold such information from the General for so long.

When Ironwood called out RWBY in his office in V7CH11, it wasn’t for their choice to withhold the truth about Salem---it was actually regarding how Robyn Hill learned about the Amity Project. A secret that was revealed to the Happy Huntress by Yang and Blake in V7CH7 and as far as I’m aware of, the Bees never informed the others about what they had done on the night of the ambush.

We got no scene afterwards that confirmed this (at least to my recollection). Not even during the brief meeting between RWBY and Oscar at the start of V7CH8. As far as the audience is aware, Yang and Blake acted on their own to reveal the Amity Project to the Happy Huntresses and failed to alert the others.

And in reviewing the episode where this happened (V7CH7)---I noticed that it was actually Yang who made the call to reveal the truth to Robyn since Blake looked to her for approval first before spilling the beans to Robyn. 

So essentially Yang is to be held responsible for relaying the Amity Project to the leader of the Happy Huntresses…and then choosing to not tell the rest of the team?

This is what has been bugging me about the showrunners’ choice to have Yang be the one to call out Ruby for her mistakes in leadership. This presents Yang as a hypocrite in my eyes since in my opinion, she has no right to pull up Ruby while ignoring that she herself is responsible for the group losing their alliance with the Military.

Let me say this again---it was NOT Ruby’s choice for the group to deceive the General about Salem that caused their inevitable rift. It was Yang’s choice for her and Blake to tell the Happy Huntresses about Amity. THAT is what Ironwood called RWBY out for last season. And let me also remind you of the detail that while the WHOLE team knew about Ruby’s choice, NO ONE else other than Blake knew about Yang’s (as far as I know).

So yeah, while I agree with you on your lack of sympathy towards Ruby right now since she does deserve to have her leadership questioned, at the same time, I hate that all the blame is being slapped on Ruby’s shoulders when it isn’t entirely her fault. Yang is ALSO responsible yet she gets a slap on the wrist by the PLOT. Nah son! I’m not liking this angle at all.

Ruby deserves to be called out yes, but someone NEEDS to tell off Yang too and pull her up too. From where I’m standing, both sisters screwed up and got the group in trouble. So I’d like for someone to confront Yang too and at the moment, I’m banking on it being Blake since, judging by the first episode, she didn’t look too keen on what Yang said to Ruby by calling out her leadership. Not to mention that when the teams divided, Blake sided with Ruby and NOT Yang which, to be me, is very interesting. So I’m hoping this leads to Blake standing up for Ruby in the event of another confrontation and blame game, leading to the Belladonna girl telling off Yang.

I understand the show has been “strengthening” the bond between the Bees since V6 (as a result of the story potentially leading into the two huntresses being paired up romantically) however I would have mad respect for the writers if, not only did they have Blake be the one to reprimand Yang for her poor choices but additionally if that leads into the two girls finally discussing their relationship and all the things that was left unsaid between them from seasons ago since Blake’s return.

Not saying this will occur. Just saying that if it did, I’d have nothing but mad respect for the writers for this bit of good development between the Bees.

As for Penny P---I agree with you on the possibility of Penny betraying the heroes. If her option for her to surrender over the Staff of Creation to Salem in exchange for her kingdom’s salvation wasn’t a clear as day red flag then I don’t know what is. It’s as blunt as a bullet to the foot, m’dude. 

It is very evident with her expressions and mannerisms that Penny is emotionally stunted by the tension between the two hero factions (our heroes and the Atlesian Military) with whom she shares affiliation with. It’s like watching a child suffer through their parents going through a bitter divorce and custody battle knowing fully well that things aren’t okay while simultaneously being assured that all will be well (when it isn’t and probably won’t be in the end given the tone of the opening and season thus far). Ruby and General Ironwood---the two core leaders of both hero factions---are like the dysfunctional parents in this scenario and Penny, as the party member who is linked to both of them, is being forced to choose a side. At least, that’s how it felt when Ironwood contacted Penny.

Again it’s like watching a child in a dysfunctional family where one parent is forcing them to choose between the other while ignoring the child’s feelings in this predicament. It’s all there. In this moment, Penny is like a child. Even the way she’s been talking to everyone feels more child-like and innocent than usual.

And Ironwood giving Penny the guilt trip by placing the fall of Mantle in her hands---it is such a manipulative move. I hate it for what it’s doing to Penny right now in the show but I love it at the same time for what it could eventually lead into for her character and arc later in the story.

The point I’m trying to make here is that I do think Penny will betray everyone in the end. Without a doubt. Given the beef between both sides, I feel as if we’re likely to see Penny ultimately chose to take matter into her own hands---disowning BOTH sides and choosing to do things HER way out of what SHE felt was best for EVERYONE.

In the beginning, Penny started off on Ironwood’s side with the Military (mainly) back in V7. Then in V8, she’s with RWBY and the others. However I think in the end, Penny will revoke her alliance with both sides of heroes, deeming them all unfit to lead and help anyone right now; essentially holding their current squabble accountable for the tragedies of both Atlas and Mantle (which…she wouldn’t be wrong for saying).

And thus, this will culminate in Penny doing the very, very stupid---I mean gullible thing she said she would do. The thing everyone warned her not to do. For this squiggle meister’s perspective, I’m anticipating that Penny will probably betray RWBN to side with Ironwood just so she can be given access to the Staff of Creation in the Vault of the Winter Maiden. Then once the Staff in revealed, Penny will then betray Ironwood and take the Staff to Salem as a bargaining chip for Atlas’ salvation.

From here, she will either be destroyed again---killed on the spot with the Winter Maiden powers going straight to Cinder or…who knows, maybe there’ll be another twist in there where Penny is kept alive to be made into Salem’s Maiden of Magic in place of Cinder Fall who she’ll probably end up punishing yet again for her insolence (since we’re probably going to see Cinder defy Salem again due to her greed). Or perhaps…Penny 2.0 has always been a pawn of Salem since her rebirth and has been unknowingly playing our heroes---both sides---like a fiddle since the get-go. Or something like that. That’s how I’m seeing it. But this is just my thoughts on that.

~LittleMissSquiggles (2020)

[itsclydebitches]

I've never played WOW, but my friends into it. I might as well try. Any advice for someone who's never touched a MMO?

Oh, fun question! It’s actually hard for me to think of things I’d have wanted to know when starting out because I started playing MMOs around age... 9? So in some respects I grew up alongside the genre, rather than trying to learn it after the fact, but some things I’d highlight about WoW now is:

Don’t worry about your race/class. There is SO MUCH about the “right” and “wrong” way to create a character, but at the end of the day you should choose whatever interests and appeals to you most. The caveat to that is that picking a tank or a healer class will put a bit more responsibility on your shoulders  — whether you like it or not at times  — so just be aware of that. Some people like taking on a specific role, others (me) do not. There are also classes that are better suited to soloing as much of the game as possible, if that’s something you’re interested in. 

Regardless, you will have to play with others eventually. If your friends are already into WoW it sounds like you have a good community/potential guild to turn to, but I’d recommend waiting until you feel confident in playing your character before entering groups with strangers. Frankly, the WoW community can be pretty damn toxic. I’m no expert, but I’ve played it long enough to feel confident in my abilities and I’m still cursed out by pissed off dungeon groups if we wipe. Raids will expect you to have learned the fights via youtube prior to coming in and when many inevitably haven’t (because it’s a game and homework shouldn’t be required lol) they’ll start yelling too. PvP is just a mess of accusations and slurs, depending on how badly it’s going... so yeah. I don’t want to make it sound like WoW is made up of nothing but assholes, but there are enough to make an impression. It’s something to avoid if you’re not feeling up to it, but given how much of the later content requires working with others, wait until you’re geared, have a good handle on your class, and are in a good head space before diving in. Or stick to playing with friends. 

Speaking of friends, if you do want to play with them I’d recommend picking their faction (Horde or Alliance). That will allow you to visit each other in major cities, help with the same quests, queue up for activities together, etc. Though the story has moved away from the Horde vs. Alliance rivalry recently, the gameplay still very much divides them. 

Check out everything you can (without getting too overwhelmed!) WoW has a LOT going on and while very little is required, much of it is beneficial while also being easy to miss, just by virtue of there being so much to do. Pick up any quests you find, explore as much of the world as you can, talk to NPCs, save the loot you get, etc. You can always get rid of something  — drop a quest, destroy/sell an item  — but it’s a bummer if you just go and sell everything only to realize you actually needed all that stuff for something else. So go slow and check out your options before making decisions. 

To help with that, I recommend WoWhead and Icy Veins for info, or just good old-fashioned plugging the thing into google with “wow” next to it. How often do I look stuff up? Constantly. MMOs don’t have cheating culture the way a single-player game might (I mean, there’s absolutely cheating, just not in the same way), so don’t be afraid to just google anything and everything you want. The comment sections of a page are your best friend. Whereas the official description may give you an overwhelming amount of information you don’t actually need, player comments tend to focus on what others really want to know: here’s where to find this NPC, yes this quest is bugged, make sure you do X before Y, etc. WoW has become a lot more accessible over the years in terms of helping players figure things out, but it’s still confusing at times, so make use of any resource you please. 

Another “cheat” is to use addons. I’d recommend grabbing WoWMatrix which will allow you to (safely) download addons without any of the hassle of putting it in the correct folders. I’d recommend Bagnon (makes all your bags open as a single window so you can see all your loot at once), Bartender (allows you to customize your action bar), Coordinates (puts a tiny, movable coordinates button on your screen which is basically necessary at this point to find things. Players will almost always provide coordinates when giving locations), HandyNotes (provides lots of info on your map, like how you go about summoning a rare mob), Pawn (helps you compare gear to see what’s best for your class/specialization), and if you do any PvP, Healers Have to Die, or HHTD, which marks all healers with a cross so they’re easy to spot in battle (always kill healers first! :D). WoWMatrix is SUPER easy to use  — just search for the addons you want via the application, download them, delete if you don’t like ‘em, and open it once in a while to “Update All” — and the various addons you can use are an absolute godsend. They make playing the base game that much better. 

If you’re someone invested in the story side of games, lore is going to be very weird here, just because WoW is 16 years old and you’ll be entering into the 8th expansion. I’ve played WoW since it came out and I don’t know wtf is going on a lot of the time lol. So just roll with it, or if you’re interested, make use of wikis, the novels, etc. But it’s not the sort of game where you’re in trouble if you have no idea who this person is or what battle they’re talking about. Just accept whatever they want you to do and pick up the story wherever you came in. 

You’re going to die a lot. A lot, a lot. That’s fine, everyone does. Again, not the sort of game where that’s a problem. Just know that you can either return to your corpse (flying there as a ghost) or rez at the graveyard you appear in if you’re willing to deal with a bad debuff for like 10 minutes. Also, all armor has durability that goes down over time, but it goes down faster the more you die, so you’ll want to repair (finding an NPC with the anvil icon) soon afterwards. 

There’s lots of little things to learn like that: a brown bag icon means you can sell to this person, blue exclamation marks are quests that will reappear daily, items with a gray name (as opposed to white, green, blue, or purple) are pretty much just junk and you can always sell them... there’s a lot. Pick things up as you go, keeping in mind that you’ll be given SO MUCH INFORMATION and no, you’re not going to learn it all at once. Part of the fun is figuring stuff out and seeing yourself improve. Feel free to ask questions too (there’s a chat box and you can speak to an entire zone at once), though frankly it’s a 50/50 chance whether someone will give an actual answer, or just roast you lol 

If you ever want to play “seriously,” I’d kinda recommend learning WoW with keybinding early on  — AKA, creating button shortcuts for various spells/skills so your mouse is only used for camera movement and targeting, rather than wasting time looking for the action you want to click on. I say “kinda” because I don’t do that. At this point my click method is too ingrained in my muscle memory for anything else, but I recognize that I’m in the minority for saying that’s an “okay” way to play. 

Anything is okay though. Do whatever. I mean, the above aside, literally my best advice is to just throw yourself headfirst into the game, accept that you’re going to mess so much up, shrug, and have fun with it. I spent an hour of my life running a Tourghast floor today... and then wasn’t able to beat the final boss. So I “wasted” that time since I didn’t get the loot, but who cares? It was fun! Literally do whatever and don’t let any of the assholes get to you. Someone sends a message you don’t like? Block them (right click their name in the chat box to get the option). Group is making you uncomfortable? Leave. Don’t know how to do something? Google it! The best thing about an MMO is also the most overwhelming: it’s a whole world with (almost) endless options, so though that freedom is exciting, it also means you have to curate your own experience. It’s a bit like being here on tumblr. Figure out all the nuances at you own pace, lurk as long as you’d like, and if someone is being annoying, google how to keep them out of your inbox. 

Idk how helpful any of these tips are, but I hope you enjoy it!! 😊

[chosenkeepersworld]

A Gatekeeper's Mission (Part 1)

Original Work Word Count: 1856 words Date Posted: March 31, 2021 Author’s Note: Unbeta’d but I hope you guys still like it and as always I love hearing your thoughts about my work so comments are always appreciated.

Their story was not what most people would consider conventional. They had their own roles to play, separate from each other. But an unexpected event forces them to meet and set off a chain of events that changes not only their worlds but the entire universe.

“The Prima would like to speak with you” upon hearing those words Andromeda Castel froze. It wasn’t often that the leader of their faction would personally be the one to speak with anyone lower than her superiors. “She would like to speak with both of you actually” Andromeda instantly exchanged looks with Astrid, her friend and partner.

The pair stood to follow the guard. The facility was bustling with activity, there were always Gatekeepers arriving and leaving, usually those coming and going from worlds and missions. There were tours happening for those in the academy and a few petty criminals being brought in.

They eventually stopped in front of The Prima's office. The guard knocked and after a beat a voice told them to come in.

The girls exchanged nervous glances for a brief moment again before entering the room. The Prima was seated at her desk going over documents. Andromeda and Astrid waited for her to turn her eyes on them. The Prima’s call was always important, as the leader of their island’s defense and as Gatekeepers it was necessary to heed her call.

Andromeda took the moment to take in The Prima’s office, it was not what  she expected. Besides the desk the only other furniture were the four bookcase, two on either side of the office, a small table  behind it to entertain guests and something covered and circular in shape in the middle of the room.

“Thank you for coming,” The Prima finally said, causing both girls to jump in surprise.

“I-it is an honor to be summoned by you, Prima.” Astrid stuttered, straightening her posture.

The older woman gestured to the chairs in front of her desk “Please, sit”

The pair took their seats, The Prima clasped her hands together and settled them on the table. “I have a situation that I would like for you two to handle.” she began. “There was an incident that happened in one of the Outer Worlds, there were reports of a foreign creature being spotted.”

“And you would like us to investigate?” Astrid asked.

“Yes” The Prima confirmed “and to instigate peace with the people who live in the area”

The two young women shared concerned looks then turned back to the older woman “What do you mean?”

Said older woman sighed “The inhabitants are incredibly territorial and are not very trusting outsiders. They are more likely to attack first and ask questions later. The creature attacked them and escaped, this only made the inhabitants more distrustful of anyone who approached. They have made more efforts in defending their territory. They can be quite dangerous.

“I thought that it would be a good idea to send in a small group of Gatekeepers rather than a large team. It’s likely the inhabitants will be more at ease with your presence if your numbers are fewer, even though it might make the investigation more difficult.”

She raised her head to look at her subordinates. She had been watching their progress carefully, she had her reasons for doing so. Castel had always done well while she was at the academy and that continued when she became an official Gatekeeper, it was important to keep track of the consistent ones, especially when her tests are way above average.

And she could admit that she watched and kept track of Astrid Verano for personal reasons. The pair made very good work together and actually got along with each other. The Prima believed that, with their skills and teamwork, they could handle this situation.

“This may be a difficult and dangerous mission, in addition to the circumstances you will have to be on site until the creature is caught. There will be no one else to assist you while you are there. If there is a need for back-up, it may not arrive for some time. You will only have each other to rely on, can you handle that?”

It was no lie. The Prima had been keeping an eye on the situation and it was truly going to be an arduous mission if they were willing. Andromeda was surprised that the older woman thought of them for this mission. The young woman, if she were to be honest, was proud of her achievements during her days at the academy, along with her own skills as a Gatekeeper  allowed her to reach her current ranking. But considering the risks of this mission, she and Astrid really needed to discuss this.

Astrid and Andromeda shared concerned looks before the latter turned to the older woman “Is it alright if we discuss this first, Prima? This is an important decision after all”

The Prima nodded her head “Of course.” She glanced at the monitor on her desk and stood “I need to check on something important but I will need an answer from you by tomorrow.”

The three women made their way out of The Prima’s office but before they went their separate ways The Prima turned to Astrid “Tell your grandfather I’ll be home for dinner. If there are leftovers from lunch, heat those up as well”

The red headed young woman couldn’t help but chuckle “Of course, grandmother. I’ll see you at home”

“You are absolutely sure about this? No changing minds after we tell her” Andromeda said.

The partners had been discussing their options since last night and after had come to agreement as they came into work. The pair headed to The Prima’s office to give them their answer.

“I already told you how I felt about this. It’s a good opportunity to do more than just staying around the island and catching petty criminals. We get to go off world, do our jobs and show them that Gatekeepers are their allies”

Andromeda grinned. When she first arrived in this world as a child, seeing so many different people of all sorts of species was unnerving. She had accepted the invitation to train as Gatekeeper which granted her permission to live and stay in this world until her training was finished.

Learning about this new world and the world around her was thrilling. Experiencing it was even more so. To be responsible for the protection of your own world was a gigantic responsibility and to help protect a world not your own was an honor.

This was a lesson Andie had learned, but one Astrid grew up with. This mission was a start for them, it was their chance for them to do something more. The two young women paused to knock on the Prima’s door.

A little while later the three women had moved to the small table behind the older woman’s desk, they had tea and some small snacks brought in as they continued to discuss the details of the mission.

“The mission is scheduled for the following week, which means the two of you will need to up your training regiment until the mission. We will have your schedules adjusted to accommodate more time for training.”

The pair nodded “We’ll take more time for training”

“I think that covers what you’ll need to prepare for this. Do you have any questions?”

Andromeda perked up at that “Yes, Prima.” she shot a glance at Astrid before turning back to the older woman “You told us about the inhabitants of that world. What makes them dangerous?”

The Prima stared at her granddaughter’s partner for a moment before bringing up her folded hands to rest under her chin “They are an old species, girl” she began “One of the first creatures born from the First Gods. When they first arrived, they were going purely on animal instinct, vicious predators that burned everything they couldn’t eat. Even worse, when they began to develop intelligence. They learned how to think and speak eventually learning  how to change forms”

“Dragons” Andromeda breathed to which the Prima nodded in response.

“Correct. Which is what you both will be dealing with.” she paused for a moment  “Yeah, you’ll need to study about them. I think there are a few books in the archives about this world and the specific species in the area where the foreign creature was spotted. There is much for you to do, ladies”

They truly did have their work cut out for them.

Andromeda was screaming. The hardest part of using the Gates to travel was the exit. The exits appear where they wanted no matter where you make the opening. It could be in a nice meadow, in the ocean, in a volcano or even in the sky. Causing you to fall to your death.

Which is what Andie is currently dealing with. And anyone in her position would most definitely be screaming. She had no control of her body, her heart was racing and her stomach felt out of place in her body.

The young woman finally angled her body to face the world below her, only to a dense forest below her. She crashed through leaves and branches, letting out small shrieks and grunts. Andie finally managed to grab hold of a branch and made to lift herself up when a body crashed down on her and both of them landed on to the forest floor.

Andromeda groaned as she lay on her back, her body aching but at least her heart was slowing down and no longer felt like it would burst out of her chest.  She sucked in greedy breaths then turned her head to see her partner’s condition. Astrid looked fine, visibly at least they would need to find shelter first to make sure there really was nothing serious.

The two got up and started making their way through the forest, keeping alert for any signs of the inhabitants or the creature they were meant to capture. “If you see any place we can stay in for the night just let me know. I need to just make sure we aren’t being followed or hunted.” Andromeda took off one of her gloves and slowly approached the closest tree.

She took a deep breath and quietly muttered “Lend your sight, old, wise one. Allow me to see your world the way you do and protect it in any way I can.” Nature was sacred to Keepers of the Gate, respect for all life was something they always kept in mind when being in any world.

The brunette young woman placed her hand upon the trunk and in an instant her sight changed. Her vision tinged with green and all she could see were the trees and the environment surrounding them. She jumped from tree to tree and sure enough there was no animal or any human like creature following them. Andromeda lowered her hand and her vision was back to normal. The raven haired woman turned only for something hard hit her head then there was only darkness.

[modmamono]

Why Space Channel 5 is one of SEGA’s best dumbest games ever, no questions asked. (Report 1 & 1/2.)

Space Channel 5 on the Dreamcast is one of my favorite things ever, let alone favorite video games. Though I more often watch it on YouTube then actually play it.

For those not in the know, Space Channel 5 is a game series developed by United Game Artists and published by parent company SEGA. And that’s the most Wikipedia quoting I’m gonna do in this gush piece.

There aren’t many games quite like this rhythmic, Simon says game. At least in style because this game has that in spades, the gameplay anyone can do. And I am not at all qualified to explain its style because I wouldn’t how to describe it as besides maybe very 70s?

Point is there’s something charming about this game, and I think SEGA agrees with me on that. The lead character, Ulala (seen above), appear in these games to name a few years after new Space Channel 5 games stopped being made after 2002:

2004: Sega Superstars

2006: Sonic Riders

2008: Sega Superstars Tennis and Samba de Amigo

2010: Sonic & Sega All-Stars Racing 

2012: Sonic & All-Stars Racing Transformed and Project X Zone

2015: Project X Zone 2

And not to mention the invading aliens have been skins of the titular Puyo Puyo in that series for a while I can’t determine. Possibly since at most 2007 up until current day with Puyo Puyo Champions in 2018/2019.

ALSO not to mention the VR game that came out recently! (How could I forget that? That’s the main reason I’m doing this.)

So it is clear SEGA loves this game and it’s sequel a lot. I don’t think their most beloved cult classic NiGHTS: Into Dreams gets that much love from the company though it certainly does get a lot itself, most games wish their parents still loved them that much long after they had a game. Anyway...

Now the part where I actually talk about the game.

I wanna say, first and foremost. This is not a review of the game. This is just gushing about why this game makes me happy.

And everything I’m gushing about is just what you get from the from one playthrough of the game. Save for one exception, I will not be talking about supplementary material, nor Space Channel 5′s lore.

And yes, this colorful dancing/rhythm/simon says game has lore. Basically any non-repeated character model has their own biograph. So I will not go into that.

You’re not missing too much, there are interesting tidbits, sometimes they fill you in on background details of the story.

Speaking of the story. I’ll start in a second. But if this is new to you, you can watch it here first (The first playthrough is only half the video):

Prologue:

We start off with a bunch of alien sitting on a space couch watching space TV. These aliens are known as the Morolians and they’ll be the main antagonists for the evening.

This cutscene has no dialogue, so this is all open to interpretation for a first time viewer. Though I do enjoy this split second foreshadowing:

And that’s when the title screen appears. Blasting you with the series’ main theme Mexican Flyer. Look it up if you must. You’ll be hearing it a lot, it’s the game and Ulala’s leitmotif.

Report 1: This is terrorism attack on an airport... I’m gonna ignore that.

This is the only piece of supplemental material I’ll talk about, as it’s present in the game itself, but not elaborated on, and it is important to two of the character.

The game starts in a flashback. In the year AD 2489 a spaceship exploded. Everybody on board died safe for a little girl.

She was rescued by a man working for Space Channel 5. A news organization that with a specific focus on dancing. That last bit is nothing special though, as everything in this galaxy revolves around dancing.

After the little girl is saved by this kindly Channel 5 Gent (Age 25) she knew what she wanted to be after she grew up. She wanted to be a sexy dancing reporter for Space Channel 5 just like him (presumably). And to meet him so she can thank him in person.

10 years later......

It is AD 2499! And the Morolians attack a space airport and their ray beams hypnotize people to dance silly.

THE HORROR!

And that’s when Space Channel 5 sends in Ulala to report on the progress.

But what they’re actually doing is for Ulala to solve the problem instead of the Space authorities.

One character I do wanna mention now is that Ulala’s producer, Fuse, is an unseen character yet is important later. He’s the one briefing Ulala in the screenshot above. And oversees Ulala’s every move.

Also Ulala never got to meet her rescuer. He either left shortly after Ulala got rescued, or shortly before Ulala joined. Given what we learn later, likely the former.

Anyway onto the show:

BAM!

BAM!!

BAM!!!

I will always love that. Ulala got down on the ground in the panicking space air port to coolly report on the panic.

As quick aside, I wanna mention that Ulala doesn’t run in this game, she slowly struts and all of her struts are simply majestic. And those amazing struts lead her to the first gameplay section of this game.

Some Morolians hold a few hypnotized people hostage. This is is a dance battle. Meaning you got repeat exactly what the aliens do in the exact rhythm they did it in order to save the hostages. And I love this gameplay. It’s simple yet fun (provided you got minimal lag, you should look into that if you wanna play this game).

The controls are:

Up: Up

Down: Down

Left: Left

Right: Right/Light

Button 1: Chu (Aliens)

Button 2: Chu (Humans)

And this is how normal people settle things in this world apparently:

Party 1 (usually the Aliens) make up a tough but fair pattern for Ulala to copy in the hopes of psyching her out.

Party 2 (Ulala & Co.) gets as many chances ad she got. And the better she does more people tune into her news report. If she wins she gets what she wants. Saving the hostage and getting Party 1 out of her hair.

Every single one lives by this code of honor and I honestly have no clue if there’s an in-universe reason. But I love it regardless. I love it when people say: Up Down Chu Chu Chu. And the Ulala repeating it.

Though frankly, I don’t like it when the Morolians issue the commands. I like it when others do the exact same commands in this same game, so it’s a little bit of a bummer the Morolians do it.

Anyways. You save the hostages and they join in on Ulala’s unstoppable strut as will always happen if you rescue people. And they strut to the second gameplay type: The Shoot-out.

The controls are the same as the above but now you gotta watch out for humans in the mix.

In general these are trickier. And I might go into that later. But they do work on the same rules.

Don’t worry I won’t go over every dance or shoot-out unless there’s something special about it.

Also I’m pretty sure you kill people if you push the wrong Chu. Don’t do that, it’s bad for the ratings!

Skipping over three battles.Something new happens, rival space news station: Space(?) Channel 42 has a reporter of their own out on the field. And that reporter is planning to steal Channel 5′s viewership. And this is HER!

You do a dance battle and she dies.

Though seriously, I like this game does this. It’s not only aliens you fight, but other factions of the Space News Media. And it’s always a nice shake up when someone besides her shows up.

You see, for the most part any reoccurring enemy has recognizable mannerisms you gotta batlle, and her is no different. It’s hard to describe for me. You kinda gotta play or watch the game for yourself to see what I mean, but I think it’s best exemplified in Report 2. And the following games.

Though one thing’s for sure, each non-normal Morolians or rival reported does bring their own genre switch with them. Heck sometimes even normal battles have unique genres. I’m am not musically inclined so I wouldn’t know hers or most others. 

Any way, before she dies she give an emotional speech and gracefully suggests to take her Channel 42 guitarist with her and Ulala accepts that’s the least she could do for a lousy reporter like her.

And then it’s boss time!

Yeah, actual bosses with actual boss characters. And not like the recently deceased as shown above. She’s practically for all intents and purposes another Morolian dance battle.

And it’s down to funky jazz music, not unlike what you’d see in Sonic Adventure! Even Ulala comments on it, confirming it’s dietetic  Where does it come from? Not sure, there might be an explanation somewhere. But do keep that in mind. That the music we hear is also the music the characters hear as well.

Anyways:

Not Pictured: Super Stretchy Arms.

I think it’s a bit of a misnomer. Invader is correct, that’s what it’s here for. But is it really a robot? It moves like an organics and is a bit rubbery. This basically goes for all Morolian robots.

I can suspend my disbelief. You shouldn’t nitpick too much about Space Channel 5, it doesn’t want you to think too hard about it’s world even if there’s a lot to it. I’d be concerned if Space Channel 5 did wanna put its story and world building first and foremost.

But “Hypnotized Robot Invader”?

What?

Spoiler.

Robots and hypnotism... I’m pretty sure a sign that we made perfect human-like Artificial Intelligence if they can fall susceptible to Hypnosis. Even then I doubt it.

Sorry, that’s always bothered me, I get what they mean by it. It’s just the word choice... Did they mean Hypnotizing Robot Invader? This boss is great.

It starts off with a normal dance battle, but you get to watch a new Morolian enemy’s moves. It’s also quicker on the draw along with a few softballs to throw your timing off. Pretty good stuff.

And that applies to the next phase as well, where the the shooting starts.

I don’t have much to say.

Unlike the robot’s final phase where it’s the first phase again, but with guns and the robot goes to berserking speeds with the input commands.

And after you beat it, it joins you in a strut.

As does everyone you saved, No matter the gender, nor age, nobody is embarrassed imitating Ulala no matter what she does. We’ll be half as lucky to get a cool future as cool as 2499.

And with that the first report is over.

Report 2: (Age 35)

At the Morolian HQ (Presumably), their boss doesn’t like failure.

But like a good boss he doesn’t dwell on failure and moves on to the next plan. One of his lackeys has this plan: Another boss battle dance robot who operates on:

The everyone at the table is impressed. So I guess Ulala is screwed, game over.

This level is more of the same as the last one more or less, it’s possibly the most boring level in the series in that regard. It’s not bad, this is just the game bulding enough a status quo before they change things up in Report 3.

But that doesn’t make this level any less interesting to talk about, so I won’t go over it much.

The short story until something new happens is: Space Ship (think of it as a fancy yacht but in space) is being attack by Morolians, Ulala is send to report on it, and being the professional she is saves hostages as well.

She saves the captain, crew members, stewardesses, waitresses, the Space Diva (OH NO! NOT THE SPACE DIVA!), passages and the like.

UNTIL!

He voice says “I’m gonna steal you show, Space Channel 5”. And you see this ship flying by:

Another rival reporter, this one a pirate broadcasting station.

Side note: That’s sounds like the most important kind of pirate ever. Alternative news/non-mainstream with no money/rating motive blinding everything with journalistic integrity? Yes, by all means. If they’re pirates then so are Secular Talk & The Humanist Report.

Back to the silly dance game. The Pirates either jam or hack Channel 5′s signal and the Ulala is stuck with them for a while.

And then we meet that where we meet the gent above.

“[His] name is:“

“JAGUAAAAARRRR!!!” “JAGUAAAAARRRR!!!“

(Age 35)

LET’S DANCE!

Dude, I love Jaguar (Age 35) he’s gotta be my second favorite character in the series on account he’s just cool and incapable of embarrassment.

Remember the deceased of the last report? The Channel 42 reporter in the blue dress? He’s her counterpart for this chapter.

But whereas the deceased’s gimmick sounded air headed for a lack of a better term. Maybe, girly? Point is, battling her didn’t feel too dissimilar to battling Morolians despite her rhytmic mannerisms.

Jaguar (Age 35)’s gimmick is that he just adds. He starts with a simple Up. And then he adds a Chu, and another Chu. Eventually it becomes a really long chain of commands, it has to be some of the longest in the series. And you have to do them all from start to finish because he does them all sequentially. Can you repeat?:

Up. Chu. ChuChu. Right. Left. Down. DownDown. Down. Chu. Chu. Chu.

He is easing you into it, but it is by no means an easy fight. Because after the chain is at its longest, he just spamming ChuChuChu in quick succession. And then a simple Chu.

After defeat Jaguar & Co, escape by jet-pack, saying they will meet later.

This battle is a highlight for me. Coco Tapioco and the big bosses to come are better if you ask me (with exceptions). But Jaguar (Age 35) is some of the best the normal gameplay goes.

And you could argue what normal means in the context of Space Channel 5. But effectively, like Channel 42′s deceased, functionally he might as well be another Morolian if he wasn’t there to be set up for later. Because you do get person that just joins your Strut Club like everywhere else.

You gain his Jazz Man and you get a great sax solo as a reward beating him. Like how you got Channel 42′s guitarist for beating them. I like the think the Jazz Man can work for Jaguar (Age 35) again while the Channel 42 Guitarist is blacklisted.

And before we move on from Jaguar (Age 35) check out his Chu pose:

BOSS TIME!

Jaguar (Age 35): The alien mothership is retreating. Don’t you have to follow them, Channel 5? Fuse: Blast you, Jaguar [Age 35].

With the pirates giving chase, Ulala is left with the cowardly alien robot to elegant music.

Ignoring the robot’s title, while silly, its cowardice is its greatest asset. For it has kidnapped some space schoolkids, making their space teacher worry. Their space teacher can actually be seen at the start of the report.

Space fashion, am I right?

I’ve exceeded Tumblr’s invisible limit of what to put in a blog post. I’ll have to rewrite this boss what I have to say for this boss. So full, can’t spell check! We’ll be back!

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Mercenary Chapter 6

Maul x reader

Word Count: 1041

Summary: Time skip, maybe it’s time to reform the Shadow Collective . . .

Years later, neither of you had grown to have any issues with your relationship. Several attempts had been made against you by people who believed you would be an easy way to get to Maul, but they were all quickly dealt with either by you or by him. None seemed to realize that training with Maul was a serious affair and not just a thinly-veiled excuse to have sex. Well, it wasn’t always an excuse to have sex.

Overall, the relationship was solid to the point of being impressive given that it was between a mercenary (that hadn’t taken a new job in several years, so were you even really a mercenary) and a not-so-Sith Lord that headed a criminal organization. Long ago, you’d moved into his chambers, and hadn’t that been an entire endeavor. When Maul was first toying around with the idea of you moving in, he created this whole convoluted plan to expand his quarters before asking you in the form of an order . . . five years into your relationship . . . when he knew that he could just ask. And that was on top of the fact that you practically lived there anyway. You had gotten a hearty laugh out of the whole ordeal, so he was content, and you decided it was worth it.

But while things were happy on a private level, things were falling apart on a business one. Factions that had been under your control for years with only minor difficulty started going rogue, and it was beginning to become too much to the point of not being worth having them at all. Others had withdrawn or crumbled within themselves, leaving you and Maul standing atop a metaphorical pile of rubble that used to be your criminal empire. Leading them through fear and loyalty apparently only stretched so far once things began to rot away in the Republic. Fear for the two of you didn’t outstretch the fear of what the new Emperor would do to them if he caught wind of their employer, so they ran like prey animals.

Which was the entire reason why you were in your current position: sitting on your bed with the love of your life (though he still sometimes had trouble saying those words even after he realized that Dark Side powers came from passion, which was pretty much what love was) between your legs, using one of them as a pillow for the back of his head. Several minutes before, he had made a comment about needing to change something within the organization, and the two of you had been in silent contemplation ever since. Idly, you traced a finger along the shell of his left ear, toying with the little piercing there as you went.

“We need to start from scratch,” you announced finally. “We’re too well-known right now, and we need to step back before Sidious catches wind of us.”

“You assume that he is not already aware of our existence,” he replied, turning his head slightly so he could meet your gaze, “but continue.”

“I assume that we’re not a big enough threat for him to worry about right now. If we want to actually do some damage to this Empire, we need to disappear. Make it look like he’s got a new problem so he doesn’t know what to expect.”

The zabrak was quiet for several seconds. “I doubt that will work, but you are correct in that we need to take a step back. Take those that are truly loyal to us; kill the rest.”

“That’d probably be best if we want to keep our identities hidden . . .” you mused, finger now tracing along his crown of horns. “Can’t take the risk that someone we cut loose might talk . . .”

A low chuckle rose from him. “Been a long time since you played executioner.”

“I almost miss it,” you said, feigning a teary tone.

More seriously, Maul continued, “We will need a figurehead for this new syndicate.”

“I could think of a few names . . . People with enough spine to seem like they’re in control of everything, but are cowardly enough that they won’t question your orders no matter what they are . . . Who do we want to keep and where would the new headquarters be?”

“Here, ideally.”

“We’ll have to move for a while to make any stragglers think we’ve abandoned this place, you know that.”

“We’ll keep on the move at the start, lock this place down and come back when everything is settled.”

“It’s going to be brutal; a lot of people are going to die.”

“Like you were ever the squeamish type.”

You smirked down at him. “There are many reasons you hired me; my reputation as a dainty little noblewoman wasn’t one of them.”

He scoffed, hand trailing up so he could tangle his fingers in your hair. “Like you were ever a timid upper class lady.”

“There’s many things you don’t know about me from before we met, my dear,” you teased. “Maybe I even remember seeing you that day on Tatooine.”

“Again with your assumptions. You thought I wouldn’t remember that you were the one crawling under a speeder trying to get it started while I was looking for those Jedi?”

You blinked, a little shocked. You hadn’t interacted that day; Force, you would hardly consider yourself recognizable with all the grease that had been covering you that day. “Actually yes. I didn’t realize that you even saw me that day.”

His teasing look softened as his hand moved down so his thumb could sweep across your cheek fondly. “I can feel people through the Force, dear one. Of course I remember feeling you. I recognized your signature when I found you in the cantina the day I hired you.”

“Small galaxy, huh?” you joked weakly, at a loss for words otherwise.

“I am more impressed that you remember seeing me,” he admitted.

“You were wearing all black on a desert planet riding a speeder that I honestly thought about stealing since mine was being such a bitch,” you deadpanned. “Plus, you’re a little recognizable, sweetheart. Not too many zabraks with your complexion.”

Another chuckle escaped him, this one while he pulled you down for a sweet kiss. “Fair enough.”

[bustedbernie]

Oh hai. Lately there have been a slew of think pieces about Bernie Sanders being the front-runner, discussing how his movement has threatened to withhold their votes from Democrats if Bernie isn’t the nominee. Hidden between the lines is the idea that Democrats, in general, owe their votes to Sanders if he is the nominee, regardless of the fact that his voters do NOT owe Dems their votes if he is not. So, rather than call them out for using the same tactics that lost the 2016 election, there is a faction in the media that is growing more and more permissive to the idea that Bernie and his Revolution are somehow the victims in all this, and that mainstream Dems have done them wrong time and time again when picking a candidate that appeals to the Dems masses.

Let me let you in on a little secret.

I don’t owe Bernie Sanders or his fucked off revolution of stanerific emo-marxist cyber-terrorists a goddamn bit of shit the fuck all. When these utter fucking geniuses in the media reflect on how energized and dedicated his enthusiastic fans are when engaging in their harassment of the average Dem, they seem to think the people who have been abused don’t fucking matter. These Dems are people who have never done anything whatsoever to deserve the constant bullying, cyber-stalking, targeting, threats, or in my case, being falsely reported to the FBI by fans of Bernie who seek to silence dissent. What these media personalities don’t understand is that the abuse by Bernie fans, in his name, actually causes the gap between MAGA and Berners to shrink to the point where it is non-existent. There is no real difference between the abuse from either side, and since Sanders isn’t the warm and fuzzy type that reaches out to the people who have been abused, often there appears to be no real difference between Sanders and Trump.

Slate:

Still, the Bernie-or-Busters, small as they may be, have spun their position into an argument for why others should vote for Bernie Sanders too, regardless of the platform they prefer. As efforts in political persuasion go, this contingent puts forward an openly hostile argument. Sanders is the only electable candidate, they suggest, not just because of his policies, but because of the single-mindedness of his followers. The reason you should vote for Sanders is that we won’t vote for anyone else. You don’t want Trump to win again, do you?

No. But I also don’t want Bernie Sanders to win. In a case of one not liking either candidate, people look to see which movement they feel most comfortable with, Bernie’s or Trump’s. If it turns out that both movements engage in racist behavior, sexism, and homophobia, it really doesn’t matter what they profess to be in favor of as far as policy is concerned, what matters is how they treat their fellow citizens by and large. We all know that unless we take back the Senate with a large majority that can defeat Republican attempts to stop legislation from hitting Sanders’ desk, nothing will pass anyway. So, if you’re not in favor of Bernie’s policies in the first place, and do not like him or his movement, why would you be enthusiastic about showing up for the guy who leads the movement that engages in attacks on you?

Yes, it sounds like ugly hostage taking—not a brilliant persuasive strategy but a crude ego-boosting exercise for a group of leftists who can’t resist the impulse to lord some power over an electorate that doesn’t normally consider them relevant. But that’s exactly what makes it so normal, even understandable, in a depressing “we’re all human” sort of way. [NO.] Because the truth is this: Every threat these Sanders stans are explicitly making is one the venerated Centrist Swing Voter makes implicitly—and isn’t judged for. The centrist never even has to articulate his threat.

Excuse me, it IS ugly hostage taking, it is NOT normal, and no, it doesn’t make me see them as more human.

Another thing is this: not everyone opposed to Bernie Sanders is a Centrist, Moderate, or a Swing voter. Many of us are as far left or to the left of Sanders, I for one am definately to his left, and had supported him in 2015. That was until his racist abusive Bern Mafia targeted me for expressing concern about his lack of outreach to black voters. I noticed his lack of history in hiring black people (D.C. is Chocolate City, we could not find one black staffer in 2015; I am open to correction on this point; if he had black staffers prior to 2015, please send me receipts because I have been looking for them.), lamented and mocked his poor showing at Netroots, fumed over his constant MLK appropriation, jeered at his white ass crowds, and felt humiliated by his inability to discuss black people in ways that were not centered on Poverty or Prisons. It is HIS FAULT that his voters have no clue how to engage Black people without resorting to stereotypes and outright bigotry, because he does the same thing.

Buzzfeed:

Sanders, seated across the table, a yellow legal pad at hand, responded with a question of his own, according to two people present: “Aren’t most of the people who sell the drugs African American?” The candidate, whose aides froze in the moment, was quickly rebuffed: The answer, the activists told him, was no. Even confronted with figures and data to the contrary, Sanders appeared to have still struggled to grasp that he had made an error, the two people present said.

No. He did not apologize for spreading this stereotype, and yes, it shows how he views black people in general.

Slate:

One of many disorienting factors in this election cycle is the fact that the left is more popular and more viable than it has been in a long, long time. They have not one but two exciting candidates, and both are offering policies closer to what leftists actually want than most presidential contenders in U.S. history have.

I wanted the party to move to the Left towards the direction of where I stood too. I can’t really name my ideology because it’s so far left I am almost hitting the wall. Additionally, I am more Libertarian than Sanders, who trends more authoritarian. Yet, I instinctively know that playing a game of “my way or the highway” won’t lead to a place where poverty programs are expanded up and out, ensuring all necessities of life are provided. It will lead to gridlock and we will make zero progress.

Because folks at the center tend to be wooed by multiple candidates, they’re used to having options, and they’re used to the experience of their vote determining who ends up with the nomination. This means that they usually like the candidate they vote for, in the primary and in the general. Not so for leftists, who get to merely tolerate the candidates they end up having to vote for in order to mitigate the damage from a worse result.

Here’s the rub… I’m Black. None of this shit applies to me, because as a Black person, I rarely even LIKE or TRUST any of the candidates I have been voting for over the years. I also usually, especially in State and Locally, don’t have any say so in determining the nominee of any race. I am always stuck voting for whoever White People choose as the candidate, and as such, am merely tolerating whoever is chosen to prevent a worse outcome, which usually means preventing a racist shitmonger from winning a race.

Speaking of race… Progressives refuse to address race as a factor in anything; they like to ignore race in everything they do and allow Prison Policy to stand in for Racial Policy, so it’s impossible to get them to see my reality. They get this shit from Bernie.

From Buzzfeed:

“The real issue is not whether you’re black or white, whether you’re a woman or a man,” he said in a 1988 interview. “The real issue is whose side are you on? Are you on the side of workers and poor people or are you on the side of big money and the corporations?”

Not much has changed with Bernie, as you know, Bernie never changes, because he was born as a 72 year old yelly man, just like Benjamin Button, but louder and not as cute.

“It’s not good enough for someone to say, ‘I’m a woman! Vote for me!’” No, that’s not good enough. What we need is a woman who has the guts to stand up to Wall Street, to the insurance companies, to the drug companies, to the fossil fuel industry,” the Vermont independent senator and former Democratic presidential candidate said in a not-so-subtle rebuke to Hillary Clinton”

Bernie’s attacks on Identity Politics filtered down to his base, causing them to feel confident in their attacks on Blacks, LGBTQ, and Women who brought up issues of race, sexuality, and gender over the past few years. They love to say shit to black people online that they would never say to an actual Black person IN PERSON, because they are scared as fuck of Black people. Kinda like Bernie. The refrain of “that’s identity politics, not real policy’ rang out constantly on social media the past few years to the point where pointing out racism, homophobia, and sexism was met with swarms of white men attacking Black people, All Women Who Dared To Be THAT Bitch, LGBTQ, and really, anyone worried about social justice issues that focused on identity. The attacks were and ARE bigoted in the extreme.

This is racist as fuck and is one of the ways the Bernie Titty-Babies managed to marginalize Kamala Harris and drive a wedge between her and Black Voters. Somehow they thought keeping it going would make us like dusty ass Bernie more, but they’re stupid, because we don’t even like that geriatric Bernadook now.

This is homophobic.

Bernie’s supporters are engaging in a hate campaign against Mayor Pete and are trying to convince the world that they are not being homophobic, they are just saying Pete is suppressing his dangerous serial killer nature by being so straight laced. This is fucked up because they are attacking a gay man for being “straight appearing” in spite of the fact that his seeming straightness is how he interacts with a world that hates gay people, and has at times (and Still Does) MURDERED men and women who are gay for not assimilating or conforming to hetero-normative stereotypes. Bernie ignores this behavior from his fans like he ignores all of their nasty hate campaigns. I blame him.

This is misogynistic. No explanation needed.

Racist and fat shaming. Black hair is not your fucking business, bitch. Back the fuck up.

This is just blatantly false and caused people to harass Kamala Harris supporters until they stopped using the Yellow Circles she asked supporters to wear, it stems from the misogynoir his fans engaged in towards Kamala. Bernie has never said shit, so I blame him.

Bigotry. Also erasure of Biden’s Black support in a effort to make it seem as if Bernie is the candidate of diversity. Bernie is at fault, he also erases minorities.

Sexist. Also, damn near all of his fans seem to hate Obama on the same level and with as much heat as MAGA. Why the fuck would we want to join in unity with this man when his fans HATE the first black President. Oh, you think Bernie has nothing to do with setting the tone?

“The business model, if you like, of the Democratic Party for the last 15 years or so has been a failure,” Sanders started, responding to a question about the young voters who supported his campaign. “People sometimes don’t see that because there was a charismatic individual named Barack Obama, who won the presidency in 2008 and 2012.

“He was obviously an extraordinary candidate, brilliant guy. But behind that reality, over the last 10 years, Democrats have lost about 1,000 seats in state legislatures all across this country.”

Bernie doesn’t fucking like Obama either.

Sexism. Racism. Bernie does the worst with Black Women, and is often dismissive when asked a question by one of us. So, his fans see nothing to lose by targeting us in particular, and we in turn are likely the largest group of people willing to sit this one out if Bernie manages to come out on top. The media is no help whatsoever to marginalized people, because they ultimately weave a narrative where Bernie comes out the victim.

We can already see it happening amongst the Children of the Bern, where they have taken to labeling K-Hive, a movement started by a Black Woman (Me) for a Black Woman (Kamala Harris), “Liberal ISIS” for our resistance to Bernie and willingness to defend the other candidates from the attacks levied by the Berner Swarm.

Oh, cry me a fucking river! We don’t dox, cyberstalk, harass, abuse, try to get people fired, engage in bigotry, we learn from our mistakes, and we never make it our mission to ruin someone’s life.

We simply turn the tables on the bros and ask tough questions, like Kamala Harris. If that breaks you down, you were already broken before you found us. Oh, yeah. That’s another thing. We don’t go looking for Berners to abuse; we wait until they come to abuse US and refuse to play along.

Regardless of what poor Peter Daou says, there is no “Unadulterated Hatred” in asking if someone has checked on him.

So, yes, I can blame Bernie for the nastiness of his movement and choose not to ever join it no matter what. Progressives love to play forever victims, even while they engage in their vile abuse, but I do not have to empower their movement or help them elect Bernie. Maybe if enough people sound the alarm and let him know we will not be helping him in November while suffering constantly at the hands of his Branch Bernidians, then he will have no choice but to be a leader and fucking lead these assholes into being decent people. I don’t expect the abuse to magically end if Bernie becomes President or loses to Trump, and I also don’t expect him to do shit about it, so I guess I’m just Never Bernie. What I am now stuck with is the same as always; White States get to vote first and create the narrative that Dem voters are in favor of whoever these powerful white voters choose, and I am sick of it and sick of Sanders. I didn’t become a Democrat to not only be marginalized by the White Moderate, but to also suffer abuse from the punk ass White leftist bitchmade humdinger of a Revolution. I’m not here to empower shitfucks that search me out no matter where I am just to heap abuse on me, threaten me, or report me to the FBI as a possible MASS SHOOTER, all because I think Bernie is an old bigot who minimizes Black oppression to appease the white voters he thinks he’ll need to win the General.

I’m just Never Bernie, deal with it or die mad about it. I don’t care which.

[chillax-kass-w]

After All | RM1

[Reiner Braun/Reader]

[TW: Canon-Typical Character Death/Violence]

Happiness seems impossible for Reiner, but he may get there after all. 

Read on AO3

[As a note, the format of this story is as follows: chapters actually titled “Chapter _” are current to the Marley Arc, chapters titled “M_” are Reiner’s memories in succession, and chapters titled “RM_” are the Reader’s memories in succession]

Previous

It was a battle getting out of bed the day after graduation. In truth, she should have felt lighter than ever. Her goals were closer than ever, and yet, she found herself bogged down by the eyes of a former friend. As she rolled over again, begging for those few more minutes of rest, she saw them again.

Hazel...

Reiner had been so cold at the get together that night. She knew why, but that didn’t make the cold sting any less. She’d caught eyes with him across the room, a small smile curving her lips. She’d felt so proud of him, even after their falling out. All of their hard work had paid off. He’d been named second, and she, sixth. Their names were cemented amongst the most capable of Humanity. So, without a care for their mutual agreement to part ways, she grinned at him. She half expected him to return it, but he proved that wrong with what could only be called a glare. It lasted a millisecond, but it was worth two years in her mind.

To think they had cleaning duty together that day.

She really didn’t want to face him.

Despite the dread that curled in her stomach, she arrived at the meeting point for those tasked with cleaning the training facilities so an influx of recruits could make them their home for the next three years. What a send off, cleaning the day after graduation. She wished she would’ve been tasked with Wall maintenance with Eren and the lot. She’d much rather have a view while getting to work.

Thankfully, she was blessed to work with a girl named Sarah. Just the chance of being lumped with Reiner caused her anxiety to skyrocket. He didn’t look at her as he walked off to his station, and she tried to ignore the pit in her stomach as she followed Sarah to the mess hall.

Even so, it still felt as if he was there. He haunted her thoughts as she scrubbed the tables and benches. She wondered if the dissolution of their friendship affected him as it did her, or even at all. He certainly acted unfazed. She knew she needed to be the same, but questions kept her mind running.

Was she replaceable?

Too friendly?

Did he care about her at all?

Did he know about her little crush?

At the thought, she scrubbed harder. She needed to throw herself into her work, lest she throw herself into a trash bin. She had no idea how long she’d scrubbed but it came to a brisk halt when another cadet burst through the doors to literally screech:

“The Colossal Titan broke through the Wall!”

Any thoughts pertaining to trivial matters ceased in that moment, and she ran with all her might to get her gear. She barely registered that others were following close behind, nor did she heed the screams of fear coming from all angles. Her own heart was screaming with them, but she knew her duty was to protect the people without a way to protect themselves.

That had been her once.

Her harnesses had never been fastened so fast, nor had her gear, yet she felt it wasn’t fast enough. She regretted not wearing them despite her job for the day; these minutes could cost lives. She made a note to always be prepared. Next time, she’d be the first to action. Next time, there would be a next time. She had to be sure of it.

“Report to HQ immediately!”

Upon arrival, she recognized the organized chaos a breach brought. Soldiers were running left and right, refilling gas and moving equipment. She refilled her gas as quickly as possible before heading off to receive her orders. She barely had time to survey her fellow soldiers, lined up in rows, before a voice broke through the air.

“I want everyone split into four squadrons, as practiced! All squadrons are responsible for supply running, message running, and enemy combat under the command of the Garrison Regiment! The Intercept Squadron will be taking the vanguard! Cadets will be taking the middle guard, led by the support squad! Rear guard will go to the elites! I expect you all to man your posts knowing the Advance Team has been wiped out!” A collective gasp permeated the air. “That’s right; the outer gate is history! The Titans are in! This means the Armored Titan is likely to reappear! If and when he does, the inner gate will also be history! Right, those in the vanguard, be ready! The whole area is well-nigh saturated! Your mission is a very simple one: defend the Wall ‘til the evacuation’s done! Now, be aware, all of you, that desertion is punishable by execution! If it comes to it, lay down your lives! Dismissed!”

“Sir!” came the collectively determined and scared-shitless reply of the troops, their fists clenched tight over their rapid hearts. With that, they ran to their designated stations, and (f/n) followed with her eyebrows furrowed. She didn’t know if it was shock, rage, or fear that caused her tension, but she knew it was anything but good. She met up with her crew to find Floch,  Gordon, Sandra, Keno, and Sarah. They all appeared terrified, especially Floch.

She was too.

But she remembered that she was given a higher rank than these comrades. That weight on her shoulders, along with the weight of the lives of all the people of Trost and further behind Wall Rose, caused her to shelve her fears. She had to take charge and lead her friends to combat the Titans; that was her duty, and she would see that it was carried out. She would use all of the training she’d gone through. She’d lead them to see another day.

She wasn’t weak anymore.

“Alright, let’s head out! Gordon and I will take the front, Sandra and Floch will take the middle, and Sarah and Keno will take the rear. We’re ready for this! It’ll be just as practiced. Slice the nape, but only with an opening! If you see an Abnormal, do not engage without alerting the rest of the squad!”

Her words seemed to stir them a bit, but that innate fear still swirled in their eyes. She couldn’t help that. No words would do. She could only hope their training paid off in that moment, and that the sight of the Titans didn’t stop any of them dead in their tracks, literally. She led the charge by shooting her wires into the nearest building, propelling herself south toward the destroyed gate. She recognized the figures of other soldiers soaring between the buildings, but she didn’t set eyes on any foes in that first shot over the roofs. She continued on, looking between her destination near the center of the town and her comrades. Some determination shone through their fear, and she felt satisfied.

She hoped it would last.

“(f/n)! Titan approaching from the west!” came Gordon’s sudden call. She turned to her right to see what looked to be a ten meter Titan stumbling through the streets. It hadn’t seen them yet, or it was just dumb. Either way, it was a better start than an Abnormal, so she was glad for that at least. Still, fear welled up in her gut, and she barely contained the bile in her throat. She hadn’t seen one since that day in Shiganshina five years prior, but the fear was the same.

This time, though, she was prepared.

“Okay, we’ll split into two groups! I’ll take Sarah and Floch; Gordon has Keno and Sandra. We approach from the sides and the group it doesn’t face takes it out! Don’t get close unless completely open, alright?! Only engage if both arms are far from the nape!” She hoped her strategy was correct. She was taking ideas directly from the instructors, but that didn’t mean she was using them in the right situations.

“Yes, sir!” came her responses, and she almost choked at the title. Yes, she was their senior by a year, but that didn’t mean she was of a higher rank than them, explicitly at least. The top ten rankings really had no use in the different factions; she was a cadet, just the same as them. However, she had no time to form a rebuttal. They had a Titan to take down.

She ran as hard as she could along the rooflines, her chosen comrades behind her and Gordon and his charges directly opposite. The Titan took notice of them when they got within a hundred meters, and it showed this by stopping its sluggish waddling to all but charge at them. It seemed to take a liking to Gordon, and he jumped from the roof before its hand connected. It continued to thrash about in the opposite direction, so (f/n) decided the opening was adequate.

“Engaging!”

Her wires dug into the nape, propelling her straight into target range, as well as harm’s way. Gordon and his crew continued to maneuver back and forth on the other side of the building, drawing the Titan in and keeping its focus away from her. A rush of adrenaline pounded in her chest as she spun toward the nape, muscle memory kicking in from all that extra practice. The slice was clean; the Titan fell instantly. She retracted her hooks and aimed for the roof Floch and Sarah remained on, a grin of victory playing on her lips.

“Nice one, (f/n)!” Keno shouted from across the way. The other three made their way back to them as she scouted the area. They could never be too safe. “That was a good strat!”

“Yeah, we’ll keep on like this unless we spot an Abnormal.”

With a nod from her group, they started off again. They didn’t see another Titan for a while, and that worried the girl. Something terrible was bound to happen. She constantly checked to make sure her comrades were alright, while keeping note of her blindspots. It terrified her that she couldn’t be aware of all sides at once. Suddenly, she spotted a cluster of smaller Titans, and she alerted her squad to their presence.

“Alright, same formation!”

They closed in quickly, and the three Titans noticed immediately. They broke off, two heading for (f/n)’s group and the other went for Gordon’s. She jumped out of the way of a rogue hand, yelling for her group to separate to find an opening. Floch followed Sarah in the opposite direction as (f/n) carried on, the smaller of the two following her. She cursed at this, as she knew Floch was the closest to the other Titan. He couldn’t handle it on his own in the state he was in, but he had Sarah. Even so, she felt responsible for them, so she needed to get this one off her tail stat.

All the adrenaline in her blood reached a maximum, and her fear all but vanished in the face of a comrade’s life hanging in the balance. She turned suddenly, redirecting her momentum and shooting her hooks into the Titan’s shoulder. She narrowly avoided an outstretched arm, pivoting in the air and swinging up to cut the nape. It fell instantly, but it could never be quick enough. Continuing on, she found the other Titan reaching for a stiff footed Floch, his arms above his head as he cowered in the face of death. As she ran with all her might to save him, she noticed Sarah doing the same thing. The blonde was charging the Titan head on, and it barely missed a beat in snatching her from the roofline. (f/n) screamed; she pushed her legs harder, shooting her wires into the Titan’s back. She was so close. So close. So close. She positioned her blades to strike, her heart beating faster with every second. The Titan slowly brought Sarah to its mouth, her screams permeating the air. So close. So close. As she brought her blades forward to strike the nape, the Titan did something (f/n) would never forget.

No, it didn’t eat Sarah.

It crushed her in its hand.

Just one squeeze, and all life ceased to be.

She screamed. She sliced the nape. She felt her friend’s blood coat her skin, mingling with the steaming blood of the killer. The adrenaline that had helped her before fizzled out, and she landed on the roof with little to no grace at all. Floch was screaming, his eyes tearing up above her. All she wanted to do was lay on the tiles of the roof, but she knew that was a far off dream.

Gordon’s voice rang through the air, as did Keno’s. Death rattling.

She shot off the roof, only knowing she didn’t want to experience death again. Keno was in the hand of the other Titan. So close. So close. She was closer this time.

She had to be.

Gordon was yelling for the Titan to put his friend down, but no openings were seen from his side. Sandra was further away, trying to get its attention as well. It just continued to morbidly stare down at Keno, whose lighthearted grin had given way to absolute terror. He was screaming for his mother. He was screaming for his friends. He was screaming for his life.

(f/n) would make sure he kept it.

A shout ripped from her lungs as she barrelled towards the nape, the opening as good as any. No focus was paid to her, not even after the howl that left her. Death was quick, but not for Keno.

She’d made it in time.

Her legs screamed at her despite the rigorous training she’d put them through. Even with that, flesh and bone was never meant to be pushed so hard. She knew she’d torn a muscle, or two, or three. But Keno was alive, and that’s all that mattered in that moment.

Sarah wasn’t.

She shook her head to empty it. She had to focus on getting them out of harm’s way. Keno was still shaking, as was Floch. Actually, everyone was.

Including her.

“Let’s get to higher ground!”

With that, they made their way to a tower not far away…

Without Sarah.

Next