#don’t mind the weird patchy bits I used a lot of white out

[eldritchdemonfox]

After several months of art block, I finally was able to actually finish a drawing! (Inspired by @that-trans-autistic-guy’s absolutely brilliant Traumatised Dead Boys series on AO3 which everyone should read right now)

So…yeah! Death of the Endless and her Dead Boy Detectives!

[necro-hamster]

no idc i feel like shit and i wanna talk abt my weird little fc5 oc. my blog i do what i want. rambles under the cut bc i dont wanna clog up ppl’s dash

anyways. first of all this is abt my weird little fc5 oc danny. he is/was part of the cult, long story short, joined up when he was like 14 because his parents joined and dragged him along.

im not talking abt THAT aspect of their story tho. i wanna talk abt gender LMAO. it’s MY oc and I get to choose how to project. anyways ! i think, first and foremost, for a LONG time (like, from a VERY early age, likely around,, 11-12??) danny thought he was mtf. they knew they didn’t feel exactly MALE, but even then, FEMALE didn’t sit quite right either. but, that’s all danny really knew about ! he was vaguely aware of what being trans was, and it was the only label he could think of that got close to how he felt. they did a lot of private experimenting with using a different name, she/her pronouns, and attempting to look as feminine as possible just to see how it’d make him feel.

truth is, while it did help out a bit, he only came to the conclusion that the label of a woman didn’t exactly sit right either. which was admittedly kind of a relief? danny grew up in a very white, republican area in georgia, and his parents fit right in with the rest of the community, to say the least ! they were assholes !! as i’m sure you can kind of guess by them joining a crazy murder cult and forcing their kid to join with them despite not wanting to. lol.

either way, danny was pretty relieved to come to the conclusion that he didn’t want to necessarily TRANSITION in any way, they still felt ... off??? if you’re trans you know what i mean. that just constant feeling of WRONG. especially once puberty hit !!! facial hair in particular gives him pretty horrible dysphoria, and they’ve always been glad that they can’t seem to really grow it out much past patchy stubble, given the ‘no shaving’ rule the cult seems to have.

danny identified as a cis male for years. he figured out that he was bi around 16, and figured that maybe THAT was what had been causing him so much discomfort. it wasn’t. obviously. he went through this same cycle for YEARS, even after he left eden’s gate, of “i’m a cis male” -> “i don’t feel male” -> “maybe i’m a woman” -> “i don’t feel like a woman” -> “i’m a cis male”, rinse and repeat.

(keep in mind i personally go w/ an ending where the collapse doesn’t happen because i do what i want and the ending is open ended anyways lmao. same basic thing happens in the situation where the collapse DOES happen tho, just takes a lil while longer to get there.)

finally, at around 22, danny learned about the term nonbinary, and it really was just like an instant click. they were talking to a friend who told him they were nonbinary, and he just felt like “oh, me too”, once they explained what it was. obviously, being nb is a whole complex experience, and there was still a LOT of treading water he had to do before fully figuring himself out.

but i literally refuse to give a nb character a shitty ending so as of now !! danny’s come to a very comfortable conclusion that they’re nonbinary, and use he/they pronouns. they’re okay with presenting primarily masculine and are quite frankly very proud of themself for finally figuring out their gender identity tbh. their shitty parents and relatives/”friends” are out of their life (completely cut out) so they don’t ever have to deal with any of THAT bullshit, luckily. :^)

[brinnygetsstabbed]

[ DEADLY AGREEMENT // MOUSE’S MEMORIES]

She made a promise.

She made a promise to get herself into the woods when she could. Be it after Trial or when the others drifted away to do their own thing. To return to that hidden place, where nothing useful is. The edge of survivor territory. 

It’s dangerous, and she knows it’s dangerous. It’s just not compared to the doom looming over her if she doesn’t put herself in danger. There’s no choice. She’ll be hurt either way, it’s just a matter of postponing the pain. But, if she does this now, if she goes, maybe she can escape it for a bit. Make him happy, keep him calm.

Just fulfill the promise.

Her legs tremble with each step, the further she gets from the fire, the darker the world around her gets. Brin hates the feeling of being so alone, yet so surrounded at the same time. She has no bubble, no shield around herself to hide behind. Exposed, an easy target. Still, she pushes forward, going by uneven memory.

Lots of deals, the concepts of arrangements were vaguely thrown onto the table. She does something for him, and he lets her go. He lets her go and with that, he offers a mocking version of security. It’s easier to see the light when he’s not snuffing it out, when she’s still got her eyes. She can see how awful he is. How terrible she is for even listening, for not turning to her real friends for help. This will just isolate her more, only leaving him. The only person she’ll have left to turn to is the person who is hurting her.

the person who is using her. She knows it.

Yet still, she is walking.

The air shifts, the little pocket comes into view. A small area missing trees, a rock sits right in the center. The canopy still acts as a weird roof to this space. She doesn’t feel safe, but at least there’s no immediate danger. Not until he shows up, and he will. She knows he will. He always does.

Brin holds her arms tightly around herself, a slight shiver clings to her bones. Just wait. 

Time gives her room to think, to consider. To figure out a way to escape this, escape him. The game she fell into. It's a trap, and she curses herself for not seeing it sooner. What was so special about him anyway? She shouldn’t be so hooked on a killer’s attention, but she is. And he knows it.

Her thoughts trail off to analyzing him, again. Probably for the hundredth time, despite how much she hates it. Everything about him is so wrong, because it’s so normal. He can be nice, funny, caring. It’s all a goddamn lie, though. He doesn’t care. He can’t. He’s a killer, he’s killed her, several times now. And each time, it’s only gotten worse.

Like a knife dragging up her spine, Brinley’s mind screeches to a halt. Panic surges, the shaking and trembling is much worse. She’s exposed- actually exposed- now. Her eyes dart everywhere, looking for that white mask. 

She hears his sigh of satisfaction before she sees him, “Good, just making sure I’ve got your attention.” His voice is muffled, but finally he steps into view. He’s been hidden, probably watching her for at least a minute now. Bastard.

Her shaking is as bad as it could be, Brin swallows the ball of fear in her throat, only preparing to speak. Don’t say anything, yet, don’t set him off. This can be easy, just… Wait and listen.

He approaches so casually, stopping at the side of the rock, leaning against it. His hand pats the top of the dark stone, very politely asking- probably telling- Brin to take a seat next to him. With so much reluctance, she does. Her muscles tense, coiled like a spring, a bullet ready to fly; she’s ready to bolt. She wants to run away so bad, but being around him makes her crumble instead. She’s exposed anyway, running will only turn this into a very bloody discussion. 

“You’re early, that’s good,” He comments, tone unbearably gentle. Before saying anything else, the mask comes off, and is set on the rock, “I’d hate to have to chase you down outside a Trial, really.” 

Liar. He’s already done that.

Brin says nothing, her eyes are glued to the patchy grass. Only a hum of slight acknowledgment is let out, just to signal she’s listening. He has her full attention, well, her unharmed attention. It’s the eye contact that really hooks her brain. He’s terrifying. Something about silver eyes is so… Intense. It’s migraine inducing. 

Of course that’s not good enough for him, though. No, the selfish prick needs more than her everything. Still maintaining the delicate demeanor, his finger nudges under her chin, bringing her gaze snapping up to his. The reaction is more than immediate. No touch, bad touch, she’s already overwhelmed. Fine, he wants 101% of her attention? He’s got it.

As always, his eyes pierce her, his presence digs into her soul. Like a magnet, she’s pulled in, regardless of the struggle she tries to put up. He looks too smug, too happy with how easy it is to throw her brain into a paper shredder. For a moment, he simply scans her, his face changes to concerned, worried maybe, “Aw, Sweetheart, why are you shaking?”

He should know why, “I- It’s… I’m just nervous, Jed, it’s fine.” Brin struggles to find her voice, when it comes out, it’s weak, just barely a few squeaks of an explanation. 

The vibe changes, with it, a chuckle rumbles in his chest, setting her nerves on a razor's edge. She wants to run, to escape her own skin, but she’s locked in place by conditioning. Fear tactics and pain, but with the glowing lure of the catharsis of comfort. He’s able to turn on a dime, shifting from monster to some sort of guardian. It’s wrong, it’s so unbearably wrong and it hurts, but she can’t get away from it. No matter how hard she tries, “Relax, bunny, I'm not gonna hurt you, I just wanna talk.” He’s facing her more now, looming closer, “I’ve got a little job for you.”

A… Job? Jesus, what the hell does that even mean? The flicker of actual fear in her eyes makes him hum, “Don’t worry, it’s easy.” His reassurance isn’t convincing, “We’re both new here, aren’t we? Why don’t we help each other, then? All I need you to do is act as a sort of… Tracker.” Now she’s just confused, “Stick to a teammate, accidentally damage generators, don’t touch the totems if any are lit. Don’t waste your time trying to get them off hooks.” Ah, so he just wants her to lock herself away and be useless? Her heart hurts at the idea.

Brin’s eyes finally fall, her head turns away, her arms hugged tighter around herself, “I can’t.” She murmurs, finding speaking much more difficult, “I can’t betray them like that, I'm sorry…”

Again, the emotions in the air grow agitated, all this altering is giving the survivor whiplash. This conversation could go a lot faster if he just gave a clear order and left, but he’s never that simple. Quietly, a cooing hush comes from his lips, “Hey, it’s ok. They won’t know, they don’t need to know.” 

… She shouldn’t feel relieved to hear that.

“I can just make them think it’s all me. They’re mean to me, Brinny. Them and the other killers.” Jed’s tone gets hurt, dull, melancholic, “Didn’t the other kids out there push you around? Help me out, sweetheart. In return, I can let you go more often.” 

Cynicism mixed with the hatred of death makes this offer sound lovely. It’s not, it’s wrong. Everything about what they are is wrong. He’s a killer, a murderer and a stalker, and she shouldn’t be so willing to talk to him. To be near him with no one else around. Realistically, it’s horrifying, but in the moment, so many different emotions mix into something she can’t describe. 

Is he even actually bullied by the other survivors? Sure, she’s not always there to see it, but she shouldn’t feel empathy so quickly either. Jed, being bullied? That doesn’t really make him seem scary, just pitiful. Her brain is tearing itself apart just to figure out what he’s trying to do. Is he trying to get her emotions? He already has that. Is he… Trying to seem human? Weak? Is he trying to earn her pity so she’ll help him? Or is he trying to make her dislike the other survivors? To dislike even other killers?

None of it makes sense. 

She can’t answer, she can’t do much other than sit and fester in her own panicked confusion. She wants to know which game he’s playing so she can try and outsmart him, but the possibility of more than one game is what’s throwing her off. It’s already hard enough to constantly have to remind herself that she’s being played in the first place. She’s so desperate to feel something other than danger, and with him having given her that, she just wants it back. She wants the nice Jed, the Jed that serves as the personal bubble she lacks.

But this isn’t nice Jed. He’s scheming and plotting and if she threatens his plans, he’ll get angry.

And when he gets angry, he gets violent.

Brin doesn’t want violent Jed.

A brow is raised at her silence, his outward presence seems to get stronger just by him willing it so. How does he do that? He hasn’t moved an inch, yet somehow he feels so much more intimidating than before, “Ignoring me now, are we?” His tone is subtly scolding, that’s never a good sign.

It makes her practically jump from her spot, taking a wary step back just to have room to think. It’s so hard to think when he’s that close, all attention is glued to him just out of self-preservation, “N- No! Just… I'm sorry I don’t know… I wanna help, I do but-” 

“But what, Brinny?” He asks, cutting her off sharply, “I don’t like it when you lie to me. You don’t want to help me, you just wanna make sure your little survivor buddies keep caring about you.”

Tears bite at the corners of her eyes. The air is hot, it’s thin but so heavy and it’s getting harder and harder to breathe. She’s cowering, another step back, “J- Jed, no, please just listen.” Brin pleads, trying not to cry, “I can… I’ll help, yes, but- But I can’t betray them, I need to help them.” Ok, ok. Her voice finds a slight levelness, the shaking in it isn’t as noticeable. Her desire to help her true friends is helpful in combating the fear his now harsh stare inflicts.

But, like with everything good, it’s short lived.

He strides closer, brow creased in apparent irritation, “Who do you want to help, then?” He questions, “You can’t get greedy and do both, Brin. It’s them or me.” 

God- she’s backing up as he gets closer, soon there won’t be anywhere else to run. The ultimatum is agony. He doesn’t have any right to do that to her, she doesn’t- she isn’t his item. She isn’t a knife, she’s not some tool. She isn’t a spy for his bullshit. Justified anger mixes with fear, leaving a bitter taste in her dry mouth, “Don’t- you can’t… That’s not fair, don’t make me choose.” Please. She can’t do that, she just can’t. That’s why she goes to the others to guide her. 

Whatever she said, it clearly snaps something inside his head. His hand shoots forward, grabbing her roughly by the jaw and pulling her forward, “I’m giving you options here, sweetheart.” Jed growls, glaring right into her soul, “Them or me. Who can really protect you from the other killers?”

That’s not a rhetorical question. She wishes it was, though, because now she’s only got so many seconds to come up with an answer, “...You.” That’s not what she wants to hear. Sadly, that hardly matters now.

“And who can get you out of more Trials?”

“...” For a moment, her brain refuses to speak, only breaking under the pressure of his grip tightening on her jaw, “You.” 

“Who can get you better food?”

It might seem silly, but food matters here. In a different way, obviously. It keeps the occupants of the Fog sane for much longer. Keeping sensations alive, keeping the concept of life itself alive, “You.” 

Finally his hold relaxes, as does his posture, “I do. So won’t you just do this little favor? I’ll still let you go, Bunny, just make a few simple mistakes.” 

Brinley can’t make herself look at him anymore. All of that mental training crumbles under the stress that his eyes bring. She could look into them all day, if only he wasn’t so goddamn terrifying. 

Her hands instinctively grabbed onto his wrist, not even looking to try and pry him off, just clinging to support. Her stomach is tied into knots, those knots are in other knots. She’d puke if she could, but sickness is strange here. So, she’s left with queasy nausea. She can’t do this, not to them, she just- think of the good. The stories, the laughing around the campfires. The little celebrations after they all get out of a Trial together. Those little moments where they’re all just humans, suffering together. Calm silence, small gestures.

That’s what she should be holding onto, that’s the good. Not this, not a killer. If she just told them about what was happening, they’d help. They’d all be there for her. Right? How could she have even considered the concept of working with the enemy just to survive? 

“...N- I just…” Her main objective is escape, just she’s not willing to pay the price. She can’t accept this offer, he’ll treat it like a bloodpact. It practically could be, given all the blood he’s drained from her. No, she won’t be trapped in that agreement, because if she fails at it, he’ll probably torture her worse than before. Worse than a mori. Nothing is worse than being the only one left in a Trial with him, “Please, I- I can help in a different way, I just need time to think.”

Now she’s done it.

Attempting to toss out another, much less scary idea is impossible. His hand shifts, clamping down on her throat. Her own hands grip his wrist harder, nails digging into the cloth of his shroud, “Tick tock, Brinley.” Shit. Full name. No nicknames. Never did she think she’d prefer to be called ‘Brinny’ over her regular name before now, “I’m not interested in anything else. You do this favor, or I’ll hunt you for sport, even outside the Trials.”

No amount of good memories can keep the streak of selflessness going. Trials are already hard enough, sometimes other killers already give her enough hassle. She can’t speak, but she can try, nodding as she does, “O- o… Ok. Ye...s” 

The guilt is agonizing, but if she didn’t answer, he’d probably strangle her to death. Brin wants to keep the dying to Trials, as much as she can.

Her response seems to please him enough, anyway.

Jed hums, letting go of her neck, gently holding her face after she coughs and wheezes for a moment or two, “See? There we go, it’ll be easy, I promise.” He’s back to being sweet. Fear does something wicked to her brain. Sweet means good, no pain, no danger. Fear also makes her want to break down. No pain? Time to go looking for something secure to crumble against. He can see it, too. Fuck, he can probably even sense how close her brain is to shattering completely. Indigo eyes shine with overflowing tears, all it takes to make them roll down her face are more gentle words, “Hey, you’re ok, Sweetheart, you’re ok.”

She’s not ok, but she can be. 

Swaying forward, her eyes squeeze shut, her shoulders twitch in tandem with muted sobs. Nothing matters anymore, she doesn’t have the energy to care about what she just signed off on, she just needs to hide. Jed is the only thing to hide against.

So, she lets herself break down. He’s been particularly good at putting her back together. And then tearing her apart. Over, and over, and over.

Though, maybe with this, that’ll happen less.

God she hopes so.

[the-only-universe-here]

Tell me about ocs. Is now legal obligation

Okay I've rewritten this like three times because I want this to be a good and fun post for everyone and maybe try to not completely overwhelm this ask with the many... Many conflicting character thoughts I've been thinking about recently which spans across like 8/9 characters and like three universes because I'm a goddamn mESS.

So instead of all that I'm going to assign the class some reading which you can find here and here about my team KRML, which I'm always ready and interested in talking about, and tell you some about my fan apprentices for The Arcana.

Starting us off is the apprentice that I initially used for both Julian and Asra's routes, Verun Levvie. Before I started playing the Arcana I honestly didn't really have much for her - she was just a neat little self insert cameo in a couple of my stories.

Originally she ran a magic shop with the main intent to help people with their dreams. Her magic would basically snatch the memories of dreams out of their minds and she would craft dream catchers from threads that she basically infused with their dreams. Nightmares, good dreams, and anything else. If they had a recurring nightmare they wanted to get rid of, or if they wanted to keep the dream catcher and be able to re-live that memory... Yknow.

She's also a mess and she can't help but copy the tendencies of people around her. So if she's around a certain boisterous, flirty beanpole man? Oops now she's flirting back and where the hell did she get all this confidence?? Or if she's around her favorite magician boyfriend she'll end up following along with his shenanigans and getting into some sort of trouble with him. But on her own, she's just generally very quiet and very very introverted. Like, vampire hissing as the curtains are drawn back, don't touch me don't look at me unless you're one of my boys. Also yes, she's in a polyamorous relationship with Julian and Asra and I have custom background stories for the three of them that I will spare you from... Unless you really wanna hear about it.

5'7" of Verun to love her boys with... Also she has like. Honey-amber eyes is how I describe it in my writing? If I can pinpoint the exact color I'll show it when I can. But I'm infatuated with the color. Also I stole an hairstyle/hair color from my sister for her hair, so just think of like, red-orange-white fire-ish lookin hair. I don't know how to describe it without sharing photos of my sis but its cool and I'm absolutely too fuckin powerful in a universe where people can have purple-pinkish hair and red eyes.

Akaira is my second fan apprentice, and uh. Okay just an fyi but my fan apprentices all exist in their own universes so there's no messy storylines crossing.

Because Akaira ends up fucking all of the main male LI's except for Muriel, because the big forest man reminds her entirely too much of her sister and that would just be WEIRD. (He also probably hates Akaira so. There's that.) And that's all before the game actually starts. She's like, the barely-has-morals thot. A classic chaotic neutral rogue multiclassing as a ranger, if you know D&D. She has Looks™ and knows how to use them to get what she wants. And if someone isn't tempted or swayed by her flirting and beauty, she's handy with both knife and bow and has no qualms about spilling blood.

It should be no surprise to anyone that her main LI is Lucio, because honestly... She's kind of a gold digger and Lucio is also a barely-has-morals thot.

But! She does actually have backstory filled out, since I've had her character for years and years now. Her first memories are uh. Well, being shot with an arrow to the neck, which left her with her first scar. The man that shot her, thinking the rustling on the bushes of the forest to be an animal, took her to his home out in the middle of fuckin nowhere and added a new daughter to his household. So Akaira was given a name and she acquired two loving parents and a sister. Everything was fine for a while, but then her mother got sick and barely managed to hold onto life for years, until she passed away and everything turned to shit. Her father turned into an abusive asshole, driven mad with grief, and her sister became distant and harsh and just didn't really care about anything. Her and her sister had been taught from a young age how to fight in self defense, but at some point they started... "sparring". Sparring, but like, with just a little bit of blood. So from about the age of sixteen Akaira started gathering scars from her sister mostly, though her father left his fair share as well. (Akaira is always rather sensitive about being called a bitch...) But eventually, Akaira decided to forsake her father and the last name he had given her, so she left her home and got herself into some mercenary work, or whatever would sustain her, traveling around until she got to Vesuvia. Along the way she discovered her talent at manipulation and pickpocketing, which ended up with a lot of "free dinners" for herself 😉

She's also quietly self conscious about her scars, though outwardly she has no issue with flaunting them. The only times that you'll see her actually flinch when people talk about her scars is when she's already having a really, really bad day. Akaira is also like... Weirdly masochistic when it comes to continuing to spar with her sister. Even now she'll go adventure and meet up with her sister and ask to spar even when she knows she'll end up bleeding (sometimes a dangerous amount).

I'm pretty sure that she's also like. My most attractive character, at least out of my girls. Like, 5'4" of blonde loveliness. Long, gently curly hair, light blue eyes, thighs thick enough to kill a man. Makeup game is Stronk. She herself is able to throw her sister, and her sister is a 6'10 monster of a person, and she has the muscle mass to prove it.

Buuuut anyway, onto Aldafa Hylene. Who, surprise, is Akaira's sister! Ahahahaha. I swear she isn't as bad as she seems based on Akaira's side of the story. Like she is, but she isn't. She took her mother's loss really hard, as a child cut off from society would. And since, at that age, she was trained and able to take care of herself alone in the forest... She did. She would spend days or weeks alone in the wilderness, venting her anger and sadness to the things of the forest in whispers and twangs of her bowstring and angry howls back at the wolf packs. She found solace in the primal forces of nature, of fighting for her life with every action when she was alone, and when it came to Akaira welcoming chances to fight those wild instincts just... Continued on into it. So she'd leave cuts and bruises on her sister and then wrap her wounds with bandages and salves and other healing things. She'd also make sure her father left Akaira alone for the time she had to heal, though sometimes when she wasn't there he would aggravate Akaira into lashing out at him. (And if she knew the terribly grievous wounds that he left with his own blades by sight, Akaira didn't need to know. She could deny for a little longer.) No matter what she did, her father never lashed out at Aldafa, so she just kind of refused to believe that he was as horrible as Akaira seemed to believe. (Her sister's blood was on her own hands only, not his. She was responsible for it, she was so sorry for it.)

But eventually, she followed Akaira out of their home and found her own way to Vesuvia. She met Asra and yknow, she didn't mind him. Maybe a bit louder and more energetic than what she preferred, but she knew her tolerance for people was pretty unique. It probably took her like ten or twenty times of her meeting Muriel in the forest for him to decide that this new friend of Asra's was okay, so he gave her one of his little charms for her to remember him with... And after that she would go to him when she needed a break from the city. They're both very quiet, neither of them like people, and honestly having that sort of mutual thinking is perfect. And then it turned into Aldafa spending days with him... And then weeks. And then they just unofficially started living together.

Best thing? Aldafa is just as tall as Muriel, and while she's kind of a beanpole herself (yknow, 6'10 hooman) she's got some serious muscle to her, just like Akaira. Also she has no idea what a haircut is, she'll just take a couple inches off of her own hair with her hunting knife so her hair is short and patchy af but she gives exactly zero shits.

ANYWAY ITS GETTING ONTO 3AM BECAUSE I'M A DUMBASS BUT THANKS FOR COMING TO MY TED TALK AND LETTING ME RANT ABOUT THESE THREE I GOTTA GO BED NOW

[acidblackpirate]

A Band Conspiracy

Happy Valentine’s Day! ^^

Yasu pushed open the door to the café. It looked shabby from the outside. The silver of the door knob had turned dull and the white plaster of the walls had become patchy.

He couldn’t recall who had suggested the place. It hadn’t been him. Yasu had never been to this area of the city before. The elevator created funny noises while carrying him up to the third floor. Yasu regretted not taking the stairs.

Luckily, it looked a lot friendlier inside. In Tokyo, it could happen any time. You walked up some sordid stairs or entered a shady basement, and suddenly you found yourself indulged in luxury.

This place here wasn’t luxurious, but it seemed nice enough. The walls had been painted a light shade of pink. Everything looked clean. It smelled of coffee.

“One person?”, a young woman approached him.

She was wearing a dotted dress. Yasu guessed her to be in her 20s. A student probably, working part-time. Just the right age. Her face was pretty. Yasu would much rather have dated her today.

“Someone is waiting for me”, yasu said. “I’m a little late, they should already be here.”

“Just go through.” The young woman smiled at him. Yasu often got those smiles since he dyed his hair and wore more leather.

He smiled back.

Maybe he would ask for her number on his way out.

The tables were standing close to each other, making the place feel cramped and somewhat stuffy. On his way to the back of the room, yasu nearly knocked out a young man with his elbow. He had leaned over to scan the entrance. Probably waiting for a girl. Yasu gave him a short look. A few years older than him. Handsome. Yasu would much rather have dated him today, as well.

Finally, he reached the large table, banned to the corner of the room. Next to it, there were padded benches; not chairs like at most other tables.

Yasu slipped onto the bench with his back to the room.

Ka-yu looked up from the menu he had been studying. He didn’t seem surprised to find yasu in front of him.  From where he was seated, he had a good view on the entire room. He had probably seen him enter.

“Where are the others?”, yasu asked. “I thought I was running late already.”

He shrugged off his leather jacket, dropping it across the bench next to himself. From the pocket, he had gotten his mobile, placing it on the table now.

“They didn’t message you?”, ka-yu assured.

He sounded grumpy. Yasu looked up from his hands, that were still fiddling with the menu. Ka-yu’s hands could be pretty distractive at times. His facial expression seemed just as annoyed as his voice. He was letting his dark hair grow lately. It looked good on him. Lately, everything seemed to look good on ka-yu. He had had a glow-up. Or maybe yasu hadn’t really looked at him for too long already.

“Huh?”, yasu mumbled and opened his mobile. There were no new messages nor missed calls. “Nothing”, he stated.

Ka-yu groaned.

“They messaged me timely every five minutes to cancel. First shuji, then you and finally kiyo. By the way.” He checked his watch demonstratively. “You are twenty minutes late. I thought you wouldn’t show up as well.”

“I’m here, I’m here”, yasu said.

He hadn’t been very keen on the meeting, that was why he had been running late. To him, the idea to hold a casual band meeting on Valentine’s Day, so none of them would have to spend the day alone, had seemed stupid to begin with. Sure, spending the day of lovers all alone wasn’t exactly uplifting, but it was definitely less depressive than spending it with four dudes just as lonely as himself.

“I didn’t want to come, you know”, ka-yu said.

Yasu had turned his gaze to the second laminated menu on the table, but now he looked up in confusion.

“What?”, he said.

“The meeting today”, ka-yu clarified. “Neither you nor me wanted it, but they insisted, right? And now they didn’t even show up.”

Yasu gave a low hum and looked back onto the menu. The cake with strawberries looked good.

“Maybe we should be glad about it. I wasn’t in the mood for it anyway. Let’s just eat something, now that we are here already. And then we can go home and do something useful with the rest of the day”, he suggested absentmindedly.

There was a cake with blueberries, too.

“It just feels like a trap”, ka-yu said.

Yasu jolted.

Very slowly, he looked up again.

“You mean, a trap to trick us into a Valentine’s date?”, he asked carefully.

Ka-yu shrugged.

He didn’t look upset anymore. With the lightning in here and the pink walls, it almost looked as if his cheeks were slightly colouring.

“Well, they didn’t even tell you the plan got cancelled.” Ka-yu sounded defensive now.

“But why would they …”, yasu started, but suddenly felt the violent urge to clear his throat.

Helplessly he turned his head to check for the waitress. He needed a glass of water. The temperature in the room was uncomfortable hot, now that he thought about it.

“I don’t know”, ka-yu said a little hastily.

Yasu thought he had been good at covering it up. The way his gaze tended to linger on ka-yu’s arms lately, or on his lips, or – occasionally, when he was absolutely sure no one was paying attention – on his butt. No one would have noticed. It wasn’t even a crush. It was completely objective attraction. Ka-yu was handsome. Yasu could not deny that. It didn’t mean he wanted to spend Valentine’s with him.

He shuffled on the bench, realizing his body had gone tense.

“Did you order already?”, he asked. The silence after their last exchange of words was feeling uncomfortable. He wanted to break it, even if the answer to his question was pretty obvious with ka-yu still studying the menu like that.

“Yeah”, ka-yu said dryly. “Since I was first, I just ordered for everyone. I hope you’re hungry. We’ll have five cakes.”

Yasu snorted, but ka-yu’s sarcasm enabled him to finally relax. It didn’t have to feel awkward, just because it was only the two of them on Valentine’s Day now. They were still friends. They could still hang out and joke without it having a deeper meaning.

“Have you chosen already?”, a voice interrupted them.

Yasu turned to look. The waitress wasn’t the one who had greeted him at the entrance. She was also wearing a dotted dress, though. Maybe it was the dress-code for the employees here.

“Eh”, yasu said. What was it he had wanted to eat? Strawberries, bananas?

“Today we have a Valentine’s special for two”, the girl said with a beam as if she wanted to help yasu in his confusion. “It has all sorts of different fruits and extra chocolate cream.”

All sorts of fruits sounded good to him, yasu had to admit. With a short glance he checked on ka-yu. He had raised his eyebrows at yasu questioningly. Yasu knew they had had him at the “extra chocolate”.

“Okay, we’ll take that”, he said.

The girl wrote their order down on her notepad, then gave them both a wide smile that looked somewhat conspiratorial. It took yasu a moment to realize where that smile was coming from.

Automatically, he wanted to tell her that it was a misunderstanding. Not because he thought dating other men was absurd – in fact he had been in that situation before. But because it was ka-yu; ka-yu his friend, his bandmember, the person with whom it would never mean anything.

“We …”, he started, even while speaking realizing he was acting stupid.

“… would like some water as well, please”, ka-yu interrupted him.

“Sure, I’ll bring it”, the waitress promised and turned to walk over to the counter.

“She seems to think we are on a date”, yasu observed.

There was no need for pointing it out. Why did he have to say that? It would only make him more self-conscious and drive ka-yu’s attention to all the hints he was not meant to collect.

“Doesn’t matter, right?”, ka-yu said.

Yasu nodded and thought of how to change the topic fast. If they didn’t change the topic, it was only a matter of time, until yasu would say something stupid.

“Or are you embarrassed of me as your date?”, ka-yu went on.

Yasu pretended to be on the lookout for the waitress again. He really needed that glass of water now.

“No, no”, he said. Probably ka-yu had been teasing, but he didn’t know how to react to it. Denying it too violently would just look weird. He should joke it off. But yasu couldn’t think of anything funny to say. His own discomfort had turned him into the most listless person on the planet. “It’s just such a weird thought. Us dating. Right?”

“Right”, ka-yu said. He dragged out the word. He sounded suspicious.

The waitress reappeared next to their table, putting down two empty glasses and a carafe filled with a bit of water and a lot of ice.

Yasu didn’t even take the time to return her smile, but poured himself something to drink immediately. Then he drank hastily. The water was too cold. It felt nasty as he swallowed.

“So, ehm, what are your plans for later on?”, ka-yu wanted to know.

He shuffled on the bench. The small-talk seemed to make him uneasy. Ka-yu didn’t like small-talk. Neither did yasu. It always felt like a waste of time to him.

“I don’t know.” Yasu shrugged. He hadn’t thought about what he wanted to do once he got home. He had just thought about not wanting to be here. “Play videogames. Take a nap. Whatever.”

Ka-yu nodded, though he looked absent-minded, as if he wasn’t really listening to his words.

“How about you?” Yasu had to force the words out of his mouth. The conversation felt shallow and as if really, they should be talking about something else.

“What are we even doing here?”, ka-yu said abruptly and turned his head. He was staring at yasu as if he was trying to read his thoughts.

“Eh”, yasu said. He felt his cheeks heating up as if he had been caught doing something forbidden. But it wasn’t his fault. The meeting hadn’t even been his idea. He didn’t know why he felt the urge to justify himself so badly.

“Your cake”, the young woman in the dotted dress announced so suddenly that yasu flinched.

She put down a big plate in the middle of the table. The cake was heart-shaped. Of course, it was.

“Thanks”, yasu mumbled, thankful at least that she had interrupted their conversation.

“I guess, we’re having cake”, he told ka-yu and took up one of the small forks. It felt irritatingly cold in his hand.

“I guess”, ka-yu agreed and looked down on the cake. Yasu stared at it as well.

“The heart makes it so awkward”, yasu observed after a moment of silence.

Ka-yu snorted. He sounded amused, although the statement hadn’t been exactly funny. Yasu assumed he just hadn’t expected him to say it out loud.

“Ah, the whole atmosphere is really weird, isn’t it?”, ka-yu agreed with a sigh and took up his fork as well. “We should probably just relax. Just because they set up this conspiracy as a prank doesn’t mean we have to feel uncomfortable. There is nothing weird between us after all, right?”

“Right”, yasu repeated. This time it was him, dragging out the word. He did it without meaning to.

Ka-yu dug his fork into the cake and took off a big piece of it. The inside was light brown with chocolate cream. Yasu tried not to stare at ka-yu’s lips as he put the fork into his mouth. He tried not to stare at his strong jawbones as he chewed. He tried not to stare at his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. When ka-yu finally licked his lips, yasu knew that he had lost.

He was staring.

“And?”, he asked, covering it up by pretending to be curious about his judgement; not the taste of his lips.

“Tastes delicious”, ka-yu said.

Somehow, he managed to make the word sound dirty.

Hastily, yasu took a bite from the cake as well. It tasted mostly of sugar.

“It’s too sweet”, he stated.

“Nothing is ever too sweet”, ka-yu replied, already continuing to eat.

“Some things are”, yasu insisted and took up a sliced piece of banana instead.

“You should be illegal then”, ka-yu joked.

It took yasu a moment to process his words, but as soon as he did, he kicked ka-yu’s shin beneath the table. He did it lightly, though.

“Don’t say something so corny with a serious face”, he scolded him.

Ka-yu didn’t seem to care much. He was still eating. His half of the cake was nearly gone already.

“Ah, I thought since we are on a date already, I should do some flirting”, he said lightly.

“But not like that. That was horrible”, yasu said. He was chuckling, though. The teasing felt more natural than the awkward small-talk from earlier.

“I’m sorry”, ka-yu said. He was locking eyes with yasu now. His eyebrows were raised ever so slightly, his lips curling upwards at the corner. He looked cheeky. Yasu felt a weird tingling in his chest, like an uprising giggle. “Please, teach me how to do it better then.”

Yasu turned his head when he couldn’t hold it back anymore and started to laugh quietly.

“That was better”, he admitted.

Ka-yu fell in with his soft laughter. It was a familiar sound, that made yasu feel utterly at ease with the situation.

Ka-yu picked up one of the strawberries on the plate.

“Hey!”, yasu protested. “Eat the cake when you like it so much. Leave the fruits to me!”

Ka-yu looked down onto the cake. He had already eaten more than half of it.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry”, he said and then looked at the strawberry on his fork.

Yasu wondered if he was going to eat it anyway. Putting it back on the plate would only squish it.

Finally, ka-yu shrugged and held the fork out across the table to yasu. For a second, yasu hesitated. He could just take the fork. He had put down his own already; his hand was just resting uselessly on the table.

But the strawberry was wriggling so close to his face, that giving away his fork was clearly not ka-yu’s intention.

With a sigh, yasu opened his mouth and allowed ka-yu to feed him. Yasu had a strange feeling down in his stomach. Usually, he didn’t like being patronized and he preferred to eat by himself, thank you very much. But the gesture was also caring and affectionate and made him feel warm inside and happy.

The strawberry tasted sweet, too.

Yasu kept it on his tongue a little too long. He was enjoying it more than the other fruits so far.

Ka-yu snorted, looking out into the room.

Irritated, yasu turned around, following his gaze.

Both their waitress and the girl who had greeted him were looking over to their table. The waitress put on a wide smile.

Shaking his head, yasu turned back to ka-yu.

“Now they think we are dating for sure”, he stated.

“Two hot guys like us”, ka-yu said, reaching out across the table and taking hold of yasu’s hand still resting on the surface. He did it without warning. “We should give them something to talk about.”

Ka-yu’s hand was warm. Yasu could feel the touch all over his body. His scalp started itching in a good way, shivers were running down his spine, his chest felt warm and his legs turned liquid. Without meaning to he smiled before he could get a grip on himself.

He was staring at ka-yu’s hand cupping his own. It was such a sexy hand. Until he had started to look closer at his best friend lately, yasu hadn’t even been aware of how sexy hands could be. They were sexy body-parts.

Very slowly, he moved his hand, turning it around without breaking the touch. His open palm was turned upwards now, ka-yu’s fingers drawing light patterns onto it. Yasu watched his movements. The touch tickled, but not only on his palm, but also on his back and right beneath his ears.

He turned his head to look at ka-yu.

Ka-yu was looking right at him. He must have been watching yasu’s face the whole time.

“This wasn’t just a prank, was it?”, yasu assured.

“I was mad, because I thought they were playing a joke on me. I thought they had noticed, that lately … lately I feel strange when I’m around you”, ka-yu admitted.

Yasu smiled and licked his lips. He felt nervous, although he usually wasn’t the type to feel nervous. He wasn’t the kind of person who lost their head over some hand-holding.

Right now, he had lost his head completely.

“I thought the same”, he confessed.

“I would never have asked you on a date today myself”, ka-yu said. “Seems like they were just trying to help.”

Yasu chuckled and nodded back into the room.

“Just like those girls over there.”

Ka-yu leaned in, lowering his voice as if wanting to tell him a secret.

“Seriously? I’ve been watching the other couples, and I could swear our cake was the only one shaped as a heart.”

Yasu threw his head back laughing. He was still holding on to ka-yu’s hand.

“By the way, the last time you came over, I’m convinced my landlord was giving us encouraging looks. We should check if he wants to help us, too.”

Ka-yu was now stroking the inside of yasu’s wrist with his thumb. The skin was sensitive there. It felt good.

“Yasu, are you asking me to go over to your place?”, ka-yu asked. His grin stated clearly that he didn’t mind.

Apologetic yasu shrugged.

“Since everyone seems to be conspiring against us already”, he said. “We should probably just give the world what it wants.”

[sardonicnihilism]

A Biography of the Woman Who Never Was

Part 3 The Young Adult

Chapter 25

Mary sat in her chair, staring blankly into space, paralyzed with fear for her daughter. Shannon was out there, crazy, a danger to anyone around her. How, where did she go so wrong? She thought about Kathy. She was a selfish, angry, drunk; this, on the other hand, was something completely different.

The sound of the doorknob turning, snapped her out of her trance. She looked over and saw Shannon walk in. She was bent, her shoulders drooped, her head hung low. Mary looked at her hands and saw they were covered in blood.

"Oh God," Mary gasped in horror; her mind filling with all kinds of images of what her daughter might have done.

"Don't worry," Shannon said in a low, tired voice without lifting her head to look over, "it's my own. I was punching the ground. I don't think I broke anything, but one never knows for sure." Her voice was completely lifeless, almost monotone.

She reached into her coat and pulled out a dirty, broken dagger. She tossed it on the floor as she walked to the couch and sat down. "I won't be needing that anymore. Do with it what you will."

"Shannon, did you, did you," Mary started to ask if she had hurt anyone, not really wanting to know the answer. Shannon cut her off before she could finish.

"I almost killed a homeless man," she said flatly. "At least I think he was homeless. He said he was, but he could have been lying. Or he could have been a figment of my imagination. I don't really know what's real anymore. This might be real, or maybe I'm still up on the train tracks? Maybe I'm dead? I did almost drown when I was in middle school. Maybe I did die and this is Hell? I wonder if it would be even possible to tell the difference." Shannon looked down at the floor the whole time, her voice, constantly flat and unemotional.

"I hear voices. I hear them all the time. It's not like they're telling me to do stuff, more like infinite conversations with each other, and I'm just ease dropping. I see things too. Shadows, dark shapes, spectral, human like things; always just out of full view.

"I thought I was a Holy warrior. Like one of the chosen. That in the end times, God would give me my secret, true name. I would say it and become a white wolf with golden armor and fight the forces of Satan. That's why I started carrying that," she pointed to the dagger, "so I would be ready no matter what time of day I received the call."

Mary was shaking, her face a cadaverous white. Her daughter had gone crazy. She had literally lost her mind. What was she going to do? She couldn't afford to have her committed to an asylum. Maybe she could turn to the church? Maybe she was actually possessed? Did their church even perform exorcisms? Now she sounded as crazy as her daughter.

"I'm not on drugs, if that's what you're thinking. I mean I did drink a strange, red liquid at - what do you call a gathering of witches? I don't know. A ritual? Anyway, I traveled into the Abyss, birthed an infinite number of demons who became universes, and my remains were eaten by an entity I thought was Azathoth. That might have been a narcotic. But I don't use drugs on a regular basis." Shannon's voice still refused to show any emotion.

Mary went to reach for her daughter but pulled back. This was beyond anything she could even hope to deal with.

Shannon stood up and took her trench coat off. "I'm going to bed now. Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow, maybe not. We'll see." She turned and walked up the stairs, leaving Mary alone to cry her eyes out.

********************************************

The next day, nothing was said about what happened. Like all the other family's traumas, it got swepted under the proverbial rug. Poor people can't afford to fix their problems, they can only patch them up and hope for the best.

Shannon continued to see and hear things, but on an ever decreasing level. She pulled away from just about everything and one. She dropped out of all her clubs and extracurricular activities. She stopped visiting family as well. Her life shrank to her studies, work, gym, and band.

For a while, Shannon got extremely sick. She thought maybe Jen had put a curse on her. She went to her spell books and casted a few protection and revenge spells, but it all felt empty. The spark was gone. Eventually she burned most of magic books, but even that felt more performative than cathartic.

She would often feel herself sinking in bouts of extreme depression and loneliness. She thought about dating but decided against it. Sure, college was filled to overflowing with girls desperate to get their lesbian on. Some were gay or bi; some were just curious straight girls sick of putting up with male bullshit. But she didn't have the time (she told herself). Also she had gotten the reputation as being the weird girl, and not in the funny, cute way, but the "she'll eat your face off and bury you in the basement" way. She didn't mind that too much. Sure, it killed her social life, but it kept the guys away, so six of one, half a dozen of the other.

One night, she was in the campus library, doing a research paper when she heard a voice that she was relatively sure wasn't inside her head. "Ah mate, did you see the latest episode of the X-Files? Bloody brilliant that is. I don't see how Chris Carter can keep the show so good." It was a male voice speaking with an Australian accent.

*What is an Australian doing in bum fuck Shippensburg?* she thought to herself. The idea that someone from Australia would come here seemed more unbelievable than magic and witches. That, and along with the fact he was talking about one of her favorite shows, made her decide to get up and see who the owner of the voice really was.

She slowly crept to where the voice was coming from. The owner was a tall boy, about six feet tall, short hair, the same color as hers, a long, oval face with green eyes that looked half a size too big for the face they were in. Not conventionally attractive by any stretch of the imagination, but the sum total still gave off a pleasant, quirky attractiveness. If she were straight, she might even have found him cute. He moved his hands a lot when he talked with a grace that suggested he either was or had been a dancer.

The boy he was talking to was short with long, dark brown hair, tied in a ponytail. He had a patchy beard that was standard for most college boys. He wore a tydyed shirt and light tan cargo shorts with flip flops. His hands were in his pocket and he looked completely bored with the conversation.

"Hey, no need to perve on us," Shannon heard the Australian say to her. "Come on over and say hey."

*Shit* Shannon thought to herself. She considered just turning tail and run, but decided that she did kind of owe it to them to say hi.

She walked over and extended her hand. "Sorry, I heard you mention The X-Files, and I love that show. I'm Shannon, by the way."

"No worries mate. Samuel's the name. Everyone calls me Sam for short." He shook her hand and made an exaggerated pain face. "That's quite a grip you got on ya there. You sure you're not a Shawn instead of a Shannon?"

Shannon gave him an annoyed look. "My menstrual cramps seem to think so," she said, irritated. "And if you ask me to prove it, I'm going to rip your brain out through your eyes."

Sam gave a big laugh. "No, no problem there. Just having a bit of a go at you. Just me personality. I like to have a bit of fun."

Shannon cocked her head and did something she hadn't done in a long time, she smiled.

[casualarsonist]

Horizon: Zero Dawn review

Here’s a weird little idiosyncrasy-slash-crippling weakness of mine - I find it nearly impossible to write about things I really enjoy. Perhaps it’s because I hate gushing, but I can’t really overstate just how fucking annoying it is that I can only provide opinions on art that is either some version of ‘okay’, or ludicrously shit. For example, I’ve previously mentioned that there are only three or four pieces of art that I’ve witnessed in the world that I would nominate as a 10 out of 10, and try as I might I simply can’t seem to find the words to adequately express my feelings about them. I think the issue here is that I feel like my commentary on an amazing piece of art needs to meet some invisible standard of quality wherein it gives an excellent description of the piece’s virtues without resorting to effusive emotional over-statement, and anyone who knows me knows that effusive emotional over-statement is my jam.

So I suppose this is one of the reasons why it’s taken me so long to talk about Horizon: Zero Dawn. 

Well, that, and the fact that it’s not quite as black and white as ‘it’s an excellent open-world action-RPG’. I mean, it IS an excellent open-world action-RPG, but this fact is only part of the appeal, and even though I might think it is the bee’s knees, I have to counterbalance this with the fact that there is a lot about Horizon: Zero Dawn that isn’t particularly original, especially in today’s over-saturated open-world action-RPG market. If Horizon was one of only a few games in its genre it could quite possibly be one of the best games ever made, but I have trouble giving it that label precisely because of the glut of other releases from which it borrows its features from - if you’ve played any of the Assassin’s Creed or Uncharted games then you’ll be well-acquainted with the stalky-stabby-hidey-ridey-hack-and-slashy-climby-climby gameplay on show here.  

But don’t let my shilly-shallying about the mechanics of the game distract from the fact that I think it’s a landmark release; it holds a place rather similar to The Witcher 3 in my mind, in that it takes a decade of iteration and expansion in its genre and makes a masterpiece out of that, and again, much like The Witcher 3, this almost entirely comes down to the quality of the writing and performances, as complimented by fantastic mechanics and gorgeous visuals. 

Horizon: Zero Dawn is the story of Aloy (not ‘alloy’) - an outcast from birth from the Nora tribe, a band of primitive and superstitious humans who, since having their lands raided and their peoples kidnapped by the blood-thirsty former king of the neighbouring Carja tribe, have become deeply xenophobic and isolated in their mountain-hemmed valley. Aloy is raised by Rost, a seasoned hunter and rigidly principled man determined to uphold his exile for reasons he refuses to explain. As Aloy approaches her 18th birthday she opts to take part in The Proving - a test of her physical and mental skills that offers her the chance to fully rejoin the tribe. But when the competitors in The Proving are attacked by a band of raiders who seem intent on killing Aloy in particular, she is nominated as a Seeker by the Nora elders, and is free to travel into the larger world with the mission of discovering both her origins, and the cause of the new scourge upon her community. 

And this patchy and kind-of-inaccurate synopsis is really as much as I can say without moving into spoiler territory, which is a damn shame, because Horizon has one of the best stories of any game I’ve played in a long, long time. This is not just down to the quality of the story itself, but also to the quality of the storytelling. Horizon takes everything I raved about in my post about Black Isle’s use of exploration and the design of the game world as a storytelling medium, and applies it to great effect. As such, we, the players, are placed in the same role as the protagonist - beginning in a child-like stage, we are vulnerable, and introduced to the dangers and wonders of the world bit by bit, and as we explore further into the unknown, the environment around us grows and grows and grows, becoming ever-more awe-inspiring as we progress. It really is a near-perfect mixture of open-world gameplay and curated exploration, and there is rarely a point in which you feel like you shouldn’t be moving too far ahead because you’re going to bypass something interesting. As in New Vegas, the use of wide valleys as a way to both make the player feel like they’re free to roam whilst also meting out the features of the game is flawlessly executed, and results in an open-world game that is also, somehow, impeccably paced. 

This only really falters in two places - firstly, when the largest section of the game is opened up and one is overwhelmed by the amount of opportunity suddenly available, and secondly, in the fact that the story missions don’t exactly lead you delicately through the map. One of the earliest missions after you leave the opening territory sends you to the farthest corner of the game world, and the fact that I would have to pass so much content in order to get there triggered my FOMO and led me to leave the story until the very, very, final end of the game once I’d completed everything else there was to do. This was a mistake, a) because the story is fantastic and you don’t lose anything by completing it earlier on, and b) because once you’ve conquered literally every other challenge the game throws at you, pursuing the story feels a little redundant. It’s also a shame that so much of the main quests take place at one specific, isolated end of the world, which is a strange miscalculation in my opinion when the developers have created such a rich, gorgeous, and varied environment for their players to explore. 

But even if I think that these things could have been improved on, they ultimately don’t do much to overshadow the achievements of the game in all of its other areas. The characters look unbelievably lifelike, and despite the occasionally stilted facial animation and some static conversation camerawork, the characters are voiced and animated extremely well. The script is intelligent and emotive, and tells an incredibly compelling story that I just want to talk about with SOMEONE (please, for the love of God, Alice, finish the fucking game!), which is especially noteworthy because Horizon goes out of its way to offer a strange and beautiful world that poses so many questions to the player, and then makes the incredible effort to answer pretty much every one of them by the time it’s over. 

I should elaborate here for those that aren’t acquainted with the game - Aloy lives in a world populated by machines. Specifically, machines that look like animals. Most are in some way aggressive, although apparently that wasn’t always the case, and the game’s death cult enemies have managed to corrupt and enslave some of them in order to use them as weapons. These animals range from flying bird-like creatures to giant bulls to fire-and-ice-shooting crocodiles to gargantuan dinosaurs. And in the course of encountering these creatures, you’ll also encounter the diverse biomes that they exist in: cold Nordic wastelands, humid and palm-dotted Egyptian river deltas, arid North American mesas, and even the ruins of an ancient civilisation. And it would be one thing for the developers to have just imagined a fantasy universe in which all these things exist a hop, skip, and a jump from one another, and to leave it at that - Final Fantasy has been successful for three decades doing this very same thing. But it’s all explained, everything is explained, and the explanation is compelling and evocative and interesting and fun. There aren’t many stones left unturned, and yet the game never feels like it’s bogging you down in exposition or having to slow to a crawl to catch you up; I was happy to watch and listen as the mysteries were revealed, and Horizon is one of very few games with such an ambitious narrative that is actually worth the effort you take to uncover it. 

But hey, it can’t hurt that the uncovering is just so much fun, can it? Taking a leaf from CD Projekt Red’s soon-to-be award winning book ‘Open-World Game Design, And How Not To Fuck It All Up’, Horizon is filled to the brim with fun and interesting gameplay, challenging and wonder-invoking enemies, engaging characters, and many, many varied side-quests. In fact, the game is one of only a few to clearly divert from the typical ‘main quest/side quest’ delineation of most modern open-world games. Instead, Horizon operates on a number of levels; the first of which being the main missions in which you investigate Aloy’s past; the second being a number of multi-staged, large-in-scope second-tier missions in which you deal with ongoing problems in the world at large like civil wars and wide-reaching political intrigues; the third level involves the smaller, one-off side missions more typical of these games such as saving strangers from danger or helping resolve disputes; and then you have all the other additional content such as hunting and gathering quests, collectibles of various types, and various combat challenges. This variety staves off a lot of tedium that one feels in other, lesser games, and keeps you constantly surprised and engaged given that you never quite know exactly how deep the next story is going to go. Even the most basic challenges (hunt here, kill there, etc, etc) are fun because the combat and stealth gameplay is so enjoyable, and the fact that most machines can be crippled or destroyed in a number of different, spectacular, and rewarding ways only adds to the challenge and variation and excitement in taking them down. It’s something that makes the game exciting to come back to after you’ve finished it, and even though I’m still playing Assassin’s Creed: Origins, I know that it’s probably going to be a one-and-done situation for me, in the same way that ALL the other Assassin’s Creed games have been. Whereas Horizon? I’m definitely going to return to it, and I’m going to approach it in a totally different way, because I can.

It’s worth a mention as well that the game doesn’t just maintain a high standard of quality and integrity in its mechanics, but also in its DLC, and it’s extremely heartening to see that the only additional content released for the the game is more akin to the expansion packs from the days of yore - a single, 15-odd-hour addition to the base game that has its own story and environment and additions to the gameplay that are both seamless and complimentary to the base, as well as being a substantial and worthwhile standalone investment. In fact, just looking it up now, ‘The Frozen Wilds’ is actually officially referred to as an ‘expansion pack’, and this gives me all kinds of warm-and-fuzzy feelings (and for some reason makes me want to go back and play the Mysteries of the Sith expansion for Dark Forces 2). 

The Frozen Wilds is apparently the first and last addition we will see for the game, which is a shame because it’s so good, but then again I’d always prefer to have a numerically smaller amount of great content than be overfed on shitty cosmetic items, crap DLC quests, and other such symptoms of the disease that is modern DLC culture. And while I can’t say with certainty that Guerilla Games won’t release anything else for the game, there’s something uniquely joyous in knowing that to buy the DLC for Horizon is to improve a complete game with some relevant extra content that expands the lore and experience, rather than feeling like you’re just stapling something functionally redundant and narratively incongruent to the body of the main game. 

With God of War’s recent release to massive acclaim, I’m becoming more and more convinced that console-exclusive games are one of the few things keeping the spirit of artistic integrity and quality in the ‘AAA’ industry alive. Were it not for games like that and like Horizon: Zero Dawn, which stand sparsely in resistance to the flood of catch-all money-machine publisher/developers that produce barely-iterative annual-release tat, we’d be drowning in a sea of games infinitely wide and an inch deep (and yes, despite my positive impressions of their newest releases, I’m still talking about companies like Ubisoft, whose games are both fun and tiresome at the same time). And so it is that Horizon: Zero Dawn is legitimately one of the best games available to play on the PS4 right now, and one of the best open-world action-RPG games ever released, and it’s a shame that rather than shining down upon us like a beacon from the heavens, its light is somewhat lost amongst the sea of other lesser, but like-minded releases. I suppose one could call this a flaw in the game’s design, but when you get down and play the thing it becomes difficult to figure out how to frame it as such when everything it does is in some way an improvement over how its been done before. It is, without any doubt in my mind, a must-play, and I really need to talk about the story with someone, so please, for the love of god Alice, finish the damn game already. 

9.5/10

(Very) Outstanding

[newidaho]

11.  Dreams, 24-12-54

Don’t have the time/patience/desire to read with your eyes? Don’t have eyes? Well, have your friend read you this:  You can check out the audiobook for free on Apple, Google, Stitcher, or Spotify.  Subscribe for new episodes every Wednesday!

24-25 December 2054   //   ~ 2100h-0700h

In times of great trauma, it is common for human beings across the world to feel the dip in energy, even if they have no idea what is going on.  Friends can sense when trouble strikes a loved one across town.  Bouts of unrest can infect humans on the other side of the world when tragedy strikes, though they may not understand why.  When the world goes through a serious change, some sort of under-explained sixth sense goes off in the human mind.  Some chalk it up to astrology or the Holy Spirit, but no matter what causes it, there are undeniably greater energies at play that our unconscious minds can understand more than their conscious counterparts.

It so happened that energies like this were at play on the night of 24 December 2054.  Few knew that Christmas Day 2054 would later be considered a day when the world changed forever, but those few were apparently enough.  Whatever energy pervaded on the eve of that fateful day led to vivid dreams all across town, many of which were written down or recorded in Lens Notes.  The following are transcriptions of notes taken on dreams that occurred on the night of 24 December 2054.  Each has been been made available to public domain by the dreamers or their families.

From the Virtual Notebook of Charlie Johnson

Wow, that was a weird dream.  Sometimes I remember my dreams, but I feel like I have to write that one down.  It was just… Wow.

I guess the first thing I remember is being outside of this huge cylinder, almost like a colosseum, but I feel like I could run around it in a couple minutes.  It also looked like it was maybe leaning away from me.  All around me were red rocks.  No plants.  The rocks formed a natural staircase that led around the colosseum, all the way to the top.  I was surrounded by people who were either dressed up or in graduation gowns.  I thought that maybe there was a graduation going on inside.

All of a sudden, people started running up to the top, yelling ‘It’s starting!  It’s starting!’  They were so frantic, it was almost like the doors were going to close and they wouldn’t be able to get in!  I got all caught up in that hurry and worry and I felt like I needed to get up there too.  I saw right next to me there was a steep staircase that climbed all the way up the colosseum.  The whole tower was slightly tilted away from me, and there were steps in the side of the building that led to a door at the top.

I started running up, and I had to use my hands on a lot of it because it was so steep.  I could see a bunch of people following me.  One of them was Gamma.  I thought they were going to trample me, so I ran as fast as I could and eventually got up to the door.  It looked like it was closed, but I was able to go in.  I just had to be very quiet.

The inside of the colosseum looked like a stadium.  It had bleachers made of metal all the way down.  At the bottom was a preacher I had never seen before.  He had white hair, but his face looked very young and serious.  Even though I saw so many people outside, there were still plenty of open seats.  Most of them were lower down.  There were a lot of people packed in at the top, though, and there was only standing room.  I could tell Gamma was tired, so I asked if she wanted to move down.  She said yes, so we moved to the middle of the room.

When we got to the middle I could hear what the preacher was saying, but it didn’t make much sense.  I don’t even remember most of it, to be honest, but at one point he got a real angry look on his face and started yelling, ‘YOU!  YOU!  YOU!’ pointing to a new person each time.  I wanted to move so he didn’t point at me, but I felt like I couldn’t move my body at all.

Eventually he waved his hand in front of his face and shook his head.  I noticed he was holding a bag.  Had he always been holding that?  He reached into his bag and removed—this was the crazy part—a human head!  and he swung it about by the hair and tossed it into the audience.  He did this four more times, and the whole time his face was so serious and so angry-looking.

At one point I looked to my side, and Gamma was gone.  Then the preacher pointed to me, looked me in the eye and said ‘YOU!’  He reached into his bag and removed another head.  This time I recognized it.  I don’t even want to think about it, but it was Gamma’s!  He swung the head around and looked like he was about to throw it at me, but that’s when I woke up.

Thank goodness it’s morning already.  Not going back to sleep.

From the Virtual Notebook of Snow Caston

I don’t know if dreams mean anything, but if they do, this one was pretty intense.  So here goes.

I don’t know how I got here, but I was in the middle of a large, grassy field.  The grass was spongy, kind of like it is when you get closer to the Jungle and start to feel the humidity really hit you.  There was forest all around me, but it looked like it would take a while to run to.  When I started moving, I noticed that my body felt very light.  I started to jump, and felt myself going high into the air, almost like I was on the moon or something.  I noticed that when I jumped three times in a row, I ended up extremely high in the air.  I did this a few times, and it was a lot of fun until I started to wonder if I would get hurt if I fell.  This was kind of silly, since I had been jumping that high for a while at this point, but as soon as I felt scared, I could tell that the ground would be a lot harder than it had been.

As I started to fall, however, I suddenly became suspended in the air.  I looked in front of me, and there was a smooth and shiny black stone statue in front of me.  It almost looked like it was in the shape of a buddha, but it only had one eye, and no legs.  It’s body floated in front of me, as did two stone hands to either side of it.  It’s hard to explain, but when I looked at the hand on my left side, I felt scared that it would pummel me.  When I looked at the hand on my right side, though, I felt extremely calm.

Then I heard a voice inside my head and I could tell it was coming from the stone creature.  It said ‘Look me in the eye’.  It was almost like it didn’t want me to look at it’s hands.  Like it wanted to keep me aware of both.

Then it told me, ‘You are the light and the dark.  You can lead into the light.  You can recede into the dark.  You can soar high and land softly.  You can crash.  You are who are.  You are the chosen one.  You are the chosen one.  Safety is death.  Blossom and Thrive, ye God.’

I’m almost exactly sure that’s what it said, because it kept playing in my head when I got up.  It didn’t really have a voice, since I was just hearing it in my head, but I felt like if it did have a voice, the voice would probably be metallic or something.  I don’t know.

After that, I slowly floated down to the grass.  Then I woke up.

From the Virtual Notebook of Ricky Miller

Holy shit, I gotta get this one down.  Alright.  Wow, what a dream to have.  On Christmas Eve of all times.

So I was at the Labs, working with a group on a new ad that was supposed to launch at the end of January, which was a project I was just assigned, so it made sense, when Lex Lucid himself comes up to our work station and beckons me with his finger.  Just his index finger—beckoning me to come with him.  Didn’t even say a word.

So I follow the guy, of course, and he leads me down a hallway I’ve never seen to a door I’ve never seen.  He pushes the door open and guides me inside.

Get this—it was a room made out of bellies!  Big bellies, small bellies, bouncy bellies, bellies that were more like, you know, bean bag chairs or something, saggy, wrinkly bellies, stretched out skinny bellies.  And sitting on the far end of the room is a big fat humanoid creature that looked like it was melting.  It was kind of like Jabba the Hut from those old Star Wars movies, but it’s skin looked like it could literally drip right off of it.  It had a saggy fat face too, and long, greasy hair.

When this thing saw me, it gave me a smile, and just started singing this song—something like ‘I am the captain, you are my matey, hee hee hee!  Don’t step on me, Big Boy!’

I woke up laughing so hard, you wouldn’t believe.

From the hand-written journal of Gamma Garland

Dear diary,

I know I usually write at night, but I had to write this one in the morning, because this was a dream I don’t want to forget.  It was very disturbing, but I think maybe it was important because it felt so real, even though it was kind of short.

It felt like I was in a net, and I was being lifted through the sky.  I couldn’t see any net holding me, but up above me there were angels flying.  I could only see them from the back, but they looked like they were holding onto some sort of invisible strings.  When I tried to move around, too, it felt like I was in a net.  I could only move so far.

It went on like that for a bit, just me being lifted higher and higher from Earth.  When we got really high, One of the angels looked back at me, and it’s face was absolutely hideous!  I think it was in the shape of a wolf or hyena or something.  It was dark grey, and its fur was patchy and mangy, like it had some sort of disease.  It started laughing at me.  It kept lifting me higher, and soon the sky above me started to turn black.  It looked like we were headed through Earth’s atmosphere.  I worried that I wouldn’t be able to breathe, so I was both scared and relieved when I started to feel myself falling, farther and farther away from those angels, but down toward the hard, hard land of Earth.

I don’t know what it means, but it was really scary.  I heard that if you die in your dreams, you don’t wake up.  Do you think that’s real?

From the hand-written journal of Frederick Garland

Oh ye God, how you infected my dreams with your immortal instruments last night.  So much that I feel I must purge my mind of this worrisome nightmare through the pen, lest it infect my sermons on this Christmas morn.

I was inside a circular room with no windows.  The walls were made of stone, the floors of old wood.  Naught but I stood in the center of the room.  Hovering above my hands, repelled almost as if by a magnet, was a large ball of light.  It was so bright, it was most uncomfortable to look at directly.  I knew it in my mind to be the sun.

I stood content, holding the sun in my hands, when four small blue demons, Oh Lord, for that is all they could possibly have been, came crawling out of the cracks in the floor around me!  I knew in my heart I could not fight them lest I sacrifice the sun in my hands.  What’s more, I sensed additional demons below the floorboards that had not yet emerged.

The demons began to throw solid, blue, lightning-bolt-shaped objects at the sun in my hand.  I attempted to cover it, but all my defenses were for nothing.  The bolts hit my sun one by one, covering it with a hard layer of ice everywhere they connected.

Oh Lord, I could feel the evil in my very heart.  I regret to say that I could not save the sun in any way but to destroy it with my return to consciousness.

Now, as I prepare to put the inspection of this dream on hold for my sermon, I leave with this question in the form of a prayer:  Have I betrayed you? 

From the Virtual Journal of Kiyoshi Krispyman

Goddamn being mayor is a stressful job.  I love it, but I think it’s making me go a little crazy.  This dream last night was one of the realest I’ve ever had.  I’m glad as hell I woke up, but I can’t just let it pass without recording it.

Alright, so I was some sort of king, or at least it felt like I was.  I was definitely important in some way.  Like, ‘in charge of people’ important.  I guess I know that feeling.  And there was some sort of evil force that was coming toward me that I had been warned about.  Like, I knew this in the dream, but at the time, I was already being pursued.

So this evil force manifested itself in the form of some sort of shapeless black goop.  And the goop was chasing after me in a lot of different forms, some of them small, some of them really huge.  And I couldn’t really do anything.  I couldn’t fight back.  I just kept running.

I thought I was done for when a large, bronze, foot-shaped object came crashing through the air and down on top of one of my enemies.  After that, more large, bronze objects of all kinds came down on top of the rest of them.  They were in the strangest shapes—old radios, Leonardo Da Vinci sketches come to life, oversized microwave ovens.  The largest of them was simply in the shape of a large, skinny head.  I could see its profile from my point of view.  It had big lips and black, empty eyes.  Then the head turned left, toward me, until it was facing me directly.  I tried to thank it, but no words came out.

Then it tilted toward me and began to accelerate.  I think it was going to kill me, but I woke up before I found out what would have happened.

[ecotone99]

[HM] A Very Successful Year

Logline: A man at a low point in his life makes a deal that he will have one year of good fortune, but at the end of the year, he will die and give his soul to the devil.

____________

It's just April 21st, and Ian Frazier's has already had a horrible year. As a broke inventor, he has created a set of cranks that are to be used in the kitchen to assist with repetitive movements. For example, "The Peeler" and "The Stirrer" were the two most popular cranks. The user would turn the crank, put the vegetables to be peeled, or the mixture to be stirred under the crank, and the peeler or stirrer would do the work for them. He also had other cranks, "The Chopper," "The Folder," and "The Dough Kneader." Ian introduced his cranks to the Shark Tank panel, a program where inventors could go and get funding for their ideas. No one on the Shark Tank panel funded his cranks; he only made money from people who purchased them to make parody videos of him on the Internet.

To top it all off, his wife left him, seeking a divorce, on New Year's Day, which was granted in March. His teenage son didn't want anything to do with him, because kids would make fun of his dad's crank commercials, at school.

But today, April 21st was the icing on the cake, not only did he have a product he couldn't sell, he was now being sued for copyright infringement by the maker of "The Peddler," a device in which you pedal to make the device move. He was served his papers for the lawsuit while eating breakfast. After meeting with his lawyers for three hours downtown, he leaves the law firm, and sees a bar across the street, looks at his watch, it's 8:30 p.m.

"Perfect," Ian says as he stumbles over.

It's quiet, just a bartender and another gentleman, an unimposing-looking guy, balding with patchy facial hair.

The bartender and the gentlemen are arguing about the afterlife; the bartender believes that you just return to the Earth, there is no significance to death at all. The gentleman, calling himself Leviathan, believes while the body dies, the soul lives on.

"Good evening, would you mind settling a debate for us?" Leviathan asks Ian. Ian shrugs and signals that he will.

"My dear barkeep says that there is no significance to death at all, no spirit, no soul, and that we return to the Earth, what do you believe?" Leviathan questions.

"Oh, I don't know, it's a little heavy for a bar talk, ain't it?" Ian says.

"If you could just humor us, and then we'll change the subject," Leviathan says.

"I guess if you put me on the spot, I don't believe in God, why would an all-powerful being allow such evil and bad things to happen? No God, no afterlife," Ian says.

"Ha, ha, pay up," the bartender says to Leviathan. He gives the bartender $20, the bartender puts it in his apron and then walks to the other side of the bar to help another customer that came in. Leviathan turns to Ian.

"May I ask, why so skeptical?" Leviathan asks.

"You want to know why I'm so skeptical; it's because this year has been the worst year of my life, I'm broke, divorced, a bad father, should I go on?" Ian says as he takes a swig from his beer.

"Haven't you ever heard the tale of Job? The man who lost everything but loved God, unquestionably anyway?" Leviathan asks.

"Yeah, I remember something like that, but I'll tell you what, he sure doesn't make it easy to believe," Ian says.

"What if I told you I could change your fortune and all it would cost you is your soul?" Ian says.

"I don't know, seems like a heavy price to pay," Ian said.

"But just a moment ago, you went on and on about how there is no soul, no afterlife, if you are right, and you're trading your soul for good fortune, you're trading good fortune for nothing, aren't you?" Leviathan says.

"I guess you're right, theoretically anyway, so what does it matter," Ian says.

"Right, let's test this theoretical experiment, let's say, I give you a year of good fortune, but at the end of the year you have to die, and I own your soul, would you take the deal?" Leviathan says.

"Yeah, I'll take the deal, as you said, I'm trading something for nothing," Ian says as he laughs, taking this as just the musings of a drunk man at a bar.

"It's a deal then," Leviathan says. The bartender comes back and replaces Ian's beer with another,

"Where did that weird guy go?" The bartender says referring to Leviathan. It's almost like he vanished into thin air. "Man, that guy had a $50 bar tab," the bartender complains.

The next day, Ian wakes up to find that the creator of "The Peddler" has passed away in his sleep, no more lawsuit for the crank. Feeling good, Ian goes out to get breakfast at a local restaurant. While waiting for his eggs, toast, and bacon, the manager of the restaurant complains that his best cook has to go out to have carpal tunnel surgery.

"He chopped the onions over and over, so I lost my best cook," says the manager. Ian never misses a chance to sell his crank, always bringing one with him. He pulled "The Chopper" crank out of his gym bag and gave it to the manager. Luckily for him, he was carrying "The chopper.” The manager is so grateful for the gift; he gives Ian his breakfast free of charge.

This made Ian think of a new marketing strategy; he had been mainly marketing to individual people who cook from home. Now he began selling on a commercial premise, restaurants that have sustained a lot of accidents as a result of repetitive motions, such as chopping, peeling, and stirring; there was money to be made.

Wouldn't you know it, the marketing campaign was a success, commercial vendors love the idea because they could keep their employees safe from repeated action injuries. Overnight, the broke inventor became a millionaire and started doing infomercials, and other talk shows. All it took was a little success to turn his outlook right around.

"Hello everyone, I'm here to show you my crank, you'll be glad I did," Ian says in his infomercial.

"Isn't it a pain, having to stir batter constantly to make sure the recipe is right, instead of stirring, why don't you crank!?" Ian says as he makes the hand motion.

"So, next time someone says chop up those onions, what are you going to yell back?" Ian asks the audience.

"Crank it!" the audience yells back.

Ian was the face and personality of the marketing campaign; he was everywhere, billboards, TV commercials, and courtside with movie stars. No longer the embarrassment that his son once thought he was, one night, his son called him.

"Hey Dad, I miss you, do you think you could come to my birthday party?" His son asked.

Of course, Ian agreed, it made him so happy that he was no longer the pariah that his son once thought he was. Now, he had the money to buy his son a great gift; he had given him a free crank for his last birthday, a little bit of a disappointment.

Ian attended the party, rich with confidence and success; he had an entourage eight deep with rappers, sports celebrities, and food network chefs. At the party, his ex-wife became attracted to his confidence. She dumped the man she was with and returned to Ian. Life was definitely on an upswing. On top of everything, he created two more cranks, "The Grater," and "The Mincer"; both flew off the shelves.

Ian became the king of kitchen equipment; his face was on a whole variety of products by the summertime. The money was rolling in; he was back with his family; he could do anything he wanted, opportunities were boundless.

All of a sudden, a year had gone by, time moves fast when you're successful. Driving home one day, he got a flat tire, right in front of the bar that he had visited a year ago. The tow truck said it was going to be an hour to get out there, so he went into the bar. It was like deja vu, there was the bartender, Leviathan, and nothing but empty seats, just like a year ago. He looks at his watch; it's 8:30 p.m.

"Ian, welcome back, how have you been since the last time we saw you?" Leviathan asks.

"Things have been going really well, it's a complete 180-degree difference from this time last year," Ian says as the bartender drops a beer in front of him.

"I don't suppose that you recall our conversation from a year ago?" Leviathan asks.

"Something about the afterlife, I don't know, my head was in a different place back then," Ian says.

"So, do you believe in the afterlife now?" Leviathan asks.

"Sure, I think there's an afterlife, it just all can't mean nothing," Ian says.

"Tonight is the night, barkeep, get a real drink for my friend," Leviathan says. The bartender pours a shot for Ian.

"Ian, do you remember last year's arrangement?" Leviathan asks.

"Yes, but that was theoretical, wasn't it?" Ian asks.

"No, it was very real," Leviathan said.

"Who are you?" Ian asked.

"I go by a lot of names, but one that you're probably familiar with is the devil," Leviathan tells Ian, who is no longer thirsty. Ian turns white as a ghost.

"Is it going to hurt?" Ian asks.

"It's almost like turning off a light switch," Leviathan says. The bartender comes back to that side of the bar, Leviathan and Ian are gone, no money has been left for the alcohol.

"Damn it; I have to start getting cash in advance when that weirdo comes in."

submitted by /u/patrickryan182 [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/3bpZEMP

[galivantingg]

Behind Those Eyes

Chapter 14 - End

Adjusting after that fiasco was tough. I went back to the orphanage, Cole helping me find the way. After whatever that was with Kev, I collapsed. I woke up however later it was, blind, but not alone. I love my powers. Both of them. Kev lost his mind reading powers, but he still had his family powers. Nobody else died. And, we captured all the villains.

Huzzah!

The mood was muted. I was quick to make jokes about my blindness, making everyone less awkward around me. I missed it. Seeing the sky, watching leaves dance in the wind, admiring my friend's smiles. I can still picture them.

I was shaken out of my thoughts by approaching feet. "Wait, don't tell me," I said, and smile forming on my mouth. "I want to guess." I listened hard, hearing soft breathing and light footsteps. "Phoenix?" I guessed.

Silence.

I'll take that as a no.

I groaned. "Alright I give up."

I felt light wind brush across the top of my patchy head, ruffling the bunches of hair that could grow. I need a wig.

"Martha," I said steadily.

"Cam," she said. "You're talking to me now."

I shrugged, not really knowing what to say. She took that as an invitation to continue. "I needed to tell you something." I motioned for her to continue. "When I woke up, last year, I was in that same room you were. The Director, he was there. He explained everything to me, and I was angry, so angry at first. I was a captive, I had no choice. Then Peculiar, she got inside my head. I don't think she really wanted me to go insane, because I could still function on my own."

She sighed, and I heard something that sounded like her sitting down. "All I really remember from that time is flashes. I didn't have any solid memories. So I'm sorry, that I didn't reach out before."

She stopped talking then, apparently not knowing what to say. "I forgive you," I said quietly. I imagined she was looking at me questioningly, wondering why.

"You, so full of hate and anger, forgive me, just like that?" She asked.

Way to hit the nail on the head. Ouch.

"I've had enough anger inside of me, I think I'm done being angry." I heard her hair ruffle, and I imagined she was nodding her head. She could have been shaking it, though.

"How very mature of you," she complimented. Or insulted. "There was something else I wanted to tell you," she said. "Waya and I were talking, and we want to retire. Take things slow, I know Houdini and Legion want to take a break too. Honestly, I think that last fight might've pulled a lot out of everyone."

I nodded, agreeing with her. "I think the only ones staying are Aerglo, Mo, Phoenix, Mazus, Mayhem, Nova and Rellik. I think Mo is also thinking of ditching her mask, along with Mayhem."

It was quiet again, and the only think keeping me thinking Martha has left was her steady breathing.

"That'll be good for the public, knowing who's protecting them. They'll do a fine job." She said.

I nodded, not knowing what more to say.

"Tom and I were also talking about something else, something that concerns you. We want you to be the new director."

Well there's a surprise.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because you are the best candidate. You know these people, you know the cave, you know the system, plus, you and I both know you won't be able to stay away from the fight too long." She has a point.

"I don't know what to say."

"Say yes," she urged.

"Okay," I said, plunging into the unknown.

. . .

We were sitting in silence, just enjoying each other's company. I felt her hand brush against mine, and I opened my palm so she can lace our fingers together. She rubbed her thumb along the side of my hand, repeating the comforting movement. It set off butterflies in my stomach.

"Aella and Waya want me to be the new director." I broke the silence.

She hummed. "I think you'd be great at it."

I imagined her face, the one from school. Cute cheeks, full lips, dark eyes filled with love. Why did it take me so long to realise that she loved me, and I her.

"I want you by my side," I murmured.

She lifted my hand, pressing a kiss to it. I smiled. "Always,"

"Always and forever."

. . .

Cole stared at her, taking in the sight of her girlfriend. Her girlfriend. That was weird to say, it finally happened. It was all a rush of spilling feelings and then suddenly she was being hugged, arms wrapping tightly across her back, Hestia's face buried in her shoulder. She smiled at the memory. She revelled in the quiet. She knew as soon as this moment was over, Hestia was going to go back to pretending like she wasn't affected by Cole.

"Ew," came a voice. Cole looked over to see Jay in the doorway. "Keep the PDA to a minimum." They both grinned, and Hestia huffed and let go of Cole's hand. Cole tried not to show her disappointment at the loss of contact.

"What do you want," Hestia asked. Cole tuned them out, choosing to stare at the amazing woman in front of her.

Her hair sprung out in dark curly patches, sparse across her head. She had mentioned getting a wig, just for the public, but Cole thought she looked beautiful. She had burns running up and down her arms and legs, and probably more covering her torso. Her eyes, that's what Cole missed the most. Her beautiful blue eyes were covered by a thick white curtain, only the faintest of the once brilliant blue shining through.

Her skin was still just as soft, and her right hand was mostly unscathed. She loved Hestia's hands. Her fingers were long, and the knuckles a little bit big. They were perfectly imperfect.

"Cole?"

"Huh?" Cole was brought out of her thoughts to see Jay looking at her and Hestia looking over her shoulder. Close enough.

"We were wondering what you were going to do." Jay clarified.

"Um, I wasn't listening."

Hestia rolled her eyes. "No duh,"

Jay snickered. "Are you going to be on the team or in charge of the team?"

"I'll go wherever Nessa goes." Yeah, Cole is cheesy. Despite her not having to lie anymore, Hestia still went by Nessa. Cole called her Hestia in private, but Nessa with all the others. The others still called her Cammie, though.

"Well I won't be much use on the team being blind," Hestia quipped. Jay and Cola laughed, and Hestia grinned. "Come on babe," she said to Cole. "It's time to go visit the slime bag.

Interrogation time!

He was locked up in the cave's prison, Hestia didn't trust regular prisons. Besides, we had a power dampener just for him. They walked down the steps slowly, thinking. They came to the door he was behind, and slowly opened it up.

"Hey there, Killer." Hestia said coldly. Cole itched to take her hand, but she understood that now was not the time.

"Chameleon?" He didn't recognise her.

"Ding ding ding! You got it in one. So, I have some questions for you. If you answer them, I leave you alone, and you get regular meals. If you don't, I'll haunt you in your nightmares and you'll starve. Got it?"

He nodded, then said yes when he realised she couldn't see.

"Great. So the first lie you told me was that the experiment that gave me my powers was an accident, and that it wasn't supposed to hurt anyone. You and I know that's not true. I know who you are. You're a racist misogynistic white man, who can't accept that there are other people in this city, this country, who deserve to be treated like equals."

Cole was confused. She did not think this was how it was going to go. Maybe something along the lines of yelling about murder and lies and all that, but definitely not this way.

He chuckled. "You've done your research. Your kind should have assimilated when we got here."

"First of all, racism. Blatant racism. But you don't care about that. You mean to tell me that your plan the whole time, was to only recruit people who fit you ideal version of a person, and also kill people who you didn't consider human?"

He tapped his nose. "Swallow was a mistake, and I never authorised your team to be recruited. I didn't even authorise her." He gestured towards Cole.

"How long have you been planning this?" Hestia but out, trying not to show her anger. Too bad the Director wasn't the one who was blind. He was smirking.

"For as long as Rhea and Zephyr Whitehead have been on the run."

A pregnant pause. "You knew my family." It wasn't a question.

. . .

My blood was boiling, and it took everything in me to not launch myself at him. I'd probably end up smacking my head into the wall or something. He knew my parents.

He knew my parents and he lied to my face.

He's known who I am this whole time. No I understood why he hates me so much. Because he's a racist misogynistic old man who can't get with the times. I'm done here. He can rot for all I care. I turned around, forgetting I was blind, again, but Cole got the idea. She lightly placed a hand on my shoulder and steered me towards the door. When we got outside she led us back to the lounge, and I sat heavily on the couch.

"Want to talk about it?" Came the soft question.

I shook my head, perplexed. "If he knew who I am this whole time, why. Why bother letting me live. Was it just ton cause me so much pain and misery? Why not just kill me?"

I felt a hand in mine. "I think," Cole said slowly, you should focus on who's alive, and who really matters. Have you even been back to the orphanage yet?"

"You're right," I murmured. "Take me there, please?"

I could practically hear her grin.

. . .

Cole was saying we were standing outside of the tall building, but I couldn't see so I'd just have to take her word for it. My hand was on her shoulder, and I was tugged along until we reached the steps. No, I did not trip. I need to get one of those canes too. I heard knocking, and steeled myself for the questions about to come.

"Hello?" I heard Helen say. "How can I help you?"

"Hi," Cole responded. "I know you don't recognise her, but this is Nessa."

Silence.

I missed my vision.

"I don't think so, Nessa is just inside." Helen remarked. Clever, lying, but you see, it really is me.

"Nessa Carter, your oldest orphan at 17, birthday April 23, has been here since she was six, and when you first met her, you gave her a stuffed parasaurolophus that she named Perry, because she couldn't pronounce the name." I smiled. "That stuffed dinosaur is in my room, on the second shelf over my bed."

"Ness?" I almost rolled my eyes. This was like a scene from a movie. Boo, too cheesy.

"Yep, hey Helen. I was captured for three months by the villains and then I was on TV and then I was recovering and now I can't see." I said all in one breath, using sarcasm to cover my emotions.

"Well," I heard. "That's certainly a good enough reason for Mason." I grinned, and I knew everything was going to be alright.

. . .

Months later, I was still getting used to being blind and in charge.

Cole was my saving grace. She really is wonderful, she did so much for me. I pressed a quick kiss to her cheek, after a few seconds of trying to find her cheek and holding her head still so I wouldn't miss. I'm great at this whole blind thing. I felt her cheek curve upwards, and smiled too.

"What do we have," I asked her, listening intently. I had noticed my hearing had gotten better since losing my vision, but I still walked into people by accident.

"Uh, a cat," she said. "Stuck in a tree." I snorted.

"Sounds like a job for our esteemed team." I leaned forward and pressed a button, speaking into the comms. "Hey losers, you're up."