#even if its bad to some peoples eyes! but then you gain the valuable skill of blocking out the haters

[rohavon]

.

[yetanotherhoeforpedro]

Sinfully Armored

Summary: After Din Djarin had lost everything: his ship, his child, his way, and found himself as rightful leader of the Mandalore, he’s glad when an opportunity arises to escape all of his responsibilities. Grogu doesn’t seem to adapt well to his destined life in the New Jedi Order and handling the little rascal is simply too much for Jedi Master Luke Skywalker, who has to rebuild the entire Jedi Order and help in the founding of the New Republic. As a last resort, he contacts the mysterious Mandalorian, who seemed to have formed a strong bond with the Jedi foundling, to help Grogu accept his Jedi heritage and finally let go of the past. What Mando didn’t know is that on top of being given the chance to escape his duties, he’d meet you.

Notes: see ‘Sinfully armored’ on AO3

Chapter 1 - Strange Revelations 

It has been the Maker knows how many days since you arrived at this desolate planet in the Outer Rim. The planets where you had to scout for Imperial Scum all started to blend into one after weeks and weeks on this expedition. The same dreary landscapes, shady people and shabby buildings on every single one. The Empire has left its dirty imprints throughout the entire galaxy and its people, including you.

The rundown bar you found yourself in right now must have seen better days as well. You swirled your drink lazily and scowled at the remaining dregs. This next part of your job was always the worst, impossibly done sober. You absolutely despised any kind of peaceful interaction with sympathizers of the Empire, even though you knew hate was not an emotion you should feel as a Jedi.

You drowned your glass in one big swallow and smoothly slid the it across the counter with a few credits. Before the bartender even reacted to your movement, you were already gone. The mud made an unsatisfying, squelching sound under your boots as you maneuvered through the narrow streets of Wakuda. Your nose scrunched at the mere smell of the place. Why the secret underground organization you were supposed to track down chose this of all places to build their base is beyond you, but you guessed it fit their morals.

As you neared the location you tracked the Imperial scum down to, you noticed a few snipers on the roof of the half-ruined building in your peripheral. Deep down you hoped they’d be skilled just so that you’d have a bit of a challenge as a distraction. They weren’t, since they didn’t even notice you until you were too close. Maybe their stupid helmets blocked their vision, you couldn’t even blame them. A quick swipe of the force knocked them out and you proceeded with your task.

Through a crack in the roof, you could spy on the meeting taking place underneath you. You leaned down a bit to get a better view and watched the scene unfold.

There were 6 people assembled in the room, but the woman at the head of the table stuck out especially to you with her glowing red hair. When she raised her voice, everyone went quiet. This woman clearly had an air of authority surrounding her. She began in a conspiring tone: “Fellow members of the First Galactic Empire, I have called you here today because troublesome news reached me. The New Jedi Order of Luke Skywalker keeps gaining more and more power. If the New Republic is backed by such a strong force of Jedi knights, our chances of rebuilding the Empire are slim to none.” The woman surveyed the room full of expectant eyes. No one dared to interrupt her. “So, we must take action. I have already contacted Grand Admiral Thrawn…”

The rest of her sentence didn’t reach your ears as you heard that name. As far as you knew, the notorious man died during the Battle of Endor with most of the other Imperial generals. If there was any truth to her claim that he was still alive, the New Republic and everything you stood for was in great peril. The old hatred started to boil up inside of you once again and it was all you could do to not jump down there and finish all of them in your fit of rage. To calm yourself, you reached deep into the Force as Luke had taught you. You reminded yourself that it was him and the Jedi’s goal of a peaceful galaxy you were doing all of this for and the discussion that broke out beneath you abruptly caught your attention again.

“That’s absolutely impossible! How would we even train those children? It’s not like we have a Sith Lord to train them!” a small man with shockingly pale skin exclaimed. “Leave that to me and the more experienced generals, we have everything under control. All you need to do is collect the force sensitive children from the systems I’ll send you out to,” the woman answered. The small man nodded once and the woman seemed satisfied. She pulled out a little device, flipped a switch and a holographic map appeared at the center of the table. As you glanced at the map, something pocked at the back of your mind. Why did it look so familiar?

But before you could observe it more closely and identify the feeling, the comm at your wrist vibrated. Luke always had such an unfortunate timing for someone so in tune with the Force. You cursed under your breath and accepted the transmission. After all, he wouldn’t contact you if it wasn’t important.  

“Report back to the Jedi Temple immediately,” he stated. “What? But I’m in the middle of a mission! I just made a discovery of great importance,” you protested. “Alright, but get back as soon as possible. May the Force be with you.” The connection snapped and you focused on the meeting again.

“Do not disappoint me,” the woman commanded. That was an obvious dismissal. After cursing Luke’s awful timing once again, you decided to track the leader of the meeting, which couldn’t be too hard, considering her hair was shining like a beacon. However, as you scaled down the building and looked down the street, she and her co-conspirators had vanished into thin air. How odd. But it was a blessing of sorts because you were eager to get off this planet and return to the Jedi Temple. Thrawn was alive?  It was all you could think about as you cut through the winding streets of Wakuda once again. The man who had taken so much from you had not been avenged? A sick part of you was thrilled about the opportunity to get revenge yourself, but it was outweighed by your general anxiety.

The sudden gleaming of a hull caught your eye and your pace quickened. As you turned around the corner, the magnificent ship arising before you obscured the view of your tiny, wreckage of an X-Wing. The rusty ship had accompanied you on many missions and despite its state, you had grown quite fond of it, but couldn’t be bothered to clean it. It wouldn’t matter anyway; it would just get dirty again in the next place you landed. You climbed into the cockpit and took off.

As you activated hyperspace, you tried to shake Thrawn off your mind and it quickly filled with other enigmas. You reconsidered the strange Déjà-vu you felt when you saw the map. You were sure you had seen it before sometime, but when and where exactly? Why would you have seen an imperial map? And how could they have left without a single trace? Who was the strange woman?

After pondering about these questions turned out to be futile, you began to wonder what could have been urgent enough for Luke to call you back from your mission. While you would have been jumping at the chance to finally leave these shitty systems under normal circumstances, the situation just got interesting and all you wanted to do was track the Imperial scum down and kill them one by one before they could do any more harm. But Luke had to lecture you on discipline far too many times and this mission was your chance to show him that he could trust you.

Still…How would you ever find out where they had gone now? You should have damned Luke’s orders and followed them somehow when you still could, what if they got to the children first? Shit, why didn’t you think straight? It seems like all of your focus and composure had left you once Thrawn’s name had perturbated your thoughts. All of the old grief and hate resurfaced again and threatened to drown you.  

You took a deep breath and pushed those emotions as far back as you could. The logical action right now would be to contact Luke immediately, he needed to send out someone else to stop the bandits. While you were short on Jedi, the New Republic would sure have someone to take care of the problem. If only you knew where they went, they’d be long gone if the Republic needed to investigate their whereabouts first. You sighed and called Luke.

“What’s wrong?” His hologram appeared in front you instantly. “A lot,” you responded dryly. “You’ll not be pleased about what I just discovered – before I was so rudely interrupted by you, that is.” He frowned at your sarcasm, this was obviously not the time for it, but you couldn't help it. It had become a sort of coping mechanism for you, a way to shield yourself from issues lest they touch you personally. “Grand Admiral Thrawn – or some doppelgänger of him – is still alive and in direct contact with the leftovers of the Empire.”

Luke was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. “That is bad news indeed, I’ll need to inform Leia and Han so that they can alert our troops. Your assistance has been most valuable to us,” he replied finally, oddly formal. Still, you nodded curtly at the approval.

“Wait,” you intercepted as he was about to disconnect. “Unfortunately, there’s more. I overheard that they plan to rebuild the Sith Order, but on a far grander scale. I only caught a glimpse, but they had some map that directs them towards force-sensitive children all across the universe. While I have no clue as to how they would train them – unless they had a secret Sith Lord up their sleeves as well – we cannot let them take the children. The Jedi Order needs them.”  This time, Luke’s silence lasted even longer, to the point where it was almost painful. You forced the words forming on your tongue to fill the silence back – yet another nervous habit of yours – and mirrored his quiet. Until you gave in and broke it: “I did not disappoint when I warned you that I had some bad news, huh?”

Luke gave you a no-nonsense-look. “No, you did not. Do you think you can recall the map and lead us to the children?” he inquired. “Um…I’ve tried, but to no avail. However, the map looked oddly familiar. No idea where I could have seen it before, but I trust my instincts.” You shrug, though it doesn’t reflect your sentiments in the slightest.

“You said this map leads them to force-sensitive children?” he repeated slowly, more to himself. “Yeah.” – “In that case, I might know just where to look.” Before you could ask him what he meant by that he was gone. You let out an exasperated sigh. He took the whole mysterious Jedi image way too seriously, in your opinion.

You spent the rest of the flight dissociating in space, as one does. In a way, you were doing the meditation exercises Luke taught you. Time bent around you, it could have been minutes or hours until you arrived back at Coruscant. The blinding lights of the capitol made you snap back to reality as you swiftly descended.

------------------------

You spotted Luke, facing the wall, quickly as you entered the council chamber, which was empty except for him. The few other “Jedi” seemed to be on missions as well. The “Council” consisted of a bunch of half-trained Jedi knights and one other survivor of Order 66, Master Vamora who appeared too fragile to still be an active fighter, but he was a stubborn old bastard. Not that it wasn’t an immense blessing to have at least one Jedi of the Old Order in your midst who was fully trained. He was extremely cranky and righteous though.

Luke turned back around to you. You did a double take as you took him in, seeing what the hologram had concealed. At first you noticed his eyes and the black rings underneath them, then the hollow of his cheekbones, his general paleness and crouched stance. He looked really exhausted, to say the least. Not being able to hold yourself back, you commented: “What happened to you? You look like you went through some shit.” At that, you earned a small grin from him that made some of the color reappear on his face.

Your heart jumped a little at the sight, you had to admit he was quite handsome, especially when he smiled. It wasn’t just ideological reasons keeping you in his Jedi Order after all, although you felt a twinge of guilt every time your stupid, horny brain produced these immoral thoughts. It was absolutely illegal for a Jedi to harbor such feelings, much less act on them, at least according to your set of morals. Luke himself had been conceived out of such an improper relation and since he did not grow up learning about the old set of Jedi rules, he had seen no use in implementing any such rule in his Jedi Order (much to the displeasure of Master Vamora, who had quite a lot to complain about today’s youth). You, on the other hand, had been indoctrinated the old set of rules from a small age on and you tried to stick to them in honor of those who saved you from your horrible fate and the sacrifices of those who had not been as lucky as you. But Luke did have a point. He claimed that love was not a crime or a weakness to be punished but rather a virtue that differentiates you from those who strayed to the Dark Side. Frankly, he was just a little too horny for his own good. He was well known for his bohemian lifestyle, sharing his bed with both men and women.

“That’s why I had to call you back here. I am being tormented endlessly by a little green monster,” he replied with a smirk on his face, pulling you out of your thoughts. You raised an eyebrow, but before you could inquire further, the door slid open behind you and you snapped around.

This day just kept getting weirder, or maybe you were extremely sleep-deprived as well. There was a Mandalorian with a little green creature that eerily resembled Master Yoda (if he were young and cute instead of old and wrinkly as he had appeared the last time you saw him) cradled in his arms standing in front of you. His armor was unlike any you had ever seen before, pure beskar and shimmering as it reflected the bright city lights. He looked exactly like the legendary warrior race of Mandalore you had only ever heard rumors about, straight out of a myth. Considering those rumors, didn’t they absolutely despise the Jedi? Suddenly alarmed, you pulled your lightsaber from your belt. The Mandalorian didn’t move, only cocked his head to the side. Even though you couldn’t see his face underneath the helmet, you felt like his eyes were piercing you. You stared right back at him, not moving an inch, thumb resting on the switch of your weapon, ready to activate it should he attack. Not that your lightsaber could do much damage to him, as he was dressed in beskar from head to toe. But what about the child in his arms? Maybe he wasn’t up for a fight after all. With a sick disappointment – how challenging would it be to fight such a legendary warrior? – you put your weapon back on your belt again. The Mandalorian kept staring at you, standing still as a machine.

This time it was Luke who broke the silence, as you were too entranced to say anything at all.  “There is the source of my eternal torment.” He strolled up to you in a relaxed manner. It was his calm posture and the underlying humor and fondness in his voice that kept you from attacking the strangers. The green creature turned its head and stared at you innocently with its huge, black eyes. You sensed it suddenly through the Force and did a double take in surprise. It reached its small arms out to you, but the Mandalorian took a step back from you rather than let the child closer to you. “This…this is why you called me back?” You shot Luke an incredulous, slightly offended look, to which he returned another wicked grin. “Yes.”

“Elaborate, please?” You didn’t even try to hide the annoyance in your voice. “This is my good friend…” He gestured to the Mandalorian. “Um, I actually don’t know his name, I just call him Mando. Everyone does.” He smirked at the warrior. “And this little fellah is Grogu, a Jedi foundling I took upon me to train.” The look Luke gave the child was so full of love that it seemed almost too intimate to witness. “Mando saved him from the Empire and took great care of him. Frankly, he cared for him too well. Grogu has formed such a strong attachment to him that it’s nearly impossible to train him. The little rascal is incredibly stubborn if his daddy isn’t around.”

A bit more enlightened, but still unaware of your place in this family drama, you waited for Luke to continue. “Since I have a ton of obligations, I don’t have time to train the little one and detach him from his savior.” Oh no. You hoped this wouldn’t be heading in the direction you thought it was. “You, on the other hand, have less responsibilities.�� Fuck. "So, I decided that you should train him. And let his dad tag along until he can let him go.”

No fucking way. “I am not a damn babysitter! Neither do I care to get involved in this clearly complicated family structure! I have a mission, Luke. I need to get to those…,” you paused, suddenly all too aware that you had an audience, “…thieves and stop them.” Luke grinned at you, as if he expected that answer from you. “Isn’t it super convenient that our friend Mando here is a professional bounty hunter, eager to earn a few credits from the Republic?”

You shifted your gaze back to the silent warrior and the kid. “I am supposed to train this rip-off Yoda while on a mission? That’s just pointless, I won’t have time to teach him anything at all!” you pointed out. You were not interested in training another Jedi, especially not one that resembled Master Yoda and everything you lost so much. “You’ll have plenty of free time while traveling through space and he can learn a lot more in real situations than I could ever teach him,” Luke argued. “You want us to take him along on a hunt?” a modulated voice interjected. “No way, that’s far too dangerous for him as long as he’s untrained!” Luke wasn’t kidding about the bond, the man in armor clearly cared deeply for the child. Interesting.

“You need to stop being such a helicopter parent if you want him to live an independent life,” your Jedi companion retorted. You couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped your throat and a visor turned back to you. “I don’t trust her with my child”, the Mandalorian stated curtly. You scowled at him. “You shouldn’t have brought him to the Jedi if you had a problem with him being in the custody of a Jedi,” you snarled at the intruder, suddenly not caring that you didn’t even want this child in the first place and simply wanting to disagree with him. “It’s not the Jedi I don’t trust, it’s you and your attitude.” – “Is it because I called him a ‘rip-off Yoda’?” You flashed him a sweet smile.

“I see you two’ll get along just fine,” Luke said, the corners of his mouth quirking up slightly. “You could leave for the first child tomorrow.” At that, your attention snapped back to him. “What do you mean? Did you find the map?” – “Of course, as it was our map they stole in the first place.” Now your Déjà-vu made complete sense and you cursed yourself for not having come to this conclusion earlier. Obviously the Jedi had a map with the locations of force-sensitive children – possible new Jedi. The situation was even graver than you expected. “Get some rest now, you seem to need it almost as much as I do.” Luke winked at you. Accepting defeat for now and realizing how exhausted you truly were, you gave Luke a short nod before departing from the room and retiring to your chambers to finally get some well-deserved sleep.

Chapter 2

Masterlist

[phoenotopia]

The Last Phoenotopia Blog Update

(Date 2021 MAR 01)

I debated how to open this blog post, but perhaps the main crux of this blog post is the best place to start. The blog is being retired.

The purpose of this blog was to be a "development" blog for Phoenotopia, and well, Phoenotopia's development is done. I'll still be doing bug fixes and maintenance on the PC and Switch versions, and playstation and xbox ports are underway (by a publisher). But I'm not going to be making any more major changes to the game. At some point, you put the paintbrush down and say it's done. Blemishes and all.

Recent Events

The game launched on Steam last month, and like any launch, it was hectic. Bugs Galore. This is our first commercial PC launch, so it was a real baptism by fire. Unlike Switch's one configuration, the PC has multiple configurations and factors to account for. The game needed to be able to handle multiple control schemes, screen resolutions, refresh rates, and more! I had a 60Hz monitor going into launch and didn't know anything about Hz (I do now). There was a troublesome stutter that some players were sensitive to that my whole team didn't notice since our eyes compensated it away. There were a few times where in fixing something at one party's behest, it introduced problems for another party. A few times, due to disorganization, I unwittingly rolled back a fix that was meant to be applied. For some, the game couldn't play at all (really glad Steam allows refunds).

It was messy. It was tiring. I.AM.BEAT.

I think the worst of it is over... I'll still be around to do the last updates and bug fixes, but I'm ultimately ready for what's next.

SO what is next?

What isn't next... is Phoenotopia 2. As you may have heard down the grapevine, the game couldn't be what you call successful. No one's earned even minimum wage on it.

Maybe there's hope in the game's long tail. A year or two down the line... maybe. I won't hold my breath though. At some point in the past few months, I finished processing (or grieving) and it's time to move on.

The game has at least earned enough for us to continue our modest operations. As long as we don't expand the team, and we don't take another monster six-year dev cycle like what Phoenotopia took, we can continue. We'll have to be smarter and faster. Perhaps the most valuable thing we gained from all this is experience.

The Experience

It is a dev blog. Here are some of the lessons I've accumulated from this game's development.

- Have a good menu design. Menus aren't just that in-between fluff before you get to the good stuff. Menus are KEY. Your menus need to be robust, expandable, and *understandable* (to you, the developer). Because once the game's out, you will invariably be asked to add more options. And if your menu design is bad, every time you have to add a new menu option, it becomes a whole new pain all over again. Support mouse from the get-go, etc.

- Focus on features that people will actually care about. For instance, I've never seen anyone praise the camera's zoom feature. In practice, people try that feature a few times and then never use it again. But that feature was a constant consideration factor for every level. Run through it multiple times to make sure the level didn't break, think about which zoom levels made sense, resize rooms because they worked at one zoom level but not the other, and so on.

- Don't do boxes that you can move around. Other 2D platformers avoid movable boxes because they're a huge headache to program and they really complicate the game space. Enemies need to respond to boxes you throw in their path and either navigate around or attack it. When you're moving the box, you have to worry about constantly changing your collision size and reconciling when the box gets snagged on the environment. The boxes were also a constant source of bugs because people can manipulate them to soft-lock themselves and more.

- More focused script. Phoenotopia's 100,000+ word script was panned more for being bloated than it was praised for being lengthy. Long scripts take a long time to write and make the game more unwieldy, increasing the costs of translation and upkeep. Every update we're addressing some textual error or mistranslation. There are some highly renowned games (e.g. Hyper Light Drifter) that do without a script at all!

- Be flashy! A bat and a lightsaber take the same amount of work to program, but the lightsaber will draw a lot more attention and interest.

- Slopes, surprisingly! Six years ago when I started, Unity was ill-equipped for 2D games. If you used the physics that Unity provided you'd have a really floaty character that wouldn't adhere to the slope when going downhill. There were a hundred different tutorials saying different things (use forces, use move position, use translation, etc). You can get rectangular collisions done in a day, but to do slopes took weeks. Meanwhile, games can actually get by fine without slopes. Most people won't even notice. Did you know the Phoenotopia flash game didn't have slopes? Neither does Hollow Knight or Rogue Legacy. You can save yourself a lot of work by avoiding slopes.

(big entities look weird on slopes. Bad slope!)

I could write enough little knowledge nuggets like this to fill a book! But I'd rather just make the next game. 

So… what IS next?

As mentioned previously, it's not Phoenotopia 2. Pirate and I are mostly just tossing some ideas back and forth right now. We'll go silent for a year (or two). Our next game's scope will be more modest in some ways, more ambitious in others. It will definitely be more smartly designed. (There will be a map!)

We'll announce it when it's ready for the public. It might be necessary for us to do a kickstarter. I've tried to avoid kickstarters having been burnt on quite a few myself and also because I worry that mismanaging a kickstarter would earn the ire of backers.

But I did keep this blog regularly updated for six years. So I've gained some confidence in my abilities to at least manage a kickstarter well.

Is it really the last Phoenotopia Blog update though?

Okay, not really. There is some news that I'll need to announce, and this blog is one of the game's main outreach channels. Here are the events that will cause me to update the blog:

Announcing the launch of the xbox/playstation ports when they're ready

If a physical edition of the game happens

If a new language is getting introduced into the game (Korean is a high possibility)

When we're ready to talk about our next game

If (BIG IF) we begin development on a Phoenotopia sequel. I do want to do a sequel one day if we have the means and the demand is there. 

Those updates will be more on a "when they happen" basis, rather than me reporting in every couple months.

Fan Art

As always, I'm very happy to see fanart of Phoenotopia. Major thanks again to Pimez for collecting all the artwork from the corners of the internet! Since this is the "last" blogpost, Sir Pimez can finally take a rest from collecting the fanart :P

ÆV made a series of pictures that tell a story. A Pooki is humanely sheared of its wool to create a hat. The Pooki is unharmed. Nice! Gotta love Gail’s expressions.

Amagoo Mazeru makes a stunning landscape shot of a full moon and shooting stars. It’s a sharp and clear vector art. I like the faint glow of the moon and the fire and the subtle gradient in the night sky. Very skillfully done!

Hah hah. I got a chuckle out of this one. I imagine this is how Gail's enemies see her by the end of the game. CaESar made this image based on TerminalMontage's famous youtube videos. Nailed it!

CrownStar drew two pictures of Gail. I'm a big player of JRPGs, so the first shot instantly reminded me of Persona 4's art style. (Hmmm... Phoeonotopia as a JRPG... there’s potential there...) Next, Birdy is shown carried off after her defeat. I really like Birdy's expression here - she just seems mildly uncomfortable.

There's a bit of a story behind the first image. As Firanka shares it, she wasn't able to defeat the Big Eye monster at the end of the flash game, so she believed a tall tale that what awaited after was a 6 armed Kobold boss. Hilarious! The second is a rendition of the lonely Anuri elder. A rare subject. The loneliness is portrayed well here. I feel lonely just looking at it!

Koo_chop draws the clash between Gail and Katash at the top of the towers. I really like this interpretation of the game's art style. It’s faithful to the in-game graphics. And the lighting, from the glow of Gail's bat, to Katash's sword, and the lightning in the background... Amazing!

Lime Hazard shows Gail with a salute pose. Very appropriate for this occasion. I also like how there's a slight tilt in the angle that Gail is portrayed. Those dynamic angles are always hard to get right, and Lime Hazard pulled it off very skillfully. See you next mission!

Lyoung0J with a digital painting of Gail posed sitting on a rock. I like how it almost seems like she was caught in a candid moment - she’s smiling, but also feeling self-conscious. Cute! The art style really pops, and I like how Gail is sporting what I call the old anime style nose. 

MyUesrNameIsSh*t with a sketch of Gail performing a skillful slingshot. I like how Gail is depicted with her tongue out in a mischievous manner, the way all mischievous people with slingshots do.

Niitsu Kentaro returns with a 2021 Happy New Year picture. That happened didn't it? A New Year... Gail's pose gave me a chuckle with how she seems to be waving the bat around as casually as one would wave hello. And "Phoenotopiyear"... Well said! One day we'll have our Phoenotopiyear...

Ochan Nu breaks all records with a stunning NINE pictures in one session :O

There's so many goodies here. My favorite would be the one with Gail staring intently at the screen - it's like she's looking directly at you. You almost feel uncomfortable.

Next, there's an Animal Crossing villager dressed as Gail and sporting her pink hair. It even looks like a house Gail would live in. Gail is a connoisseur of the arts and likes Mona Lisa. Yes :)

There are various comics of Gail pointing out Gail's weird food habits. A picture of Fran looking really cool, and even Gail rocking a bathing suit. (bathing suit image linked here in case NSFW). Wow!

Pimez didn't just collect the arts, he creates them as well! This one, which he aptly named 'The Year 175' is a depiction of when the dragons invaded the towers as told by an elderly Daean woman. Great pixeling skills! I got a good chuckle from the ice dragon leaving with its stuff slung over its shoulder.

Quo made a stunning picture of Gail playing the flute surrounded by the 5 musical notes and the Phoenix logo behind her. The theme seems to be "fire" and it works really well. Gail herself looks awesome depicted in her red suit - it's like she's leading a marching band!

Rai Asuha depicts Gail in the late game with her red suit, and night star bat, and holding a lamp. She looks ready for adventure! I really like the white outline here and Gail's poofy shoulders here - the art style feels reminiscent of Final Fantasy Tactics.

Seri also draws Gail bearing her late game equipment. Unique to Seri's drawing is how all of Gail's equipment is accessible from a pocket on her shirt. I also like how Gail is depicted with her lucky earrings - that accessory is often forgotten.

Treedude depicts Gail with a bat and wearing a funny smirk. She looks like she's ready to hurt someone!

Warotar returns with everyone's favorite Great Drake, Bubbles! It seems so happy to be featured!

I'm really grateful for all the fanart this game has received. From the bottom of my heart, thank you!

Closing Notes

Pirate drew a picture to mark the occasion. It shows Gail enjoying a hot chocolate with marshmallows and a pumpkin muffin. A rest well-earned...

Goodbye! Until next time!

[angryschnauzer]

Superior Specimen - Chapter 4

Summary: One night when you are following the Archaeology tag on instagram you stumbled across a fun looking dig… and an even more interesting Paleontologist who soon follows you back. Over the following weeks you start chatting and a friendship soon grows.

Relationship: AU Henry Cavill x Female Reader (No race or body shape mentioned)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Warnings: Slow Burn, NSFW, 18+, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, Drunken Piggy Back Rides, Oral Sex (Female Recieving), Drama, Theft, Amateur Heroics, Hospital Visit, 

I do not operate a tag list, but please follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and put that blog onto notifications, as you will then be notified whenever i post something new.

I don’t have a masterlist, but all my works are on AO3, link here. Usually i post oneshots to Tumblr and AO3, and multichapters exclusively to AO3, but as this is my first henry story and its going to be a short series, i’ll post to both places.

Chapter 4

 The following few days were busy; it was the weekend and you were on duty both days, plus the following Monday and Tuesday. As it was the height of summer the museum was at its busiest, tourists, locals, and school groups all filling the halls of the old building, plus with a research team now on site the underground laboratories where people could get hands on with less valuable specimens were hugely popular. 

 During one of your breaks you decided to grab a frozen treat from the gift shop, making your way down to the viewing laboratories to see what the teams were up to. Sucking on the fruity ice you peered through the window, your eyes going wide when you saw Henry at the front of the classroom, thirty school children avidly listening to his every word. He glanced up and saw you looking through the window, a sly wink in your direction and his attention was back on the class who were all enraptured by what he was saying. You finished your snack and slipped quietly into the room, standing at the back where few paid little attention to you. Henry called out to the class;

 “So, I hope you have enjoyed the presentation, are there any questions?”

 Several small hands shot up, and you estimated the kids must have been around 9 or 10 years old;

 “Do you ever dig pyramids up?”

 Henry chuckled;

 “No, that’s Archaeology. I am a Palaeontologist. Archaeology is the study of humans; Palaeontology is the study of fossils… they do sometimes overlap where settlements will have been made in the ice age though”

 “Have you ever found a T-rex?”

 “Yes, I was part of a dig in America when we found an excellent complete specimen a few years back”

 “Do you have a girlfriend?”

 Your ears pricked up at the question, and you watched as a slight blush covered Henry’s cheeks and his ears went a cute shade of crimson. He let out a low chuckle;

 “Yes, yes I do”

 “Does she like bones too?” came an innocent voice and you could have sworn most of the teachers on the trip had to stifle their laughter. Henry cleared his throat;

 “Well, you can ask her yourself, she’s joined us and is standing at the back of the room”

 At that moment thirty heads snapped around, eyes going wide when they saw you and recognised you from giving them their visitors lanyards upon arrival. Henry cleared his throat;

 “Well darling, do you like bones?” he cocked an eyebrow and you could see a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. You cleared your throat;

 “Yes, I studied Palaeontology at university and look forward to further studies on bones under Dr Cavill’s instruction”

 The kids seemed satisfied with that answer, and as you looked at the teachers you could see some of them had tears rolling down their cheeks from where they were trying so hard not to laugh.

 The class soon ended, the kids packing up their bags and visitors’ packs, everyone thanking Henry for the informative lesson, and when the door finally closed it was just the two of you in the large white room. Standing next to him you smiled;

 “So… bones huh?”

 He snorted out a laugh as he gathered up the samples into a box, nodding to a miniature model of a Diplodocus;

 “Just grab that would you, need to get everything packed away”

 Following him into the storage room you slid the model onto a shelf before suddenly a strong pair of arms was wrapped around you from behind, soft lips pressing kisses to your neck and you were practically melting into Henry’s arms;

 “Fuck… your mouth is so good…”

 He spun you around and his lips met yours, his tongue eagerly pushing into your mouth and you felt yourself  submitting completely to the skilled muscle as he kissed you deeply, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled you flush with the hard plains and curves of his body. When you finally broke apart you were both breathless;

 “So Princess, what do you really think of my bone?”

 “Well, I haven’t actually had any experience of your bone yet”

 “Dinner, Friday night?”

 A huge smile spread over your face;

 “That would be wonderful… just let me know where and when”

 “I’ll pick you up at 7”

 “Where are we going?”

 He grinned;

 “I’ll pull in a favour, but it’ll be high end… black tie, etcetera”

 -

 You’d returned on a high back to your desk, already thinking about what you would wear on your date. You worked hard, the steady flow of visitors wanting help was continual, and you were tested to the limits of your knowledge of languages with so many international visitors needing assistance.

 However at the back of your mind a synapse was firing, and your attention was drawn to a group of older teenagers, in fact they were probably in their early 20’s. They didn’t seem to be with any of the school groups and didn’t look in the vaguest bit interested in the exhibits. They were however hovering around one of the large donation stations; the large Perspex fish tanks with a slot in the top for visitors to drop coins and notes into. In recent days visitors had been very generous, and there was a large number of notes sitting on top of the heavier coins. Once you had served the visitor who needed help finding the Butterflies exhibit you grabbed the security radio, paging the security guards and calling out a code 10 - suspicious activity/suspected theft. Two of the guards near the door looked at you and you nodded to the group and the guards started to slowly move towards them. 

 As you slotted the radio back into the cradle something else caught your eye, a young man intently looking at the backpack hanging on the back of a wheelchair as its user and carer were reading one of the large displays. 

 Suddenly he snatched the backpack and was running for the door, you called out to security, but the noise of the room was too much to be heard, but you could see the person in the wheelchair look in horror;

 “My medication!” you could read their lips as they shouted and without thinking you were pushing out of the desk and yelling back to your colleague;

 “Get security, the group was a distraction!”

 Thankful you’d worn flat shoes; you were running after the thief who was struggling to get through the crowds. He was out the front doors and down the steps way ahead of you, but the curved driveway was packed with visitors which was slowing him down giving you chance to gain on him. 

 Your legs were powerful beneath you, racing through the now parted crowds and as he took a sharp left to run down the ramp to the lawns you were gaining on him. It was painfully obvious what was going on, the man was carrying a bright flowery bag under his arm, and was being chased by a member of museum staff in uniform, so when two policemen that had been patrolling the area saw you in the distance, they started running towards you. The thief spotted them, slowing his run as he attempted to figure a way out, except the lawns only had two exits; the one the two of you had entered by, and the one the two policemen were now running down. His moment of indecision cost him his lead, and as you caught up you didn’t wait to talk, you ran fully into him, knocking him to the ground and the pair of you into the shrubs that surrounded the lawns. 

 The next thing you knew the two policemen were pulling the thief to his feet and arresting him, security having caught up with the pair of you. A passer-by offered you a hand, helping you up but you felt wobbly on your feet. Someone helped you to the grass to sit in the shade, and you winced as a tissue was pressed to your head;

 “You’re bleeding”

 -

 As you sat in a treatment area of the Chelsea & Westminster Hospital’s casualty department, the lovely policeman that had driven you there quietly took your statement between visits from the nursing staff. There had been a bad accident in Covent Garden, so all the paramedic and ambulance crews had been called to that, and with a head wound you needed to be treated. As you had been helped into the squad car you’d overheard that the thief had also been armed with a knife, and it shook you, to where as soon as you were able to you’d been sat down with a cup of strong sweet tea as the Officer had gotten you to hospital.

 One of the nurses fussed around you, checking on the stitches for the thankfully small wound that was mostly in your hairline;

 “It’ll sting like a bastard - excuse the language - for a few days, but you’ll be fine with over the counter painkillers. If you show any signs of concussion make sure to call 999… do you know what the signs are?”

 You nodded and explained you’d covered it on your first aid course you’d taken for work as she went on;

 “I’ll see if we can get a doctor to discharge you soon. It would also be advisable if you could ensure you don’t spend the night alone… it was quite a solid bump you had”

 “Ok sure” you nodded as you watched her walk away, the Officer turning to you;

 “Is there someone I can call to come pick you up? A boyfriend or girlfriend?”

 “Umm… boyfriend…” using the word gave your mind a happy tingle at the thought of calling Henry your boyfriend; “But I don’t have his number memorised… and I left my phone at the museum… you could message him on Instagram I suppose?”

 He pulled his personal phone out of his pocket;

 “Sure thing… what’s his username?”

 You told him and watched as his eyebrows shot to the top of his forehead;

 “This him?” he turned his phone and you nodded when you saw Henry’s page, sitting quietly as the officer quickly tapped out a message, his phone beeping almost instantly to which he smiled; “he said he’s on his way”

 -

 Fifteen minutes later you were being discharged by the doctor when you heard Henry’s voice, the Officer with you peering out of the curtained area before ducking back in;

 “Ok he’s here…”

 Moments later Henry appeared at the curtain, rushing in and pulling you into a giant bear hug. With you still crushed to his chest by one arm he extended a hand to the officer, thanking him for helping you. 

 Soon he was walking you to his car, parked on double yellow lines outside the hospital and with a parking ticket flapping on the windscreen, he helped you into the car before grabbing the ticket and climbing in beside you. Instead of starting the car he reached over and gently cupped your cheek;

 “How are you doing Princess?”

 You went to speak but all that came out of your mouth was a squeak, the tears starting to flow as the shock and stress of the afternoon came flowing out. He leant across the car and wrapped his massive arms around you, letting you sob into his shoulder as he gently held you. When you finally stopped sobbing, he pulled away and looked into your eyes, he steel blue gaze full of concern;

 “How about we get you home?”

 “Please...” you said with a sigh; “but my bag is still at the museum…”

 “Check the glovebox” he nodded, and you pulled the handle and your bag was there; “I got your supervisor to get it for you as soon as I got the message from the police officer… and I guess our relationship just became public too with the staff…”

 “I don’t care” you said with a smile as he started to drive.

Chapter 5 >>>

[81scorp]

21 tips for writing humor

 This was not written by me. It was written and uploaded to deviantart  Jan 13, 2017 by DesdemonaDeBlake.

All credit goes to her. I just copied and pasted it here.

There are many theories as to the nature, science, and reason for humor. It's an element of human behavior that seems objective in the skill that is required to execute it successfully, and yet just as subjective for how unpredictably it can hit every individual audience member. Today, I'm going to talk about the various forms that humor takes, and give you some tips for making your humorous story a success. To start with, lets look at what I will call the “five scales of comedy”. (Please note that the following is not intended as definitive list of the only sources and scales of humor in the world, only the ones that I have been able to identify within my own life, time, limited understanding, and culture. Also note that I will use the word “Humor” instead of the word “Comedy,” simply because I do not want this discussion on genres to be confused for the type of story that is opposite of Tragedy.)

The Five Scales of Comedy

A story or other source of humor can usually be found along the lines of five different scales. These are: High Humor vs Low Humor, Sweet Humor vs Acidic Humor, Distanced Humor vs Close Humor, Predatory Humor vs Reflective Humor, and Clever vs Ridiculous Humor. These scales stand apart from the sub-genres of humor (dark, slapstick, dry, etc...), and have to do with how the humor affects the audience. Note that there is no “best” type of humor; there is only humor that works in different ways and which impacts different sorts of people. So wherever you find your story in the scales, know that there is no need to change it unless you want to. Also, the names of the scales are just that—names. Just because your story falls into the category of “low” humor, doesn't mean that it is any less valuable than “high” humor.

Range 1: High Humor

Within the range of High vs Low humor, what we are discussing is the how large an audience we are trying to reach. High humor involves jokes and comical situations that are only understood by a very select group of people. An example might be a comedy series that focuses its humor on the experience of working in a corporate office (like … The Office), or perhaps political commentary. These are only funny to those people who have shared the experience or the political knowledge of the person generating the humor. Basically, the higher the humor, the more the entire set-up begins to resemble an inside joke. This type of humor is excellent for gaining the interest of select demographics who you may want to address. For example, if you only want to talk to nerds (I say non-insultingly because I am one and am proud of it), you might have lots of references to science fiction and fantasy.

Range 1: Low Humor

On the opposite side of the range, you have Low Humor. Low Humor deals with topics, jokes, and situations that are more universal to the human experience. An easy example of this is a fart joke. Everyone in the world farts, and most people are in touch enough with their inner child to think that it is funny if the joke is skillfully set up. Again, there is nothing wrong with low humor; and in certain situations it is even preferable. The lower your humor, the larger your potential audience can be. Other examples of low humor might be family life, slapstick, and situational comedy based on everyday experience. Shows like Spongebob Squarepants, for example, involve such a low degree of comedy that people of all ages, demographics, and locations across the world are able to find delight in it.  

 Range 2: Sweet Humor

The next range of humor, Sweet vs Acidic, deals with the intensity of the humor itself. Sweet Humor involves jokes, situations, and characters that require less pain and cynicism to appreciate. For example, a story that involves simple characters bumbling around, making mistakes, overcoming, and becoming better people for it would generally fall into the range of Sweet. We don't laugh at their misfortune (or if we do, its lighthearted and with limited consequences, like slipping on a banana peel), we laugh because their situations are joyfully amusing.  

An example of this are the sort of jokes and humor found in Youtube “Lets Plays,” like those of Markiplier and Jacksepticeye. We don't laugh because of anything bad happening to these people (or the characters that they play); we laugh because they are eccentric, silly, and joyful in a way that also makes us feel joyful. This form of humor can be tremendously encouraging and uplifting to the types of readers who enjoy it.

Range 2: Acidic Humor

On the other hand, we have Acidic humor. Much like with food, most people have strong preferences and limits to how acidic (spicy, sour, or bitter) they like their humor. Acidic humor deals with laughing at topics that are increasingly serious or even tragic, such as death, illness, social injustice, etc... A popular example of acidic humor is South Park. Those of us who enjoy acidic humor will find ourselves laughing at topics that would otherwise likely bring us to tears. The power of acidic humor is that it helps its appreciators to cope with the difficult truths of life, and also to acknowledge problems that we are otherwise tempted to ignore because they are too hard to think about.  

An example of an issue addressed in South Park is the elderly, their treatment, and our fear that we will face the same. Sure, when we watch an episode we laugh when the younger characters mistreat and abuse the elderly in the community. However, a conscientious viewer will then begin the chew on the issue, once the episode is over. We'll look at our own actions, and begin to wonder if our treatment of the elderly is just as bad. Because of the acidic humor, these difficult truths come to the forefront of our minds, we gain the courage to actually think about them, and we can even bring them up in discussion with others. This discussion can then lead to people changing the world for the better.

Range 3: Distanced Humor  

This range has to deal with the necessary emotional distance we need in order to be able to appreciate a certain level of humor. Even with lighthearted humor like slapstick, which has very low acidity, the audience needs to be distanced in order to laugh. For example, if I watch Bugs Bunny wallop Elmer Fudd on the head with a mallet, it's generally pretty damn funny. I know that these characters are both flat cartoons with limited depth to their character, and that as non-beings they don't really feel pain. Therefore, I don't have empathy to Elmer's pain (because it is really non-existent), and I can laugh. However, if the show were to show me Elmer's life, how he's been a vegan but famine has caused him to need to find meat to feed his family, and how he struggles to even shoot at a rabbit because it makes him feel like he's betraying himself; then I'm not going to laugh if Bugs hit him with a hammer. I'm too close, and need emotional distance in order for my empathy to not get in the way of my humor.

Range 3: Close Humor

We do not need distance in order to find something funny. With close humor, the jokes and situations actually rely on how well we know the characters and how much we empathize with them. An example of Close Humor is Scrubs. In the show actually find ourselves within the mind of the protagonist, JD, and seeing the entire world through his eyes. He tells us about his insecurities, his genuine pain, his fears, and we actually really care about him as a character. Yet, we find humor in his minor misfortunes and even in his silly victories. The closeness of our perspective amplifies the events that happen in his life in a way that distanced humor cannot achieve. For example, when he stutters and says something embarrassing in front of someone he idolizes, we find ourselves giggling. If Elmer Fudd were to stutter in front of someone he idolized, we wouldn't laugh nearly so hard because we can't possibly understand the stakes of the moment or why meeting this person is so important to him. We need to be close to a character for Close Humor to work.

Range 4: Predatory Humor

With the range of Predatory Humor vs Reflective humor, we are discussing who will be the “butt” or target of the joke. (Note that a joke does not necessarily need a butt, as we will discuss later.) While often used in a negative way, in order to bully and shame others, predatory humor is not a bad thing in and of itself. Predatory humor can be used to tackle and harm negative constructs and ideas in our society. For example, Fairly Odd Parents used to frequently attack neglectful and abusive parenting. Note that the while Timmy's (the protagonist of the show) Parents were frequently the butt of jokes, they were also not the real target (just like parents in general were not the target). The targets were their selfish and non-reflective actions that had damaging effects on their son. We can use predatory humor to attack ideas, and point out the evils that are so often overlooked in society. The trick is to always keep vigilance of your own mind, actions, and motives to makes sure that you do not become a bully who targets the people themselves. Because even if someone acts in an evil way, bullying them will never cause that to change.

Range 4: Reflective Humor

On the other side of this range we have Reflective Humor, which serves to make fun of itself. Again using South Park as an example, the creators would often make their own beliefs and ideals the target of their ridicule. For example, it's fairly clear that the show speaks in favor of LGBT rights and for their being accepted as equals in society. However, they also go as far as to mock people who are so over-enthusiastic and pro-LGBT (to the point of hypocrisy). Another example is when the show begins to teach a moral lesson, the writers will often make fun of themselves through the character of Kyle for being so preachy. The effect of the show making fun of itself is two-fold. First, those of us whose beliefs South Park mocks feel like the show is being fair. Thus, we continue to listen to and respect the views of the creators, even if we don't always agree. Second, we trust the messages of a story more when it has the integrity to point out its own failings. Note that unlike with other scales, Reflective and Predatory Humor can actually be interwoven so that a joke or story makes fun of itself just as much as its target.

Range 5: Clever Humor

The last range of humor that we'll discuss is that of Clever vs Ridiculous. This range is fairly self-explanatory, but the core of its nature is what sort of punchline is delivered at the end of a humorous situation. Clever humor takes the audience expectation and amplifies or twists it to an unexpected place. You can see this in the work of comedians such as Louis CK and Demetri Martin. Martin, for example, has a humorous bit about doorways that say “Exit Only.” The joke then involves his compulsive desire to tell store workers that they underestimate the potential of those doors by about 50%. The delivery of the punchline is true and logical, but it such a way that it humorously exceeds audience expectation.

Range 5: Ridiculous Humor

Opposite of Clever Humor, we have ridiculous humor. This is when the punchline of a humorous situation is so absurd that we can't help but laugh. And example of this is the Spongebob Squarepants episode where he and Squidward get lost while delivering a pizza. They become lost in the wilderness and spend the episode becoming more and more so. Then, right at the end, Spongebob exclaims that they are saved because he's found a big beautiful boulder, the likes of which the pioneers used to ride for miles. And, to make matters even more ridiculous, the boulder works—driving just like a car. We find humor because the punchline is simply so grandiosely absurd that we can't help but enjoy it. Note that both Clever and Ridiculous humor require a great amount of skill and thought to pull off successfully, it's just a matter of your preference and your target audience.  

The Five Sources of Humor

Once we identify what type of humor we are employing by using the scales, the next thing to consider is what makes our stories funny. This is something of a challenge, because we don't generally put much thought into why humor makes us feel the way it does. The humor either hits or misses, and we laugh or we don't. Making matters even more complicated is that there are so many theories as to why and how humor works—with everyone from Aristotle to Freud interjecting an opinion. But if we look at the particular sorts of things that make people laugh, we can improve how we use humor in our stories.

Source 1: Misfortune  

Whether a cartoon character is slipping on a banana peel, or a character in a romantic comedy finds themselves in an embarrassing situation, the misfortune of others seems to be the most popular form of humor. This is why slapstick and funny home videos have been so prevalent in modern humor. Plato and Aristotle seemed to believe that this was because such humor made the audience feel superior to the characters being ridiculed (Superiority Theory). This seems especially true when we see unlikable characters (like the villain in a children's cartoon) experience misfortune in a comical way.  

Though Superiority Theory has its place, I would assert that there is an alternative way that people enjoy misfortune. Perhaps the experience of slipping on a banana peel or being in an embarrassing situation is funny because of our own memories of experiencing the same thing or something similar. Freud and others theorized that humor was a release of energy (Relief Theory). Maybe our camaraderie with the character, mixed with emotional distance from the scene we are watching, creates a safe space to release our own stored feelings of pain or embarrassment. Thus laughter really does become a healing force.

Source 2: Absurdity

In his essay “The Myth of Sisyphus”, Albert Camus defines and explains the absurd.

“It's absurd” means “It's impossible” but also “It's contradictory.” If I see a man armed with only a sword attack a group of machine guns, I shall consider his act to be absurd. But it is so solely by virtue of the disproportion between his interaction and the reality he will encounter. […] Likewise we shall deem a verdict absurd when we contrast it with the verdict the facts apparently dictated. (29)

Though Camus is not talking about humor (rather the existentialist question), I think that the absurd is a source of humor. Audiences are often entertained by the absurdity of a situation. And by looking at Camus' explanation, we can hypothesize that this form of humor comes from the disproportionate contrast of action and situation. An example of this might be one of the last battle-scenes in Braveheart. In this scene, victory looks unlikely, the dramatic tension is high, and it seems to be the most serious moment imaginable. Then, upon being signaled, the protagonist's soldiers pull up their kilts and reveal their bare asses to the enemy. It's so unexpected and so absurd, that many people cannot help but to keel over laughing.

This scene is completely disproportionate to what we would expect to see in this dramatic a moment. The action does not suit the situation, but in a strange way it also kind of does—with the action juxtaposing itself against the situation. Perhaps, just like with misfortune, absurd humor creates a needed release of energy, connected to our own sense of existentialist absurdism. The absurd could then serve to release our feelings of despair in a positive light. The show, Rick and Morty, seems to be built on this connection between absurd humor blended with existentialism and nihilism. Of course, this is just a theory. What you'll want to focus on when writing absurd humor is the relationship of your characters' actions to the situations that they find themselves in. Are they lost in the desert? Have them climb a boulder and ride it home. The stronger the contrast between action and situation, the higher you'll make the potential for absurdity.

Source 3: Wit

Wit is the essence of Clever Humor; its the pithy intelligence that makes us laugh because of all the thought put into a situation. When we hear a witty joke or are part of a witty situation, we find ourselves moving in a forward humorous momentum, instead of the backwards and diagonal momentum of the absurd. But we don't stop at the expected location. For example my mother called me a few months ago, asking me if I was going to wish my brother a happy birthday. The expected response for this sort of set-up/situation is to answer “Yes” or “No”. But I went forward and beyond “No” by asking why she wanted me to congratulate my brother for being one year closer to death (I have an acidic sense of humor sometimes). This reply was much more thoughtful than what my mother expected, and pointlessly taken beyond the realm of reason. Therefore, she found it funny.

Perhaps there is an element of the absurd in any given amount of witty humor. It's as if we are taking extra steps to be as intelligent and rational as possible—ending with us standing somewhere close to the absurd. Using Camus' illustration of absurdity, the soldier with a sword wouldn't necessarily attack the machine guns, but instead go home, refusing to sacrifice his life to be a metaphor. You can see this sort of humor in Youtube series such as How it Should Have Ended. In this series, animators take a closer look at popular movies and then make efforts to enforce logic in worlds and characters that didn't have them. This includes having Severus Snape use his time-travel gizmo to go back in time and kill Voldemort before he became a problem—an action that is so logical that it erases the need for any of the Harry Potter stories to even happen. So when you create witty humor, look to take things beyond the realm of expectation—aiming for the absurdly reasonable.

Source 4: Anti-humor  

Anti-humor is when something is so unfunny that it becomes funny, sort of like puns. As we find delight in the absurd and the unexpected, humor and jokes can begin to feel predictable. We begin to look for the solution in jokes, and we're usually smart enough to begin to be able to predict it. In this case, the expected becomes surprising. An example is the classic: “Why did the chicken cross the road? To get to the other side.” If you haven't heard it before, this anti-humor joke is actually kind of funny. A great example of this are the great collection anti-jokes found online.  

You can take anti-jokes to the next level using extremely acidic humor. This is where you take serious, grievous, or tragic topics and use them as the punchline for your joke. For example, a joke about a fatal illness is not funny because the person making the joke finds that topic amusing (otherwise that person needs some counseling). A joke about fatal illness can be funny to some people for the exact opposite reason—because of how dark and unfunny it is. Again, I believe this ties into a release of negative energy while in a safe space, and the processing of difficult emotions. If you plan to use the extreme form of anti-humor, please note that many people have very legitimate reasons for not enjoying it. So be careful, and give your audience some sort of forewarning so that you do not spring something so emotionally charged on them without their consent.

Source 5: Familiarity and Value

When I was taking university writing classes, I had an extremely eccentric professor who had all sorts of mannerisms that were unique to him. In the moments when he was particularly eccentric and acting out of his true nature (which he was quite comfortable with), I would find myself laughing, even if the situation wasn't funny. I think others can relate to this, as we all love to talk about fun people that we used to know, and find ourselves laughing even when what we are remembering isn't particularly funny. We laugh because those people acting happily out of their own nature gave us joy, and so anything they do creates a laughter that feels akin to humor.  

This mirth through familiarity can be accomplished in stories as well. In Bob's Burgers, for example, we really don't even begin to understand the humor until we develop an attachment and feelings for each individual character. Sure the situations are mildly amusing, but true laughter and humor doesn't begin until we know the characters, their likes, their dislikes, and who they are deep down inside. Once we know that, we laugh as each character acts out of their nature. When we see Louise (one of the protagonists) act with mischievous intent, we laugh even before we know what she's doing because we are happy that she is about to act out of who she really is. Note that this is a rather difficult sort of humor to pull off because you have to create a relationship between the characters and the audience before the humor will be possible.

General Tips for Humor

Tip 1: Create a patterned and uniform blend of humor for your story.

When you choose what sort of humor you plan to use in your story, the best way of maintaining audience enjoyment is to keep it constant. Just like when we watch a stand-up comedian, we begin to develop a taste and sense of expectation for whatever we are watching or reading. Over time, your audience will begin to really appreciate the flavor of your humor, and that appreciation will make your jokes increasingly funny (so long as they are creative and continue to be intelligently crafted). The pattern will also make all of your jokes seem, feel, and become purposeful. Your audience will enjoy this much more than if you seem like you are desperately trying to milk the humor from anything you can get your hands on (you perv).  

I recommend you begin by analyzing the origins of humor in your story's world. Is the world simply absurd, with unseen gods of chaos just dropping coconuts on people's heads for pure amusement? Does the humor come from a specific character? A group of funny people living in a serious world that they must learn to cope with through humor? A funny narrator with a unique perspective on life? Once you figure out the origins, determine where your humor will fit on the scales (it doesn't have to be on any extreme, you can stay in the middle of the scales and still be hilarious); and then figure out the source.

Tip 2: Create a genuine story with genuine characters, in order for humor to gain the most power.

If we value stories in terms of how much people enjoy and remember them, the best humor stories are those with good plots and characters. This may seem counter-intuitive when your intent is to make your audience laugh, but think of it this way. If an audience wants just concentrated jokes, they will read a joke-book. Your audience is choosing to dredge through the murky waters of story in order to find the humor with more difficulty because they want a blend of story and humor.  

An example of this is the movie,“Austin Powers.” Many people, myself included, watched these movies before we ever watched the James Bond movies that they were making fun of. And we enjoyed them greatly, and laughed the entire way through. Why? Because the characters and story, ridiculous as they were, were good enough that we actually invested our interest and emotions into them. As an added bonus, the story has become timeless and respected in its own right. Even if we face a future where nobody knows who James Bond is, the Austin Powers movies will be able to stand on their own merit because they are more than just jokes.  

Tip 3: Be careful about dating yourself.

Speaking of parody and humor losing its ability to be funny, let's talk about references that date our stories. Humor at the expense of popular culture (movies, politicians, celebrities) is a fun ploy of high-humor. It's especially useful for nighttime comedy shows that will be lost to time anyways, within a couple years. When you are writing a novel, however, you are trying to create something that will last a bit longer than that. Additionally, novels take a lot longer to write than an episode of a late night comedy show. This means that by the time you publish and people begin to discover your book, they may not know who the vapid pop star you're making fun of is. Your humor will be lost to time, and your book quite possibly forgotten. Of course, I'm not telling you that you can't use this sort of humor, just that you should be aware of the risks it holds.

Tip 4: Mark every line that is supposed to be funny, and make sure that it is.

Nothing detracts from a story or from a spirit of jovial humor so much as an obvious joke that falls flat. It's like watching an acrobatics show. If the acrobat falls on their face too many times you'll either be embarrassed for them or you'll empathize and start worrying for their safety. Either way, you won't find the situation amusing. In your own personal copy of the manuscript, mark every joke for analysis of whether it actually succeeds and whether it serves to empower the story. Then, ask your editors, test-readers, and writing partner to circle every point that they genuinely found funny. Be sure to pick test-readers who fall into the niche you are writing for, as well as those who do not. If nobody but you marked a specific joke, then you need to either get feedback for how to make it funnier, or else cut it.

Tip 5: Write within your own expertise and authority.

This does not mean that you can't laugh at things, and poke fun at things that are outside your realm of expertise, so long as you have done your research. But consider the power of an insider making a joke about something that you are a part of vs an outsider doing the same. It would be like the difference between me calling most writers narcissists (as I am one, and know that it is pretty true in most instances) and a politician making a joke and calling writers narcissists. I mean, what right does that asshole have to judge us, even if it is true? The point is that your jokes gain power when you can tell them with the confidence of an insider. Not only that, but your audience who is a part of the group at the butt of the joke, will be much more gracious and feel far less attacked when the joke comes from one of their own.  

Tip 6: Humor is personal  

Humor is something that is highly individual to specific groups and people. For example, I do not understand, nor am I really able to appreciate most British or Spanish comedies. This is not because they aren't funny; they are just as valid and hilarious as every form of comedy that I do enjoy. The reason is simply that because of either how I was raised, my life experiences or because of who I am by nature, I can't enjoy them any more than I can enjoy olives on my pizza (seriously, I hate them). It doesn't matter how artfully these types of humor are composed, there is simply no effect akin to joy, amusement, or laughter when I come across them. In other words, the problem is me and not them.  

All this is to make three points. First, it may be more difficult to find test-readers and worthwhile criticism for humorous work. Even if I'm really good at critiquing stories, I will not be able to give you any helpful feedback if your humor doesn't match with mine. And that isn't your fault any more than it's my fault. It's just a difference in taste. Second, humor is as personal and close to the heart as any other story or craft. When you create a joke, you are channeling whatever emotions and mixes of experiences have led you to the type of humor you have. So recognize the emotional bond between yourself and your humor.  

The third piece of advice is for those on the other end of the spectrum, those experiencing the humor of others and perhaps trying to give advice. Please recognize that others' sense of humor is just as valid as yours. Whether their sense of humor is simple, complex, dry, witty, dark, acidic, sweet, or anything in between, it is their sense of humor and not yours. Be careful in how you voice any attempts at criticism, as there are few ways to break your friends' trust and confidence as completely as when you tell them, “That's not funny.” You might as well be telling them that their heart sucks, and they are a sucky person.  

Instead, acknowledge the differences in people's humor, value it even if that humor makes you uncomfortable, and voice your criticisms accordingly. Try: “This joke wasn't successful with me, and might be perceived as racist/bullying/insensitive to some readers; so seek other feedback to see if it's just me.” You will voicing just as honest an opinion, without formulating a direct attack against the person who has trusted you with something so delicate to them.  

Weekly Recommended Watching: Doraleous and Associates by Hank and Jed. (A free animated fantasy Youtube series that manages to successfully mesh several humor types with an over-arching plot. Examine how even there are plot elements that are serious and even sad, the series maintains its humor through well-balanced distance and wit. And if this form of humor does not amuse you, that is perfectly valid and your own unique sense of humor is still a valuable thing.)

[plush-rabbit]

Can I Ask You Something?

Part 1 | Part 2 | 

Word Count: 2.8K

A/N: I wanted to write something soft because I’ve been having lots of feels lately and well here’s the result. Hope you enjoy＼\٩( 'ω' )و //／ Also I know nothing about how video games work other than Animal Crossing and Kirby so, yeah.

This will be a series. I’m not sure how many parts since it’s a slow burn and right now it sits at 20K words and they still haven’t met so... Yeah. This is mainly self-indulgent and I am open to feedback. 

You ended up meeting Tomura, or as his online name was called, Tomaraki, on an online game where you were introduced into the raid group by another member. During your time there, you held your own well enough and had even had an above average skill chart.

After taking out a particular challenging mission, a good number of the kills being on your part, your teammates congratulated you, telling you words of praise and thanking you for having their backs, all while in the headset you giggled, saying that you had just gotten lucky with some of your shots and that they’re probably better than you would ever be.

Shigaraki had found that annoying. He found you annoying. If you were good at something, just take credit for it. Don’t try to act modest just because you want attention. And he told you that, his voice cutting into you like glass, all while you remained speechless, teeth digging into your bottom lip as everyone else in the team just listened how he tore into you. Two of the other members had come to your defense, trying to back you up but falling flat because while he was harsh, his words did hold merit. You were good, and it wasn’t luck because you had been playing for at least two months now so you had time to hone your skills. And you did want attention. You craved attention, you wanted to be told that you were good at something and you found that if you downplayed your skills, people would come to you and praise your work. And sure, you knew that that’s pretty shitty but you didn’t hear praise often and who cares, it felt good to be given praise. But you didn’t say any of that, you held your tongue, with the tips of your ears burning and hot tears pricking your eyes, you turned your avatar to face his and for a second you considered killing his avatar but scoffed. If you killed him, he’d only respawn and he was the best player of the group, having a high stats and being the highest level of the group, and no doubt, he could probably kick you out from the group and there wouldn’t be much resistance coming from the others, so in a calm voice you said told the group, “Let’s just return to the game. We have another mission to complete.” And with that, everything went back to normal, albeit a bit more tense, but you continued to start the mission a scowl on your lips, and when someone told you good job, you gave a brisk thanks in response, leaving no room for continued conversation.

Shigaraki, on the other hand, sneered at you through the screen, his hands coming up to pick at his scarred neck. You had taken the coward’s way out in his eyes. You didn’t talk back to him, the most you did was turn your avatar towards him and he knew that you finger was itching to shoot at his but when you told the team to continue, you had backed down, and now every praise that was given to you, you took it silently which was somehow worse than what you would do before. You couldn’t win in his eyes. He hated playing with others, but this was a rather addicting game and it worked best if played with others, the missions were cut to more than half of the time, sure sharing the loot was a pain but he always got a slightly bigger share than the others since he was at a higher rank than them. Plus- and he would never say this out loud- the team he found wasn’t half as bad as the other groups he had been in previously. They didn’t talk about their outside life, they didn’t try to be friends- they stuck with the goals set in the game, kept every conversation in theme to what they were playing, and they all were all skilled enough that he didn’t feel as if they were dragging him down. The only negative part was you.

You came in a month after he did, invited by the second highest player in the group. And you were annoying but he couldn’t deny that you were good and had hoarded so many healing items that the team rarely had to waste currency to buy the potions and elixirs from in-game vendors, so you stayed and like the others, you didn’t ask about the outside lives of the players, you kept the conversation related to the game.

But you weren’t that good. Your skill chart wasn’t special- you could be easily replaced by anyone else- if trained properly. The healing items weren’t expensive enough to deter from payment, it was just better to save up for the next big thing. But when you didn’t even offer a rebuttal, an attempt at trash talk to defend yourself, he knew that you were a coward. You didn’t have a bite or a bark, you were harmless- you were probably holding back tears as they played, only to bitch and moan about him to your friends or the other members when he was gone.

Finishing the mission, everyone said their goodbyes. However, right as everyone was logging off; you asked if the current schedule was still valid. The schedule was made each and every month, and it stated the best possible times for gaming with each other to complete missions or when the next major event was, it stayed updated and everyone made sure to be available during their promised times, very rarely did someone break it but when they did they had a valid excuse. Everyone had a copy, one being made and shared as a PDF file and posted to the private forum that the second in command had made. Shigaraki, clicked his tongue, “Of course it’s still valid. If it wasn’t there would have been an updated version of it by now dumbass.”

And with that, almost instantly, everyone began to log off, not wanting to be part of whatever was going on or having to face his virtual blow-up while you probably just sat there accepting all the insults without so much as a counterattack.

All you did was narrow your eyes at the screen and give out a curt ‘fine’ and log off. Shigaraki stared at the screen for a few second before proceeding to log off the sneer only getting deeper, his eyes narrowed into slits. His eyes burned from looking at a screen for a few hours with no break and his head was starting to hurt from having to deal with you and your idiocy. He laid down on his mattress where the metal springs dug a bit too deep into his back and he drifted off to sleep, while you on the other hand, burrowed yourself deep into your blankets, your face flush with embarrassment, recounting every wrong thing you said, your insecurities of needing to be liked rearing its ugly head and keeping you awake.

-

Shigaraki logs back in a week later. He’s ten minutes early, as always, and he’s in the beginning of a relatively quick quest in order to gain more experience points and in-game currency. As he proceeds to skip past the dialogue option of the villager thanking him, a ‘ding’ sound is made and on the right hand corner of his screen, your username and icon pops up. He only gives it a spare glance, before retuning his attention to the game collecting the rewards, becoming more irritated as another ‘ding’ fills the room. He shakes his head, he knows how this will go, you’ll only proceed to annoy him until he answers you. So he takes in a deep breath and opens the messaging system, typing out a ‘what’ in response without looking at what you’ve said before.

<User_Name>

>Look. I just wanted to apologize for my actions last week. You were right, I did want attention but like whatever. Anyways, I just wanted to make sure that we’re cool since we’ll be gaming together for the unforeseeable future.

<Tomaraki>

>Is that all?

<User_Name>

>Yeah, I guess so?

>So like are we cool?

He rolled his eyes at your question. Your words were fake and forced, you just wanted to be liked but he didn’t want to deal with you. He didn’t want to waste his time going back and forth with you until you were satisfied.

<Tomaraki>

>Whatever. We’re “cool”. Happy?

On the other side of the screen you rolled your eyes already feeling emotionally exhausted with this very short chat. You simply leaned back in your chair and let out a long breath. Not wanting to irritate him more than he already was, you sighed and replied with a “yeah, thanks:)” and exited the messaging system. You waited for the rest of the group to join, already feeling dejected from the brief interaction with the leader of the group.

-

The mission starts and everything goes flawless. Everything, except for you. You were off your game, not paying enough attention to your surroundings and losing a high number of health points and barely killing any of the opponents. The second in command, orders for the members to get in line so when the weapons appear, those with the highest kill count get to go first and choose what they want. Coincidently, this mission provided enough weapons so that that the whole team could get one each with one left over, but you all had agreed that the one with the highest count not only got to go first but also got to choose the extra weapon. So of course, Shigaraki goes first and he chooses two weapons and as his avatar begins to move away, he turns it around and grabs another. You take in a sharp breath, getting ready to argue but your words never come out, instead they die down in your throat and you get the sinking feeling that whatever game he’s playing, his endgame, is to make you feel like you can’t speak against him because you know that he’s more valuable than you’ll ever be. And he’s right. You feel comfortable with this group; you don’t want to be forced to leave simply because your leader is acting like a brat and you want tattle on him.

Once everyone has collected their weapons, everyone but you that is, they just stand their awkwardly knowing that he’s intentionally trying to get under your skin. Not wanting to drown in the awkwardness that has been created, you exclaim, “That was a good mission guys! Should we do another one or go our separate ways for now?”

A collective sound of discomfort fills the headsets, everyone muttering that maybe they should probably focus on solo missions for now to raise their levels and get some cool loot if possible. Everyone glowed and they were respawned elsewhere, no doubt opening up a separate chat and gossiping about the scene that just took place and if they should start looking for a new member sometime soon. And with them gone, your avatar and Shigaraki’s stood there, the silence only being broken by the crackling fire on the torches in-game.

“Can we please talk?” You asked, your voice cracking towards the end causing you grimace at the sound.

“About?” His voice was drenched in boredom; he doesn’t see why he should talk to you.

“Look, I get that we aren’t exactly friends- and-and that’s fine, but can we at least be civil towards each other?” You chose your words carefully, not wanting to insinuate that it was entirely his fault. “Like if I didn’t do good during the mission you could have just said it rather than leaving me without weapons and making me look dumb just standing there.” You voice trailed off towards the end, not knowing how to end it and a part of you realizing that you were probably making everything worse.

“You really don’t care that we aren’t friends?” He said the words in a mock attempt at your voice- condescendingly and ditzy; his upper lip curling in disgust. “Is that why you’re trying so hard to befriend me? How the hell am I supposed to be civil in a fucking game? What? You want me to start giving you some of my fucking winnings? Is that it?”

You bit your bottom lip, rolling it between your teeth, trying to figure out how to reply to him.

“Well?” You took too long to answer, whatever patience he had when starting the game was already running thin.

“No. I don’t want you to give me your winnings. I-I just-” you groaned and put your head in your hands- “I just want to be civil with each other. Look we don’t have to be friends but-but,” you voice was faltering, lowering into a whisper, “I just don’t want to leave this group. Come on. You have to admit that this is one of the better ones out there. The others are capable of holding their own and they aren’t like trying to pry into your personal life.” Not waiting for a reply you continued, your voice light, trying to get him to agree with you on that to find some common footing. “You have to at least admit that.”

He stares at the screen with unblinking eyes, his avatar doing some light stretches that synchronized with yours.

“Fine.”

Eyes widening, you lift your head back up, and you wanted to rush into the conversation but you held yourself back. “Do you want me to leave the group?” You scratch nervously at the corner of the ALT key, trying to focus on the sensation of your thumb rather than the lump in your throat.

“Are you really going to cry if I make you leave?” Guess even he could hear how choked up you were getting.

Your eyes widen slightly, unshed tear glistening your eyes, you glance down briefly. “I know it’s silly but I like the group,” you chuckle nervously. “So what’s the answer?”

“Do what you want.”

You pulled your lips into a thin line, you don’t know what you expected, but this was probably the best answer you were going to get from the gamer.

“Well, I’m going to stay.”

“Tch. Whatever.”

There’s silence after that. You stared at the screen and took a deep breath.

“You wanna go on a mission together? There’s one that requires two people and I hear the payoff is pretty good.” You wait anxiously for his answer, your arms are crossed in front of you and you’re dragging your nails across your forearms, finding comfort in the way the dull pain distracts you from your nerves. You have no idea where that offer came from. He just sort of accepted you and now you might ruin that because you wanted to become buddies with some stranger online.

“Being lonely really does make you do dumb things, doesn’t it?” You think to yourself.

Shigaraki stares at his screen, eyes narrowed, his chapped lips pulled into a thin line and a hand comes up to scratch as his neck. He hisses as his nails hit at a particularly fresh cut.

“Um, Tomaraki? You there?” Your voice is hesitant and wavers slightly.

He’ll regret this later, he’s sure of it. “What’s the mission about?”

He can hear you exhale the breath you were holding in and he can imagine a stupid grin plastered to your face.

“Okay, so get this-” Your voice grows distant as he rolls his eyes at your messy explanation of the mission, only offering grunts to show that he is listening and giving out a satisfactory hum when you mention that it’ll be against different team ups in real time, kind of like a waiting line for a new batch to go in, so you probably will have to kill people when the mission starts; a fight to the death type of deal, you summed up.

You both spawn to where the mission is held. Held in a queue for a few minutes, he goes over a quick plan, to just shoot at whatever moves and that he of course, gets more than half of the loot. You rolled your eyes and agreed, knowing that this was probably the most compromise that you’ll get from him.

The brawl to the death goes surprisingly well, you two actually win and he takes a little over half of the winnings, leaving you with two weapons and the healing items. You thank him and he only scoffs, saying that you two had a deal and he delivered, he doesn’t need thanks from you. You cringe at the reply, feeling his words bite into you but you brush it off. You tell him that you’ll see him later and that you had fun. You log off and feeling a bit lighter, glad that this ended on a fairly positive note.

///

Asked to tagged:

@bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love

[zoryany]

Whumptober Days 2 & 3

IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY || MY WAY OR THE HIGHWAY

“Pick who dies” | Collars | Kidnapped || Manhandled | Forced to Their Knees | Held at Gunpoint

The butt of the blaster connected with the back of his head once again, and Luke tasted blood. Not for the first time, he found his thoughts struggling against the fog that had settled over his mind, panic forcing his heart into overdrive. He was on the ground, kneeling before his captors, and the impact caused him to keel over and land in the dirt. Bound hands had barely stopped him from falling face first into the ground below, but he could feel the sharp bite of the gravel dig into his palms as he braced himself with weak arms.

“Are you an idiot? Answer the question.”

Question? He wasn’t sure he understood much, right now, the drugs still working their way out of his system. He remembered being captured. He remembered being dragged here. He remembered his friends being dragged along as well, screams and shouts and chaos. But he didn’t remember a question.

“I – I’m sorry, I don’t – what question?”

A different sort of pain shot through him this time, a pain that danced across his skin, radiating from his neck down towards the rest of his body. He was convulsing, now, unable to continue supporting his weight and tumbling forward into the dirt after all. The same gravel that had bit into his hands was now grinding against his cheeks. A ragged cry rung through the air, and Luke found himself sympathizing, dimly, with whoever was screaming like that, not realizing it was his own voice that was echoing so loud.

Rough hands grasped at Luke’s hair, tearing his body upwards and his head backwards so his bleary eyes could take in the scene before him. Kneeling, all in a row, was an assortment of beings, some he recognized, some he didn’t. All appeared filthy and pitiful, a sorry sight much like he imagined he looked himself. There was desperation in the eyes of most, defeat in many, and in some… Some bore a defiance that was far more familiar than it had any right to be. The ones wearing defiance were the people he knew best, he was sure, even through the haze that hung heavy over his awareness.

Seeing them – recognizing them – sent a surge through him, and Luke found his awareness perk up just a touch.

“Deaf and an idiot,” another voice scoffed, gruffer and higher pitched than the first. “Really is a good thing we’re here to teach this whelp a lesson before trying to fetch any sort of price for him.”

No… the word price echoed in his head, and he felt a pool of dread gather in his gut. As delirious as he was, there was no doubt who his captors were: slavers. And the people before him were set to be sold off as well.

Gritting his teeth, Luke gathered up as much strength as he could and glared up at his captors, placing as much heat as possible into his expression. All this accomplished was to earn him a condescending smirk and another smack across his cheek.

“Yes, yes, he really is a sorry case,” cooed the first voice. They’d begun circling Luke, clearly not the one still gripping his hair, and he could only catch vague glimpses as they passed in front of him. “I have no idea how someone like this could’ve earned such a significant bounty, but here we are…”

After a few moments of pacing, this particular captor knelt before Luke and offered a toothy grin. They were humanoid, but there was something off about them. Cybernetic enhancements? A different species? He couldn’t quite focus on their specific features, no matter how much of that heat he harnessed, but he knew that, whoever this was, they were not someone he wanted to spend an abundance of time near.

“But perhaps that is not entirely your fault, at the moment.” The gleam in their eyes told Luke that they were fully aware of how dazed and confused he was. “True, you were rather… underwhelming even before we subdued you. But I suppose we should be patient, considering just how addled your mind must be. That particular cocktail we gave you is potent enough to take down a rancor, let alone a wretch like you.”

Harnessing that heat once again, Luke worked to meet the eyes of his captor. They were predominantly green, with a yellowish hue. The pupils were not fully slitted, but neither were they perfectly round. Their features were ambiguous, and he found it hard to get a clear picture of who they could possibly be, but all he knew was that he felt pure, unadulterated anger towards them.

“Go to hell,” he croaked. With all the defiance he had within him, he spit in their face. Feeling satisfied and with his resolve bolstered somewhat, he found a few more words. “What do you want?”

A flash of anger passed through those yellow-green eyes, but it was quickly replaced with a self-satisfied smirk. With a casual swipe, his captor removed the saliva from their face with their sleeve and stepped to the side.

“Y’see the pathetic excuses for people laid out in front of ya?” Anger flared in Luke, but he simply gritted his teeth and bit back his response, nodding stiffly against the grip on his hair. “All folk you wanted to save.” His gaze flickered across them all again, concentrating more on their features, and the pool of dread in the pit of his stomach only grew deeper and heavier. “Too bad you can’t save them all. Cause, see, our transport simply does not have the room for you all. We still get paid for proof of capture, dead or alive, but the journey will end sooner for some of you than for others.”

Panic was beginning to etch itself across the more unfamiliar faces before him. Luke could feel the sentiment reflected in his heart.

“Please…” The word spilled forth unbidden from Luke’s lips. “None of them deserve to die. Or to be captured. Just let them all go. It’s me you want, isn’t it? Just let them go, just take me, and I won’t fight, I promise…”

The pain bloomed once again, briefer this time, but more intense. His head was jerked backwards, and Luke found himself looking up at a very human face, silvery-blue eyes cold as durasteel, bearing an intense dislike for the creature they gazed upon. “He still doesn’t get it, does he, boss?” Long, slender fingers reached to trace across Luke’s neck. “This piece of scum is gonna have to make a decision one way or another, and ain’t nobody getting out of here alive.” Though he felt pressure on his neck, he did not register any sensation on his skin as those fingers continued to drag. And that’s when it hit him – the source of his pain, before, was a collar, set to administer electric shocks, should he disobey.

It took a great deal of self-control to keep from emptying the contents of his stomach right then and there.

What did they want with him? With the others? These didn’t seem like typical bounty hunters or even slavers. There was something far more… sadistic to them that set Luke on edge.

The leader, whoever or whatever they were, met Luke’s gaze again with a sharp-toothed grin. “Ye’ll be comin’ with us regardless, wretch, don’t you worry. And you’re far too valuable to take in dead, so don’t ya go tryin’ to sacrifice yerself. I know that’s how you hero-types operate. But I need yer opinion. See, I just can’t decide who’s gonna be dead weight. One o’ yer Rebellion buddies? Could be a bit more defiant than they’re worth, even if they are skilled. Or maybe one o’ these peasant-type folks. Much more docile, but lacking in skills. So whaddya think… little Jedi?”

His blood turned to ice in his veins, and his eyes flew wide as he gained full awareness of his situation. They knew. Somehow, they knew he had the Force. No wonder they’d called him valuable. (That was stomach churning on its own; comparing his life to others and knowing it was only because he had been born with some talent they lacked made him feel even queasier.) He still didn’t know, fully, how he’d landed himself in this situation, but Luke absolutely didn’t know how he was supposed to get himself out.

Without a miracle – or some very quick thinking he was not capable of summoning at the moment – someone was going to have to suffer because of him.

This realization prominent in his mind, he scanned the faces one last time, eyes finally landing on the familiar features of one of his wingmates, Wedge Antilles. He wore fire in his eyes, a righteous rage against what they were being subjected to, and the heat in that expression was almost enough to make Luke sweat. Wedge’s face slackened when his eyes found Luke, revealing sympathy and care as they exchanged heavy, mournful glances.

In an instant, the fire reignited as Wedge’s gaze flickered from his friend to his captor, and he began to struggle. “Don’t say anything, Luke, they’re just trying to get to you!” He gritted his teeth, a significant look exchanged between them and then – “The bird of prey has already left her nest. You know she always flies true, given the time.”

Bird of prey? Bird of prey… Luke considered that for a moment that felt like an eternity before finally realizing – The Falcon! Of course they’d sent out a distress signal. Han and Chewie (and, maybe, Leia) would know where to find them. There was hope for the lot of them yet. He just had to keep stalling.

Turning his eyes towards the leader, Luke narrowed his eyes. “How do I know,” he croaked, “that you’re telling the truth? About not having enough room? About someone having to die?” He felt the gears in his mind turning so fast he could scarcely keep up, and his mouth seemed to act before his brain could finish processing. “You get more out of taking people alive, you have to, so why wouldn’t you make it work? What is this about? Why are you – ”

The sound of blasterfire cut his words short, and the eyes that had been filled with flames just moments before now stared at him blankly, shock and defiance blending with the unmistakable emptiness that accompanied death.

Wedge was dead.

And…

And it was Luke’s fault.

Perhaps not directly. He hadn’t given the word. He hadn’t pulled the trigger. But they had both been defiant, and now his friend was dead.

The others were crying out in shock, those who dimly registered as fellow Rebels shrieking in outrage, the innocents wailing in horror. Luke was silent. He was in shock. Through everything, he hadn’t expected… this.

“Foolish little Jedi. You have no idea who we are or what we want. Don’t presume to guess. Just know that your fate holds a particular interest to us, and we will see it through. Now, it is time for you to sleep again, and face your new life on the other side. Rest well, little Jedi.”

He didn’t. A bite in his neck pumped him full of drugs once more, and a fitful, restless unconsciousness overtook him. The lifeless expression of his former friend haunted him, the dull eyes still filled with raw emotion burned into his vision, even through his faded awareness. He had no idea what was in store for him, but Luke was certain that this anguish was only the beginning…

[hyena-frog]

I personally don't understand people who think that Virginia 'can't win on her own'. As if she has to prove herself or she is 'too nice' and has to learn 'how to violence'. Just because Sevro's solution for everything is cutting some fingers or worse, doesn't mean he is always right or that Mustang's work to keep that balance and play within the designated lines is not badass or interesting. She is the only demokratic ruler and her own people gave her absolute power of decision making to end the war at any cost. What's not great about that!?

If Virginia was indeed 'too nice', she would have perished long ago - last absolute cinnamon roll we saw was Julian and we all know what Society thinks about people like him. Just because she plays by the rules, doesn't mean she has no claws - she wiped a terrorist's memories away for fuck's sake. Now that the rules have been extended, you can bet your ass that she'll take more than one page out of Nero's playbook. After all, she said it herself, she tamed herself, but it's fun to let the lion out.

Agreed 110%! I don't understand people who give Virginia shit in general tbh. I mean, how do you not fall in love with her immediately? How are you not ride or die for her from the get-go? It boggles the mind.

Those arguments, being "too nice" or being unable to win on her own, are reaching and easily debunkable. The lack of reading comprehension. 😒 If you don't like her, then whatever. I may not understand how that’s possible, but it really isn’t necessary to make shit up, you know?

Virginia can't win on her own, huh. The nerve! Where would Darrow be without her? Dead. Many times over. He would have bled out after Cassius stabbed him if Virginia hadn't helped him. And it was Virginia who brought the Howlers back from the Rim weeks in advance of Darrow actually needing them, just in case. So many things would have gone wrong in Morning Star if she wasn't at Darrow's side (and if Ragnar hadn't gone out of his way to make sure she'd be there, the absolute legend).

Perhaps it's Darrow who can't win on his own? But that sounds ridiculous, doesn't it? All of his successes were achieved through teamwork. Darrow acknowledges this many times. It's the same for Virginia. While it's simply not true that she can't win on her own, it’s also untrue that the inability to win on your own is a bad thing. The whole argument doesn’t make any sense.

The idea Virginia still needs to “prove” herself despite doing so plenty of times already throughout the series is frustrating. The fact of the matter is, the success of the Rising relies just as heavily on Virginia's intelligence as it does Darrow's battle skills. The Solar Republic simply wouldn't exist without her. Fitchner never had a clear vision of what "after the Society" would look like and neither did Darrow for a long time. The war effort needs a conscience and a vision for the future, otherwise it's just endless bloodshed. Virginia helps Darrow see beyond the bloodshed. Plus, Darrow has no interest in politics. He'd be the first to admit he’s not good at the slow game of political maneuvering. But Virginia thrives in that environment. In Dark Age, Darrow even admits his current predicament is a consequence of not trusting his wife's way of running the Republic, and he vows never to do that again.

Sure, Virginia doesn't get into physical fights often, especially now that she is Sovereign. But politics is no less perilous a battlefield. I feel like because the political battlefield isn't as flashy and fast paced as a literal one, people forget the constant danger she is in, even before the Senate's betrayal. Silenius' Stiletto is a delicate tightrope act she has to perform every day to drag progress forward while keeping her opponents in check. This requires a level of self-restraint, clear-headedness, and badassery, that no other character can achieve.

Virginia is not "too nice." She is practical. And often, is it practical to play nice. Not every confrontation is best solved through violence Sevro. We all know the line: Virginia is the mustang that nuzzles the hand; people know they can work with her. That’s why the people chose her consistently for ten years, over literally everyone else in the solar system, to run this new government. And her steadfast resolve to gain Imperium legally, to not force her will on the people, proved to them again that she won’t abuse this ultimate power to end the war.

No, Virginia may be reasonable but that doesn't mean she is too nice. If she was too nice, she wouldn't have used her relationship with Cassius to protect her family. She wouldn't have shot Cassius in the throat with an arrow. She wouldn't have promised Ephraim he would "die shitting in a foreign bed" if he skipped about on their bargain to return the kids. She wouldn't have zapped the Duke of Hands' entire personality from his head. Like you said, she never would have made it this far if she was truly toothless. She's practical, and sometimes the practical solution doesn't require violence, but creative thinking.

Speaking of creative thinking, one thing Virginia doesn’t get nearly enough credit for is abolishing the death penalty immediately after Adrius was hanged. That wasn't her being "too nice" or too lenient on her caste. Yes, she feels life in prison is the moral option over the death penalty. But she knows her people. The punishment for the worst criminals in Deepgrave is a Gold's worst nightmare. Life in prison denies a Gold their desire for a glorious death, to be remembered through the ages for their deeds in battle. The Republic's justice system sends a clear message: "Mess with us, and you won't get your notoriety or fame, you'll only get obscurity and shame and sucking algae through a tube until you die naturally of old age." That to me is crueler than hanging.

Virginia’s mind is her greatest weapon, but more than that, her greatest strength is how she applies her intelligence. Her ability to read people, and to communicate, is greatly underappreciated imo. These skills require nonviolent interaction yet they yield great results. There are many examples of this. She used her natural charisma to gain Octavia's trust. She brokered an alliance with the Rim when she thought Darrow was dead. She held the Republic together for ten years despite constant, increasing animosity from the Vox. She refused to torture Lyria and was able to see she was not lying about being an unwitting pawn in the kidnapping scheme and was rewarded with information and a new ally. She figured out exactly what Sefi was planning for Cimmeria, even manipulating the situation to her advantage without Sefi realizing it. She knew Victra was going to bargain with Sefi for the kids, without being told. In her own words, this is simply what she does.

There is a quote in Iron Gold that caught my eye: "Communication is the soul of civilization." (532) Now, this line has nothing directly to do with Virginia. This is Ephraim trying to get a rise out of Gorgo. But it fits Virginia perfectly, doesn’t it? The Republic is able to exist as a civilization because it has such an amazing communicator at its center.

Virginia is such an excellent communicator that she is even able to get parties who refuse to communicate with her initially to reciprocate communication eventually. She convinces Sevro, Dancer, and even Victra to stop freezing her out and work together. She does this by speaking their "language." She knows exactly what to say or what to do to get them to finally listen to her. Revealing she already knows exactly what is going on works for Sevro, providing hard evidence of conspiracy works for Dancer, and proving her actions (showing her scars) works for Victra. This isn't to say she never makes mistakes. She shouldn't have called the Wardens on Darrow, for example, just as Darrow shouldn't have kept the meeting with the Society "diplomats" a secret from her and the Senate. But more often than not, her nonviolent communication skills yield valuable results.

As for Virginia apparently needing to learn how to use violence… While Victra and Sevro’s feelings were justified, their actions at the end of Iron Gold and the beginning of Dark Age were just wrong, wrong, wrong imo. Freezing out Virginia did nothing but delay the return of the kids. It's frustrating to think how much heartbreak could have been avoided if they'd just put their heads together from the moment the kids disappeared. And what exactly did Sevro's rampage through Luna's underground accomplish? Some dead Syndicate thorns, sure. But that tantrum put a huge target on Sevro's back. As Virginia said, one lucky sniper and boom, no more Sevro. What would Victra have done then?

While it may feel like Virginia would have achieved more if she just beheaded some people, she has a responsibility as Sovereign to consider the bigger picture. She has to consider the Stiletto. If the Vox saw her offing some fools it would have added credibility to their smear campaign. The people would have lost faith in her and think she turned into another Octavia. Whoever replaced her could use her actions to justify their own dictatorship. Violence was simply not practical for her until she legally gained Imperium. Now though… 😈

Virginia's over here playing 3D chess while everyone else is playing Connect Four, but this still isn’t enough for some people. After the clone gets the better of her, she gets flack for not being an omniscient god and just knowing her twin brother laid out a plan to clone himself ten years ago. Tut, tut, should have seen that one coming, despite the lack of evidence. If only she’d punched some people. (Can you see I hate this argument with every fiber of my being?)

In Dark Age, Ozgard says this about Electra and Pax: "She is better fighter. He is more dangerous human." (184) Well, Pax gets it from his momma. Pax and Virginia may not be able to throw devastating punches but in many ways, their intellect is what makes them the greater threat to their enemies.

Thank you for the ask!

[kangaracha]

tell me about your ocs tho

you asked for this

so it’s been like, a while, since i really looked at my ocs outside of zombies, and also my work with the most proper ocs for zombies isn’t published yet, so i’m just going to do the three from other fandoms that i have big fics for and if you wanna hear about my little zombies ocs you can ask about em. okay. okay.

this is also really hard cause these characters go through so much change over the course of these fics, and i’m trying not to give away spoilers xD i will try. my best.

the OG. the one and only. the working-through-your-teenage-frustrations character. i love her.

IMOGEN HAYLOCK

mcu -  read sparrow

so the thing with imogen is that i wanted to do something different to the other oc fics I’d seen so far in this fandom. which is not to say those fics were bad or anything, i love them, i just want to be different. I was interested in writing a character that was like....not the perfect fit for the avengers, or the girl that got along with everyone, and then i saw TWS and related media (lookin at you, agents of shield), and i was like, ‘okay but if you were just hydra by name and working by shield values and principles all that time, and then suddenly you had to get up and kill your coworkers....’ and imogen Began.

i find her interesting for her wit and dry humour, her sarcasm and her big attitude - but also, her frustration with life, the deep-cut anger that she’s carrying with her like a rock, her struggle with self-worth and the way she presents herself to the world, and her complete average-ness in a place where everyone is exceptional. she’s nothing special - she’s just skating by, actually, she’s a high school dropout and on probation as a shield agent, and she’s really only off the streets because hydra value her as an object that might hold some valuable information related to a twenty year old cold case that doesn’t even have any relevance anymore in the grand scheme of things.

in sparrow, she finds something to relate to in clint barton - avenger, but also human disaster zone, making things up on the fly, most overlooked superhero of the century, completely regular guy with one unusual skill. she has to learn to be open to change and to want to be a good person, instead of an angry, ignorant person who will blindy follow whatever order she’s given and pick fights with anyone that disagrees with her. she also realises a lot of things that she should have realised sooner - that what’s left of her family is toxic as hell, that she’s been blindy following the forces of evil for years, that she doesn’t have to be an angry child from a broken home anymore, and that there’s a whole, scary world out there waiting for her and she can go and find anything she wants.

the rest of the trilogy, flicker and swift, follow her finding her way in the world, figuring out who she’s going to be and what she’s going to do, which is very relatable to me rn. it’s like therapy. flicker is also a great opportunity for me to have a crack at writing a romance as a side plot, and getting to let this character grow and realise her own self-worth and that yes, she can actually love and be loved in lots of different ways, is so satisfying. swift is just the icing on the cake, swift is her coming into her power, in her own way, it’s her looking back and realising that she’s changed her life and that she could do it after all, it’s a satisfying ending, i promise. i’m going to share it with you one day.

the slaughter of the lambs is kind of the sequel to the very first ac game that i always wanted and never got - except it’s not about altair because. i’m ~special~. the fic is set 20 years after the game, in the Levant, and is split into 4 parts spanning most of marwa’s lifetime, starting in 1211 AD and ending in 1257 AD and following her through the golden era of the assassin’s and the brotherhood’s downfall. it’s canon complaint, but runs like....canon adjacent. it’s its own story.

MARWA ABADI

assassin’s creed - read the slaughter of the lambs

marwa begins this story as a novice training in masyaf, the only female assassin in all of the levant. she’s raw and half-trained, never seen combat, her strength and ability put into doubt every day - but she’s talented too, and she works twice as hard as the boys, determined to prove everyone wrong. she’s tough and scrappy because she has to be to survive in the world she’s put herself in, and just a little too self-confident, which leads her to a downfall but also an important learning curve about wit and wisdom and loyalty, and the importance of striking a balance between free will and service to a cause. 

the rest of the story follows these themes on through the times of most upheaval in her life, as she struggles with following the creed and the beliefs of the assassin order and playing her role as a soldier for this cause, and with doubt and acting in accordance with her own personal morals and beliefs, which as time goes on and the assassin’s change, she finds do not always align. she has a strong sense of right and wrong and a strong character to back this up, and she strives throughout her life to become wise like her mentors were and to guide the world as best she can towards the right kind of future, as an assassin is supposed to. 

i wrote this character to explore the idea of being a servant to a higher order, to being faceless and lost to time and serving your cause knowing that, and how you find peace with giving your life over to that. especially coming from this day and age, when everything is recorded and everyone wants to be remembered for something, i found this interesting to explore. as marwa developed as a character, the other things came; her struggle with blind loyalty and festering doubt and the careful balance that she needs to strike between them, the folly of youth and the wisdom that she gains as she grows older, and the struggle of being a woman living in a male-dominated period of history and dedicating herself to a craft usually reserved for men. 

the first thing you need to understand about this fic, and this character, is that this is the therapy fic. this is me working through my own issues, but like also add +10 drama so that it’s interesting. and a romance plot, because i need the practise.

ANGIE SOMMARS

pokemon - read to go beyond your borders

angie’s story is mostly a sword/shield fic, though i borrowed some characters and stuff from diamond/pearl. the timelines are not canon. it’s set the year after the events of sw/sh, in galar. it follows angie through the gym challenge and her own personal conflicts, of which she has a laundry list. the fic finds her freshly arrived in galar from her home region in sinnoh, having run away from her responsibilities and the pressure of them at home looking for some kind of answer to her problems, or reassurance that she’s still good at what she does.

angie’s main conflict centres around her being the champion of the sinnoh league, a talented and experienced pokemon trainer sitting painfully exposed in the public eye. she struggles hugely with the reality of this position, and all the expectations that are put up to the person that holds it - she’s expected to be the strongest trainer in the region, to keep up a positive public image as the figurehead of the pokemon league, to be on the job most days of the year and ready for whatever it might throw at her. there’s always someone pushing her to be better, to present herself the way they think she should - and she’s used to being pushed and to being shaped, but there’s only so far you can bend a person before they will break.

angie is burnt out. she’s been in the public eye since she was five years old and competing in pokemon contests, and she’s far from the perfect princess of the league. her mistakes follow her around like a black cloud, creating controversy every time she reaches a new goal and drawing more and more bad press every time she messes something up. she doesn’t know what her own goals are anymore, and she doesn’t know where to go from the platform she’s found herself stranded on - she’s clinging to a position she’s too afraid to admit she doesn’t want anymore, and she’s scared to fall, or to break, or to look out to different horizons.

angie’s story explores the double-edged sword of fame and fortune, the satisfaction of being the best but also the scrutiny people place you under, the impact of ‘cancel culture’ on an individual, depression and anxiety and the endless circles of guilt in a toxic family environment...but also the hope of finding new horizons and finding the courage to take those first steps into the future that you want. it’s a coming of age kind of story, it’s young people finding their feet and new friends and new dreams and supporting each other through hard times. and it all ends well, which, to me, is the most important thing.

[phoenixtakaramono]

SUMMARY: Let it not be said that Shen Yuan didn’t know how to be an accomplished—arguably better—writer than Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky! A middle-aged author in his hubris, he’d unknowingly triggered his fate and had his consciousness whisked away into an unfathomable mystical world that he would later learn to be based on Proud Immortal Demon Way and his very own work-in-progress. When given the opportunity to customize his character’s stats and to design his one remaining Customizable Skill Slot, as a veteran reader of transmigration stories and their tropes, Shen Yuan demanded, “Grant me the protagonist’s halo of course!”The SYSTEM was silent all but for a minute. 

【Understood. Unique Skill "PROTAGONIST'S HALO" activated. Esteemed Host, you share the Unique Skill "PROTAGONIST'S HALO" with one other.】

“Who?”

【This world’s Luo Binghe. From the original novel series.】

“...Hold on, I need some time to process this.”

(Little did Shen Yuan know that this world’s Luo Binghe is the same sadistic “Bing gē” from the released Extra short story. It was also too bad that Shen Yuan, in his mortal form, resembled Shen Qingqiu by a good thirty-to-forty percent.)

There was an important takeaway to be had from tonight’s interaction: Shen Yuan had asserted his place as the lord of this residence and as Luo Binghe’s future ally.

Several thoughts had, however, been plaguing him ever since Shen Yuan gifted Luo Binghe the handscrolls, leaving like the composed gentleman he was while the half-demon pondered over the newfound revelations for the night. Those thoughts filled Shen Yuan’s brain with a renewed vigor that his exhausted body did not feel, roiling through him as he changed into his night clothes. Even now, lying down with his hands folded over his stomach, they consumed his mind as he stared up at the azure, gauzy canopy that looked eerily similar to the one in the guest bedchamber that Luo Binghe now slept in.

Wisps of hazy white rose from the lotus-shaped censer he’d brought to his bed. The coals within were still fresh in the copper, keeping him warm in the night, with the fragrance of sandalwood circulating within the room.

His unyielding companion, the blue text box, hovered above. Shen Yuan kept his gaze averted from it; he had read and reread the Chinese characters countless times that if he closed his eyes, he could still see the most recent notification engraved in his mind’s eye.

【Prediction! Future Event <<A NIGHT OF PASSION>> has been changed into <<LOADING CHEKHOV'S GUN>>. You have reached the conditions to clear the scenario. Countdown commencing. Reward: B-Points +50.】

The planes of his face were bathed in a soft blue glow as he ruminated. Shen Yuan couldn’t find it within him to feel any guilt or to throw blame at anyone other than himself. He’d unlocked the <<TRUE END>> main scenario and, judging by how the <<SYSTEM>> was not giving him a choice, he had to build that rapport between themselves and see that friendship through.

These are the seeds you’ve sown, he reminded himself. Improvise. Adapt. Overcome. He could only dig his hands into the soil and watch the seeds slowly bear fruit.

Bing gē—or, rather, Luo Binghe—was not a 2D character on paper; he was now a real person who breathed and talked and had a will of his own. Even so, Shen Yuan didn’t know the extent of the ramifications if an extraordinary “prodigy” gained self-awareness that he was the male protagonist of a fictional erotica series.

It’d be interesting. If someone found out one day that they were a precious existence in a world which catered to them because of “narrative convenience,” they’d naturally become audacious. All the attractive people belonged to them, hearts were won over for no real reason, and enemies would be seen as less of a threat and more as an annoyance in the eyes of a protagonist with infinite power levels. Shen Yuan could envision it; Luo Binghe would probably behave more recklessly, bolstered by the certainty that he was protected by plot armor. He’d be a spoilt menace in a male power fantasy world—riding the power trip until the novelty wore off inevitably.

The corners of Shen Yuan’s mouth curved. He didn’t know how likeminded Luo Binghe was, but if he thought like he did, he’d exploit his advantages. A protagonist’s existence was akin to a cockroach, dragged from door’s death each time without fail.

This was not merely a case of schadenfreude—another difficult foreign term he’d learned during his pursuit as a novelist—where he reveled in another person’s misfortunes. It was a well-established trope in all forms of literature that when a person was casually dropped into a life-or-death situation, they would resurface as calamities. Since Luo Binghe was an important main character, he would naturally benefit.

...Sorry, youngster. Shen Yuan raised a white flag in commiseration for him in his heart. I didn’t mean to conscript you, but you must continue to work hard. Nationalistic pride exists among many Chinese writers.

Even pre-enlightened Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky had not been exempt from that.

In most narratives, a protagonist’s role was to rise above the rest and “smash the system.” They were akin to power kegs just waiting to be ignited.

Shen Yuan squinted up at the UI, his eyes beginning to water from its bright glow. He blinked rapidly, but the strain in his eyes refused to ease. This better not be the sort of tale where he and Luo Binghe had to compete to establish who was the one true protagonist, having to assert narrative dominance. Shen Yuan had no intention of pulling aggro to himself.

Raising a forearm up to shadow his vision, he groaned. He declared to no one, “Airplane brother, you’ve done your first son a great disservice.”

(He couldn’t help thinking the author had done a disservice to the original Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan among many others.)

The events that had played out tonight strengthened Shen Yuan’s conviction. He could now see how people easily fell for Luo Binghe’s act; the charisma of a stallion protagonist was potent. Even so, he had capitalized on his goodwill—and Luo Binghe’s strange fixation—hoping continuous acts of kindness being demonstrated toward him would soften him toward Shen Yuan and prove his intentions were sincere. His goal to leave a favorable impression was already well underway, with the endgame of establishing how it would be in Luo Binghe’s best interests to remember Shen Yuan’s acts of compassion and to return them tenfold in the future.

Should Shen Yuan prove himself to be of use, surely even a cutthroat person like Bing gē would not discard a loyal comrade—no, a valuable asset—during his rise to power?

Under no circumstances must Luo Binghe see the strange celestial fortuneteller as a threat or as a jealous rat. In the stories where the main character was an antihero, the few ways to survive their malice was by entering their harem, becoming the sole lover, being exiled—like Luo Binghe’s rival, the “second male lead” Gongyi Xiao—or becoming an indispensable friend or ally. Even though Shen Yuan was protected by plot armor, he should not assume its protection was absolute. His own transmigration here was proof that life was full of unknown variables.

But with Luo Binghe’s appearance here, his days of treating the other protagonist’s existence like colorless air were over.

To avoid future headaches, the only method Shen Yuan could foresee showing his fellow protagonist that his services were indispensable was by lending him his intelligence—and his predictions of the future. As the ancient proverb went, a friend who brings coal in the snow is most precious. If he availed to continue fostering goodwill and his undying support, those efforts would be rewarded handsomely. As a protagonist of the xianxia genre, Luo Binge followed a code of honor—even more so as a cultivator taught in the martial and mystical arts.

He recalled the last question Luo Binghe had asked of him before Shen Yuan left, regarding the compatibility of his fated person.

What he’d told Luo Binghe during the palm-reading was admittedly due to Shen Yuan’s own internal bias. It’d made Shen Yuan want to laugh at his own past naivety. He had to reevaluate everything he’d erroneously taken to be true and canon.

As a novelist, Peerless Cucumber wasn’t as generous as Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky who’d spoiled his stallion protagonist with far-too-easy conquests as a result of pandering to his audience with fanservice. While Shen Yuan’s unique stamp was focusing less on romance and more on worldbuilding, he developed his romances gradually; like reality, his characters had to learn to work with each other’s strengths and flaws, overcome challenges, mutually pine for each other, and to be able to see a future together.

Only then did the payoff seem all the more impactful in his storylines.

A conflicted expression descended upon Shen Yuan’s face.

While there was entertainment to be had following the adventures of a “blackened” antihero crushing his opponents under his foot, Shen Yuan couldn’t help but count his blessings again that he wasn’t a young woman who had been reincarnated in the body of the villainess or a side character. That archetype always seemed to hope to enjoy her new lavish life in the sidelines watching the romance unfold between the male and female leads, but was swept into the mechanisms of palace intrigue—secret schemes and political power struggles—when the male lead inevitably turned his attention towards her.

Shen Yuan also took solace in his good fortune of not having been transmigrated into the body of an antagonist or a cannon fodder—which meant it wasn’t necessary for him to embrace the plot device of hugging the protagonist’s golden thighs and painstakingly preserving the pretense of being another person.

There were two less flags to be concerned over.

His purpose here was to surpass his rival in the danmei genre. That meant there must be two male leads. But Luo Binghe didn’t come from his own intellectual properties; his creation had been birthed from Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky’s imagination.

In this case, since it was a crossover, didn’t that mean Shen Yuan had essentially adopted Luo Binghe as his male lead? So as his responsibility, wouldn’t that mean he’d have to find the xiǎo láng gǒu—little wolfdog—a love interest? Give him an OTP? Help him tie the knot?

...Would it truly be okay if this tired uncle wrote a predestined romance for once? As much as Shen Yuan favored defying expectations, there was a formulaic structure that made their literature different from those in the Western market whose shocking narratives could not only arouse pity in their audience, but also a sense of awe, excitement, fear, and suffering.

Chinese protagonists were not always someone of high society; they often hailed from humble origins as a device for the writer to underscore the merits of working hard and to criticize the system—a fictional one though, to avoid absolute censorship by the Chinese government. Their heroes began as nothing more than a windblown leaf in the social structure and years of ethical traditions set in place. They started on the bottom rungs of society to draw people’s attention to their lives, to the injustice and unfairness, which made their struggles and triumphs all the more impactful to the reader.

The fates of the leading characters were tied to the juxtaposition of the harmonious ideal of society and the reality of a flawed system. Chinese tales were inherently romantic oftentimes, with tragic conflicts written to emphasize the beauty of a bond and rousing sympathy and pity for their plight. The archetype of a tragic hero was meant to be presented so profoundly that great reverence would well up spontaneously in one’s heart.

In his opinion, Luo Binghe had suffered plenty in his role as the avenging, wronged hero.

Under normal circumstances, as Peerless Cucumber, Shen Yuan was the sort of novelist known for deconstructing unoriginal, formulaic conventions. He’d satirized enough classic and tired tropes in whichever genre he was writing for, it almost became expected of him to subvert expectations in all of his publications. It was just his contrarian nature to write something out of spite. It would therefore not be considered strange for him to challenge the established romantic convention of soulmates by emphasizing different degrees of compatibility, by making his leading characters come together as platonic comrades or as destined adversaries instead of the cliché as predestined lovers.

But this Luo Binghe is now a real person, Shen Yuan had to remind himself yet again, and is no longer an imaginary concept on paper.  

Peh, I never knew you were such a romantic, Protagonist A. To think I have to break the discipline I’ve kept for these past few decades of my life…. Who knew a little wolfdog like you would still yearn for a tacky “match made in heaven” even though you’ve been “dual cultivating” with so many beauties….

For the first time in a long while, guilt weighed heavily on Shen Yuan’s mind. He swallowed hard. While he understood the implicit reality of his situation, he still felt like he was, in some way, disappointing his audience by not living up to his reputation. The shame he felt was bizarre.

He cast his plea into the void, my cherished readers, please understand. Forgive this writer if I don’t subvert your expectations in this aspect just this once.

The harem was the closest Luo Binghe had to a family. After the parental kindness of the washerwoman was torn away from him early in his life, after having endured the unhealthy environment that followed, the only love and tenderness he received in his life came in the arms of beautiful women. Tokens of affection were given in the form of intimate acts. It was no wonder Bing gē ’s character had ended up twisted. With his inferiority complex, he collected beauties with a greed not unlike a hedonistic minister who expected tributes and bribes.

The shortcomings of a younger, less experienced Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky made Shen Yuan’s heart ache for all of the original cast of characters. Airplane brother couldn’t have known his own writing would give birth to fully-actualized, breathing persons. As a webnovel writer, there was pressure to meet the self-imposed deadlines set on the online platform of choice to earn virtual coins per chapter, oftentimes leading one to forsake their own creative integrity.

The appeal of an underdog overcoming the odds had been a timeless theme for many reasons. The young, pre-enlightened Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky must have felt obligated to make his protagonist suffer through every cliché in the book for angst points just so that when the love interests took care of him, the juxtaposition seemed “fluffier” and served their function as “healing element” in the story. But the setup was written clumsily, formulaically, like he’d written the angst first and rushed the payoffs.

There were so many women in the harem whose narrative potential stayed underdeveloped. Like cardboard cutouts, most didn’t have much of a personality other than looking beautiful. The heroines were trophies meant to stroke the male protagonist’s ego—who made him feel masculine, manly, and powerful—and to enable him to act in an unrestrained capacity. They were the author’s story device to show his cruel and brutal antihero still had a heart. In the presence of Luo Binghe, each one was gentle, kind, respectful, and submissive. To the other harem members, the once innocent maidens had to learn how to be shameless, who only knew to fight for a man’s favor.

But on a fundamental level, it was because his lovers were blinded by Luo Binghe’s bright, limitless future that nobody truly understood him beyond being a “main capture target.” They saw his worth as a strong, undefeatable husband material. And, in return, beneath the author’s veneer of romance, they were essentially relegated into the role not unlike that of “human cauldrons,” living furnaces that were drained of their vital energies to boost the protagonist’s longevity or cultivation powers through dual cultivation.

When Shen Yuan had read the original series, he came to recognize that the novelist must have wanted to create a dark, tragic antihero who obliterated obstacles to show how far he had come. Writing was supposed to be therapeutic, and Airplane brother must have wanted his story to stand out. The original Luo Binghe was a person motivated by his own grudges, by envy, and by pride—a hungry, ravenous young man fueled by the rage he’d been carrying for far too long. With his “origin story,” as somebody who had undergone the traumas that he had, after all the injustices he had suffered, after all the people and the society he’d been let down by, it was only natural that he carried a lot of emotional baggage.

What this Luo Binghe needed was somebody who was a foil to his temperament, patient, charismatic, and well-educated. Since he would be uniting the Three Realms, they also needed to be proactive keeping him in check from becoming a self-indulgent, fatuous ruler. A sensible head was needed on their shoulders to guide their merciless husband in understanding right from wrong, from succumbing to madness, and from any sycophants looking to lead him astray. It was integral to help Protagonist A maintain a harmonious empire so that, together, they could lead a golden age of reform.

When Cao Zijian first saw the Luò River Goddess, Shen Yuan abruptly recalled, he wrote a verse about her unrivaled beauty and charm.

Whether or not it was Liu Mingyan, a man, or somebody else, it would be poetic if Luo Binghe found his own Luo Shen in the form of somebody who understood him, a person who was well-versed in the language of his cues and subtleties. If Bing gē was truly interested in a man, then Shen Yuan will make sure to find him someone compatible. To draw a protagonist’s eye and maintain it, the candidate must be witty and gutsy, empathetic to a degree and with appropriate ambitions. To stand out from the beauties in the harem, one must not be passive or pretentious.

Their existence would be like a fairytale dream come true. A breath of fresh air. Were Luo Binghe to have intentions on somebody whose standards were significantly much more difficult to meet, he might realize he’d actually have to put in the extra effort to increase his favorability rating with them.

It was a common saying that a man’s personality will undergo change once he falls in love, arousing his desire to protect and provide.

If it was a level of deep love that was truly matchless in this age, a romance that transcended heaven and earth, ordained by fate, even an old man like himself would shed tears of emotion and wish the young newlyweds happy nuptials and an everlasting love in every lifetime.

Shen Yuan wondered if there even existed such an extraordinary person in this setting.

A fated match was bound by string even though a thousand miles. If such a person did not hail from Airplane brother’s imagination, then they must originate from Shen Yuan’s.

And if such a “child” did hail from himself, then Luo Binghe had more to prove to him, demonstrating that an emotionally-stunted half-demon as himself was capable of being sensitive and having a healthy relationship—lest Shen Yuan be forced to skewer him with Yue Ying if this “black-bellied” junior turned out to be overbearing, pursuing and pressuring this novelist’s precious “child” despite being refused. There must exist a chemistry between them, or a mutual romantic interest.

Luo Binghe’s reputation was already in tatters in the Mortal Realm on the account of having a demonic heritage and having razed down the great righteous sects. The current settings of the world defined anyone of demon blood as abominations to be exorcised or slayed without impunity. Whatever goodwill he’d originally cultivated with his deceptive “nice guy” act had to be regained. The elites of the upper class, staunch proponents of maintaining the status quo, would curse anyone of lowly background to be despicable persons who sought connections far above their status. Winning the war against the son of heaven and finding a match of great affinity would be integral in swaying public opinion to his favor.

In public, the lovers must persevere to present a united front, ruthless and fearless against their opposition but dependable and benevolent towards their subjects. They must accumulate enough reverence. It was only over time that the Sacred Rulers would prove themselves worthy of being beloved, idolized by the common people and giving the traditionalists found in high society—who held standards above the ceiling—no choice but to accept their reign lest they risk annihilation from their new rulers.

Until such a person was found, he supposed he could step into the role as his counsel if Luo Binghe ever sought him out.

There’s no medicine for regret, he thought with resolve. Although the <<SYSTEM>> made unsubtle prompts for him to make peace with Luo Binghe, as a direct result of his own decision-making, it had set Shen Yuan down the path of cooperation. He would try his hand at the impossible task of becoming Bing gē’s friend.

It would be an uphill battle, but he must broaden his view early on and engrave these words into his head: the once two-dimensional novel characters were now three-dimensional, multifaceted people.

Their upbringings were nothing alike, but destiny had come as a spring rain and brought them under the same roof.

Luo Binghe came from a destitute background. He’d witnessed firsthand, for himself, the injustices in life being born in abject poverty and with no background. After his stepmother, no one watered the mind of the tender sprout that was a young Luo Binghe, forcing the child to learn how to fend for himself. With his upbringing, it made sense why he had misanthropic tendencies. He’d seen for himself the wretchedness of people’s hearts, that those in high positions—whether it be the sons of noblemen, a Peak lord, or the emperor—had the power to push people around. Now in a similar position, he wouldn’t forget the harsh lessons. Grown up, he was a fearsome existence that very few—if any—could topple. He swore to make his enemies pay in blood.

On the other side of the spectrum, Shen Yuan was a son of entrepreneurs, born with a golden spoon in his mouth. He had the basic business acumen, brought up on Chinese pragmatism and the merit of achieving prosperity. Life might have led him down a different path as a profession, but he was educated in the principles of economics and had graduated from a reputable university focused on self-discipline and social commitment. A writer’s pastime was observing human behavior and implementing real world examples into the imaginary worlds they’ve constructed. From all the books he’d read and the programs he’d watched, he’d accumulated a wealth of random knowledge here and there, with a personal interest in reading up on tactical wartime strategies of the past.

As the older party, he could set the bare minimum standard Luo Binghe could emulate as the type of leader he could be, and to help him grow from his insecurities. The innovations and potential comforts of a technologically-advanced civilization were ingrained into a transmigrator’s brain. His handsome junior could be inspired by some of Shen Yuan’s “wisdom” and put them into practice for any of his policymaking.

Like the spring breeze that thawed the frozen soil, he would be someone who reached into the abyss and grabbed that bloodstained hand. Under his guise as a higher order of being, Shen Yuan would ensure the arrogant, domineering playboy matured into his full potential as a capable and virtuous ruler of the future.

In this world, his modern knowledge and his knowledge of both novel series were his cheats.

He’ll give him pointers so that he wouldn’t continue on the path of self-destruction. He’ll scathingly denounce and safeguard him from conniving shrews and from scheming aristocrats of unscrupulous greed, and from trope pitfalls and foolish mistakes, and to happily hand that duty off when Luo Binghe’s star-crossed lover—a nuanced person of honesty and integrity—inevitably turned up. And maybe, just maybe, even if Bing gē still curated a reputation as a fair but ruthless viper, the new reign might be salvageable and worthy of pride for generations to come.

Let us work together for the unification of the world, okay, Luo Binghe? I know you can do it. This old man will try to advise you during your prime.

It would be like tossing a peach and getting a plum back. It was a smart investment, in hopes of a great return.

“I’d redeemed you once,” Shen Yuan murmured, white lashes fanning against his cheeks. He closed his eyes in reminiscence of his own fanfiction, inhaling the light, woody scent of the censer nearby. “I can do it again.”

In the meantime, preparedness was quintessential. He reflected, I must collect more merits. I cannot be lazy and lag behind in accomplishments.

While Luo Binghe fought his battles, Shen Yuan should avail himself to avoid the fate of the Second Lead Syndrome. A bland comparison metric to be used against the protagonist, that archetype of the second male lead had everything stolen from him—from his time in the spotlight, even to his favorite woman—all to be handed over to the main character. It was a tragic fate. Shen Yuan did not wish to see his own successes being overshadowed by the radiant presence of a hardworking young man.

If his efforts bore fruit, he and Luo Binghe might even be comrades who respected each other, who trusted each other and would never dare to raise a blade at each other’s throat. They would unlock the epilogue together and find their star-crossed lovers. And once everything was set in stone, once the adults ground themselves to dust and were ready to step down to make way for the new generation, they could all live the rest of their lives in peaceful retirement.

And should fate permit them each to father their own child, should harmony blossom between the lovers they doted on and should such a good supportive relationship be maintained, as “uncles” they might even consider arranging an engagement for their descendants—a symbol of uniting the celestial, mortal, and demon bloodlines through marriage.

He could just weep from that beautiful imagery. May their lives be full of warmth and sweetness.

“...System?” he inquired drowsily, his voice barely above a whisper. Turning on his side, he stared at a faraway wall. The glazed white surface of the porcelain pillow felt cold against his cheek, its smoothness reminiscent of jade. “Can you hear me?”

Ping.

【This <<SYSTEM>> provides the Esteemed Host a 24-hour service.】

“I don’t remember Airplane brother going into detail about what the education system is like in this setting. Is it supposed to be historically accurate to the ancient feudal model or…?”

Ping.

As he listened to the long encyclopedic explanation, what he’d heard seemed to reconfirm his worst fears. Education was the privilege of the elites. With a cultivator’s narrow-minded focus on self-enlightenment, it made sense that the basic education curriculum of the twenty-first century could be seen as innovative in the pre-established setting of this strange world.

Wait a moment, wouldn’t this mean even a secondary school student would be seen as a prodigy in this world? ...Then what would a middle-aged uncle of university-level education be considered as?

...A wise sage?

Shen Yuan formed a complicated expression. Immortal cultivators prioritized studying matters of the “spiritual heart” and Qi refinement, in the martial and mystical arts, breaking through the bottleneck of each cultivation stage until their dedication allowed them to reach the pinnacle that was the Ninth Stage.

In the early webnovels, Bing gē had stagnated as a late-stage Core Formation expert. The constant sabotage in his early life had ensured that his education in the esoteric art of cultivation remained incomplete, ensuring that Luo Binghe’s cultivation remained rough around the edges and unpolished, with the end result being the gaps in his knowledge that had to be overcompensated by creativity and sheer determination.

Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, in his laziness to research the many intricate nuances of the Cultivation World, had waved the illogicalness of the protagonist’s OPness away by attributing it to his ancient, heaven-fallen demonic heritage and to the deus ex machina that was his legendary sword. (Yet, even then, Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky still occasionally confused the Foundation Establishment with the Nascent Soul stages.)

It wouldn’t be until the end of the series—after the outcry of the netizens—that the unsatisfied Luo Binghe made the breakthrough into the proper Nascent Soul stage with the help of his wives and their many gratuitous papapa scenes.

Then in the epilogue, the author had infuriatingly time-skipped all the way to the penultimate Ninth Stage, describing how Luo Binghe somehow became a legend among legends who had finally attained eternal youth and aged back into his late twenties in his new immortal body after having miraculously passed the Heavenly Tribulations—disasters from heaven which were akin to nuclear radiation for those of demon blood. After an unspecified many years of rule, he’d left his legacy behind—with the uncountable size of his harem and a boundless number of his descendants “mourning the loss of a great and oftentimes misunderstood man.”

Just remembering it made Shen Yuan’s blood pressure spike dangerously. Taking deep, calming breaths, he rolled onto his back again as he forced himself to attain catharsis from listening to the mind-numbing exposition the <<SYSTEM>> was extolling to him like a history program. His fingers clenched the bed sheet.

Eventually he found himself feeling adrift, the words beginning to lose their coherency to him as he phased in and out of consciousness, his mind becoming wrapped in a haze of scented smoke. Tense muscles soon relaxed.

The countdown had reached 00:00:00 when sleep finally claimed him.

XXXXXXXXXX

He’d read and heard several accounts of people who have claimed to have had lucid dreams before, but this was the first time Shen Yuan was aware that he was having an “out-of-body” experience.

It’d felt like his “soul” was being lifted into the air. His head was spinning, a ringing in his ears. When he finally “opened his eyes,” he was floating upright in a world devoid of color. Iridescent grids pulsed in and out of existence in the fog below, running like gossamer lines of circuits which resembled the pre-rendered level of a video game.

In the desolate void of white mist, a single incomplete, dark brushstroke circled overhead in an endless rotation of a wheel. He stared up at it. “...Is...it buffering?” Clouds escaped his mouth as he spoke, tasting pure, winter frost with each breath.

Color was beginning to spread, like somebody had dipped a daub of green watercolor beneath his feet.

Ping.

【Answer! Welcome, lăoshī! This <<System>> begs the Esteemed Host’s patience. We have encountered a bug and are thusly limiting the open world configurations. Please be patient while we load the rest of the map assets.】

Alarm bells were blaring inside his head, and he swore he could hear the clanging manifested—but muffled. He began to think that there must have been something suppressive in the air, something that muted all normal sounds. Covering his ears to deafen the noise still, he demanded, “What bug?”

In his muffled hearing, the answering ping pierced through the quiet .

The <<SYSTEM>> spoke clearly and unobstructedly.【This is the world within a dream realm. To adhere to lăoshī’s traditional xianxia expectations, please be aware that celestials are considered the antithesis to every demon in the world. We have thusly isolated your divine presence in a barrier separate from the dream realm influence of Protagonist <<LUO BINGHE>> and Supporting Character <<MENG MO>>, sealing away the demonic Qi bordering lăoshī’s dream realm. You are expected to clear the important plot scenario before you are allowed to return to your waking state.】

That was as official of a “reality check” as he could perform.

Shen Yuan had to sit down.

From faraway, his countenance was of a man with legs dangling over the leafy green rim of a giant water lily. The paleness to his complexion lent him a deceptive image of fragility. His long white hair was down, and the loose white sleeves of his night garment billowed even though there was no wind. A garden pavilion was forming behind him, similar in design to the thirteen bordering the lotus pond he’d rescued Luo Binghe from.

Time stretched on. And on. In the accustomization period, it was as if the fog had stolen his senses, leaving him in a vacuum—with him staring at emptiness. Finally, after an interminable wait, the buffering wheel vanished.

Things were slowly beginning to take shape before his very eyes. He felt like he was watching a time lapse video of a painting master having finally taken their brush to paper.

Dark brushstrokes were painting the rest of the world unknown. He saw something resembling the jagged peaks of a mountainous landscape. The strong black lines, ink wash, and the dotted clusters eventually faded into softer, rubbed brushwork suggesting rolling hills and a river. Thin, delicate flicks took the shape of bamboo leaves. The once-empty world before him bled into a scenic vista not unlike that of the Wuyi Mountains he’d toured once in the Fujian province. Mist passed through the scenery like silkscreen, secreting whatever was beneath from his eyes.

The frigid air bit at his exposed neck. He glanced down and balked immediately at the eyeful of his chest. With a curse, he gripped the thin fabric and wrapped them tightly around himself. He breathed in deeply to reorient himself.

This setting was indeed a place that hid tigers and dragons, each one better than the other. Shen Yuan’s mind was still a half-awake jumbled mess as he tried to process that, whether unconsciously or on purpose, an attempt had been made to drag him into a dream world.

Him, Protagonist B—an uninvolved third-party. An innocent outsider. A stranger.

Ah, but dreams are a narrative convenience, is it not?

Memory was stirred of his halcyon days of youth. His time spent as an undergraduate was a fargone blip in his life, a bubble of time separate from everything that had happened before and after. Long ago, a younger Shen Yuan had the privilege of enrolling in throwaway lectures—one of them memorably being a class where he remembered writing detailed study guides about the phenomenology of dreams and imagination. (He faintly recalled his thought process, at the time, must have been: if he’d needed to fulfill his GE credits anyway, he might as well sign up for a few interesting courses pertaining to his hobbies.)

While he never once experienced a lucid dream, he was surprised by the amount of free thinking he seemed to be able to exercise at this present moment. While the lucid-dreamer could deliberately affect the nature of their hallucinatory experience, Shen Yuan dimly recalled the supposed restrictions on the hyperkinetic dream state—the loss of the capability to doubt, for one. Going with the nonsensical flow and the loss of impulse control, as another.

This was entirely uncharted territory.

He wanted to be angry but reaching for it, he found it slipping through the cracks of his fingers like water. The longer he stared down at the clouds of mist, the more that a sense of serenity seeped into him.

The chaos in his mind calming into a tranquil lake, Shen Yuan gazed up at the pair of moons sharing the same sky. A thin sliver of space existed between the two as though an invisible force was prying the two gravitational forces apart, preventing their collision.

In his daze, he could faintly hear the familiar traditional notes of the two-stringed fiddle of the erhu and the gentle plucking of the seven-stringed guqin ; it was as if there were an invisible troupe of musicians playing the essence of Chinese aestheticism and philosophy in the background for him, setting the mood.

In the context of the imaginary, he wasn’t necessarily at a disadvantage.

It was fortunate that the <<SYSTEM>> had preserved control of his consciousness for him, instead of him having to wrest it back.

Allowing his mind to wander, he studied the composition of the painterly world. While Shen Yuan wasn’t an artist himself, he could discern that the expressionistic brushwork and precise details were what art collectors might consider authentic. Enraptured by the flow of the brushwork, he asked, “System, please correct me if I’m wrong, but is the aesthetic of the Heavenly Realm meant to resemble traditional landscape paintings?”

Ping.

【Answer! Much of the open world has been configured to match the existing prerequisites of being ethereal and otherworldly. Would the Esteemed Host like to expend 1,000 B-Points to change the map skin?】

“No!” A dulled pain dug into his palms. The miser in him thought viciously, 1,000 B-Points! Just to change a skin? What a waste!

This abstract setting of celestials and the Heavenly Realm—and whatever else that followed—must have somehow originated from his own imagination. They couldn't have come from his competitor's unpublished drafts; none of this was Airplane brother's style.

Taking another deep breath, he spoke, “System, you said the scenario was called ‘Loading Chekhov’s Gun.’”

Setting aside his omniscient reader viewpoint and writer’s perspective, he supposed it made sense. Being a fortuneteller, his class skill was to divine the future. He didn’t have the whole picture quite just yet, but the <<SYSTEM>> seemed to have faith that he could begin to collect the threads.

“I’m guessing the criteria is discovering most—if not all—the big foreshadowing elements of my unwritten danmei for me to clear it.” Recalling the contents of both webnovels, he spoke carefully, “I was dragged here without my volition by demonic interference. So if I wish to escape, I will need to destroy the core of the illusion—but in a pacifist way?”

Ping.

【Both are correct. Completing the mission objective with an S-Rank will reward the Esteemed Host with 500 B-Points. Lăoshī, jiāyóu!】

There was no mercy in its vocabulary.

“...Yes. Jiāyóu." He repeated the encouragement wryly, dropping his gaze back at his surroundings. He could only thank lǎo tiān yé—god in heaven—that he’d maxed out his charisma.

Shen Yuan definitely needed all the good luck he could get.

Through the mist, the long, snaking river was a black serpent threading through the ashy grayscale of the valleys as far as the eye could see. And then he remembered. Seeing it, he felt a pang of emotion so strong, it exerted a physical pressure on his chest.

“What about Luo Binghe?” His knuckles were as white as his robe. “What has that little demon been up to now, System?”

...Ping!

【Begging the Esteemed Host’s pardon! This <<SYSTEM>> is keyed to Protagonist <<SHEN YUAN>>. If the Esteemed Host is willing to cross the boundary, there is an option to uncover the story with Protagonist <<LUO BINGHE>>. Providing him assistance will ensure Protagonist A’s Satisfaction points.】

The time has finally come.  

The water lily trembled under him as he straightened to his feet. From his high altitude, Shen Yuan can see where the mist hugged along the so-called boundary line that separated his dreamworld from Luo Binghe’s.

Since Luo Binghe evidently desired his company, Shen Yuan might as well take initiative and go to him on his own terms. If the mountain cannot come to him, then he will go to the mountain. Overall unity was important to maintain harmony between the protagonists.  

“I will store the past and compile a beautiful dream for you,” he promised. He was going to craft a story that was romantic and tangled, replete with heroes, villains, and a well-deserved conquest.

With one foot off the plant, the world spun and he suddenly found himself enclosed in thick walls. He glanced around. Everything had a rough, unfinished painterly quality resembling dried ink wash on paper. Bathed in the shadows, he marched forward in the fog, looking for the nearest exit. His head passed by a circular window, the ricepaper resembling the glow of the moon.

His gaze traveled past the miniature bonsai tree underneath the window’s wooden lattice. Frown lines formed on his face at how thin and small it was.

The visual of it abruptly reminded him of how Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky had described Bing gē to be as small and skinny as a carrot at fourteen years of age. In the earlier chapters that took place in his dreamscape, his diantian was a gnarled, black tree overlooking a meadow, with the scantest of flower buds blooming in a barren wasteland—very much indicative of the protagonist’s mindset at the time.

Shen Yuan’s hand drifted absently to his abdomen as he gracefully passed by the pedestal. The source of one’s ability to cultivate was located in the lower stomach, a natural center of the body’s spiritual energy. He could only wonder how his own diantian would appear. Would it reflect his inexperience as a sapling—frail and waning? Or would it have the appearance and bearing of an old, ancient tree—befitting an immortal celestial being?

Funny how it means “elixir field,” he mused to himself, but us authors somehow always depict it as a tree… .

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.

As he peered up at the origin of the noise, words suddenly materialized around him. They’d peeled off the building like black strips of paper, suspended midair around him as though they were a sea of constellations surrounding the moon. The small, densely-packed lines of Chinese characters blurred in his vision but he instantly understood.

They were a manifestation of all the predictions he was capable of.

A gust of wind blew. As bountiful as the leaves of a forest canopy, the bamboo scrolls strung overhead swayed with the wind, knocking into each other with crisp clunks.  

The long, narrow strips reminded him of the scrolls he had shelved in the Archives room. His servants had shown him how they’d cut and roasted the white bamboo stalks until they became dark, later binding the dried strips with durable thread. All were prepared for their master, to transcribe his manuscripts if not his oracles.

He heard the sloshing of water. Ripples formed beneath his stride as a pale hand reached up. The wide sleeve slipped down his forearm as his fingertips grazed the bottom of a random brown scroll that somehow called to him.

An opulent array of gold flooded his vision.  

The imperial palace was a splendor of the Mortal Realm that could not be described, a piece of history that inspired great awe and reverence. In the starry skies, Shen Yuan saw a resplendent celestial being, wearing a monocle of a pearlescent sheen, descend from the full moon. Upon their feet touching the secular world, white faded to black. His hair was tied back and as black as sable, his original facial features—although pale—presented to the world as he approached the solitary figure seated at his rightful place atop the dragon throne.

Like the sun in the skies, Luo Binghe shined with a bright light in one’s eyes. With eyes filled with a thousand words, he was a young emperor in formal black, his austere and distinguished presence instilling a sense of respect into others. An armored cloak decorated his shoulders; the thick white fur sewn into the collar of the embroidered brocade appeared familiar to Shen Yuan for an inexplicable reason.

There was a strange intensity to his expression. With a half-formed smile of indulgence, the newly crowned sovereign was watching how the visiting fortuneteller gazed upon him with immense pride. He genuflected to Luo Binghe in a proper bow.

Time had not left any residue on their faces; they were arguably as handsome as they had been when they’d first met at the beginning. Both held the innate ability to hold one’s eyes on their presence.

Earnest congratulations swelled in the air, stirring the hearts of those in the coronation ceremony when the wise-looking, austere guest gifted the Heavenly Demon official amnesty from the Heavens.

Suddenly Shen Yuan found himself outside.

A fragrance of flowers filled the imperial gardens during the eighth lunar month, a fresh scent that was quiet and distant but able to inspire heartfelt emotions. The courtyard bloomed with lush red and purple chrysanthemums.

He saw himself stopping in place below an osmanthus tree, with the oil-paper umbrella he’d carried shading him. Dancers ahead were moving with dainty steps to a stunning choreography, performing the tale of yearly weather from spring to summer, fall and winter.

Behind his reading monocle, his celestial gaze did not carry evil intent; it was pure and admiring of the beauties capable of overthrowing cities and kingdoms. Respectfully keeping his distance, he maintained a thick atmosphere of an educated appearance, dignified and decently conducted. Next to him were the pots of white blossoms—the sight of them naturally not being a joyous thing for one to gaze at without being reminded of funerals.

From the crowd of spectators appreciating the flowers, the dance, and poems being composed, four sets of eyes flitted over to him—one scarlet and one an overcast sky, and two that were pitch-black.

A Demon Saint, dressed in her infamous gauzy red silks and tiny bells, as coquettish as a temptress. Her complexion was naturally fair, with a type of rare grandeur and dignity in her brows.

A human cultivator who wore a veil over the lower half of her face, hiding the dazzling beauty that was like lilies blooming out of fresh water; a calm and composed beauty that snatched people’s souls.

A young mistress of wealthy bearing, willful and adorable with her childlike-face, wearing her long hair up in a flying fairy style, decorated with pink pearls to match her long, extravagant palace dress. A whip had been strapped to her willow waist.

And another young lady, as fair as a magnolia—and whose lovely mature face had turned ghastly. Became ashen. “It can’t be....” As though she were seeing a ghost from her past, she took an involuntary, compulsive step to him. “Shen Jiu…?”

Various emotions flashed over their fair countenances. Shock. Fear. Disbelief. Confusion. Then a reignited deep hostility formed between their brows, their unsettled eyes as dead as stagnant water—unable to tear like a dry well but filled with bottomless loathing.

A flurry of fabrics blurred in his sight. An arc of red sprayed widely over the flowers of the courtyard, the droplets scattering like crimson petals against the walls. The umbrella clattered to the ground.

A headless body collapsed heavily to its knees. Fell sideways like a log.

A round object soon tumbled over the hot, sticky blood seeping into the cracks of the paved limestone. Red began to stain the long, black roots that were fading back into the color of moonlight.

Through the music and shrill cries, one deep shout shook the Heavens. A howl of rage, there existed the unexpected raw sound of anguish that could chill the blood. There had been too many complicated emotions condensed into that single vocalization, it made everyone who heard this sound feel a stone in their throat.

The swift winds of calamity approached.

A faltering scream, or something like a scream was heard with the sound of numerous lives being extinguished. It was a demented, gut-wrenching retribution that didn’t end, a subjugation forever to be carved into the annals of history.

Shen Yuan broke free from the premonition, gasping like a dying man. His hand scrambled to his neck. Fear tasted like iron in his mouth, the muscles at the base of his throat working convulsively.

Cold sweat beaded down his face as he staggered forward. He felt as though he’d resurfaced from the deep depths of the sea he’d been drowning from. The water sloshed beneath his movements, his inner robe loosening from his abrupt movements.

Ping!

【Prediction! A Death Flag has been discovered. +44 Points. Future Events unlocked. Objectives <<INVITATION TO THE CHRYSANTHEMUM BANQUET>> and <<DEFEATING THE MECHANISMS OF THE PALACE COURT!>> will be available.】

System, why are you giving me so many inauspicious fours! He wanted to tear his hair out! He screamed in his head, The future me was helping your husband for the sake of securing your peace and prosperity! How did you not realize cutting the neck of a celestial immortal from the exalted Heavens would be considered an evil action? Did you think your actions were just and thus exempted from karmic, divine retribution?

Have they lost their minds? How can anyone mistake him for Shen Qingqiu? He was not Shen Jiu!

What a messy affair!

What a disaster!

To say he felt vexed was an understatement. Just now, everything had happened too suddenly. The tangled, chaotic mess of information was too shocking, too absurd. Just what happened to his invincible golden halo? Did inhabiting the mortal coil temporarily dispel it? Was this the stupid【Hidden Penalty】applied to his character creation?

Don’t tell him it was because he was the sort of cutthroat writer who’d kill off his own protagonists for shock value!

He smiled with a trace of bitterness. It was precisely in line with what he’d write. This was just the sort of first-draft content a writer like him might throw in just to be evil but would later put on the chopping block upon revision, when he was no longer fueled by spite.

If he had his laptop, in true keyboard warrior fashion, he’d finger-smash his frustrations in an unintelligible burst of Chinese characters. He’d signed up for a heartwarming, “feel good” pseudo-historical fantasy redemption story with blood-pumping battles and sworn brotherhoods. He did not sign up for angst and heavy subject matters like genocide.

Regaining his equilibrium, he shuddered. Abruptly he recalled a novel passage describing how those who die from a beheading were never to reincarnate. His hand clenched into a fist, his fighting spirit ignited. Shen Yuan resolved himself to trample that death flag. As a transmigrator, he would improve their attitudes toward him and rewrite fate!

He will survive in this world without fail and use whatever means necessary!

However much he didn’t wish to dwell on the vision, he knew he’d seen that monocle somewhere before. The Store inventory?

His heart racing, he threw his memory a little further back until he saw it—vivid and picture-clear in his mind’s eye. It was as if a scene from the distant past had superposed with the present.

<<MONOCLE OF DIVINE CLARITY>>

Wondrous item, legendary

A rare artifact once belonging to Xīwángmǔ, the enchanted crystal lens is rimmed with silver and has a fine chain attached to a jade earclip. Magical properties include Resist Mental Compulsion, True Sight, and enhancement of the wearer’s divination. Effects shall remain active as long as the owner wears it.

Cost: 500,000 B-Points

He’d remembered thinking, Just whose imagination did this goddess’ treasure originate from? So expensive! Monocles were a fashion statement used to highlight certain shrewd men in Chinese novels, but the eyewear was ultimately a Western 18th-century invention overseas and not of ancient China. Such historical inaccuracy! He’d wished to file a complaint! Shen Yuan remembered the grievances he’d lamented to the <<SYSTEM>>, only to be coolly rebuffed with the encouragement to continue to work hard.

But despite its exorbitant price-tag, he’d now received visual confirmation that he would eventually acquire ownership—whether the relic would be purchased by his own merit or it would enter his hands as a byproduct of the halo’s extraordinary luck. Although there was a sense of accomplishment in knowing, it paled in comparison against his newfound conviction.

Only the shallow groove between his brows betrayed his profound distress. There was no point dwelling on an omen that hadn’t happened yet. His counterattack would have to wait.

With a hand still shielding his throat, his breathing slowly, eventually, returning to a semblance of normalcy, Shen Yuan warily glanced around the painterly surroundings.

Somehow he’d found his way to the border. No words could capture the feeling he felt standing in the midst of a bamboo grove painted into existence from ground charcoal and ink wash. A retinue of monumental statues flanked him, weathered with time—and unrecognizable with their faceless features.

Walking by, he craned his neck to stare momentarily up at the features of two of them. A man and a woman. The man was of taller stature, with the suggestion of a goatee. The woman wore a headdress; an ominous hairline crack bisected her torso. Their placement indicated they were husband and wife, the intricate details carved on the white jade making them appear regal and imposing.

A sense of dejavú filled his thoughts. He couldn’t tell who they were meant to represent, but they felt familiar. Like he should know who they all were, but recognition of gods and the divine slipped through his fingers.

The misty ground had given way back to a transient void of white. He could see clearly where his dream realm ended and Luo Binghe’s dream realm started. It was as though a curtain had been drawn, an aurora of northern lights protecting a blank white canvas from being blotted. Across the boundary, he could see something up ahead in the eternal darkness. In the desolation that engulfed the night, an ominous shroud of miasma roiled overhead.

Like a soldier preparing for the battlefield, he steeled his resolve. With one firm slap to his cheeks, he bridged the gap.

The moment he crossed the threshold, a fierce demonic Qi surged toward him like a violent gale of desert wind which threatened to strip the skin from his bones. His knees nearly buckled under him as irony, sorrow, and bitterness besieged him. He had to resist all compulsion to turn back as the darkness caged him at once. He floated aimlessly in the darkened landscape, inexplicable feelings of loneliness arising within.

Shen Yuan narrowed his eyes, calming his inner turmoil.

He had to tell himself dreams did not reflect reality; they were merely a projection of someone’s subconscious. Even so, it painted a bleak picture of his xiōng dì's mental state.

Descending from the night skies, Shen Yuan was an ethereal figure dressed in white, the thin garment fluttering behind him as he took the invisible steps down into the foreign dream realm. In the infinite cosmos, he saw nothing but stars. He cast a cursory look over the bioluminescent glow rippling under him with each tread, like an otherworldly procession, until his feet finally touched the earth.

The sound of wings flapping caught his attention. Shen Yuan twisted his head, seeing a majestic fènghuáng burst free from his own heavenly realm. The immortal phoenix soared high overhead, the five sacred colors—red, blue, yellow, white, and black—of its serrated tail feathers trailing behind it. A beautiful cry escaped its throat like a song.

A mighty roar shattered the night. The air pressure shifted. As though answering the phoenix’s call, a fierce and powerful lóng ascended from the dark depths of the realm, brackish water trembling off its black scales as it shot up to give chase after the fènghuáng ’s vibrant plumage.

He watched their aerial dance in flight. Like yin and yang coming together, seeing their bodies twist and weave with one another in a harmonious sight made an intensity arise from the bottom of his heart.

The relief he felt was all-consuming. Every Chineseman knew of the dragon-and-phoenix metaphor of olden times. And if the mythical phoenix dared to take flight in this dream realm, in a demon’s home turf, surely it was an auspicious sign that Bing gē was not too far gone in darkness and corruption.

Feeling a renewed lightness on his feet, Shen Yuan went to follow.

The moment that the dragon surfaced, he had registered a faraway presence. It was a feeling of awareness, a slight prickling sensation of the scalp, making him feel self-conscious. He was hyper-aware that he was not alone. Even if Luo Binghe had been preoccupied, there was no way Protagonist A would not have sensed Protagonist B’s presence—and vice versa.

If Shen Yuan’s world had been representative of the heavenly air and water, much like the man himself Luo Binghe’s spirit root was aligned with the earth. His hand drifted back to his throat. The air was as arid as a desert. If memory served Shen Yuan correctly, Luo Binghe also had an innate affinity with the fire attribute. It’d been discovered during his time in the Endless Abyss arc once the demon seal had been broken, indicative of his high sensibility to the fire type of Qi.

Hearing noises behind him, he glanced over his shoulder. Leaves had sprung from the blackened branches, rustling in the wind. Moonlight dripped through the gaps in the canopy, reflecting mottled shadows. He had been following along a ravine which’d shimmered gold, curious where the running water led to. Presumably it would take him to wherever Luo Binghe—and Meng Mo?—wanted him to see.

Tucking the long strands of his hair behind an ear, he halted midstride when he heard, “...a...re...f...ul….”

He’d heard that quiet murmur before—that time at the pond, didn’t he? A woman’s cadence. Like the babbling of a brook, as faint as the wind, with accents of a beauty hitherto unknown. He glanced at the waters, keeping his expression impassive.

Ping.

【Do exercise caution, Esteemed Host! One should not turn their back on an opponent.】

Shen Yuan was silent. He cast his gaze sidelong to the trees for a fleeting moment. As though addressing someone in the prevailing shadows, he purposely stated aloud, “I don’t make mistakes in recognizing talent. I have no intention of making Luo Binghe my opponent.”  

Without another word, he resumed his stroll. His sight was fixed on the miasma ahead.

On the account of the premonition, it was at no fault of Luo Binghe’s that Shen Yuan would lose his head to the man’s wives. If anything, it’d sounded as though Protagonist A would seek to avenge him—even if the way he reacted was extreme and heartless.

Don’t you know, he wanted to tell his junior, if you do too many bad things, you will get retribution?

Truly, the future Shen Yuan must have maxed out his affection meter. Luo Binghe must have deeply treasured their friendship—or his counsel—to the point where he was capable of callously dismissing his former lovey-dovey attachments to help the dead deliver justice. However much pity Shen Yuan felt for the young women for how easily their husband detestably threw them aside, it was still an immensely heartfelt gesture he showed for the deceased. Even a rock would feel moved.

It made him remember the con-crit he’d left on the online forum, where he detailed how cool he felt the portrayal of a hateful and sinister Bing gē was—a refreshingly blackened hero who repaid debts of kindness and grudges. As expected of the “black-bellied” male lead, once the favorability meter was full, his inner protectiveness to the ones he held in high esteem would appear.

...Shen Yuan, you are putting the cart before the horse, he scolded himself. Stop thinking about something useless. Don’t meddle in his personal affairs too much.

Petals scattered, rolling along with no control whatsoever over their destiny, adrift and aimless. Strands of moonlit hair billowed with the breeze, leading his attention from his feet to across the distance. He focused on the sparse meadow that had wrapped itself in the embrace of the autumn equinox.

In the inky darkness, he saw a field of red spider lilies blooming in the hellish wasteland along a golden stream, leading to the gnarled tree—dark and twisted and silhouetted with demonic Qi.  

So this was Luo Binghe’s diantian.... It was as depressing of a sight as Shen Yuan had envisioned. The scent of death lingered in the air, an earthy perfume of graveyard soil and decay intermingling into the overwhelmingly floral fragrance, suffusing into the senses.

Under the swathe of demonic miasma drifting down from the sky like ash, the drooping red petals seemed ready to fall, swaying dreamily, but holding fast to their slim, strong stalks. The movement added something alive to the manjusaka’s fragility, to their ethereal quality, almost human in the way a flower could demonstrate both frailty and endurance at the same time.

He felt a faint sense of dread as he began to wander deeper into the crimson field, feeling a pressure over his head that was overbearing and suffocating. The flowers parted before him, the petals brushing his sleeves and hair like covetous fingers. He’d half-expected to see the heavenly flowers descending from the realm of the Gods, according to Buddhist scriptures. There was an old Chinese legend of two fairies who had been punished by the gods to be seperated for all eternity. As gods’ design, the petals could only blossom when the leaves were all withered away.

A flower of separation, and with its poisonous bulb, the red spider lily held a dark connotation that appealed to writers. They were well-known metaphors in eastern literature.

Memories poured in like the tide. Grown in Diyu—the realm of the dead or “hell” where souls were sent to repent and be purified—they were symbolic of guiding the dead into their next reincarnation. If anyone had asked him about what it meant in the language of flowers, Shen Yuan would say he associated the red spider lily with feelings of abandonment, longing, lost memories, and final parting. He’d referenced the symbolism before in a past work, underscoring its morbid resemblance to splashes of blood.

Shen Yuan stared with narrowed eyes. There was a certainty in him that he could not describe. But with how the dream realm had been described in the webnovels, there was absolutely no way Luo Binghe, or the elder Meng Mo, had a hand in this.

For any onlookers looking in from the outskirts, this scene must have presented a baffling sight. He remembered the pride displayed by both versions of the elder dream demon when it came to showing off their control over illusions to a young and impressionable disciple of mixed-blood. Shen Yuan wouldn’t be surprised if Meng Mo was presently frothing at the mouth, seeing a celestial being mess with his precious host’s control.

There was an indescribable eeriness permeating everywhere ever since he’d walked into the flower field.

System, he accused, this must be your doing. Just what are you trying to prove to this old man?  

There was no story without coincidences. When countless coincidences crashed altogether, the truth came to light.

Ping.

【Answering the Esteemed Host, the thousand year white resurrection lily is a gateway to the world of the deceased. It receives the memories of a departing soul before one crosses the Nai Ha bridge to pass into their next life, and can therefore be harvested to bring back the souls of the dead. Should Protagonist <<SHEN YUAN>> accept the quest, there is a resurrection subplot to bring back wronged supporting characters from the Earth Realm.】

Hearing the explanation, Shen Yuan’s mind leapt to the original Shen Qingqiu.

Even Shen Yuan, who’d originally called for the “scumbag’s” castration like many other fans, after having read the rebooted series, felt that the original Shen Qingqiu was deserving of sympathy points. At the mercy of his own duplicitous personality, the emotionally stunted character had adhered to the mensao archetype through and through—flopping between the two states of “hot and cold.” It had been revealed that many of the crimes Shen Qingqiu had been accused of had been the result of various egregious misunderstandings and miscommunications.

An ache wormed its way into his heart. There had been so many casualties, so many people who had their lives cut short. The Qing Jing Peak Lord, Shen Qingqiu; the Sect Master of the Qiong Ding Peak, Yue Qingyuan; the Bai Zhan Peak Lord and Liu Mingyan’s elder brother, Liu Qingge; Luo Binghe’s blood-related parents Su Xiyan and Tianlang jun….

They were good people. They weren’t his creations, but their roles as the small “mobs”—side characters—led to their potential being shorn woefully short.

It was perhaps pretentious and presumptuous of him to decide those to be allowed to come back from the dead—defying the natural order of things—but for someone to be essentially granted a second chance at life, to right regrets and live their rebirth to the fullest, who would refuse? Celestial beings were meant to have magnanimous hearts, moving the sky and earth for once-in-a-lifetime noble souls.

So wasn’t it just and righteous if such extreme action was taken?

Ping.

【Optional objective <<JOURNEY TO THE NETHERWORLD>> is available. Does the Esteemed Host wish to accept? Y/N?】

He glanced at the UI. Within that brief moment, Shen Yuan had already made many deliberations and judgements. Just as he was about to cement his decision, he heard the faintest trickle of music—and with it, murmurs.

“...P...le...ase….”  

His body instinctively tensed. A thick stench of blood pervaded the air, suffocating the floral fragrance with a metallic odor of iron.

...Why do I hear <<BOSS>> music?

Shen Yuan swatted the interface away from him, hissing beneath his breath, “Some other time.”

Whispers, male and female, crept through the silence. They drifted into his hearing, mournful and piteous, like wounded animals in close pursuit of their prey. Growing louder and louder.

“May...the Heavens...have mercy....”

“Save us.”

“Anyone….”

Under the night sky, he appeared calm, but his mind was already as turbulent as the storming seas.

At the sound of rustling, an archaic flight instinct had him spinning on his feet. A crack had formed in his expression. Skeletal arms were outstretched toward him from the crimson field.

Infinitely long, they dripped with blood, the droplets scattering onto the lilies like rain.

His hand instinctively reached for his sword as he watched the illusion crawl toward his ankles and the hem of his robe. His brows tightly-knitted, there was a chill to his face that was very different than during the daytime—as if he were a different person.

Some battles had to be fought another day. To avoid damaging his or Luo Binghe’s psyche, he’d have to beat a tactical retreat.

Just as he was about to soar away like a sparrow, he heard a distinct, metallic shnnk. He jerked in surprise when an arm abruptly materialized around his waist, embracing Shen Yuan from behind like an iron snare.

A black demonic blade swung in a wide arc.

The skeletal arms were obliterated in a torrent of midnight wildfire, limbs bursting open in wet splatters of blood.

The heat pressed against his back was as solid and grounding as a tree trunk, the strong and rapid heartbeat incomparably clear in his ears as the roaring flames extinguished themselves. All petals had been scattered from the mighty gust, strands of black and white hair flowing together in the wind.

In the blanket of darkness came the hysterical thought of a wild Bing gē having appeared. The culprit has, at last, deigned to show his guilty face.

“Shizun….”

The mere sound of him strummed the bowstring in his own heart with a loud tremor.

In a tone as soft as peach blossoms, silky and gentle, Luo Binghe whispered to Shen Yuan, “I’ve finally found you.”

The hoarseness of the man’s voice was albeit strange. Thrown off-kilter, Shen Yuan thought that there might have been something wrong, but he didn’t trust himself to say anything yet without it being misconstrued.

Hot puffs of air brushed against his cheek. That, with the scent of rice water and rose petals and something else masculine and unfamiliar, was distracting. Luo Binghe was quietly repeating the phrase, "I found you."

Mustering his courage, Shen Yuan peered over his shoulder. Both brows soared to his hairline when he saw a hallucination of a hundred flowers blooming at once.

A circle of red peeked out from the charcoal of Luo Binghe’s eyes. His attractive features were akin to the warmth of the early spring sunshine on flower petals that, for a moment, Shen Yuan could not differentiate between north and south.

Shen Yuan blinked once—twice, to clear the hallucination. It was only when he realized what he was seeing that Shen Yuan felt dumbstruck. He could feel his own facial muscles beginning to contort.

Unbelievable. The corners of his mouth launched upwards out of his control, but the ludicrous smile was suppressed by him before it could take flight completely. How utterly audacious.

Luo Binghe’s long, dark hair was let loose like a waterfall. And he was shamelessly wearing nothing but a thick, white pelt over his bare torso.

Having been the one to strike down the mythical beast, Shen Yuan instantly recognized the fur draped over broad shoulders. It was the divine báihǔ pelt the servants had laid out over the bed to help their guest conserve heat for the winter. Draped over bare skin, it’d lent the younger man a distinctly wild impression.

Luo Binghe’s breathing was a little unstable. Wrapping his other arm around Shen Yuan, he closed his eyes. Nosing the soft white hair, he remarked, "Shizun has a pleasant scent...."

Shen Yuan’s expression remained a frozen lake. What was with this ambience?

Faced with an unprecedented scenario, Shen Yuan didn’t know how to make it less awkward and help them both save face. The extent of his adult experience with hugging strangers had been starting conversations or meetings with a handshake, and ending it with a brisk hug whenever the whim hit. Even his own father, himself and his two brothers had communicated mostly with manly pats to the shoulder or the back. Perhaps such discomfort could be attributed to a cultural custom which persisted long after the death of Chairman Mao back in 1976. Initiating physical contact still remained somewhat of a learning curve among friends and family members, with some notable exceptions like the comforting touches given to a cute child or the hugs given by an overbearing grandparent.

Despite his current appearance, Shen Yuan was still a man; even though it was not the soft figure of a woman being pressed up against him, it was embarrassing being held by another man so fiercely.

Even knowing everything there was to know about Luo Binghe, he was essentially a stranger to Shen Yuan. The whole experience was surreal, like being hugged by a movie star who could just as easily change his mind and decide to crush his windpipe.

Shen Yuan didn’t dare to look down to confirm the extent of Luo Binghe’s undressed state. What if he accidentally bore witness to a wardrobe mishap and caught a glimpse of that legendary, heavenly sky pillar—or see a blinding tower of light? He wouldn’t be able to recover from such humiliation! To avoid that blow to his ego, he would be better off pretending everything was normal. I am a morally upright citizen with the heart of an angel, he chanted to himself like a sutra. I must remain patient and benevolent with today’s hot-blooded youth.  

With the two of them locked in a stalemate, Shen Yuan slowly felt his sanity returning to him. Standing as still as a statue, he ruminated on the best method to address this situation with an appropriateness that wouldn’t trigger a landmine.

He patted Luo Binghe’s forearm in a consoling manner, but it was also an unsubtle cue for him to release him.

The arms only tightened in persistence.

Shen Yuan frowned at his “stickiness.” He felt as though they were unintentionally stealing this particular romantic encounter from a youth’s passionate spring dreams. Since this was ancient China, it was truly lucky that he wasn’t being hugged by a young woman, or else he’d be worried about impacting her reputation—even if nothing had happened.

Traces of resignation formed between unpigmented brows. “...Xiōng dì, I am appreciative to you for having found your way to me.” Now that the arrow had been drawn, it had to be released. As exasperated as he felt, he asked with no small amount of concern, “Are you suffering from any mental backlash? I am aware of what happens when one retaliates at an illusion.”

A shaky exhalation of breath was heard. Instead of answering his question, Luo Binghe replied with much sorrow, “This lord deserves to die. However much this lord hastened to reunite with you the moment I saw your resplendent presence descending from the sky, it is unfortunate we met just as harm was about to befall upon Shizun.”

His voice had been mellow, with a hint of the liveliness to it that only young people had. It made it all the more easy for people to develop goodwill towards a valiant, dazzlingly handsome lord.

...I know of your tricks, little demon. Are you testing the sincerity of my well intentions? Furthermore, how do you manage to sound like a pitiful puppy...while your body...looks so erotic...? Bing gē, you truly have a duplicitous, villainous heart.

Shen Yuan refused to fall into the scheme of this little wolfdog. To avoid a perilous situation, he must go on the counterattack.

Instead, he turned in his arms. Luo Binghe’s eyes snapped open when Shen Yuan framed his face in his gloveless palms.

Shen Yuan inspected his features closely, putting on a stern look. He wiped away the big drops of sweat that flowed down the Heavenly Demon’s forehead, chastising, “You move me to tears, Luo Binghe. Did I not warn you to work on your bad habit of bearing everything silently?” Every word and sentence was leaden with camaraderie. His fingers drifted down to clasp him by the elbows. “You’ve forgotten this one is clairvoyant. Instead of concealing your intentions from me, this master shall willingly lend you his ear if you come bearing any troubling thoughts or concerns.”

What was the use of having a glib tongue if it couldn’t be put to good use? Time to wield his +20 CHARISMA to its full devastating potential!

“Although we are strangers, I hope, with time, you can be the truest version of yourself with me. I will not think any less of you at a sign of weakness.” The nature of heroic warriors emphasised on cultivating relationships and respect. Shen Yuan knew to repay a kind act with gratitude. Concentrating on his channels, he sent a pulse of his spirit energy to his yin -depleted companion through their point of contact.

Luo Binghe’s eyelids fluttered half-mast as gentle and clean spiritual power circulated throughout his meridians. The sensation was reminiscent of a cold spring drizzle watering the arid soil, the strain in his body receding for the time being.

Under a more impertinent tone, Shen Yuan told him, “Even if you willfully choose to disregard my reading, I cannot help but be concerned seeing how gallantly and recklessly you continue down this path of self-destruction. Just look at the state of your own diantian. Even the peerless ‘Luo Demon’ of the battlefield who is said to be able ‘to withstand the skies and earth’ should not be uncompromising regarding one’s own health.”

Shen Yuan knew from personal experience. However much the spirit was willing, the flesh was weak.

A hand slowly left his waist, moving to close over the back of Shen Yuan’s palm. Carefully sizing him up, his scarlet gaze, as he looked at Shen Yuan, held a few degrees more affection.

Ping.

【Protagonist A Satisfaction points +25.】

Twenty-five points instead of five or ten? You must have felt so good, you’d reached the heavens. Shen Yuan granted a lukewarm smile towards the future tyrant, patting the white fur over his shoulder in a friendly manner. “Are you feeling better now?”

“Yes. Many thanks to Shizun.” His line of sight drifted downward, and suddenly his attention was the ravenous gaze of a tiger.

Heat rushed in Shen Yuan’s body like the torrential flood. You’re a married husband who’s bedded countless beauties throughout the years , he’d nearly rebuked. What was so interesting about seeing an old man’s chest anyway? He averted his face. Forcing a calm and unwavering tone, he invited, “Since we’re here, walk with me, Luo Binghe.”

Perhaps it was due to the strange air of two men bonding that grinded down Luo Binghe’s stubborn temperament, but his iron hold had loosened, giving Shen Yuan ample opportunity to break free. Righting the night garment back into its proper place, he turned his feet in the direction toward his own dream realm.

“Luo Binghe…. My son….”

Shen Yuan glanced over his shoulder, his stride slowing. Somehow,  even as a figment of his imagination, he instantly knew whom this voice was supposed to belong to—maternal and lonely and sorrowful, full of regrets.

“I beg of you…. Help him….”

“Shizun?”

He gazed at the field of spider lilies with a considering look. With each step they’d taken, the blood-red color had faded into white. “...You do not hear anything?” he asked slowly.

Luo Binghe granted him an unfathomable look, before shaking his head. The fur of the báihǔ rustled with the small movements.

“So it’s like that.... May the elder dream demon who has taken this younger demon under his wing forgive my divine interference.” Sensing he’d captured Luo Binghe’s rapt attention from that frivolous declaration, Shen Yuan scrutinized the person who had been walking shoulder to shoulder with him.

To anyone looking in, they perhaps presented an incompatible image. Visually, as protagonists, they were as different as day and night—indicative of the two different writing styles of the two novelists.

As the celestial representative, there was a kind of romantic, quiet and unrestrained air of a distinguished literary person. Even with such mature looks, like the dark side of the moon, they paled in comparison to the blinding brilliance that was Luo Binghe whose presence was as bright as the sun in the sky. He personified those who walked with a dragon’s gait and firm tiger’s steps, with a vigour and prestige that unknowingly overflowed out; and with a cultivator’s valor, such presentation could make his opponent easily frightened. Shen Yuan could still recall his rough touch and that vise-like strength. Although Luo Binghe appeared innocent, he was actually enigmatic and difficult-to-predict. It made Shen Yuan want to test him.

Affecting an air of indifference, Shen Yuan mentioned as casually as he could, “That aside, I have a question for you. I was hoping you could satisfy my curiosity.”

Luo Binghe’s gaze was a dozen stones piled on the side of his face. He bade, “May Shizun speak candidly.”

“You must have given thought to my predictions. Knowing what xiōng dì knows now, what else does Luo Binghe intend to ask this one?” Seeing Luo Binghe was about to respond, Shen Yuan shook his head. “Don’t give me the answer you think I will want to hear. Be frank. For you to chase me in my dreams, you must be burdened with a thirst for knowledge.”

“...This lord wishes to learn more,” Luo Binghe confessed, looking unapologetic. “The strong prey on the weak; that is how the world works. As one who can get a glimpse of fate, Shizun is an indispensable source of guidance. Before this lord arrived here, I had been in a daze and felt helpless. Then elder Shen Yuan helped clear the fog in my head. The future has never been clearer.”

Shen Yuan hid the cynical smile in his heart.

Now we get to the crux of the matter…. Very well; he will fulfill the desperate wish of the imaginary Su Xiyan. He would help her son.

First, he had to establish a common enemy or obstacle.

“You are fortunate. Although it’s unorthodox, seeing as we are in a dream realm, seeing once is preferable to hearing a hundred times. You can do with the knowledge of your future later however you want.” He glanced forward, seeing the boundary line just across the barren wasteland. “Should you see intervening forces or hindrances to your survival or success, even if both parties once harbored goodwill, what will Luo Binghe do?”

There were countless variables on the chessboard. How he chose to answer him would decide where Shen Yuan will point the spear to.

Sensing the weight of his tone, Luo Binghe mulled over his words for a moment. A dark storm swirled in his eyes. Gazing at him as though he intended to test him, he spoke with severity, unfalteringly, “If one were to offend me, this lord will definitely exterminate the entire family.”

Shen Yuan somehow managed a serene expression despite hearing such a bloodthirsty declaration. A ferocious answer that has exceeded expectations, of course. Bing gē, your inferiority complex is showing.  

He knew just the perfect scapegoats.

One was the son of heaven—the current emperor of the Mortal Realm himself. His fate was sealed the moment he’d declared the exceptional demon lord to be a threat and that the middle kingdom would not be content with nothing short of his destruction.

Second was the Old Palace Master—the sect leader of the still-surviving Huan Hua Palace. That pervert was the poisonous snake that was entrenched in the grass, waiting for an opportunity to strike and bite his son-in-law to death.

And lastly, the most crucial, would be the symbol of everything that had gone wrong in Luo Binghe’s life. He was the ideal sacrificial pawn, for that person was an existence Luo Binghe would definitely not be able to touch even if he harbored resentment.

Ping!

【Warning! Allowing Protagonist <<LUO BINGHE>> knowledge of the powers that be is prohibited. A penalty will be imposed on the Esteemed Host should you continue!】

System, Shen Yuan roared in his head, must you undermine everything I do? Even as his fingers curled into fists, he resolutely maintained his mild forbearance as they approached the boundary. He thought viciously, If you’re so worried, then why don’t you activate a filter to edit what I’m saying into something that suits this world?

Ping.

【The Esteemed Host voluntarily wishes for censorship?】

Not censorship! Just filter any forbidden words into something of similar equivalence. I give you permission! Just don’t meddle! This is a critical stage toward jumpstarting Bing gē’s character development!

Now that he thought about it, naturally the main reason why many of the modern characters never admitted to being a transmigrator was out of fear of being seen as crazy. Shen Yuan could count on one hand the number of stories where the protagonist admitted to actually being one.

Wasn’t he in an optimal position where he could be believed? The intimate act of exchanging secrets brought people even closer. Shen Yuan was not above using the same emotional tricks to lure Luo Binghe to his side.

A sudden warmth jostled him out of his thoughts. Just as he heard the notification that the filter had been activated, he noticed Luo Binghe had stepped closer to him. Body heat transferred to Shen Yuan from their proximity. He could smell the scent of fur.

His smile was ferocious, as if he were a vicious wolf. “The ways of the heavens are merciless.” A hand lifted to play with the loose white strands. Luo Binghe seemed to have found his albinism curious. “While this lord is appreciative to elder Shen Yuan, I am aware that immense hatred and bad blood has existed between the moral sects and demonkind for generations. Yet you’ve magnanimously harbored me at your residence and shared with me my bright future. Aren’t you worried your celestial brethren will accuse you of collusion with this lord for your own benefit?”

Brows that were as pale as the snow rose at the provocative words. Although I haven’t met such “celestial brethren,” to think you would see the bigger picture of classism and discrimination.... Sighing in his heart, Shen Yuan realized he must have misjudged him. He hadn’t thought a formidable, blackhearted stallion protagonist like himself could be broad-sighted. Luo Binghe, I never thought you’d grow up overnight.

“...I don’t think you’re rotten.”

“Hm?”

“On account of you being half-demon,” he clarified. “Judging a person by their birth and social status is proof that a person is narrow-minded. I have seen with my own eyes how hard you work and I sincerely admire your potential.”

As the old saying went, one should never look down on youngsters. If they worked hard, the future of young people was boundless, and they will inevitably turn the situation around.

On the surface level, Luo Binghe spoke with a refreshing candor and treated others warmly and sincerely. He was not unreasonable, and he was as filial as they come—showing favoritism and loyalty toward those he held in high esteem. It was only when he faced adversity or found himself on the battlefield that he would be merciless—so no matter how much goodwill others showed him, it was useless if he held secret grievances toward them in his heart.

“Moreover, you’ve surely heard for all your life that an alliance between a human and a demon would truly be a laughingstock of this world.” He held Luo Binghe’s riveted stare. “...But I’m looking at that impossible unity right now.”

A brittle expression melted into existence. “...And what of the celestial gods and fairies of the Heavenly Realm?”

“What of them?”

“Do they hold the same broadmindedness as Shizun?”

Shen Yuan eyed him. When he remained silent, Luo Binghe understood he had gotten his answer.

“...Shizun is a precious existence,” Luo Binghe remarked. “The world has its own rules. And everything within it follows them.”

While it was true that good wordbuilding was kept within its sandbox, Shen Yuan didn’t think upholding such a limitation applied to individuals equipped with the protagonist’s halo. Protagonists were meant to break convention.

Shen Yuan corrected, “Just because a celestial is an immortal body of divinity does not mean I am beholden to share the same outdated values.【My way of thinking is modern and doesn’t suit the current times.】Knowing what I know, naturally there would be some deviation.”

He paused, realizing what had emerged from his mouth.

What he’d meant to say was that he was a transmigrator and that was why his way of thinking deviated from canon NPCs! This was supposed to be the moment he revealed to him his shocking identity!

Shen Yuan tried again, “It would be the height of folly to dismiss your capabilities just because of your birthright.【You are meant to stand at the peak of the dynasty overlooking all living beings.】Regardless, I will support you whether you choose to be the Sacred Ruler or if you decide to live a simpler life.”

His expression immediately sunk. It happened again! He’d meant to say, because Luo Binghe was the stallion protagonist, his meteoric rise was inevitable.

Luo Binghe had been keenly watching the byplay of emotions on Shen Yuan’s face as he spoke. As he saw the neutrality melt into heated frustration, Luo Binghe naturally formed his own assumptions from it. Under a softened tone, he repeated, “A simpler life?”

A stone had lodged itself in his throat. Shen Yuan had wanted to express to the young man that he didn’t want to pressure him into taking on the burden and responsibilities of a duty he wasn’t ready for, but he hadn’t expected to be hit with a burst of memories.

It made him remember his own family life. Before this madness.

“Being alive is actually a wonderful thing.” Nostalgia swept across his features. “...You are a grown man, Luo Binghe. Just because you have the potential to be great doesn’t mean you should be forced into something if it isn’t what you want to do.”

Wracking his brain for how to address the concept of Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky without having Shen Yuan’s original intention changed drastically, he confided, “I’m not like your creator. I don’t want to erase your agency; I wish to see if you can transcend your original settings.”

The mood changed in a flash. “My creator?” Luo Binghe’s tone was sharp. The white hair was released as he impulsively reached for Shen Yuan’s arms. “What does Shizun mean?”

He could see the vibrancy of the demon crest on Luo Binghe’s forehead, being this close to him. As though commenting on the weather, Shen Yuan remarked cavalierly, “Have you not found it strange that, despite not committing any wrongdoings, you’d perhaps suffered more misfortunes than anyone else—as though they’d been preordained? A storm tests the strength of a blade of grass. You were orphaned, twice, as a child. People picked on you when you were defenseless. A reputably famous immortal selected you as a disciple, but upon seeing your potential, swiftly went to undercut it. At just a young age, you’ve seen the duplicity of human hearts, fought countless tough opponents, and endured numerous betrayals and hardships.”

Luo Binghe’s expression had hardened.

“Your destiny has been【manipulated by a higher power】to hasten your growth.” Undergoing tribulations was not a foreign concept. In the Cultivation World, cultivators were expected to undergo tests from the Heavens to determine if they were worthy of ascension. “Most would be crushed under such trials, but your will to live is strong. Thus your rate of progress has been accelerated because of such painstaking efforts.”

You are indeed a far mightier man than I could ever be. With your head-start, even if I challenge you countless times, I will never be able to claim victory currently with how unfairly OP you are.

“You are claiming there has been a higher power who has caused this lord much grief and misery, all in accordance to a predestined plan he has prophesied for me?” Luo Binghe’s voice was deceptively gentle.

Shen Yuan hesitated.

“Shen Yuan.”

Seeing that all pretenses were already thrown to the wind, Shen Yuan had no inhibitions anymore. He could only apologize to Airplane brother in his heart, for turning his creation against him and making him an unfilial son.

Shen Yuan opened his mouth. “You aren’t【my creation.】It is frowned upon for【gods and immortals】to poach【extraordinary heroes】from their【patronage】without permission.”

Maintaining a genial facade, Luo Binghe expressed with a sincerity that rang a little false, “This lord simply wishes to know which deity to pay humble respects to for their gracious sponsorship.”

An enigmatic smile stole across Shen Yuan’s face. “One could say every living thing such as yourself and everything beautiful and evil in this world sprung from his imagination. His【name has been lost with time.】But I know him as elder Xiàng Tiān Dà Fēijī."

Those dark brows drew downward. “Xiàng Tiān Dà...Fēijī?”

Ah, of course you wouldn’t know what an airplane is. Shen Yuan ruminated for a moment before reaching up for Luo Binghe’s wrists. As though he were an older brother admonishing one’s insensible younger brother, he said graciously, “Fēijī gēis a controversial but well-respected figure within our circles. His writings are not without merit.”

His words were mostly self-serving, but had Airplane brother been in his shoes, Shen Yuan would have wanted him to elevate his standing in front of his “children.” Even if it was just by a little.

Under the same earnest tone, Shen Yuan insisted, “He might have lost his integrity in the past but he has always held well intentions and wants to see his【creations】flourish. You, especially, were his original written masterpiece.”

Luo Binghe’s gaze fell on the pale fingers encircled around his wrists. “And where does Shen Yuan fall into all this?”

In life, it was not possible to bloom bright flowers from lies. Try as he might to hide it, his smile became strained from the memories of his painful past—of how much time he’d wasted, how much rénmínbì he’d spent out of his own wallet. Shen Yuan confessed, “I was once an admirer of his before I grew disillusioned. Your life is full of tragic misunderstandings. That’s why I want to see if I can rewrite the travesty of the future you’ve been shoehorned into. Your journey has been of interest to me the moment he【birthed】you and this world.”

Luo Binghe’s hands refused to budge from him no matter how much force was exerted. Shen Yuan frowned.

“Is your remark real?” Seeing Shen Yuan’s confusion, he clarified, “That you would be willing to overstep boundaries and break from celestial tradition to offer your support to this lord?”

“I’m not being facetious.” Shen Yuan scrutinized his handsome features. “We know what you are meant to do. Fēijī gē had set you up for greatness. With your power, you will surely achieve justice and bring the evils of the Three Realms to judgement, and unify the realms as the Sacred Ruler. And once you’ve served your purpose, your story is at its end. I’ve seen your ending. Your great legacy will ultimately be remembered as nothing more than a tragic, bitter wastrel who, even with your accomplishments, had wasted away and perished under suspicious circumstances.”

Dark storm clouds gathered in Luo Binghe’s expression.

“But knowing all that, what does Luo Binghe want to do?” Shen Yuan spoke brusquely. “Don’t care what I think. You have free will, do you not? It’s one thing for me to advise you against the misfortunes you’ll encounter. But do you even want to be a Sacred Ruler? I would like to hear the input of his own creation.”

“...In the eyes of the virtuous, this lord will always be a wicked and unspeakable evil that must be slayed. In the eyes of aristocrats, I will never get ahead. To them, I will always be the son of a penniless washerwoman.” His voice had been calm and waveless, but there was a trace of heavy tension—and a fatalism that’d felt suffocating. With the air of a galvanized, hot-blooded warlord in battle, Luo Binghe declared, “This lord will not find peace until none would dare oppose me, and I attain everything that has been denied to me.”

How selfish, Shen Yuan couldn’t help but think. But he supposed it made sense. In the past, Luo Binghe had always been the one trampled underfoot, but now that the shoe was on the other foot, it was to be expected he’d want to take everything he thought to belong to him.

He asked Luo Binghe again, “Do you still want to honor Fēijī’s wishes for you and become his Sacred Ruler? Or do you want to travel a different path? The present is different from the past or future. I will respect whichever decision you make.”

Luo Binghe repeated the words “the present is different from the past or future” softly. Those charcoal eyes scrutinized him back.

Shen Yuan had a sudden realisation in his heart when Luo Binghe raised his palm reverently to the back of Shen Yuan’s hand. He kept his expression wooden when a beatific smile bloomed across Luo Binghe’s features, chasing away the prior shadows.

“This lord,” Luo Binghe announced with the finality of a man making a solemn vow, “will never accept Fēijī ’s patronage. Such a thoughtless, presumptuous, good-for-nothing creator is unfit to lick my boots.”

...I express my deepest apologies, Airplane brother. Please do not transmigrate into this world like your Self-Insert in the rebooted novels—or you will be made into mincemeat.

Ping.

【Protagonist A Satisfaction points +99.】

Shen Yuan nearly swallowed his tongue upon hearing it. It took everything in he not to reveal his astonishment. Although he had expected to have made a dent in Luo Binghe’s heart, it was staggering by how much impact his words had! In his incredulity, he’d almost missed what was declared next.

“Instead, this lord shall only truly accept Shen Yuan.” His dark lashes fluttered shut as he lifted their entwined fingers just below his jaw, his breath fanning across Shen Yuan’s knuckles. “My Shizun is honorable, honest, and foreseeing. None can compare. In return for guiding this lord with his oracles, I will ensure they come to pass, and swear to protect him from his back. You will achieve the results desired.”

Oh, my mother. A feeling arose in him that he had somehow enmeshed himself in a trap of his own devising.

“This lord understands. Your heart had suffered so long enduring the injustices this one had to suffer while I was weak and oppressed. Shen Yuan must have felt helpless being unable to directly interfere with matters of the secular world, retained at the residence of the Heavenly Realm and not being allowed to see me. It is because this lord has only now managed to find a way to Shizun that you have seized the opportunity.”

He’d just dealt him a fatal blow. You understand nothing , Shen Yuan wanted to bellow! If this were a tabletop game, then he had just rolled a Nat20 with his Charisma check. It was too good of a roll! Aren’t you just projecting your ideal Shizun onto me?

“Thanking Shizun for the lesson. Your insightfulness continues to impress this lord.”

Shen Yuan’s eyes shook when Luo Binghe lifted his head. And then he realized how close they’d gotten again. Close, too close! He could practically see the jut of his collarbones peeking above the soft fur.

His heart wavered for a moment. Pulling his hand away, he feigned a cough into his fist. Taking the time to regain his composure, he said, “You know, we might not be kinsmen, but helping each other should be just enough to be good friends.”

“An offer of friendship?” His tone was deceptively intimate and unpredictable. To Shen Yuan’s wide eyes, Luo Binghe went to cup his hand over a fist in a formal gesture. Bending the steel sword that was his spine, he proclaimed to him, “Then this lord shall avail to raise his reputation and prowess. To be regarded as worthy in Shen Yuan’s eyes and in the eyes of the Heavens, this one will surpass expectations.”

The soft waves of his dark hair fell over the white fur as Shen Yuan exasperatedly tugged at Luo Binghe’s arms, encouraging the demon lord to stand back up from his unnecessary display of supplication. He had the feeling they’d cleared some sort of checkpoint or hurdle.

How dangerous. The allure of Luo Binghe’s every word and smile were like spring waters trickling gently past Shen Yuan’s ironclad defenses. His own charisma made Shen Yuan, who had resolved to remain highly vigilant, want to believe his words just like that.

He noticed that Luo Binghe had stopped directly at the boundary. The demon lord was looking at the fog as though it had wronged him in some way.

Ping.

【Notifying the Esteemed Host! Skinship is required for Protagonist A to gain entry. Would Protagonist <<SHEN YUAN>> like to add Protagonist <<LUO BINGHE>> to his party? Y/N?】

Since it was like that, he could only comply. Secreting the weary sigh in his heart, Shen Yuan took the initiative. With one step into the swirling white mist, he twisted his body sideways and extended his palm. He gazed at him expectantly.

Without hesitation, Luo Binghe took his hand. And Shen Yuan pulled him into his world.

Ping.

【Congratulations! Protagonist <<LUO BINGHE>> has been successfully added to the party!】

Ping.

【Reloading the map! Loading...loading...success! The simulation has been reconfigured! Jiāyóu, lăoshī!】

[queen-scribbles]

The Thing About Darktown

Just gonna post my Secret Santa fic for @jarinodragonage over here, too, now that she’s seen it. ;D

 ---

“Stop rubbing, you’ll make it worse!”

“It itches!”

“Better that than festering and falling off- Hawke!” Aveline growled in exasperation as the younger woman flinched away, half-done bandages fluttering. “You know, this wouldn’t even be an issue if you’d brought Anders.”

Leigh snorted wryly, rubbing the injury in question with a fervor that hastened the unraveling of the bandages. “There’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear you say.”

“Why not?” Aveline narrowed her eyes and moved after her, cornering Leigh against a boulder and getting a better grip on her arm to redo the patching up that was all but undone now. “Most people would consider it wise to bring a healer if you have one at your disposal. Especially given you usually include him on your... adventures.”

Leigh grinned, hearing the ‘mis’ Aveline clearly wanted to slap in front of the last word. “You’re not enjoying girls’ night out?” she said drolly, waving to where Isabela and Merrill were examining what remained of their foes. “I’m just happy the bad guys are dead and we aren’t.” She grimaced as Aveline pulled the bandages just a little tighter. “Aveline! Are you trying to fix my arm or amputate it?!”

“The former,” Aveline said sternly. “But if the bandages slide, you may wind up needing the latter. There.” She tied off the bandages, tucked the trailing ends under so it wouldn’t snag, and let go of Leigh’s arm. “That should hold you until you can get it seen to, at least.”

“My hero,” Leigh said with a cheeky wink and darted over to help Isabela rifle the corpses for anything good.

“Not leaking any more?” Isabela asked playfully, shifting so Leigh could crouch next to her.

Leigh snorted. “Not for now, at least.” She tested her range of motion and wiggled her fingers. “Kinda stiff, throbs a little, but I can make it back to Kirkwall without drawing down wolves on us in addition to... whatever these gentlemen were supposed to be.” She rolled the body at her feet on its stomach with her good hand and started checking the pouches around the back of the belt. Nothing more valuable than a small collection of pretty pebbles.

“Good to hear,” Isabela laughed. “I’d rather not have anything to do with wolves if we can help it.”

“Oh, but they’re so pretty t’ watch when they hunt,” Merrill piped up, then wrinkled her nose as she processed the context of the remark. “Though they’d be huntin’ us, I suppose, wouldn’t they? Best to avoid that.”

“My thoughts exactly, kitten,” Isabela said with a wink. It only took a few more minutes of searching for her and Leigh to be satisfied they’d found everything of any value. There wasn’t much; this lot were clearly poor and desperate. (Of course, they’d have to be, to attack such a clearly dangerous group as the four of them.) Pretty baubles, a few coppers, and some rusty weapons were the extent of “treasure” they carried. If the poor bastards hadn’t attacked them first, Leigh would have felt bad about killing them. Under the circumstances, however, sympathy was a little hard to come by. She rubbed at the bandages again and pretended she didn’t hear Aveline sigh.

---

To Leigh’s vast relief, they were not hassled by wolves or anything else on their way back to Kirkwall, despite the setting sun and lengthening shadows. Her arm was starting to really ache, and she wasn’t sure how much help she’d be in a fight. Still, she waved off the others’ concern when they reached the city, insisted they go their own ways. “I think I can make it to Anders’ clinic by myself,” she said glibly when Aveline offered to come with her. She turned a grin toward Isabela and Merrill. “Save me a seat when you get to the Hanged Man? I’ll be over when I’m done.”

“You got it, sweet thing,” Isabela laughed, then looped her arm through Merrill’s as they headed for the tavern.

Aveline hesitated a moment longer; until Leigh made a shooing motion toward the Viscount’s Keep. “Go on, Avs, I know walking Darktown is more exciting than all the paperwork sitting on your desk, but I’ll be okay. Promise.”

Aveline shook her head and huffed (yet) another sigh. “Just... be careful, Hawke.”

“The very model of,” Leigh promised with a glib wave. “See you around, guard captain.”

Sh waited until she was well out of sight from all of them before rubbing hard at the bandages again, directly over the stinging gash across her bicep. It itched, worse than well, pretty much anything she could remember.

“Good thing it’s not too far to the clinic,” she muttered, balling her hand into a fist as the wound started to throb more pointedly, keeping time with her heartbeat.  “Sooner I take care of this, the better.”

Leigh knew the safest route through Darktown to Anders’ clinic. She also knew the fastest route through Darktown to Anders’ clinic. This injury was enough of an annoyance that today she went for speed over safety. She could handle herself, after all, and was very clearly armed. She doubted anyone would fuck with her in the first place, and she’d deal with them if they did.

Still, she kept her eyes open and on her surroundings as she walked, tried not to let her thoughts wander.

It’s a good thing those were just common bandits, still wormed its way through her brain. Skilled as they all were, she was less accustomed to fighting alongside Aveline, Isabela, and Merrill. They’d lacked the synergy she had gotten used to. There were times it was as if she and Fenris read each others’ minds in a fight, they knew Varric’s rhythm and could avoid being skewered by the bolts meant for their enemies, and Aveline had been correct--it was very useful having a healer along.

She missed a step and almost tumbled. Right. No wandering thoughts, Leigh reprimanded herself as she caught her balance. She’d drawn some attention from a knot of hard-faced individuals with her near-fall, but fortunately her cloak hung over the evidence she was wounded. Still, no reason to linger.

Leigh curled her hand around the hilt of a dagger when one of the loungers kept staring her direction a little too long, but the sense of eyes on her faded when she rounded the next corner, so she relaxed her grip. She kept her pace brisk, and the wariness had faded somewhat by the time she passed the [waste] chute that marked halfway. While she didn’t rub the still-itching wound again, she did press her hand over it and bite her lip. The pressure felt good. She’d have to mention that to Anders, see if it meant anything bad he should know about before healing her up.

It was after the next corner everything went to shit. She rounded it too tightly, and her injured arm rammed against the edge precisely where the two walls met. Leigh let out an instinctual yelp at the burst of pain that flared through her arm and set stars dancing behind her eyes. She gritted her teeth to clamp down on it, but the damage was done.

“Need a hand, lovely?” The speaker, a rangy elf with a shaved head and facial tattoos, leaned against the wall and flashed an indolent grin.

“I’m fine, thanks,” Leigh shot back with a decent tinge of snark. “Just tad clumsy.”

“Sure? Darktown’s no place to be wanderin’ alone.” The contrast of the deep red tattoos curving up his cheekbones made the glint in his eyes seem all the more dangerous. And as he spoke, two other figures--another elven man and a human woman--sidled up with a faux-casual air that had goosebumps prickling Leigh’s arms.

“That’s why I’m trying to get it over with, Red-- Can I call you Red?” she said with a cheeriness she didn’t really feel, sizing them up as she spoke. Red had picked his spot well; even leaning against the wall he was close enough to grab her unless she was very fast. The other elf would be in the way if she went for her original path, and the woman now stood just enough to the side she could back up either of her friends handily.

“Oh, a funny one,” Red chuckled, not deigning to comment on her assigning him a nickname. “Y’know, it might go faster--definitely safer--if you hand Cob there” --a nod toward his fellow elf--”all your coin.”

“It might, huh?” Her arm twinged, and Leigh shifted the odds a few points in their favor. Good thing I tend to beat the odds... “If I had any on me, I’d be sure to share it with such a beleaguered innocent as... Cob.” She arched her brows toward the elf. His scraggly blond hair and jaundiced complexion actually did bear passing resemblance to a corncob. “Sadly, I think I left my coinpurse in my other cloak.”

“Bullshit,” the woman snarled, hand drifting to the short-bladed sword. “Who the fuck travels without any money?”

“Me, the fuck,” Leigh returned brightly, shifting just a little. If she got very lucky and timed it just right, she could probably slip away. “But if you don’t believe me, you can look for yourself.”

Her good hand yanked the clasp of her cloak and pulled it free to toss toward Red and the woman as Leigh lunged low and outside past Cob.

He snagged her elbow and tried to hold her back, but she tore free, stumbled a few steps before catching her balance.

Just in time to trip over the booted foot that appeared in front of her ankles. Leigh cursed under her breath and lurched semi-sideways as she was forced to balance again. Her instincts proved good; a pitted blade swung uncomfortably close to her shoulder. She freed one of her daggers with her good hand and spun to parry the next blow. She was just barely fast enough to redirect it into the moldering wall. Her other fist was already swinging after it, and she connected with the female thug’s cheekbone and sent her reeling into Cob. Pain flared in Leigh’s knuckles and up her arm, but at least she’d gained some breathing room--

The hairs at the nape of her neck prickled. She jerked sideways and there was a frustrated growl as Red’s swing went wide.

“Amber, Cob, get it together and help me gut this bitch!” he barked as he lunged forward in another swipe at Leigh’s midriff. Apparently he’d meant it literally.

The two of them grumbled as they recovered, glaring at her and circling to pen her in.

Leigh fought back a grimace and ran through her options. What few she had.

She feinted left, then went straight, ramming a shoulder into Cob’s chest and her dagger cutting a shallow scarlet line across Amber’s arm. They pivoted after her quickly, but at least she wasn’t pinned against a wall any more.

Red lunged forward, and even as she parried his dagger, he punched the bandaged portion of her arm. Hard.

Leigh spat a curse and slammed her elbow into his jaw. Her dagger slashed across his cheek as she followed through, and she kicked the inside of his knee for good measure.

Three on one meant no respite, however, and even as she spun away from Red, Amber closed in. Leigh ducked under the blow aimed at her head, but wasn’t quite fast enough to avoid the other woman’s buckler. The edge of the small shield caught her in the jaw with a crack.

Leigh ran her tongue over the new cut, tasted copper, and lunged. For Red, not Amber.

None of them were expecting that, and Red’s reflexes were just a little too slow as a result. He didn’t get his blades up in time to parry and Leigh’s dagger sank in the hollow of his collarbone. 

He gave an airless gasp, then a wet cough, and dropped.

Crimson flew in an arc from Leigh’s dagger as it came free and she spun to face the other two. Amber and Cob charged her from opposite directions and she backpedaled, angling to the right and pivoting she she could gouge the back of Cob’s thigh as he passed her.

She didn’t cut deep enough to hit anything vital, but he still toppled with a curse. He lashed out and the pommel of his dagger slammed into the side of her knee.

Combined with Leigh’s momentum, it took her down and sent her rolling into the wall. She banged her head hard enough to see stars, and when they cleared, Amber was standing over her, grip tight on her sword and a sneer curling her lips

She raised the blade even as Leigh scrambled mentally for an out. “You could’ve avoided this if you’d just done as you were tol-”

The gloating words cut off, her shoulders jerking forward as the front six inches of a greatsword emerged from her chest.

“She’s never been good at that,” Fenris said dryly as he pulled his sword free, gaze shifting from the slain thug to Leigh, concern and amusement mingled in his eyes. “despite ample evidence it is not always a bad thing.”

“What can I say, I’m a rebel,” Leigh returned glibly, pushing herself up to a sitting position and leaning her head back against the wall. “Not that I’m unhappy to see you, Fenris, but where the fuck did you come from?”

He chuckled and let his sword hang loosely in one hand as he offered her the other. “The Hanged Man. I was meeting Donnic for drinks, but Isabela mentioned you’d been injured-”

“And you wanted to check on me?” Leigh teased, grinning playfully as she took his hand. “I’m touched.”

Fenris snorted and hauled her up, so fast it almost felt like flying. “I figured you would head for the clinic,” he corrected. He maintained a steadying grip on her forearm when she wobbled. “I wanted to ensure your safe arrival, knowing what Darktown is like.” He punctuated the words with a glare at Cob. 

“My hero,” Leigh said, with a little more sincerity than when she’d tossed the same words at Aveline. “Normally I’d protest I’m a big girl and can handle myself, but today I think I’ll go with ‘thanks for the rescue’.”

Fenris nodded, then tipped his head toward Cob, who now sat glaring up at them with a hand pressed to the back of his thigh. “And what of him?”

Leigh shrugged, not liking the soreness already settling in her muscles. I really need to see Anders. “Eh, just leave him be.”

“What?!” Cob barked. “You kill my friends, cripple me, and you’re just going to leave?!”

“Hey, you lot attacked me, asshole,” Leigh fired back, grasping Fenris’ arm to hold him back when his markings flickered and he tensed. “After I tried to avoid a fight. You’re lucky I’m not askin’ him to finish you off. My cloak’s somewhere around here; you can have that to patch yourself up. But I need to be on my way. After all, it’s not safe to linger in Darktown.”

She went to make a dramatic exit, and her knee almost gave out. Fenris caught her, pulled her back upright, and only paused to sheath his sword before draping her arm around his shoulders for support.

“Thanks,” Leigh whispered, limping heavily as they walked away.

“You are most welcome,” Fenris replied, in that soft, low murmur that sent warmth curling all the way to her toes. “Let’s get you to Anders.”

---

The rest of the walk was uneventful, which Leigh credited to the protective air radiating from Fenris. Anders was, thankfully, not busy when they arrived and immediately turned his attention to fussing over her. He and Fenris exchanged the occasional sniping remark, as the latter insisted on ‘hovering’ nearby, no doubt concerned about the fresh blood seeping through Leigh’s bandages.

The battering from her alley scuffle was easily healed--and she did mention Cob to Anders, just in case he’d feel inclined to help the man. But Anders frowned when he unwrapped the bandages around her arm. “Hawke, this is from today?”

“Just a couple hours ago,” Leigh nodded. “We were already on our way back to the city, and I headed here soon as we made it. Why-” She turned to look and grimaced at the angry red edges to the wound. “Oh.”

“It’s good you came straight here,” Anders said, then glanced at Fenris. “Well, nearly. There must’ve been something on the blade, deliberately or not.” He murmured a quiet spell, fingers tracing through the air before he laid his hand over the wound.

The spell rolled through her with a cleansing prickle that gave her goosebumps for a minute before fading. But the near-insufferable itching was gone. Anders’ hand flexed again, and healing magic chased the cleansing spell to knit flesh back together.

Leigh’s slumped with relief. “Thanks, handsome,” she winked as she gave that shoulder an experimental roll. “Much better.” All better, there wasn’t even a scar.

“Always happy to help,” Anders said with a tired smile. “Your knee might still be sore,” he cautioned as she started to stand. “You might want to take it easy for a day or two.”

“I will accompany you,” Fenris offered, soon as she’d made it to her feet. “To be safe, of course.”

“Of course,” Leigh chuckled. Her knee seemed alright, but she’d never pass up his company. She thanked Anders again, then she and Fenris headed out.

“Hawke, it’s this way,” Fenris commented when she walked past the turn that would lead back to Hightown.

“I’m going to the Hanged Man, not home,” Leigh said with a smile and a shrug. “Promised I’d join ‘Bela and Merrill. And I can take it easy there just as well as at home.” Better; at the Hanged Man she’d be around people. Friends.

His shoulders tensed, and she could almost see his overprotective instincts winding up, before he relaxed and nodded. “I shall accompany you there, then, instead.”

Leigh snickered. “That worried about me tumbling in a ditch somewhere, are you?” 

“There are plenty to choose from in this city,” Fenris deadpanned. “Or perhaps I wish to offer back up in case anyone is fool enough to attack you.”

“Oh, thank you. Whatever the reason, I’ll happily take your company.”

She hadn’t really meant to say it, no matter how glib her tone,and he clearly didn’t know how to reply, so they walked in almost-awkward silence for a minute.

“So, how many poor sods did you inadvertently terrorize on your way down through Darktown?” Leigh finally asked, playfully nudging his shoulder, before the silence became too much.  

“I... do not know,” Fenris admitted. He glanced at her. “I was too preoccupied to notice.”

Oh. She bit her lip and cleared her throat. “Bet you get turned into a phantom in children’s stories now,” she teased, struggling to make the words light-hearted. “You know, the ghost who’ll snatch them away if they get out of bed in the middle of the night.”

“Just what I’ve always wanted,” he said dryly, and Leigh couldn’t help but snort a laugh.

“It would fit, though,” she said, flashing a mischievous grin. “You glow, you... pass through things--or people, at least.. Practically writes itself. I should tell Varric.”

Fenris groaned, but there was something half-hearted about it, and she caught the smile he tried to hide. “I’m certain he has better things to do.”

“Better, maybe. But not more fun.”

Their easy pace during the conversation had carried them to within a stone’s throw of the tavern, and Leigh paused, turning to rest a hand on Fenris’ arm. “All joking aside, I am truly grateful you came swooping to my rescue.”

Fenris caught her gaze and held it as he took a breath, then slowly exhaled.  “Anytime, Leigh.”

He leaned ever so slightly into her touch, then stepped away and headed inside the Hanged Man. Leigh’s hand curled into a loose fist, and she closed her eyes to take a deep breath before trailing after him.

Isabela and Merrill greeted her cheerfully, and Leigh was all too happy to let their company and the general tavern cacophony distract her from... anything else.

(She caught a glimpse of silver-white hair across the bustling space and hastily focused back on Isabela’s challenge to a hand of Wicked Grace.)

Anyone else. 

[benvoliosantodomingo]

BELLAMY SANTO DOMINGO | THE KEEPER

“what is your religion? [...] - to love what is good and beautiful when i see it.” - george eliot 

basic information 

full name : bellamy santo domingo meaning : bellamy ( french ) - “fine friend” santo ( latin ) - “holy or devout” domingo ( spanish ) “of the lord” 

nicknames(s) : bell, bells  preferred names(s) : bellamy, bell, bells  birthdate : may 21st, 1995 age : 24 zodiac : taurus gender : male pronouns : he / his romantic : panromantic sexual orientation : bisexual nationality : Italian ethnicity : italian / brazilian current location : verona, italy living conditions : bellamy lives in an apartment by himself, away from the villa santo domingo. it has large windows that let in a lot of light, two guest rooms for his various friends to move in and out of, a large kitchen even though he can’t really cook worth anything, and he keeps it filled with the things that are important to him. one wall is two large bookshelves, relics from his travels are scattered around the place, and a wall in his bedroom is dedicated to pictures of the people that he loves, and pictures and postcards from his years traveling. its the only place that's ever truly been his, so he’s tried to leave his mark on it as much as possible.  title(s) : benvolio, ufficiale santo domingo, the keeper 

background

birthplace / hometown : bellamy was born and raised in verona. social class : bellamy comes from a wealthy upper-class family, but he never really agreed with everything that came with that distinction--and in comparison to families like the rossos and the montagues he always felt like his own family saw themselves as distinctly lesser. now that he’s an adult and living on his own, he would say that he’s firmly middle class and happy to be so. education level : bellamy has a high school education, and received police training upon returning to verona. father : luca santo domingo mother : ana santo domingo ( née moreno ) sibling(s) : bellamy is the oldest of five, and has only brothers. they aren’t particularly close due to bellamy’s proclivity for gentleness and peace, and the ones that are old enough are particularly devoted to the montague cause, like their parents. he makes an effort to see them occasionally--but it usually doesn't end well.  dante santo domingo ( 22 )  leonardo ( leo ) santo domingo ( 20 ) milo santo domingo ( 17 ) raphael santo domingo ( 13 )  children : none, but he is very much the mom friend.  pet(s) : none, but he’s not opposed to the idea of having one.  other important relatives : part of his travels involved staying with some of his mother’s relatives in brazil, and he has various aunts and uncles that are involved with the montagues in various capacities.  previous relationships : juliana capulet his secret high school girlfriend--two gentle souls who found solace in each other, in abandoning the pretenses they had both been affecting for their families. their relationship ended when bellamy decided to go traveling, but they left on good terms.  carlos de leon a formula one driver that bellamy met while he was staying in spain. he made bellamy momentarily forget everything that he had left behind, and they burned brightly for a few months. he begged bellamy to stay, to leave everything behind and start new, but ultimately bellamy decided to move on.  jack hawthorne a poet and an an american student at oxford that bellamy met while he was in england. they dated intensely for six months, and that was the closest that bellamy ever got to really considering staying somewhere--but ultimately there was more of the world that he wanted to see, and he wasn’t willing to give up on the people he had back in verona. they’re still close, and text from time to time.  arrests? : none, he’s the one with the strict charge of bailing others out of jail.  prison time? : none. 

occupation + home

primary source of income : the salary he earns from being a police officer.  secondary source of income : his salary as a soldato, and a trust fund account from his parents which he uses as sparingly as possible. he wants to create a life for himself based on his own merits.  content with their job (or lack thereof?) : bellamy is only on the force because the montagues placed him there upon his return--if he had a choice he would do pretty much anything else. there are aspects of the job that he likes, but he detests having to stand by and watch violence occur just because its in the montague name, or arriving moments too late to stop the cruelty from occurring. once upon a time, he’d imagined that he might study to be a poet, or a writer of some kind, but he’s since pretty much given up on that.  past job(s) : he picked up odd jobs on his travels whenever his funds started to get a little bit light--waiting tables, local bookshops, things he could pick up and leave pretty easily.  spending habits : bellamy’s parents presented him with a trust fund account as their way of taking care of him once he was out of their sight--but he doesn’t like to use it that often. it’s money they gained at the expense of others, and its their excuse for not having to think about him. he doesn't believe in spending money just for the hell of it, to show off what you have--he gets only what he needs to make himself comfortable, to make himself happy, with the salary that he earns from his job. his parents money gets donated to charities most of the time--shelters, food banks, organizations that stand against mob violence, no matter how small they may be.  most valuable possession(s) : an old t-shirt he stole from marcelo on a particularly bad night that still has their scent, and a daisy that roman had once tucked behind his ear that he keeps pressed in-between the pages of a book. 

skills + abilities 

physical strength : 7/10

bellamy keeps himself in good shape, and his job requires him to be able to lift heavy objects, or even people out of harm’s way if necessary. he’s not as strong as someone like marcelo, who works out regularly and with the specific purpose of being able to overpower other people, but he can hold his own. 

offense : 6/10

bellamy doesn’t believe in violence, and would much rather talk his way out of an altercation. however, he’s had effective tutors throughout his life who insisted that he be able to keep himself safe, and hold his own if the need ever arose, so he knows the basics. 

defense : 6/10

again, he is capable of holding his own should the need arise, but he doesn’t go out of his way to practice the skills, and he would prefer to do just about anything other than get into a physical altercation. 

speed : 8/10

bellamy’s preferred method of exercise is running, and his job requires him to be able to take off running at a moment’s notice, so his strength really is his speed. it also comes from childhood and teenage years running from whatever mess his friends got themselves into, so that he could bail them out later. 

intelligence : 8/10

bellamy is primarily intuitive, rather than classically educated and booksmart. he has a talent for reading people, and for reading emotion. he did grow up among the books of the verona library however, and has always been a voracious reader, and has taught himself a lot over the years. 

accuracy : 5/10

he hates shooting a gun, and his hands shake pretty much every time he has to draw it. he’s just good enough to pass the test to get on the police force, nothing more. 

agility : 8/10

he’s young, and a youth spent raising hell on the streets with his friends meant he developed a good deal of agility--he can hop a fence, a wall, or scale a fire escape with ease. 

stamina : 7/10

bellamy is physically fit, and trains pretty regularly, so his stamina is pretty above average. however, he has a low tolerance for pain and when he gets hurt it generally tends to really hurt. 

teamwork : 9/10

bellamy loves working with other people, and his skillset lies directly in his ability to communicate--he recognizes that no one ever really does anything alone, and that the future he envisions, in particular, will require as many people as he can convince of its plausibility. he can however, be blind and obstinate when his friends are brought into the equation--he will choose them above anyone else, every time. 

talents : bellamy has some talents as a writer, though he would never admit to it. he's skilled at communicating, at convincing other people to believe in his ideas, and he’s also very good at doing so in a way that never strays from genuine. he’s also pretty good at surfing, driving, and dancing.  shortcomings : bellamy is loyal to a fault--it would be easier to convince people of his crusade for peace if he could detach himself from the people in his life would oppose such an idea, but he never will. he also tends to be stubborn, and idealistic to a near fault. his life hinges on his ability to see peace brought to the streets of verona, and he refuses to consider that that might not be a real possibility.  languages spoken : italian, english, a little bit of portuguese, a little bit of french, and a little bit of spanish. drive? : yes, and at speeds that probably wouldn’t be considered “safe” or “legal”.  jump start a car? : yes!  change a flat tire? : yes!  ride a bicycle? : yes!  swim? : yes!  play an instrument? : no--his father played the guitar, and bellamy briefly considered learning, but got bored pretty quickly.  play chess? : no--there was always something more interesting for him to be doing, somewhere else.  braid hair? : yes, for the benefit of his friends exclusively.  tie a tie? : yes, and a bowtie.  pick a lock? : no, that’s what he had roman and marcelo for. 

physical appearance + characteristics 

face claim : marlon teixeira eye color : brown hair color : brown hair type / style : its always been curly, and he’s never really been particularly gifted at controlling it, so he generally doesn’t fuss with it.  glasses / contacts? : none dominant hand : right height : 6′2  weight : 175 build : bellamy is tall but solidly built--the muscle that he gains tends to fill him out.  exercise habits : running, boxing, lifting weights, yoga on occasion skin tone : he’s got his mother’s olive complexion.  tattoos : none yet, but he’s considered it a couple of times--he’d like for them to be meaningful, connecting him to the people he cares about.  piercings : none.  marks / scars : bellamy was an active child and carries the scars of that, and he has a very active job that has a tendency to leave him bruised and bleeding.  notable features : his curly hair, his nose, and a nice bone structure.  usual expression : bellamy makes an effort to smile as much as he can, as a kind of defiant act.  clothing style : bellamy has a weakness for nice clothes--he has a couple of designer suits that he’ll break out on occasion, and even his casual wear tends to be high end. he runs the full spectrum--he likes cozy sweaters some days, sportswear others, and some days he just wants to wear a crop top.  jewelry : a watch most days, rings he accumulated on his travels if he’s not on duty.  makeup : a little bit eyeliner, if he’s going out.  allergies : jerks!  diet : bellamy can cook well enough to stay alive, but he's not particularly gifted. he knows a few of his mom’s old recipes, and he can follow along with the food network, but he’s not really skilled enough to branch out and be adventurous by himself. he does like trying new things--he’s frequented a lot of out of the way restaurants in verona, and he’s totally that guy that will tell you that a particular dish is made better at a distant locale where you wouldn’t expect it to be made better. he notably is not phased at all by spice.  physical ailments : none. 

psychology 

jung type : ISFJ enneagram type : type 2, the helper. the caring interpersonal type: generous, demonstrative, people pleasing, possessive  moral alignment : neutral good  temperament : melancholic element : earth primary intelligence type : intra-personal Intelligence. mental conditions / disorders : bellamy struggles with anxiety.  sociability : bellamy is incredibly sociable--he draws his strength from other people, he has a deep and abiding love for humanity as a whole and believes wholeheartedly that they are capable of good. the only time he has a tendency to withdraw is when he’s well and truly upset--he’s used to being something solid for everyone else to lean against, and he doesn’t want them to worry about him.  emotional stability : bellamy tends to feel everything very deeply, and makes it a point to not hide that about himself. he grew up in a household where he was expected to keep his emotions in check, to channel them into violence and aggressive behavior, so as he’s been on his own he’s always been very outward about his expression. when he’s upset, he’s well and truly upset and its obvious. when he’s happy, he’s out and he likes to be among people.  obsession(s) : bringing peace to verona, and ending the mob war. when he was younger he fell deeply in love with the written word, and spent most of his teenage years drinking in every book he could get his hands on.  compulsion(s) : bellamy has a bit of a savior complex--if he sees someone in need, he feels compelled to try and do something, even when there might be nothing to be done.  phobia(s) : bellamy fears losing his loved ones, leaving him alone, deeply.  addiction(s) : none.  drug use : recreationally when he was younger, when he was in social situations. since he’s been back in verona and on the police force he’s tended to stay away from them.  alcohol use : mostly socially, but those tend to be heavy binges. he drinks when he’s truly upset, as a kind of last resort coping mechanism.  prone to violence? : absolutely not--he believes that most situations can be diffused without resorting to violence, and that violence is a plague that has swept through verona unchecked for hundreds of years. he prefers to resolve things with his words, with his voice, or to exit a situation entirely. if he feels its a last resort, he might turn to it, but it would have to be a desperate situation. 

mannerisms 

speech style : it depends on the situation--he generally speaks like a young person, with a lot of slang, and sometimes at more of a loud volume. if he really believes in what he’s talking about, he tends to speak very forcefully, with a lot of hand gestures and eye contact, with clear and concise language. he’s a gifted speaker who knows how to tailor his manner of speaking depending on audience.  accent : italian quirks : he’s always playing with his hair in one way or another, his manners tend to be less on the formal side because he grew up in a big family, he always gets up before the sun if he can help it.   hobbies : reading, writing, drawing, taking photographs, dancing, he’s trying to learn how to cook better, shopping nervous ticks : whenever bellamy’s nervous his hands start to get a tremor in them.  drives / motivations : what drives bellamy is the idea that a better future exists--a future where the people he loves will live and grow old, will do the things that bring them joy. he just has to figure out how to change things, to convince people to see that future in the same way that he does. he’s very motivated by his makeshift family, by making sure that they are safe and well taken care of. his primary motivation has always been kindness, everything he does comes from that place inside of him.  fears : he fears losing himself in this war, as well as losing the people that he loves about. he fears that violence will corrupt beyond what he can save, that he will have to bury the family that he’s made for himself.  positive traits : kind, selfless, optimistic negative traits : none he’s an angel he can be stubborn, he can be blindly optimistic, and he tends to be kind of a martyr at times.  sense of humor : more on the dark and dry side--its a side effect of being friends with marcelo rosso for so long.  do they curse often? : yes! he’s young and his family consists of his friends, he’s never felt the need to clean it up for them. 

favorites

activity : writing next to a sunlit window.  animal : all of them beverage : anything fruity book : the sword in the stone by t.h. white, maurice by e.m. forster, one hundred years of solitude by gabriel garcia marquez, the collected poems of john keats, the return of the king by j.r.r. tolkien  color : green  designer : thom browne, prada, louis vuitton  food : he has his issues with his mother--but she remains the best cook he’s ever known. he misses her brazilian food every day, as well as her high tolerance for spice.  flower : sunflower  gem : tourmaline  holiday : halloween  movie : the lord of the rings trilogy, an american in paris, eternal sunshine of the spotless mind  quote / saying : ”the future has several names. for the weak it is impossible; for the faint hearted it is unknown; for the valiant, it is ideal.” - victor Hugo scent : bright and floral  sport : football (soccer)  television show : parks and recreation, cooking shows, queer eye  weather: warm and with relentless sunshine  vacation destination : são paolo, brazil 

attitudes 

greatest dream : seeing his friends grow old and build happy lives for themselves.  most at ease when : he’s with the people that he cares about--they know him as well as anyone he shares blood with ever could.  least at ease when : he’s on the job, specifically when he has to draw his weapon. any kind of combat situation makes him uneasy.  worst possible thing that could happen : he resigns himself to life in the mob, realizes that peace is unattainable in verona, and becomes like his parents and everyone else in the montague ranks.  biggest achievement : leaving verona when he was 18 years old, and seeing what else the world had to offer.  biggest regret : allowing himself to be lured back, allowing the montagues to put him in the verona police force.  top priorities : keeping his loved ones safe and alive, building a better world for them to live in. 

[theliteraryanalistist]

Ch. 04 - 06 Dune Analysis

For Chapter 4 let’s pay special attention to the epigraph.  The book passes over the fact that Pual had no playmates of his own age, in favor of his father’s closest compatriots and partisans.  In truth this would socially stunt a person and has many and myriad impacts, but the book glosses over it, and it’s not really relevant to us and our analysis so so will we.

The epigraph gives us not so much the truth of the characters it describes, but the core trait by which we will know them.  Thufir his assassin-knowledge, Gurney his bardic skills, Duncan his honor and swordsmanship, Yueh his traitorship, and Duke Leto his status as a father.  These traits do not a whole person make, and yet we will know each of them first and foremost by these marks.  The longer each of them lives the better we will know them, the more complex and complete a person will be shown to us, but by and large these are not people, these are silhouettes.  Shadows who will stand tall in Paul’s memories and ours.

And so the scene opens with Thufir’s point of view.  The Dune film seems to be decentering Thufir for some reason.  Perhaps to play up a mystery of who the real traitor is?  Perhaps because the film producers don’t consider him as important to the narrative and the themes?  In either case, in my professional opinion, they are making a mistake.  Thufir presents the paradox of a would-be conscientious ruling house.  The love and wisdom of a kind teacher, the cold logic and ruthlessness of a hardened killer.  He also serves as an excellent foil to the Harkonnen’s own mentat assassin.  One kind and direct.  One manipulative and cruel.  

Hawat and Paul banter a bit, building both of their characters and being endearing.  Meanwhile we are faced with the realities of a family which considers assassination and threat to their life a matter of course.  Thufir goes to leave, but not before leaving us with a gem, “Parting with friends is a sadness.  A place is only a place.”  As readers we’re left to measure the many sayings and wisdoms offered us from the characters time and again.  I find this one particularly compelling.

Out goes Thufir and in comes Gurney.  Gurney is as ugly as he is funny.  A jokester, a singer, a weaponsmaster, he banters with Paul as well.  Paul is lost in the melancholy of leaving and says he is not in the mood for fighting.  Gurney is ired by this and commits to a duel with Paul, frightening Paul, knocking away his ill mood, and teaching Paul (and us) a valuable lesson that conflict comes not when we’re ready for it, but when it comes.  Along the way, valuable worldbuilding is done, specifically on the part of explaining the function of shields (which enable so many of the anachronisms we see in Dune.  Ironically the prevalence of shields now helps lay the seeds for a discomfort when they are gone some way down the line.

Chapter 5 largely continues the work of Chapter 4, introducing Yueh to us in a new day.  The leap to Yueh’s POV is a sharp one because we are constantly faced with the reality of Yueh’s betrayal.  It tortures him like no other.  Speaking again of the upcoming film, I hope they capture this conflict in Yueh’s heart.  The histories of Arrakis may remember Yueh as a traitor, let us as readers remember the hurt done to him, and how it all spiraled back to the Harkonnens and their desire for blood.  Certainly the Harkonnens are violent and detestable capitalists who’d rape worlds and peoples for their wealth and labor, enslaving all until they lived in perfect gluttonous luxury.  But in my experience people don’t match that description.  Those who are violent and conquering are often coded that way by the societies that formed them, pressed on by cultural and social forces, and ciphered into the mold of conquerors by the vision we have paved of history.  So does violence become a self-replicating cycle.  The machine of conquest to satiate some small original desire always consuming and self-replicating until the empire has spread its webs too wide and it collapses in upon itself, burning all in its ouroboric consumption.  

But I’m getting off the beaten path here.  Suffice it to say, vengeance bad, capitalism bad, Harkonnen bad.  Chapter 5 ends as Yueh leaves.

Chapter 6, the final of these oh-so-important introductions begins with the introduction of Paul’s father: The Duke Leto Atreides.  We are given some physical and figurative descriptions of the man as he and his son dispense their pleasantries.  They move on to discuss the dangers and gains that the planet Dune may bring.  Amongst these gains are a CHOAM directorship.  The discussions of the CHOAM company have always been fascinating to me.  And as I grow in understanding of economics I reap more and more rewards with each rereading.  As the CHOAM company loomed larger and larger with each rereading I came to understand it as more and more potent.  Originally it washed beneath my notice, then it became a measure of the various Faufreluches factions’ power.  Money is power afterall.  But false platitudes aside, I’m struck by something new with this reading.  There is an implication that the CHOAM company holds price lists for all the commodities of the Imperium and thus sets the prices and that’s... not how that works.  Price is set by what traders will be willing to buy and sell the price for (and in this universe what tithes the Spacing Guild will charge for the transport of said goods).  Perhaps the CHOAM company acts as the market through which goods are bought/sold?  But it doesn’t seem to be structured that way.  If it doesn’t imply set prices then the alternative is it implies that you can purchase stock in a commodity?  From my understanding you’d want to own stock in the firm that produces a good so this doesn’t gel with my understanding of economics either?  The last possibility, and the one I find most likely is that the CHOAM company itself acts as a single megafirm and the Houses (and other political/financial actors) are commissioned to produce certain goods and they get a return on the sale of said goods.  There is some textual evidence to support this, as Harkonnen was said to previously act under a CHOAM contract to mine the spice, and control over Arrakis was said to grant the House Atreides a directorship in the CHOAM company.  As a short aside Duke Leto refers to a directorship in the CHOAM company as a subtle advantage which???  It seems a pretty obvious and powerful advantage?  My jokes aside, wealth is easily translatable into power, especially in this dual feudal/capitalist worldscape.

All of this is digression however.  The scene continues and the two discuss knowing that the world of Arrakis is a trap.  It occurs to me that this understanding of Arrakis is a trap is itself a trap for us the reader.  A shadow of the shielded dueling style.  The fast attack attracts the eyes whilst the slow blow penetrates the shield.  So too are our senses addled as the great trap rears its ugly head and closes shut its jaws.  But I’m digging too far into the future.  For now, understand that this discussion of the trap helps enhance the suspense, and is a thematic parallel to worldbuilding elements.  

In addition to the discussion of traps, we come to understand something of the ferocity of the Sardaukar, and with them as a lens, learn of the Fremen as even more fearsome.  So the mythmaking continues, and we are inundated in a world of people both larger than and smaller than life.  

The scene ends with a discussion of mentats, and an explanation of something of Paul’s hyperawareness and intuitive leaps he’s made so far.  It ends with the discussion of how formidable a mentat duke would be.  And truth be told I’m still entranced by the idea.  A mentat Duke ruling his fief and making war against the Harkonnens.  It would have been an fascinating story.  But the implications for the story are far greater.  Paul’s latent and trained mentat abilities will have a far greater impact for his latent geriatric abilities.  And those, we’ll explore in time.

[adorkabletodd]

Green as Emerald (Jason Todd x Reader)

Soulmate AU! Whenever you lose something it'll end up in your soulmate's hands/possession. You'll never find it again, until you find your soulmate. Things you forgot existed also goes to your soulmate and vice versa.

This is dedicated to my favorite necklace which I lost at some point in my life and I just like to think it ended up somewhere in good hands, so enjoy this short fanfic. I try to make the reader gender neutral here and the story is in first person so hope that's okay.

Warnings: mild curse words, no nsfw

Word count: 1303

---

I've lost a good portion of pens and pencils throughout my life, and I never really made a big deal out of it. Everyone's been through that right? You lost that one eraser from high school, you either borrow it from someone else or you bought a new one. That has never been the case now that I lost something most valuable to me.

Mom and dad used to tell me that every lost possession that I own would somehow end up in my soulmate's hands. That's the story of how they met, anyway. I didn't want to believe in such things. Maybe it's because I never met a person who claims to have found my objects.

I used to believe the person that I loved was the one, but until a certain point I found out they didn't hold any of my possessions and I never got hold of theirs. It's not really the reason why we part ways but that topic is not important right now.

What have I lost you may wonder?

A necklace. It wasn't just any fancy necklace though. My mom came back home from a business trip and she brought me an emerald stone. The gem wasn't real though but I never minded that part. I didn't know what to do with it at first until she suggested to use my crafting skills and turn it into a necklace.

Bought some cheap strings and small steel wire, I wrapped it around the stone and before I knew it I've made something memorable. That necklace had been with me through so many memories. I wore it on my graduation, on the day I got my first job, even on the day my parents died. I've held onto it as if it's my own heart. Now, I'm not so sure if it's somewhere safe with the person I don't even know existed.

I moved to Gotham city a few months ago because my boss offered a better position here than back in Star City. Especially in a place like Gotham, but it still pays.

One night, as I made my way home I heard grumbling noises. The streets were awful quiet and I ready myself for some random lunatic to get the jump on me. I'm a few steps away from my apartment building and from the corner of my eye, I saw a body fell from the top of my apartment roof.

My heart raced as I saw them landed on the dumpster in the alley. Before I could think, I raced towards the body. My jaw slightly dropped and I covered my mouth to prevent the slightest gasping noise at what I saw.

"Oh, God.."

A man wearing a leather jacket and a red helmet. His red bat insignia placed on his chest. I've heard of him. The infamous Red Hood. I scan the area for any signs of bad guys, hoping I don't have to deal with any of his enemies.

When red stains started flowing through his stomach, I felt my body moved on its own. Quickly, I grab on to him and lifted him up with all of my strength. Thank god he fell from the sky right next to my apartment building, or else I don't know what to do. I couldn't leave him alone here to die, the best I can do is help him recover as much as I can.

---

This is a stupid idea. Great job (Y/N).

Sure, letting in a vigilante in my own home, patch him up and have him pass out in my living room couch. What do I have to gain from this?

I don't know much about Gotham and its protector Batman, but I do know that when I see that same bat symbol on his chest I shouldn't worry about him murdering me. When I changed from my work clothes I went back to the living room to check on him. When he wasn't laying down on my couch my head shot towards the window and saw him. When he heard the sound of my footsteps walking in his body tensed swung towards my way with such alertness, pointing a gun towards my face.

"Nice to know you're well enough to point a gun at my face." I slightly raise my hands, hoping he would know that I am no threat to him.

He looked down to the area of his wound, slightly lift up his shirt to check it now with cotton and bandages covered it up. 

"Did you do this?"

"Couldn't have you bleeding to death."

Red Hood lowered his gun as if he didn't know what to do next. "Why'd you help me?" His voice sounded cynical. "It's not every day you get to help out a hero" I shrugged.

"I'm no hero, sweetheart."

For a moment, my heart raced at the nickname he gave me. "Aren't you the only vigilante who's crazy enough to kill his enemies? I don't know much about you bat people but I do know you seem to have the guts to clean this wretched city."

He was silent for a moment before finally places his gun back to his holster. Hand finding its way back towards his wound. I let my own hands fall down. “So do you always patch up every injured vigilante you walk pass by?”

“I have the tendency to help out people in need, never in my life have I helped a man who fights crime at night dressed in tights.”

“Well, I’m glad to be your first” from the sound of his voice, I can practically hear the sly smirk crossing underneath that ridiculous helmet. Without even realizing a smile of my own crept up across my lips. Shaking my head I walk towards the kitchen, "I'm gonna go make some tea. Would you like some, or do you have better vigilante things to do?" My words came out before I could even think. Why did I invite him for tea?! Dumbass, of course, he has better things to do than sit here drinking tea.

His chuckle was a total shock to me, I slightly turn my head and his body seemed to be more relaxed. Great, now I'm tense. "A tempting offer. But, sadly yes I have somewhere I need to be."

I place my kettle on to the stove and turn it on. My body fully turned to Red and I caught my eye on a tiny green light reflecting from his shoulder blades. "So, am I going to start expecting you to fall from the sky again?" My voice wondered, but my mind was still locked in place to his chest.

"And having the chance to get patched up by an angel like you? I'll take my chances." He slides open my window and climbed out, standing on my balcony. Taking out a grappling hook from his belt, his red helmet head turns back to me.

"See you around, sweetheart." Before he disappeared into the night I saw that same green object again, this time I can see it clearly. A stone.

My body became tenser as my open window let in soft breeze flowing my curtains. It couldn't possibly be it. Could it? No way in hell that was the same necklace that I own. How did I not see it when I patched up his wound?

He didn't wear any other accessories when I found him in the trash. He didn't wear anything else when I drop him on my couch.

The steaming kettle pulled me back from my jumbling thoughts and I quickly turned the stove off. As calmly as I could, I made my tea and went back to my room hoping that all of this soulmate bullshit is just a myth.

---

so... I haven’t written a fanfic in such a long time and hope you liked it enough to request me to continue this

[annaspoolstra]

Reading Response #2

🔍Thoughts on “Art is Pretentious” video:

I found it really interesting that the video didn’t deny that art is pretentious. It caught me a little off guard that she actually agreed that both artists and art in general can be pretentious, and actually have to be in order to create art and to be art, respectively. I loved her description of the creative process (1:30). In fact, it made me really think this class is going to debunk a lot of presuppositions I have about art and the artistic process. Sometimes I struggle with identifying myself as an artist, because it can be hard for me to create things. But when she laid out the creative process, I could 100% relate. It starts with insecurity and doubt, interspersed with “brief moments of pleasure at having made something halfway decent” (haha, so true!), followed by summoning enormous amounts of confidence to share your work with others, and concluding with the forever occurrence of what many Instagram artists I follow call “imposter syndrome”. You forever doubt your work’s worth in the eyes of the world, regardless of how many people say they like it. For me, it’s more like my work rarely lives up to my own standards, so it’s hard to accept its worth from others. And it’s hard to go on creating when I’ve made something deemed “bad;” you have to summon perseverance and that hope that the next thing you make will be better.

Gosh it’s stressful being an artist! No wonder the video calls them brave! 😅

🔍Thoughts on “I Could Do That” video:

I’ll be honest, I’m not always the biggest fan of abstract and conceptual art. I’ve gained a more open mind in recent years, but there have been times where I just had to laugh with my mom over our shared confusion and the absurdity of certain pieces. Sometimes abstract pieces look simple enough that I feel like I actually could do them myself. But this video really challenged that thinking. It pointed out that the piece by itself isn’t always meant to tell you the whole story. Every piece of artwork has a backstory, and an explantation (I’ve realized that this is actually part of art for me! I always love learning more of the why behind things). A piece of art may look simple, but that doesn’t mean it’s of little value. So to truly assess the value of artwork, you have to understand the backstory of the piece: the who, what, why, and how behind it. So instead of criticizing the art for being simple, we need to acknowledge that maybe our thinking is that “[t]his doesn’t display a remarkable amount of technical skill, and that’s what I really look for in art.” But that doesn’t mean the piece is worthless, or even of lesser value than a classic painting. As was pointed out in the video, ”[I]t’s not that these [pieces] don’t take skill, they just take different kinds of skill” (4:39).

🔍Further Exploration:

To explore this idea further, I chose to research a piece by Felix González-Torres called Untitled (Perfect Lovers), which depicts two battery-powered clocks side-by-side, ticking in perfect synchronization. At first glance, this is an incredibly simple piece of artwork––in fact, had the two clocks not been positioned side-by-side, you may wonder if it’s even art at all. You can’t understand the significance and inspiration for this piece just by looking at the clocks. So really, especially for conceptual art, the piece itself is just the tip of the iceberg, so to speak. So after doing some research, I found that the clocks represent González-Torres and his lover, Ross Laycock. The piece was made as a portrayal of Laycock’s decline in his battle against AIDS, which is illustrated by one clock eventually falling out of sync with the other. While this piece mainly appears to symbolize González-Torres’ relationship with his partner, it’s also an exploration of “the temporal nature of life.”

Truthfully, I can appreciate the symbolism of this piece; however, I have a hard time fully appreciating it because of my beliefs. I think the artist’s metaphor for two clocks representing lovers in perfect harmony is beautiful. But knowing that he was referring to his own homosexual relationship somewhat taints the piece for me, since God forbids homosexuality in the Bible. However, although the artist’s lifestyle doesn’t align with my faith, that doesn’t mean his art isn’t valuable. This is a very unique, thought-provoking piece, and I appreciate the artist’s meaning behind its creation. I just view it through a different lens because of my faith.

🔍Sites Referenced:

https://publicdelivery.org/felix-gonzalez-torres-clocks/

https://www.theartstory.org/artist/gonzalez-torres-felix/artworks/

📷Image Above:

From “I Could Do That” video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=67EKAIY43kg&feature=emb_logo

[chibivesicle]

Golden Kamuy chapter 223; a current critique on the opioid crisis [?] and some of the boys have a sleepover.

This chapter of GK starts out with an update on the status of Nikaido as he runs through the hospital on the title page for “Nikaido cheers up” with a tagline of Nikaidash at the bottom.  Ienaga doesn’t look pleased with his dashing about while perhaps Ariska is excited or wants to punch him - I really can’t tell personally.

Let’s move onto the first full page.  Nikaido greets Koito and Tsukishima with a booming shout with huge action lines declaring good morning to both of them.  Tsukishima still appears deadpan as he holds a portable urinal in his right hand (ugh, not a job I’d like to help Koito out with).  Koito politely comments that he’s looking sharper and Nikaido screams it was the new medicine that Arisaka gave him.  And then repeats good morning again with a huge shout.

Koito looks a little interested and he’s got some bags under his eyes, so clearly he’s not as keen on Nikaido as Inkarmat’s company.  Arisaka then shows up to show a vial of methampetamine and it was developed by a personal friend.  Nikaido then yells good morning to Ariska as he vibrates in the background.

Ariska then comments on Nikaido’s hyperactivity being the opposite of his depression as Tsukishima looks unimpressed and over everything.  Of course Arisaka is thinking of all of the money they will make with meth.  Ienaga then enters to check on Koito’s progress, which is improving well and then begins to hungrily lust over his youthful and beautiful skin.  As she’s about to take a bite out of Koito, Tsukishima puts a pistol to her head.  Nikaido is running around in the background.  Tsukishima is still deadpan.  I really am beginning to wonder if something in him broke when he had to threaten Koito in Karafuto.

Ienaga argues that skinning her isn’t much use since everyone has a copy of her tattoo, but Tsukishima states he’ll make a wallet of her.  I guess to replace the wallet he may have lost in the fire in Edogai’s house . . .  as I recall, he forgot his wallet on his way to the public bath when Ogata went in and the 27th burnt down the house and he didn’t have time to grab it as he fled from Ogata in search of Edogai.

Ienaga states she’s valuable to Tsurumi and that is all that matters.  The page ends with Arisaka commenting on Nikaido running around like a cat after it takes a dump.  I have to admit that is a hilarious statement to use and shows that Noda is clearly a cat lover and observer of cats.  I don’t mean to mock Nikaido’s condition, yet that term is a unique way to describe something.

My own cat loves to get the cat zooms after he goes to the litter box. Why he feels this need to be liberated after a poop is beyond me, but pretty spot on behavior.

The action then turns to Hijikata’s group as Ogata states that they should move to a new location as Ienaga was captured by Tsurumi.  It is interesting that Ogata refers Ienaga as both a geezer and he; is this a form of disrespect of Ienaga or is Ogata acting in the time period and just unsure of how to refer to her so he defaults to biological descriptions?  Saying geezer is pretty impolite so, I would think that Ogata isn’t keen on Ienaga as a person and therefore speaks rudely of her.

Nagakura saw Ienaga as a transient member of each faction and Kadokura thinks she won’t know the exact location since she was injured at that time.  Not thinking, Ushiyama assumes that Tsurumi would have killed him and taken the skin.

Ogata flat out tells them that they are all underestimating Tsurumi.  He will pick up on their trail and find this location.  He smiles as he tells them it is hard to escape from a Shinigami with a Cheshire cat smile.  Oh how I’ve missed his cat smile.  He likely knows even if they’d disagree with his firm statement as the most junior man in the room, he’s right.  Hijikata even agrees with him as he puts down a book.

I really wonder how Hijikata feels about having the team/faction with less clever people.  He gained Ogata for the time but if you stop and think about it, he really doesn’t have any intelligent planners on his team save for himself. . . .

There is then an excellent transition page where Ogata tries to shoot a mallard for dinner.  He’s now using his left hand on the trigger and right hand supporting the rifle and lining things up with his left eye.  He takes a shot and - misses the duck completely.

His reply, clearly in his own internal conversation with himself is “ . . . .” as we see him work the bolt on the rifle as he has a slight twinge of a frown as he seems to think about his last shot.

Does this mean Ogata is no longer a sniper?  Honestly, I’d say he’s re calibrating.  There are enough historical examples of snipers losing vision in one eye and retraining to use the other so it isn’t like he’s 100% lost his skills.  He’s a tough and stubborn character, I predict he’ll find a way to snipe again.  Is he disappointed?  Obviously, he’s been using a rifle since he was a kid and he’s going to have to learn everything again, but he’s a smart guy.  I think he’ll be fine.  It is more interesting to see his struggle as he has to come to terms with the fact that he’s alive and he may need to think more deeply about how he fits in the quest for the gold.  Ogata has long relied on his sniping as his #1 skill.  He has more than that, but it was the skill that defined him.  This should drive his character development.

Just like Sugimoto’s #1 skill is being able to fight like a demon and ignore his injuries.  He’s just as bad as Ogata, neither of them can afford to be one trick ponies.  They will both have to come to terms with how they look at their own skills and abilities.

The group then takes Ogata’s advice and they stay at a temple showing where a few more of their group are; Kirawus, Toni, Ushiyama, Ariko and the wee babe Kantarou.

Kantarou thinks they’ve found a good hideout with people moving through frequently.  Or it makes it harder to track those observing you as you can’t pay as much attention - I predict if they stay in the temple, Tsurumi easily slips a spy in their midst.

Kadokura then is chatting with Hijikata and Nagakura.  Despite being a sad old tanuki, he’s still in the jail employee loop and is able to explain that prisoners were sent from Kabuto prison to Abashiri to help with rebuilding.  Someone was able to find them in transit and facilitate the escape of prisoners and they are all associated with a pirate. Boutarou the pirate!  So a maximum security prisoner who is a pirate just broke his comrades out of jail.  He apparently is a very *ahem* accomplished pirate and was one of the 24 tattooed convicts. 

Hijikata then comments that he’s “making his move” so Boutarou must be interested in the gold for himself and his fellow pirates?  Hopefully, he’s a smarter convict who will make things interesting - I mean pirate, yeah.

The temple door then opens to reveal that Ogata has brought a gift home for dinner, a whooper swan which is about 5ft in size . . . soooo yeah Ogata is not a tall man.  Ah yes, the cat is proud of its kill.

This is the exact opposite of when Ogata shot the woodcocks for Asirpa.  Those were small and hard to shoot, while this is a bird with a giant target on it.  I wonder if Ogata is now working on the concept of starting with a large target and working his way down to smaller ones?

Ushiyama is the first to remark that Ogata doesn’t have to hunt for supper all the time.  It is clear that Ogata feels the need to provide for a group - I don’t think it is a whole “I must kill all the animals.”  more like “I can practice and get a free supper.  Someone please notice and love me.”

Ariko then looks shocked at Ogata’s entrance with the swan.  The middle panel is one of complete shock as he says “Superior Private Ogata”.  Oh ho!  Ariko knows Ogata even though they did not serve together during the war.  This is very interesting!  This also likely means that Kikuta will become more important and will have an encounter with Ogata.  There needs to be something that happens between the sniper and the close range marksman. 

Ariko’s reaction is such a Tanigaki reaction - he clearly does not like Ogata and he is immediately uncomfortable with him.  What is very interesting is how he touches him just like how he touched Tanigaki when they started their sniper battle.  Ariko is completely freaked out and sweating as Ogata asks him if he’s the same [betrayed Tsurumi].  The Cheshire grin as he asks if he betrayed Tsurumi’s group followed by a you never can tell.  Ogata likely knows that Ariko is similar to Tanigaki and looks even more nervous only able to reply he didn’ imagine Ogata betraying them.

So, Ariko doesn’t have a good grasp on the Ogata midset, well even Tsurumi doesn’t putting him in the same camp as the rest of the cast.  Clearly, whatever Ariko does know about Ogata implies that he was under the indication that Ogata was loyal to the group and would do his dirty work.

I really want to think that Ogata knows that Ariko has to be a mole for Tsurumi - he knows how Tsurumi thinks and I’m sure he’ll bail when the time is right.

Kirawus then is the transition to the discussion about eating the swans and adds you don’t even need to shoot one if you want to eat it when they are fattened up.  Maybe Ogata just pounced on it like a cat, but swans and geese are total assholes so I’d personally still shoot it to avoid being poked at by it.

There is an Ainu belief that if you eat a swan your hair will turn grey so Kirawus will not eat it, most of the guys decline.  Kadokura declines and is mocked by Kirawus since he already has grey hairs and Toni had not idea that he had gone grey.  Kantarou is concerned about his looks so he passes and even Ushiyama won’t do it. 

Nagakura and Hijikata enjoy the swan nabe as they describe it as tasty and dumb to pass on eating something worrying about death.  It will happen at some point in time so why not.  Ogata who is one of the youngest members of the group, then replies “hah” in agreement with both Nagakura and Hijikata as he enjoys his swan nabe.  Does this mean Ogata doesn’t care what he will look like?  That he won’t live long enough for it to matter?  Or is it his total lack of religious/superstitious belief?  Hell it could be all of these.  Ogata is not one to worry about stuff that doesn’t directly matter.

They all go to bed in one room making it an awkward slumber party as they discuss the swan nabe.  They sound like a bunch of gossiping schoolgirls and they try to decide if they should eat the nabe since they are clearly hungry.  Ogata blankly stares at the ceiling - it is clear he is judging all of them.  Look at his disengagement as he listens.

They clearly decide to eat the nabe and the next morning Nagakura gives them a hard time, teasing them about it.  Ogata looks so over it as Kantarou and Kadokura look back at Ogata uncomfortably.  The best Kadokura can come up with is the cheesy line that, they figured going grey is better than going bald.

Ogata just stares at Nagakura while Kadokura and Kantarou look a bit nervous.

It really seems like Ogata is sizing Nagakura up - everyone else then laughs (Ogata is not in the panel, but he’s clearly not laughing) and he’s back to silently watching and observing everyone.  The final page ends with Nagakura’s internal rage as he spits and his eyes are completely black.  Best not to enrage his inner fire . . .

This chapter has been quite useful and is staring to fill in more information as the factions shift.

1.) Koito is recovering well and Tsukishima has kept his dead on the inside and outside expression since Karafuto.  I wonder if Tsukishima has broke.   Helping Koito piss into a jar isn’t a fun job, but he’s at least keeping Ienaga at bay with no Kantarou to tie up.

2.) Nikaido is a one man military experiment.  Now he’s been given meth in addition to his prosthetic limbs.  It seems like no matter what will happen, his fate is a terrible one to have.  Perhaps with the death of his brother he really is a dead man walking and just doesn’t care anymore.

I wonder if this is a current critique on the opioid crisis in the industrialized world, or the fact that another way to control people is through big pharma?  Arisaka and Tsurumi already discussed morphine which Nikaido was previously addicted to and now they’ve switched him to meth.  I really honestly feel bad about his character - he really has become a means to an end.  I’m also not sure what is worse - his previous addiction to morphine or what will become his current addiction to meth. I’ve had friends that I’ve worked with use it or other friends have dealt with roommates using it.  It is a complicated situation - I can’t tell if this is just a quick toss in there concept or if it will become more fleshed out as the story develops.  A part of me would like to see this go further. 

A quick search reveals that meth addiction and use is a problem in present day Japan and the first epidemic started after WWII as it shifted from the military to civilian hands.  I wonder if some manga artists also have used meth or may have considered it based on their rough schedules.

https://www.japantimes.co.jp/life/2014/08/23/lifestyle/dealing-addiction-japans-drug-problem/#.XfmVU-t7l0I https://www.opendemocracy.net/en/japan-place-with-strangest-drug-debate-in-world/ http://www.mhfmjournal.com/pdf/emerging-risks-of-new-types-of-drug-addiction-in-japan.pdf

I am not the type of person to even remotely try to examine this as a whole, but having Golden Kamuy introduce a sensitive topic is par for the course by this point.

3.) Ogata is re-calibrating and being quite blunt and forward with Hijikata’s group.  He really isn’t trying to change very much in his interactions.  He is critical of the lack of concern by several people and flat out tells them to take Tsurumi seriously and to not underestimate him.  It looks like Hijikata seems to believe him to some extent.  I will say he tries to ease over relations by bringing home dinner.  I wonder if he is disappointed as Asirpa, Kiro and Shiraishi were a lot more thankful of his skills than this group.

4.) Ariko is in a tight spot.  God, it is like Tanigaki all over again.  What does Ariko know about Ogata? He clearly knows him from Kikuta - is he also someone who dislikes him based on what he knew about his past working for Tsurumi?  Ogata has to know that Ariko is a double agent for Tsurumi.  The question is will he even bother to warn the others or he just doesn’t care.

5.) There is a pirate convict!  Oh ho!  I look forward to this - it seems the pirate wants to form his own faction looking for the gold and must have been waiting to see how the hunt for the skins has gone.  A new faction would be very interesting?  Will he team up with others or go it alone with his crew?

Overall, this was a very informative chapter.  I felt like it had a good balance of information and action.  The Hijikata slumber party scene was quite hilarious.  I predict we will see more Ogata, silently watching those guys.