#experienced trader

[stockexperttrading]

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[valiant-if]

i really enjoy how my necromancer summons despawning leaves a mess next to my bed every morning

Baldur's Gate 3 screenshot below content warning: blood, just in case

[thebestforexeas]

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[sophiamcdougall]

You're a reasonably informed person on the internet. You've experienced things like no longer being able to get files off an old storage device, media you've downloaded suddenly going poof, sites and forums with troves full of people's thoughts and ideas vanishing forever. You've heard of cybercrime. You've read articles about lost media. You have at least a basic understanding that digital data is vulnerable, is what I'm saying. I'm guessing that you're also aware that history is, you know... important? And that it's an ongoing study, requiring ... data about how people live? And that it's not just about stanning celebrities that happen to be dead? Congratulations, you are significantly better-informed than the British government! So they're currently like "Oh hai can we destroy all these historical documents pls? To save money? Because we'll digitise them first so it's fine! That'll be easy, cheap and reliable -- right? These wills from the 1850s will totally be fine for another 170 years as a PNG or whatever, yeah? We didn't need to do an impact assesment about this because it's clearly win-win! We'd keep the physical wills of Famous People™ though because Famous People™ actually matter, unlike you plebs. We don't think there are any equalities implications about this, either! Also the only examples of Famous People™ we can think of are all white and rich, only one is a woman and she got famous because of the guy she married. Kisses!"

Yes, this is the same Government that's like "Oh no removing a statue of slave trader is erasing history :(" You have, however, until 23 February 2024 to politely inquire of them what the fuck they are smoking. And they will have to publish a summary of the responses they receive. And it will look kind of bad if the feedback is well-argued, informative and overwhelmingly negative and they go ahead and do it anyway. I currently edit documents including responses to consultations like (but significantly less insane) than this one. Responses do actually matter. I would particularly encourage British people/people based in the UK to do this, but as far as I can see it doesn't say you have to be either. If you are, say, a historian or an archivist, or someone who specialises in digital data do say so and draw on your expertise in your answers. This isn't a question of filling out a form. You have to manually compose an email answering the 12 questions in the consultation paper at the link above. I'll put my own answers under the fold. Note -- I never know if I'm being too rude in these sorts of things. You probably shouldn't be ruder than I have been.

Please do not copy and paste any of this: that would defeat the purpose. This isn't a petition, they need to see a range of individual responses. But it may give you a jumping-off point.

Question 1: Should the current law providing for the inspection of wills be preserved?

Yes. Our ability to understand our shared past is a fundamental aspect of our heritage. It is not possible for any authority to know in advance what future insights they are supporting or impeding by their treatment of material evidence. Safeguarding the historical record for future generations should be considered an extremely important duty.

Question 2: Are there any reforms you would suggest to the current law enabling wills to be inspected?

No.

Question 3: Are there any reasons why the High Court should store original paper will documents on a permanent basis, as opposed to just retaining a digitised copy of that material?

Yes. I am amazed that the recent cyber attack on the British Library, which has effectively paralysed it completely, not been sufficient to answer this question for you.  I also refer you to the fate of the Domesday Project. Digital storage is useful and can help more people access information; however, it is also inherently fragile. Malice, accident, or eventual inevitable obsolescence not merely might occur, but absolutely should be expected. It is ludicrously naive and reflects a truly unpardonable ignorance to assume that information preserved only in digital form is somehow inviolable and safe, or that a physical document once digitised, never need be digitised again..At absolute minimum, it should be understood as certain that at least some of any digital-only archive will eventually be permanently lost. It is not remotely implausible that all of it would be. Preserving the physical documents provides a crucial failsafe. It also allows any errors in reproduction -- also inevitable-- to be, eventually, seen and corrected. Note that maintaining, upgrading and replacing digital infrastructure is not free, easy or reliable. Over the long term, risks to the data concerned can only accumulate.

"Unlike the methods for preserving analog documents that have been honed over millennia, there is no deep precedence to look to regarding the management of digital records. As such, the processing, long-term storage, and distribution potential of archival digital data are highly unresolved issues. [..] the more digital data is migrated, translated, and re-compressed into new formats, the more room there is for information to be lost, be it at the microbit-level of preservation. Any failure to contend with the instability of digital storage mediums, hardware obsolescence, and software obsolescence thus meets a terminal end—the definitive loss of information. The common belief that digital data is safe so long as it is backed up according to the 3-2-1 rule (3 copies on 2 different formats with 1 copy saved off site) belies the fact that it is fundamentally unclear how long digital information can or will remain intact. What is certain is that its unique vulnerabilities do become more pertinent with age."  -- James Boyda, On Loss in the 21st Century: Digital Decay and the Archive, Introduction.

Question 4: Do you agree that after a certain time original paper documents (from 1858 onwards) may be destroyed (other than for famous individuals)? Are there any alternatives, involving the public or private sector, you can suggest to their being destroyed?

Absolutely not. And I would have hoped we were past the "great man" theory of history. Firstly, you do not know which figures will still be considered "famous" in the future and which currently obscure individuals may deserve and eventually receive greater attention. I note that of the three figures you mention here as notable enough to have their wills preserved, all are white, the majority are male (the one woman having achieved fame through marriage) and all were wealthy at the time of their death. Any such approach will certainly cull evidence of the lives of women, people of colour and the poor from the historical record, and send a clear message about whose lives you consider worth remembering.

Secondly, the famous and successsful are only a small part of our history. Understanding the realities that shaped our past and continue to mould our present requires evidence of the lives of so-called "ordinary people"!

Did you even speak to any historians before coming up with this idea?

Entrusting the documents to the private sector would be similarly disastrous. What happens when a private company goes bust or decides that preserving this material is no longer profitable? What reasonable person, confronted with our crumbling privatised water infrastructure, would willingly consign any part of our heritage to a similar fate?

Question 5: Do you agree that there is equivalence between paper and digital copies of wills so that the ECA 2000 can be used?

No. And it raises serious questions about the skill and knowledge base within HMCTS and the government that the very basic concepts of data loss and the digital dark age appear to be unknown to you. I also refer you to the Domesday Project.

Question 6: Are there any other matters directly related to the retention of digital or paper wills that are not covered by the proposed exercise of the powers in the ECA 2000 that you consider are necessary?

Destroying the physical documents will always be an unforgivable dereliction of legal and moral duty.

Question 7: If the Government pursues preserving permanently only a digital copy of a will document, should it seek to reform the primary legislation by introducing a Bill or do so under the ECA 2000?

Destroying the physical documents will always be an unforgivable dereliction of legal and moral duty.

Question 8: If the Government moves to digital only copies of original will documents, what do you think the retention period for the original paper wills should be? Please give reasons and state what you believe the minimum retention period should be and whether you consider the Government’s suggestion of 25 years to be reasonable.

There is no good version of this plan. The physical documents should be preserved.

Question 9: Do you agree with the principle that wills of famous people should be preserved in the original paper form for historic interest?

This question betrays deep ignorance of what "historic interest" actually is. The study of history is not simply glorified celebrity gossip. If anything, the physical wills of currently famous people could be considered more expendable as it is likely that their contents are so widely diffused as to be relatively "safe", whereas the wills of so-called "ordinary people" will, especially in aggregate, provide insights that have not yet been explored.

Question 10: Do you have any initial suggestions on the criteria which should be adopted for identifying famous/historic figures whose original paper will document should be preserved permanently?

Abandon this entire lamentable plan. As previously discussed, you do not and cannot know who will be considered "famous" in the future, and fame is a profoundly flawed criterion of historical significance.

Question 11: Do you agree that the Probate Registries should only permanently retain wills and codicils from the documents submitted in support of a probate application? Please explain, if setting out the case for retention of any other documents.

No, all the documents should be preserved indefinitely.

Question 12: Do you agree that we have correctly identified the range and extent of the equalities impacts under each of these proposals set out in this consultation? Please give reasons and supply evidence of further equalities impacts as appropriate.

No. You appear to have neglected equalities impacts entirely. As discussed, in your drive to prioritise "famous people", your plan will certainly prioritise the white, wealthy and mostly the male, as your "Charles Dickens, Charles Darwin and Princess Diana" examples amply indicate. This plan will create a two-tier system where evidence of the lives of the privileged is carefully preserved while information regarding people of colour, women, the working class and other disadvantaged groups is disproportionately abandoned to digital decay and eventual loss. Current and future historians from, or specialising in the history of minority groups will be especially impoverished by this.  

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[serpentface]

The (now extinct) utosai, the last of the great lacetors.

Lacetors are a clade of warmblooded reptiles that fill niches as large grazers. The only genera surviving in the contemporary are relatively small (averaging about the size of cattle), but many older species grew bigger than elephants. Utosai were the last remaining members of this branch, dwindling towards extinction as their once vast grasslands experienced rapid desertification over a period of a mere few millenia, becoming the massive, mostly uninhabitable desert region colloquially known as the Deadlands.

They would historically live in herds consisting of one male, several (sometimes dozens of) females, and their associated young, which would migrate vast distances to follow seasonal rains. Males would fight each other to gain control of their mates or tempt away singular females, with young males roaming in bachelor herds. As reliable grasslands grew sparser, these herds grew much smaller, with the last remaining utosai being found largely as small bands of females and lone, wandering males that would opportunistically mate when they were lucky enough to find each other.

Utosai had very thick scaly skin that folds in plates, in part a vestigial defense mechanism against large predators that had LONG vanished. Like many other lacetor, they had partly bony facial pads that grew large and colorful in males as display features. Their tremendous curving horns served predominantly as additional display features, while the smaller, jutting horns partly figured into intraspecies combat, with males standing side by side and front to back and swinging these horns at each other in ritualized combat behavior.

These horns were clearly of value to the people who once inhabited the same ranges as utosai, as their ivory figured heavily into their craftwork and holy objects and can be found near-ubiquitously in the burials of high ranking people in the east interior Deadlands. These surviving utosai ivory artifacts are of tremendous value, with the mere prospect of obtaining them tempting many graverobbers and other such wealth-seekers into the remains of ancient human settlements (a mostly futile and often deadly task, most accessible tombs have already been plundered and those still left in peace are hidden deeply beneath the sands).

Utosai lasted far longer than many of their counterparts, surviving on (and trapped within) dwindling patches of coastal grassland fed by ocean rains, too isolated within stretches of desert for any chance of migration to grasslands further from the equator. These last fragmentary populations were discovered by traders and treasure seekers sponsored by the early 2nd Burri empire, with many hatchling utosai being taken back overseas hundreds of miles north. It is unknown when the last wild utosai died, but all but the tiniest fragments of their coastal grasslands are gone and the great beasts are nowhere to be found.

The captive animals were bred in Bur and eventually produced a relatively large (and heavily inbred) population, probably maxing out at around 1000 individuals. They were never truly domesticated but could be made tame and well accommodated to handling, which eventually developed into their use as mounts, forming an elite cavalry unit used in warfare. A war utosai was outfitted with a shielded tower upon its back from which archers could fire from height, and would be driven by a rider on its neck. Their use was functionally similar to irl war elephants, being utilized for intimidation, to scatter enemy formations, and to lead (or break) charges. These were the largest animals that most people would have ever seen, and were often reckoned as nigh-invulnerable. The utosai was heavily used in Bur's wars of conquest, and became an esteemed animal emblematic of the second Burri empire's might.

Very few consistently effective counters to the war utosai were discovered during the duration of their use. One very famous, very successful counter was used by the pre-Wardi Ephenni tribe in its war of independence against the second Burri empire (which was already beginning to collapse). The province of Ephennos was of key import to the empire as a breadbasket, being highly fertile lands and providing much of the grain that sustained the empire. A cavalry of ten utosai (a VERY excessive number against a less well-trained, less well-armed group of soldiers) was brought overseas to assist in crushing dissent and were devastating in battle, with only two of the ten being killed in three years of protracted warfare.

In an act of cleverness, desperation, or both, a trio of khait were covered in pitch and set ablaze, and spurred into hurtling towards the bulls in the utosai cavalry. The utosai panicked and fled, trampling many Burri soldiers in the process and utterly destroying their formations, with three of the eight utosai falling onto their sides (weighed down by their towers) and killed by Ephenni soldiers. This allowed for victory in battle, and this victory ultimately turned the tide in favor of the kingdom of Ephennos and its eventual independence. A motif of three khait wreathed in flames is still widely used in this region and as emblematic of Ephenni heritage (who, while broadly assimilated into Wardi nationality, still retain a sense of individual identity, and pride in their city-state being a center of power and birthplace of kings within Imperial Wardin).

The use of utosai in warfare dwindled after the discovery of this fairly effective counter. They were no longer reckoned as nearly invulnerable, and the great cost of transporting and feeding these animals became increasingly inviable. Captive breeding began to dwindle along with their use in warfare. The last utosai were lost, killed, or slowly died off in the Burri wilderness during and after the empire's tumultuous collapse. Some folklore describes hidden populations surviving in some wilder areas- there are several places in Bur where people claim to sometimes see the silhouettes of these great beasts against the horizon, and the rural parts of Ephennos are rumored to have a few of them (perhaps descendants of the surviving war utosai, perhaps their ghosts). Otherwise, they are lost to the world.

[thethief1996]

As some of you might know, me and Misha @quicksillver are organizing a raffle to raise funds for @shahednhall's campaign to evacuate Gaza. These are the last two days to enter. If you haven't donated or shared yet, I urge you to. I really hope we can make a dent in her goal.

To those of you who don't know Shahed yet, she is a 21 year old college student from Gaza. The weight of evacuating her family from the genocide is entirely on her back and takes its toll on her. Her goal, as she explains on her GoFundMe, covers the evacuation of her parents, siblings and nephews as well as war traders' explotive fees (which made her raise the goal from 50k to 80k).

With the prospect of the Rafah border opening soon, Shahed decided that, if she doesn't meet her goal, she will stay behind and evacuate first her two little sisters, who suffer from severe hepatitis, and her father, who's a heart patient. It's such a hard decision to make at 21 and it haunts me everyday, especially knowing that she's barely escaped death at the hands of the IDF twice in the past month. I ask for your help to keep it from coming true. I truly believe we can reach her goal and no one will stay behind. She raised over 20k in the past two weeks. If 20 people donate $10, we match her most expressive donation from yesterday.

$10. That's R$ 56,16. That's C$ 13.86. That's €9.24. If you can spare that money, please do.

[honeymaki]

𝘐 𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘥𝘮𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 .｡.:*･

Warnings: mentions of bodily harm, oral sex (f → receiving), penetrative sex, creampie, unneeded religious themes, mentions of body hair; reader has a hydro vision and is from Inazuma.

Words: 6k

Characters: Cyno; mentions of Tighnari as a reluctant tutor.

→ Notes: this is my first fic in honest to god years, proper thought out all consuming insane in the head fic; and I am proud of this.

The heat of Sumeru was different to the heat of Inazuma, the sweet smelling summers and the cool touch of the vast ocean on your toes were now just memories wisping like the steam that rose from streams, and the breeze that picked up the morning dew drops from leaves larger and thicker than any you had ever seen.

Inazuma summers meant blue ice pops and sweet milk beverages, lounging in you underclothes on the veranda, fanning yourself and whoever was your companion for the day, sucking on juicy melon slices and watching the fishermen bring in their catch of the day down by the shore, the crystal waves just beckoning you in for a much needed swim. The heat there was bearable, almost, with the promise of a fiery red autumn to follow if the sun got high enough and always smelling oh so sweet in the evenings when restaurants and common folk would move their cooking outdoors, smoke from the barbeques dancing in the mellow breeze like rice plumes in their paddy fields, carrying drippings of fat and roasted lavender melons to your nose. If the night was just right, you could just catch the slow baking of Tomoki’s dango, sweet rice cakes lathed with caramel or a soy glaze, both welcomed after hours wandering the slopes beneath Narakumi. 

Sumeru summers, despite only experiencing a few in your recent years, were so stiflingly different and yet, a gentle reminder of what it was like back home. It was definitely - wetter with sweltering days that made it hard to breathe and made way for almost frigid nights, dew settling fat and heavy over the land, clouds gathering to tease a storm but only showering a gentle drizzle. The sprawling fields and jagged islands of Inazuma made way for the jungles and vast forests of Sumeru, sunlight dappled and sparkling no matter the time of day, shining through leaves and spider webs and flowers you had yet to name, catching in the estuaries and ponds snaking across the landscape. And the desert, dry and barren with the formidable beast in the sky baring down at all moments, was teaming with the same greenery as your new residence. You didn’t often venture past Caravan Ribat and the few times you did travel there, the sun was shielded behind great hanging cloths and rugs of immense beauty, some old and worn and some witnessing their first day protecting the residents and travellers of the threshold of the desert. Though the shade and protection of the trees was much more suited to you and your gentle memories of Inazuma, flitting from branch to branch the way you used to with the sea caves and shipwrecks of your home.

Sumeru summers meant ripe Zaytun peaches and crunchy radishes pickled with chilli and mint, sipping on lukewarm water from your pouch but wading through ice cold streams to document new outcrops of lotus’. It meant the constant shout of brightly coloured birds beyond your window, the low hum of traders passing through and offering their wares, the enticing aroma of curries and unleavened breads, both sitting heavy and comfortingly in your belly after every sweltering excursion. 

There were times you missed Inazuma, deeply and painfully, but as it was, fate had called you beyond the services to the Shogunate and beyond the great sea which had previously been barred. The lifting of the decree saw a mass migration of people, some back to their original homes and many off to new, including yourself in the form of a letter from the Akademiya offering to school you in the great city of Sumeru. 

That summer saw your first sea voyage, and your last taste of Inazuman sweetness for many years. The Akademiya was good to you, one of the first Inazumans in an age to study among their natives, bringing your knowledge of Inazuman biology and medicine to their foresight and introducing them to a world of eternity and strange new ways to ferment soybeans. It was difficult to grow accustomed to their culture, their ways and laws, and their itchy uniforms, preferring the loose garb that the forest rangers wore, their bows and their nimble knowledge. Studying under the Amurta discipline was a gentle reminder of home, reading about all sorts from around Teyvat, wishing so dearly to travel even beyond Sumeru to see it all for yourself; sitting at your desk in the early hours of the morning dreaming of the mountains of Liyue and the beauty of the Qingxin that you would find, wondering what it would be like to swim in the waters of Fontain and venture among the ancient forests of Mondstadt. Your love of the forest, of all things green and living and thriving sent you to Gandarva Villa, under the apparently famed and somewhat reluctant mentorage of Tighnari. Reluctant in that upon reading your thesis and realising that you had already submitted your first manuscript, and concluding that he had little idea of the basis of your study and that you had already nearly finished it entirely. 

Inazuma had been closed off, shut to any and all outsiders for a generation, prompting only theories and wild ideas about your archon and her dealings; which lead to a dramatic decline in knowledge flowing from her shores, not only technologically but also botanically. Growing your first successful lavender melon on a rickety trellis in your front garden was talked about for weeks, fuelled only by your multiple displays of how one could cook, eat and utilise it. Food from Inazuma was indeed traded in the cities, but many of the forest rangers rarely ventured into the winding, bustling streets so in between studying and writing up a new version of your manuscript; you took it upon yourself to grow as much as you could from home to share with your new and beloved friends. And the Sumeru summers were the perfect growing conditions to do this, spending your pink and orange evenings pruning the naku weed and spreading straw beneath the amakuno fruits, tending to the delicate blooms of your unsuccessful dendrobiums. 

Which is where you found yourself one calm and thankfully cool evening after feasting with your companions. Knelt on the grass, books and papers surround you and your distinct annoyance, chewing your lip and pondering on the answers you finally found regarding your one nemesis. A single sprout curls and threatens to wither before you, rejecting the sprinkle of water you summon from your palm, looking very sorry for itself; a sad reflection of its carer, 

“I didn’t think I’d have to resort to such sinful methods little one,” you grumble, theory confirmed by the pocketbook of your own writing completed some years ago, “But I promised Tighnari and he looks really silly when he pouts,” as if your words would suddenly spark the sprout into blooming, a crumb of soil instead shuddered and dropped from its crisped leaf in defeat. A creature called out in the distance, wind blew gently through the valley and rustled your papers, concealing the staggering breaths of a person advancing on your delicate little world, and concealing the unsheathing of a small pocket knife. It was clear your intention, fuelled by your field notes and the archived history of Nazuchi Beach, and in a dramatic display; you held your hand out over the sorrowful sprout with the blade kissing your skin. 

A hiss of breath and the nicking pain never came, pressure and a grunt revealed a hand holding your wrist far from the shining lick of the knife. 

“What exactly are you doing?” the familiarity of that gruff voice causes a chill to ripple down your spin, hanging your head with heat in your cheeks, “I didn’t know it was Inazuman custom to sacrifice oneself to plants, dead ones at that,”

“I wasn’t going to entirely sacrifice myself, these plants grow only where blood has been spilt and I'm not going to ask someone else to do it for me, or start a war like they did back home so I figured -,” turning to face him, something catches you off guard. It wasn’t unusual for the General Mahamtra to pass through the valley, even stay for a few nights with his fellows, but it was unusual that he seemed - not quite right, despite still gripping you and staring at you with unimpressed judgement. So much so that you abruptly ended your swotty explanation and tried to pull away from him, to no avail,

“Are you okay? You look kind of unwell?” voice gentle and curious, causing Cyno to tighten his grip on your wrist even more, “Ah ! - you’re hurting me,”

“Where is Tighnari? I need to see him, something has happened…I’ve done something regreful,” even though he seemed to have been speaking perfectly fine a few seconds ago, Cyno suddenly sounded a thousand miles away and almost intoxicated. Eyes glancing around furtively, searching for nothing and everything, specifically your reluctant mentor who currently -,

“He’s away right now, Liyue - ow ! - there was a cooking event he wanted to go to and so I asked if he could pick me up some Violetgrass and also some starconches,” you say through your teeth, struggling out of his grasp and rubbing your wrist, squinting at his figure in the doctor-ish way Tighnari taught you. All of a sudden, he didn’t look much like a General Mahamatra, or even a matra; trying desperately to hide the sways in his body and the shaking of this fists held tightly by his side, tongue dipping out of his mouth to lap at the beads of sweat rolling down his upper lip, eyes red and rimmed dark. Words seem to be a loss for him at the news, swallowing thickly and looking down at his feet, toes digging into the carefully curated moss of your garden,

“What did you eat?” your sharp question stuns him out of his stupor for a moment, scrambling to your feet to assess him properly, “Or drink, but I assume it was something edible that has you sweating like the grand sage in a brothel,”

“Don’t - ,” he spits, “Don’t mock me,” you step back, hands up in submission, face shining with the want to help, 

“I wasn’t Cyno, I promise, Tighnari isn’t here right now so I’m going to help you, but I need you to answer my questions so I can do that,” it occurred to you for a moment that as the General, Cyno probably knew about his friend’s little excursion and yet, came straight to you instead of the Akademiya. But a sharp exhale banished that thought from your mind, 

“In the North, near Vanarana, there were Fatui breaking protocol,” at the mention of the mysterious and mostly unmapped region, you usher Cyno into your humble hut, drawing the wicker shutters and lighting a candle in the dwindling dusk, “they had stolen goods - crests from all over Teyvat, mostly food from Inazuma, some kind of mushroom …,” 

“Oh Cyno, we have both told you never to -,”

“Yeah, yeah, never eat something I can’t name, I know; but it looked like a starshroom, it was glowing and I can obviously name that so, I ate it,” sinking into a chair, Cyno suddenly looked pale in the candlelight, wiping sweat from his brow and shifting his hips beneath your scrutinising gaze,

“Did you say it was glowing? You ate a glowing mushroom?” this was hardly the time for jesting but you couldn’t help but grin, vanishing in a second under Cyno’s scowl, “Tighnari is going to be so mad at you, I thought it was obvious not to go around tasting things that glowed! We teach that to children! And newcomers who have never seen anything like it before,” your berating is only half serious, rummaging around you various knapsacks and baskets for the ingredient you needed to ease his pain, handing him a strip of dried something or other with a kind look, “Chew on this, it should stop the pain in a few seconds but just hang tight okay? I’ll take care of you,”

As much of a mother you seemed around those who made mistakes, berating them sharply before showing them the right way or the solution; Cyno almost felt like a lover to you in the way you cupped his jaw to make sure he was indeed chewing on the bark, stroking the tops of his cheekbones and the round of his collar in search of a rash, fingers soft and methodical, loving in a way he was unsure of whether you used towards other patients. He watched you work, content with his stabilising condition and preparing some kind of drink, back facing him and sweetly busy at your workbench. You were so precise and aged in your movements, picking the right herb and concoction without having to think, mixing them perfectly into a hand thrown cup with an extra spoonful of something for good measure,

“Here,” you sat down in the chair next to him, pressing a cool palm to his forehead beneath his headpiece, “I put some sugar in it to make it a little easier to drink, m’fraid I didn’t have any lavender melon syrup left,” the cup is heavy when you push it towards him, eyes curious and ever watchful, “If you need to throw up then warn me first,”

That struck him as odd. “Why didn’t you make me do that as soon as I arrived here? Surely that’s the first protocol in eating something dangerous?” you jerked your head, an indicator for him to drink and truly, the sugar did nothing to hide the foul taste and Cyno couldn’t hold back the winces and the gags as he swallowed,

“You ate fluorescent fungus, probably a rarer sub-specie that is very similar to the starshroom and native to Inazuma, obviously. The spores would have touched your lips first and as it is a very delicate plant -,” you fiddle with a small pocket book left on the table, showing him a beautiful painted depiction of the yellow-ish fungus he ate, “your saliva would have dissolved it before it even hit your stomach so vomiting would not have done much,” he nods, somewhat in defeat, gulping the last of your concoction with a poorly hidden gag, “We can sit until you feel better if you’d like, I’m surprised you didn’t have worse symptoms. Usually people get hallucinations, fainting, loss of limb control; the usual when one eats a poisonous mushroom, but you’re strong I guess,” you steal a glance at his body reclined and tense in the chair, “or just resistant,” Cyno doesn’t reply, tilting his head back and taking a shallow breath, still uncomfortable and unwell, “Just relax, it’ll take effect in a little bit, I’ll take care of you while it does,”

There was that strange feeling that made Cyno want to suck in his cheeks and puff out his chest, but it was not all that unfamiliar. Moments like this were common, more so in the recent visits, the ones where he felt like you could be a little more than the Inazuman who knows surprisingly too much. Sat around the fire in the cool nights, palm held in yours, tracing the deep callouses and lines and pretending to be a mage from your home city, making up some jumbo about his future and him suddenly so wishing you were in it; waving at him from down in the valley, wading with the fishes and the fungi, trousers rolled up to your knees and looking just about the happiest he had ever seen you; listening from the shadows as you animatedly retold stories from travelling around Watatsumi and foraging the pearls hidden beneath the glowing waters, an eagerly fond look twinkling in his eye; slyly asking about you at the Akedamiya, wondering about your studies and pretending to be interested in your thesis when all he could see was your printed name at the top of the manuscript; times when you thought he couldn’t see you looking at him with his headpiece off, a cut on his brow or a set of cards on the table in front of him, noticing your longing gaze and keeping it safe for the lonely nights in the desert. 

You were looking at him now, thinking he was resting, allowing your eyes to trace the steady rise and fall of his chest, the soft skin of his stomach and the trunks of his thighs, spread and inviting. It takes all he has not to smirk, or flush, or even move. It’s strange, he thinks, he feels almost uncomfortable in that he desperately wants to do something about it, in an all the more wanton way. Makes him feel wound up, on edge almost, biting his tongue and scrunching his toes in case he might stand up and simply confess. 

“How do I know if I’m hallucinating?” Cyno knows he isn’t, but it fills the heady silence and he hears you readjust yourself, sitting up a little straighter, 

“Well, first of all, you shouldn’t be hallucinating now since the medicine should be working,” there’s concern in your voice, licking like a lover over his ears, feeling you press forward and he feels you caress his closed eyelid, “look at me? Why could you be hallucinating now?” he’s lazy in aiding your poking and prodding, allowing you to remove his headpiece and place it on the table, blinking blearily, “Describe what you are feeling please, and what you’re seeing,” 

“I’m not sure how to describe it,” he grumbles after a moment in gathering his thoughts, struggling in your close proximity, “You’re so close, it’s interfering with my concentration,” you furrow your brows, confused and more than concerned, that same soft scowl of a lover settling on your face at his words, “there, you’re doing things and saying things and making me feel things I’m not accustomed to, it feels wrong; like it and you and all this shouldn’t be here,”

“And so, you think that you’re experiencing a hallucination of what exactly?” you feel for a temperature, sitting back in your chair at his leaning forwards into the touch of your hand, “I’m not sure you’re hallucinating Cyno, your vitals are - ,” precise fingers dig into the doughy, giving skin under his chin to feel for a pulse, finding it strong and fluttering like a small bird, “Let me get you something to drink, water this time I promise,” you’re not angry with his feigning symptoms, or that concerned at his apparent anxiety, not berating him in that motherly way like you usually do and that only causes his pulse to rocket higher and the anxiety creep further into his gut. You’re acting in that way again, sweet eyes and a sweeter voice, like honey, fetching him a cool welcomed cup of water in the way such as after a night of -

You distinctly remember hearing absolute silence in the seconds between you standing to get your guest some water, and then feeling his imposing presence behind you, close enough to feel his breath on the back of your neck. Time stops at the sound of his fists clenching by his side, swallowing thickly at the sight of your inviting skin, physically shaking in his restraint,

“I feel like I’m dreaming, like none of this and none of what I am feeling is real,” you’re silent still, barely breathing in the confined space he’d boxed you into, a small corner of your hut with a sink that provided you some much needed physical support. Psychologically however, you were in turmoil. Cyno, the Great General Mahamtra, felt as if he was having a hallucination or some kind of dream in his apparent romantic or lustful pursuit of you, and the implication of what was standing behind you was suddenly too much to bear. 

“I could - pinch you if you’d like,” the voice that leaves you doesn’t sound like your own, shaky and shy, “Dreams aren’t real, you shouldn’t be able to feel or touch or taste in a dream, if you concentrate hard enough,”

A beat passes, filled with sharp, quiet breaths passing between you and it aches that you cannot see what he’s doing, or what he looks like or how he feels. Your heart flutters like a sakura petal in the spring breeze, mouth dropping open when you feel his hands rest on your hips, burning hot through your clothes. Cyno sucks in a breath, lips dry and cool as they part against your neck, tongue darting out to taste the damp saltiness of your skin, 

“I feel you,” he mumbles into your jugular, thick hair sticking to the side of your face and his nails dig into the cushiony flesh of your hips, “I feel you, and you feel - soft, so soft,” hips press into you, strong and hard and fluid, “And you taste like nectar, like honey and wine and - like a dream,”

“It’s been more than enough time for the medicine to take its full effect, you shouldn’t feel any more side effe…Cyno,” his name comes out a sigh at his attaching his mouth fully to your throat, wet and warm and causing your knees to buckle. He catches you, almost, slinging an around around your middle and hoisting you back against him, panting against the back of your neck, 

“I guess you’re right,” one hand grips your wrist, urging you to put down the cup and Cyno lifts it to his lips, nose running down the pulsing veins as it trying to absorb your scent and the effect he has on your pulse, throbbing beneath the delicate skin, “How could this be a dream, a hallucination if I can feel everything, taste you on my tongue, touch you like this?” 

He’s grinding against you, body writhing in tandem with his in response, mouth open with heady gasps and mewls that remind him over and over that not only did you save him from certain madness, but you also were eagerly reciprocating his equally eager advances. Long fingers unlace the ties of your trousers and dip beneath your waistband, instead dragging up into your shirt, loose and comfortable for your planned evening of study, now easily parting like clouds on a blustery day for him. The first touch against your chest sends you shivering into his grip, fingertips brushing the underside of your breast oh so softly and politely before gripping a little firmer, then altogether greedily. Flesh spilling between his fingers, nipple catching on a callous, rough and a little mean but eliciting such a submissive little reaction that Cyno nearly folds forward against you. 

“Please, please, please,” you’re muttering desperately, sacred like you’re saying a prayer, pushing your chest further into his touch and arching your back, “Touch me please,”

“You’re always so polite,” he isn’t much for words, let alone praises but you’re so dear and so sweet in his arms, shivering like a little lamb and even bleating at the slithering of his other hand into your trousers. With his face still nuzzling into your neck, Cyno is only just able to hide his distinct devastation at how wet you are, positively soaking your underwear and covering his fingers in honeyed slick. He grips your breast harder, plucking at your nipple at the same luxurious pace as his forefingers sliding through your cunt, slipping sloppily over your clit and you all but howl. You aren’t quite sure what to do with your hands, the one he was previously lathing kisses to was now somehow tangled in his hair, holding him in place and it’s grounding, it’s anchoring you to the intense, gooey pleasure coursing through your gut. Your other hand is gripping his forearm, the one deep between your thighs or the one greedily fisting your breasts, you aren’t sure but your nails hurt and you think it’s because you’re holding on too tight, but how can you not when too much is happening all at once? 

Cyno feels your arousal coating his hand, palm sticky and fingers pruning with his assault, languid circles over your clit, following the shivers and writhes of your body with grinds and jerks of his own. Gods, he’s so hard that it hurts, and he knows that you’re so close, so fucking close to cumming but he can’t help but still worry if he’s dreaming, if this is all an after effect of his incident, if you’d neglected to tell him how long something like a hallucination could last. He vaguely hears you howl in agonising dejection when he rips his hand from your trousers, strings of arousal glistening in between his fingers in the light and he’s struck with how you’d much prefer to cry over the loss than watch him lick up the mess you’d made. You only just manage to catch his eyes rolling back at the taste, dripping down his wrist, three fingers shoved into his mouth and positively devouring the essence of you. Tears leak down your cheeks, replacing his fingers with your lips in a whirlwind of need and hard, hot desperation, swallowing his surprised grunt with a whine of your own. Cyno doesn’t respond for a moment, shocked at your display of wantonness, tongue licking inside his mouth in a thinly veiled attempt at tasting your own arousal and his grip on you suddenly becomes all the more fierce. 

“I can’t - I can’t -,” your kisses grow sloppy with your begs, struggling to pull your trousers down, almost losing your balance and it pains Cyno to part from you for even a second to disrobe himself. Red eyes follow your every movement, toeing off your shoes and ungracefully kicking away your trousers, bending over for a moment and it takes everything in him not to cum on the spot. Nestled between your thighs, dripping and plump, the scent of it wounding him to his knees, crawling half dressed over to you,

“Gods - fuck,” eyes fluttering closed at your suprised gasp, tongue darting out to lick gently, lightly like he was licking honey from his finger, catching the leaking drops and feeling his stomach clench, and his cock kick against his thigh. You remain in place, frozen against his curious, pointed licks, flattening his tongue after having his fill and splitting your pussylips with a lewd noise. He could be content between your thighs for the rest of his life, Akademiya be damned, coming home from his duties to this lifeline of saccharine sin that he swallows down greedily and selfishly. The wings of your shirt sit bunched over your hips, sliding low over your ass until he frustratedly fists the cotton against your cheek and spreads you enough to put his whole mouth against you. 

“Cyno! Ah - !” you startle forwards, but he only follows like a worshipper, slurping and swallowing every flutter and every throb of you, fingers digging hard into your thigh and ass to keep himself in place. A tentative hand cards into his hair, a question and his answer was a long, slow moan directly into your cunt, vibrating between your hips and the result was your closeted strength almost shoving him over, nose hitting your clit and causing you to gyrate deliciously. 

That was all he wanted, this drawn out stupor only stabilised by your shuddering grinds against his tongue, palm slapping against the countertop. If you’d allow him, Cyno would do this every day, he’d gladly station himself in the city if he got to taste the heaven between your thighs even for a few seconds in the mornings before he was called in to deal with the country’s worst and the best. It would be a welcome reprieve, one he’d been craving without even knowing it; in the moments alone with you, sacred and secret, soft and sweet and warm. To feel you gushing down his chin, moans reaching their crescendo and legs shaking on your tiptoes, all but sobbing into the crook of your elbow as you cum; it would be worth the sacrifice. 

Cyno felt selfish, detaching himself from your cunt, resting his forehead against the back of your thigh and smoothing his hands over your shuddering calves, down to your ankles and then back up to your ass. 

“Are you okay?” his breath is hot on your skin, and through your gulping pants, you manage to answer with a cracked ‘mhm’. You feel him smile wide and smug, standing and hiccuping at the state of you, slumped against the sink and writhing as if in pain, whole body breathing with your dwindling orgasm, “Come here, I got you,”

Carefully and all too greedily, Cyno scoops your torso against his with his hand angling your jaw, tilting your face up to his. A kiss is pressed to your lips, languid and lazy, a stark contrast to the blunt head of his cock kissing the lips of your cunt. You shudder, unable to return his kisses but trying so desperately to keep his stare, eyes boring into yours as he angles his hips. 

“I got you,” he murmurs a promise, feeling your fingers lace with his over your throat, watching your lids flutter as he presses into you, “Stay with me, I got you I promise, just a little more,” 

Breathy and fleeting, Cyno recites his words like a prayer, thrusting gently and shallowly at your wobbling bottom lip, swallowing your discomforted hiccups. He doesn’t thrust to the hilt like he so dearly wishes to, filling you in one swipe and leaving you reeling - no, he’s slow, methodical, precise and doesn’t break eye contact for even a second. Keeping a firm grip on your jaw, chasing the breaking down of your resolve every inch he slides into you until there’s no more, snug and warm and so fucking wet. He feels you against his pelvis, against his thighs, sticky and warm, shuddering when he kisses you once more, almost like a praise for taking him all the way. 

You’re trying to speak, trying to make any sort of sound but the breath is stolen from your chest when he starts an agonisingly deep grind, up into you, hardly leaving the warmth of your cunt and digging hard into your belly. It feels as though he’s in your throat, eyes never leaving yours and sending you spiralling, gasps turning into whimpers turning into hiccuping sobs of his name with every defying push of his hips. Cyno sees your eyes flutter for a second, lips parted and brushing yours, swallowing every delicious sound you make, responding with grunts of his own in both encouragement and sin. 

“Eyes on me,” he purrs, a crack in his voice at the sudden way you choke him, cunt clenching at the drop in his tone. Cyno shudders, pace slipping and he slides his hand down over the swell of your belly, feeling for the slippery bud of your clit. When he decides to match the slow, heady pushes and pulls of his hips with heavy thrums over your clit, you’re quite unsure of how you manage to stay standing upright. 

“Ah - ! Cyno !” he never falters, not even when you grind back up against him, not even when you try to lick into his mouth for even a semblance of grounding, not even when you cum so hard that fat tears roll down your cheeks, not even when you finally catch your voice and reach back to grip hard at his hair, “Again, make me cum again please,” you beg, “Please Cyno, please - inside, cum inside, make it deep - please,”

Begging didn’t seem to be about your usual person, the one he knew that shared their meals and knowledge with anyone who asked, so to hear it fall from the heaven of your lips was surely his downfall. It was unexpected, it tore a deep and long snarl from his chest, grinds turning into thrusts turning into something damning and gut wrenching. The fingers on your clit were kinder, swift circles to keep you leaking down your thighs but the cock battering your sensitive walls was less so. 

He never stops watching you though, even when you reach a second completion, all the more messier and sloppier than the first, red heavy eyes boring into yours without faltering for even a second. Cyno presses his forehead to yours, the angle causing your neck to ache but it goes unnoticed through the life giving pleasure he brings you, with every greedy slam of his pelvis against your ass. Lips touch yours in the moment he cums, eyes finally snapping shut and you think he looks beautiful through the fog of your orgasm; illuminated by the candle light, sweat flecking his brow, hair mussed and tangled in your fingers. Jaw ticking with every twitch of his cock deep inside of you, warmth spreading through your hips and thighs, feeling his hand flatten over your stomach as a kind of worship, caressing the space he fills so deliciously. 

“I - ,” he swallows heavily, 

“It’s okay,” is the first thing you can think of, “I wanted it too,” Cyno’s eyes open and he searches your face, “For… a while,”

It feels like eternity before he answers, nudging his nose against yours affectionately,

“Would it surprise you to admit I felt the same? That I waited far too long, and chose a rather idiotic time to do it?” the corner of his lips lift in a smirk,

“Honestly and with your track record? Not really, you have a bad habit of keeping things to yourself,” with bated breath you lean to kiss him softly, “But so do I, I guess,”

Cyno clenches his jaw as he pulls away from you, surveying the mess of your coupling before surveying the mess between your thighs. He flushes dark, lust threatening red again at the white threatening to spill to the floor, 

“Here, let me - help you,” he aids in removing your soiled shirt, using that as a rag between your thighs and he hisses along with your protests at the sensitivity, “I’m sorry, I’ll be gentler next time, I promise,” you aren’t shy in your nudity, how could you really? And you turn to Cyno with heated cheeks, 

“Next time? When - urm - when do you plan on having a next time?” Goosebumps flurry over your arms, nipples perking in the coolness of the night and Cyno can’t help but reach out, cupping the weight of your breast and sighing at the feeling, “I can’t, not right now - that’s too soon Cyno! You gotta let me rest! Don’t be so - !”

And he laughs. Full and loud and hearty, gripping you and embracing you and kissing you with laughter wrinkling his face, craning you backwards and swaying you to and fro. You squeal, thighs tacky and sticky but following his movements, allowing him to swing you over to your cot on the far wall. 

“I would never defile you without asking, and not before tasting you thoroughly too,” Cyno kneels before you, a covenant and their disciple, hands tucked together in prayer, “And besides, I’m still questioning whether this is a dream,”

“I could pinch you, again, if you like?” You draw your blanket up around your shoulders, sliding backwards further on to the bed, noticing for the first time that Cyno still had a majority of his upper clothing on and there was something about the exposure of his abdomen, the ripples of his muscles, the thatch of white hair trailing down from his belly button to his cock resting between his thighs that gets you all tingly and warm again. He folds himself into the small space with you, catlike and flexible, kissing your forehead with a hum, 

“Maybe in a few hours, I’ll probably wake up and need a splash of something on my face to remind me I’m not hallucinating,” it takes you a second to catch on, hiding your face in your hands with a mortified groan and Cyno laughs again, gathering you close, keeping your quaint reaction to his terrible joke a secret, a safe little slice of heaven only for him to enjoy. In the back of his mind, he remembers suddenly that out of everyone; you’re the only one who entertained his jokes and silly puns, and the first time you genuinely laughed at one was also probably the first time he decided that he loves you. The word chases tails in his mind as he succumbs to sleep, tucked up against you and keeping his lips firmly pressed to your forehead, an imprint of himself for you to feel even when he wasn’t there.

Copyright of honeymaki. Please do not repost, translate or upload to any other media sites or ai engines.

[seekers-who-are-lovers]

Those intricate illustrations from Wakamiya observing the technology, food, and the ways from the world outside.

Imagine Wakamiya as a young boy forcefully had to live among humans and observe their ways. He had a help of course in order to navigate the new situation where he was. He ate donuts and burgers, loved bananas, observed the salarymen going to work. He must have tried the different vehicles to experience them. Learned how to cook for himself. Talked to different kinds of people and interacted with them, conversed with them about their rights and pursuits. No wonder, he wanted to give the same freedom of choice to the girls at the Sakura Blossom Palace, however uncanny the formulation he used. And perhaps, some people thought that he was an eccentric artist drawing the typical, mundane objects, from his point of view.

And Yukiya absorbing them as he couldn’t fathom that there is a world outside of Yamauchi. @ynxnyx I concur, his hometown is minuscule compared to what Wakamiya has seen and experienced. So far, he seems to be open for the possibilities. (In the books, he is in denial sort of.)

In Yamauchi it seems like the time stood still. This is Japan upside down in different eras (Kamakura, Sengoku, Heian, Edo and Meiji rolled into one).

Come to think of it, it is amusing to think of new scenarios of what will these characters do outside of Yamauchi.

How will Yukiya cope going to a school outside? Will he cut his hair? How will he look in our world with loose shirts and baggy pants? Or Lord Natsuka with his haughtiness? Will he survive it? Will he be as untouchable as he is in Yamauchi? Will he survive without Rokon? What is he going to do? A traditional businessman, a trader, an upstart CEO? How about Hamayū? Will she learn a new skill to keep up with her husband? Will she go to the uni with Masuho no Susuki?

I wonder if the anime staff will give us a glimpse of that time where Wakamiya spent his life outside Yamauchi.

[kemetic-dreams]

According to Dr. Yvonne Chireau, "Hoodoo is an African American-based tradition that makes use of natural and supernatural elements in order to create and effect change in the human experience."

 Hoodoo was created by African Americans, who were among over 12 million enslaved Africans from various Central and West African ethnic groups being transported to the Americas from the 16th to 19th centuries (1514 to 1867) as part of the transatlantic slave trade. The transatlantic slave trade to the United States occurred between 1619 and 1808, and the illegal slave trade in the United States occurred between 1808 and 1860. Between 1619 and 1860 approximately 500,000 enslaved Africans were transported to the United States. 

From Central Africa, Hoodoo has Bakongo magical influence from the Bakongo religion incorporating the Kongo cosmogram, Simbi water spirits, and Nkisi and Minkisi practices. The West African influence is Vodun from the Fon and Ewe people in Benin and Togo following some elements from the Yoruba religion.  After their contact with European slave traders and missionaries, some Africans converted to Christianity willingly, while other enslaved Africans were forced to become Christian which resulted in a syncretization of African spiritual practices and beliefs with the Christian faith. 

Enslaved and free Africans learned regional indigenous botanical knowledge after they arrived to the United States. The extent to which Hoodoo could be practiced varied by region and the temperament of the slaveholders. For example, the Gullah people of the coastal Southeast experienced an isolation and relative freedom that allowed retention of various traditional West African cultural practices. Gullah people and enslaved African-Americans in the Mississippi Delta, where the concentration of slaves was dense, Hoodoo was practiced under a large cover of secrecy. The reason for secrecy among enslaved and free African Americans was that slave codes prohibited large gatherings of enslaved and free African people. Slaveholders experienced how slave religion ignited slave revolts among enslaved and free African people, and some leaders of slave insurrections were African ministers or conjure doctors

[mj-iza-writer]

The last thing Whumpee remembered was a bright light coming at them from seemingly nowhere. It felt like a bus when it hit them.

Whumpee squinted their eyes open. They felt drowsy from whatever was thrown at them.

'Whoever's magic that was needs to tone it down', Whumpee thought to themself, 'they must not of had proper training.'

Whumpee already felt that they were tied down with rope and black shrink wrap. A gag had been forced into their mouth, and a tube was connected to it. The tube ran partially down their throat so they could breath and eat. Without it, they would suffocate, but for the inexperienced, the gagging could be worse than suffocating.

Whumpee carefully wiggled, any panicking would make them gag. This wasn't their first time in this situation, they knew this, they were to experienced to make a mistake like panicking.

'Slave trade', Whumpee told themself after receiving a hit to their stomach, 'I'm in the blood market for the vampires.'

'This is terrifying... what if I go to someone else', Whumpee whimpered, 'at least Master makes sure we are properly cared for. Even if it's to cultivate our blood for himself.'

Humans on the purchasing block were wrapped up tightly in black shrink wrap so they couldn't see. A picture was posted of them when they first came in, and their blood was tested by several vampires in the trade so a correct description was posted for interested owners.

Whumpee had a very specific flavor in their blood. Their Master enjoyed it immensely, so Whumpee questioned how they ended up here.

'Master kills the humans he no longer wants. He doesn't resell', Whumpee thought to themself, 'they must have been watching me. Master won't be happy when they find out that I'm missing.'

Whumpee could feel hands caressing their body.

'I always hated this part', Whumpee groaned.

"Whumpee is that you?", someone whispered near Whumpee's head.

Whumpee quickly nodded.... somehow that voice seemed familiar enough. They gagged slightly from the tube.

"I thought so", the voice whispered again, "hold on, I was trying to find Tatum's branding on you, and I couldn't remember where they place it. Don't worry I'll get you out of this situation."

Whumpee felt relieved.

"Their picture of you was questionable, and I know Tatum wouldn't give you up so easily", the voice whispered, "with how much they praise your blood."

'I'd be dead if master wanted me gone', Whumpee sighed to themself.

"Excuse me", Whumpee's rescuer called over an employee, "I would like to put a hold on this one.... a friend of mine has been looking for blood like this slave's, I need to call for them."

"Yes of course", the employee nodded.

Whumpee felt arms cradle them from underneath. They were lifted and carried to a private room.

"If I may remain with them until my friend arrives. So I can make sure nothing happens to them", Whumpee heard the friend talking.

"Of course you can stay in this room... just do not remove the wrapping. In case your friend doesn't want them we won't have to rewrap them. It's harder when they're awake", Whumpee heard the person leave.

"I'm pretty sure your master wants you back. I just texted them, and they are not happy", Whumpee heard the person sigh, "I'm not leaving you like this... that tube has to be uncomfortable."

Whumpee nodded, then gagged again.

"Okay hold still."

Whumpee felt the person start cutting the wrapping away.

They were finally able to see who it was.

"Master Collin", Whumpee whispered after the gag and tube were removed.

"Yes dear", they smiled, "don't make too much noise, I don't want them coming back."

Whumpee remained in a laying down position.

"I don't know what happened", Whumpee whispered hoarsely, "I was outside to get some sunlight at Master's requests..... a bright ball of light hit me. When I woke up I was here. They used a lot of magic, I'm still drowsy."

Master Collin nodded, "these traders have been kidnapping different humans from their masters and reselling them again", they sighed, "I'm sorry I don't have any water for you. I know that tube dries you out."

"It's okay", Whumpee whispered.

"Tatum should be here shortly... I know they've been hunting you down since last night", Master Collin frowned.

Outside of the room rumors amongst the employees spread across the sale floor. A mysterious person was walking up and down every aisle.

Mysterious meant rich for most slave traders.

Master Tatum's frown deepened as he passed every human that was not Whumpee.

"I hate these places so much", Tatum complained, "this is inhumane even for lowly creatures like humans."

Tatum pulled out their phone, "I'm getting irritated. Where is my property?", they texted Collin.

"I had them brought to a private room for protection", Collin replied, "I'll open the door."

Collin opened the door and waved at Tatum.

Tatum rolled their eyes and started toward the room.

"Hello Master, can I interest you in....", a seller approached.

"No, I already know what I'm looking for... out of my way", Tatum gruffed.

"Yes I apologize", they quickly moved out of the way and watched Tatum storm off.

Tatum came into the room and saw Whumpee's state.

"They didn't waste any time preparing you for sale", Tatum frowned, "I am quite irritated seeing you like this."

"Please Master, I-I didn't do anything", Whumpee pleaded.

"I-I'm well aware", Tatum sighed, "I can smell the magic seeping off of you."

"Collin will you help me untie them?", Tatum stepped closer.

"I told you not to do that", the seller from earlier came in yelling.

Tatum turned quickly and snapped their fingers.

The seller flew back into the selling room, and Tatum stormed after them.

"You dare steal my property, then tell me what I can do with them", Tatum yelled.

Collin peaked out the door with a grin.

"What's happening?", Whumpee whispered.

"Tatum has reached their last straw. They'd burn this place down if it wasn't for the humans and innocent bystanders here", Collin chuckled.

Police had been called on Tatum's behavior, but it was quickly reversed on the slave traders.

The doors would be closed permanently on this company. All humans would be checked to ensure they were not stolen. All the others would be given to other sellers who followed more humane practices.

Whumpee was quickly returned to Tatum.

"Thankyou", Tatum looked at Collin, "I appreciate you finding them for me."

"Of course", Collin grinned, "I'm happy to help."

Tatum carried Whumpee home.

"Bed now, we will get that filthy place cleaned off of you after you've rested", Tatum frowned.

Whumpee looked down sadly.

"What?", Tatum tried to settle down. Whumpee wasn't at fault for this incident. They knew Whumpee didn't deserve their anger.

"Co-could I have something to eat.... a-and some comfort", Whumpee tried not to cry, "I tried to stay strong, but", Whumpee felt a tear sneak out, "I-I was scared."

"Yes you can have food.... you know I'm not the most comforting vampire right", Tatum glared.

"I know... b-but I'll take anything", Whumpee shook.

"Fine, let's get this over with", Tatum frowned, "let's get you some food first..... I'm guessing they never fed you then."

"No Master, Whumpee followed shyly, "unless they fed me through the tube while I was unconscious."

"I had thought you ran away when you didn't return when I called. I swore I would hunt you down. You knew the outcome for running from me. I wondered how brave you thought you were. When I came outside I smelt the magic spells used on you, and I realized you were taken", Tatum talked while they prepared a meal, "then I received Collin's message and I hurried to you", Tatum frowned, "I'm sorry", they forced out, "that should of never happened to you. I will take precautionary measures to make sure it doesn't happen again."

Whumpee smiled weakly as Tatum set a plate of food in front of them.

"Will you require a meal from me tonight as well Master?", Whumpee took a fork from Tatum, "thankyou for this food, Master."

"You're welcome... you may eat", Tatum sat at the table.

"As for a few days, I'll feed from the others. This way you have time to recover. Your blood won't taste good to me from the stress you were put through. I'll feed when I feel you're ready."

Whumpee choked.

"Slow down, you are over filling your mouth", Tatum warned.

"I'm sorry my throat is still sore from the tube", Whumpee looked at the plate, "plus this is delicious."

"Good", Tatum sighed, "let's get you cleaned up next.... then I will attempt to comfort you... I guess you deserve something for your trials."

Whumpee was taken into the bathroom, a different blood slave helped them bathe.

"Yeah, Master came into the kitchen and saw us eating, and they asked where you were. None of us knew, so they called for you", they talked with each other, "we were scared when you didn't return, then Master was ticked. Out of all of us you were the least likely to run from Master."

Whumpee nodded, "I would never dare such a thing, they would kill me. You wouldn't be truly free, constantly looking over your surroundings until the inevitable happened and Master came for you. With the bounty on my blood, they'd probably leave me in the dungeon and feed on me when they wanted."

"Probably", the other smiled, "in complete honesty, I don't even think Master is as bad as they could be. So what if they feed off of us, Master does it to survive, they have a right to survive as well. Master never hurts us unless we deserve it. We are well taken care of, and they don't over feed. There are five blood slaves all together."

"Plus they are a good cook", Whumpee laughed, "I know the care they put into us is to ensure our blood is of the best quality for them. I don't know many owners who put that much effort into their humans. Though we are fairly expendable for Master, it's still nice to be taken care of "

"I'm glad you both find me to be a good master", Tatum stood by the door and chuckled as the two jumped.

Whumpee and the other looked down shyly and tried to hide their embarrassment.

"No please continue saying good things about me. I've been listening for the last few minutes", Tatum came into the bathroom, "truly I am happy to know that at least two of you like me, and don't plan on running away. I at least know who I don't have to watch as strictly."

"You protect us Master", Whumpee looked up slowly, "why would we want to run?"

Tatum turned, "hurry and finish, unless you feel this was comforting enough. You are at least smiling now. Do you still require me to care for you?", Tatum frowned.

"You don't have to if you don't want to", Whumpee whispered, "but I would appreci...."

"Good", Tatum quickly left the bathroom and down the hall.

"I guess you aren't getting any hugs from Master tonight."

"I-I guess not", Whumpee sighed.

Whumpee tossed and turned half the night, nightmares and discomfort gnawed at them.

They sat up in bed and looked around.

"My throat hurts so bad, and these covers feel like I'm tied up again", Whumpee looked at their hands, "I wonder where Master is."

Whumpee got up and grabbed their teddy, then quietly left their shared bedroom.

After a few minutes, they found Tatum by the fire reading.

"Why are you awake?", Tatum didn't look up.

"Nightmares and discomfort Master", Whumpee stood in the doorway, "ma-may I have comfort now... please."

Tatum sighed, "it's not my specialty to be comforting that's why I have six..", Tatum caught themself. They had just killed one of the slaves for not obeying and breaking rules, "five of you to comfort each other."

"Please, even if it's your hand on my shoulder, it would help", Whumpee's voice cracked as they tried not to cry. They held their throat, "it still hurts Master."

"I've already asked for the doctor to come by and check on you. Collin reminded me of a few things they would have done to you. They will be by tomorrow", Tatum sighed, "well if you must, you must... come here then."

Whumpee quickly walked to the couch and sat beside Tatum.

Tatum awkwardly rested their hand on Whumpee's shoulder and then went back to reading.

"You are safe now", Tatum forced themself to say, "I assure you that will not happen again."

"Thankyou Master", Whumpee whispered.

"Ymhmm", Tatum hummed.

Whumpee started to grow tired sitting there.

They closed their eyes and absent-mindedly laid down; their head now on Tatum's leg.

"Whumpee I didn't agree to this", Tatum tried to lift Whumpee off, but Whumpee was out.

"Great now what?", Tatum sighed and looked at Whumpee awkwardly, "I'm only allowing this, so you'll sleep... do you hear me?"

They rested their hand on Whumpee's shoulder again and went back to reading.

Tatum's slaves required a full eight hours of sleep every night for their blood quality. Either Tatum had to wake Whumpee and mess with their already destroyed sleep schedule, or deal with Whumpee laying there until morning.

"At least no one else will see this", Tatum whispered.

Tatum saw movement at the doorway a while later.

"Now why are you up?", Tatum complained, "no humans should be awake in my household."

"I'm sorry Master, I saw Whumpee was away from their bed... I was going to check on them", the slave smiled when they saw Whumpee, "I see you got them."

"Yes I do, and if you say anything about this to anyone I will tear out your throat. Am I clear?", Tatum threatened.

"Yes of course Master... we wouldn't want anyone to think you have softened for something lowly like a human", the slave prodded.

"Go back to bed... now", Tatum ordered, "take your sarcasm with you."

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off the list. It's not a problem at all.

@villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst

@generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13 @notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots @whumpbump @everythingsscary @skittles-the-whumpee

@expressionless-fr @theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee @candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers @starfields08000 @a-living-canvas @lumpofsand

@watermeezer @indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains @3-2-whump

[warriorforumwso]

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[aadamkempfitness]

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In the vast and often volatile world of forex trading, the presence of unscrupulous brokers is a constant threat to both novice and seasoned traders. HeroFX, a broker that has recently come under scrutiny, is the subject of many discussions and concerns. This review delves into the various aspects of HeroFX to determine whether it is a legitimate broker or a potential scam.

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For more check out this article: Herofx-review

[blue-mint-winter]

Daella's fears and her sisters' fates - a clue to Gael's death?

In my post about king Jahaerys' reign I noticed that Daella's fears were connected to tragic fates that befell her sisters. I went through the book again and here's what she was scared of:

Alyssa

Vaegon

kittens

dragons, even Silverwing

a prince from Summer Isles, dark-skinned, with a feathered cloak,

singing (by herself)

bees

horses

old gods/marriage before weirwood

pregnancy

She cried because of:

Vaegon saying: "She should find some lord in need of stupid children, for that’s the only sort he will ever have of her.”

scoldings

being asked to read from Seven-Pointed Star

a boy trying to kiss her without permission

maester not letting her hold her newborn child (that one sounds like a normal reaction to her current situation and not having any prophetic reasons)

Jaehaerys listed the major fears of Daella when talking to Alysanne:

"Find her someone. Someone gentle, as she is. A kind man, who will never raise his voice or his hand to her, who will speak to her sweetly and tell her she is precious and protect her…against dragons and horses and bees and kittens and boys with boils and whatever else she fears.”

5 fears, 5 sisters:

Kittens - Daenerys had a kitten, cats hunt rats, rats carry disease, Daenerys died of Shivers.

Boys with boils - Maegelle nursed patients with greyscale, got infected and died (also reading Seven-Pointed Star could have reminded Daella of her sister's future death, causing her to cry).

Bees - Saera's disgrace was caused by her affair with Braxton Beesbury. Additionally, it would explain Daella's fear of flirting squires. (Crack theory because we don't know how Saera died, but it would be funny if she was allergic and died because of a bee stinging her when she was living in Volantis.). Also, Saera said she might like to marry a trader from Summer Isles, which could connect with Daella's fear of the prince of Summer Isles (another theory - maybe Saera lost her virginity with that trader, after all later she was experienced when she corrupted Perrianne and Sweetberry and she did say that the 3 boys were silly and all thought they were her first, implying that they actually weren't. Summer Isles are known for their sexual liberation). Daella's fear of scoldings could be connected to Saera's interrogation/trial by Jaehaerys.

Horses - Viserra dying because she was racing while drunk and fell off a horse. She was also meant to marry a Manderly, probably having a wedding before the old gods, which could be the connection to Daella's fear of weirwood. If Daella's prophetic ability allowed her to see the outcome of different choices, maybe Viserra was doomed to die anyway as a result of that marriage. Or maybe she was doomed to die while running from that marriage - so it was the major, underlying cause of her death.

Dragons - ?

Dragons aren't connected to any of Daella's sisters deaths. The only left are Alyssa and Gael. Alyssa was a dragonrider, but she died from complications after childbirth: "She never fully recovered from Aegon’s birth, and died within the year at only four-and-twenty." This fits with Daella's fear of pregnancy and how she purposely chose a suitor that already had children, thinking that he wouldn't force her to get pregnant (unfortunately for her, lord Arryn was a sicko that "loved her for years" and just wanted to have sex with her). I guess her fear of Vaegon could be connected to the fear of pregnancy as initially Vaegon was supposed to marry her. Though I'm not sure why Daella was afraid of Alyssa as she didn't cause anyone's death and even defended her from Vaegon's hurtful words. (Crack theory without any basis in text whatsoever - Vaegon took revenge on Alyssa by ordering the maester that was taking care of her to do a shit job and that's why she didn't recover after childbirth. If Daella knew, maybe that's why she was scared of Alyssa, probably she was just avoiding her. Sadly, she still caused Vaegon's grudge against Alyssa who humiliated him to defend Daella.)

That leaves Gael. Her fate is described like this:

"A sweet-natured girl, but frail and somewhat simpleminded, she remained with the queen long after her other children had grown and gone, but in 99 AC she vanished from court, and soon afterward it was announced that she had died of a summer fever. Only after both her parents were gone did the true tale come out. Seduced and abandoned by a traveling singer, the princess had given birth to a stillborn son, then, overwhelmed by grief, walked into the waters of Blackwater Bay and drowned."

Daella's fear of singing fits with the traveling singer causing Gael's downfall. However, Daella was afraid of being asked to sing. She had a positive reaction to a Blackwood suitor's singing to her. That makes the involvement of a traveling singer in Gael's death very doubtful. On the other hand, the last clue and fear of Daella that's not connected to any of the other sisters, was fear of dragons.

The strong connection between Daella's fears and her other sisters' deaths should mean that Gael's death is connected to dragons. In addition, it makes the whole "true tale" of Gael's death suspect because Daella did not fear water or drowning - she visited Driftmark to see Corlys who was one of her prospects and she only got seasick on the boat. Oddly, that one voyage she took didn't cause any fear or tears.

Some fears/causes of death were literal, like kittens and horses, so it could be that a dragon caused Gael's death. Maybe she tried to claim one on Dragonstone and it burned her or she fell from its back and drowned in the sea. Would Jaehaerys cover it up? Probably, it would look bad for his propaganda how Targaryens are special and godly if it was known that his daughter was killed by a dragon like any commoner.

Fears of singing and dragons can be connected - I'm basing this on HOTD, not the book. In the show Daemon was singing to dragons to prepare them for new riders. Maybe Gael tried singing to a dragon she wanted to claim but it didn't work and she was killed?

The whole theory with Gael failing to claim a dragon assumes Dragonkeepers were sleeping on a job as Jaehaerys created their order to prevent any unsanctioned claiming of dragons after Saera's attempt. However, she may have tried to claim a wild dragon on Dragonstone, so the theory that her death was caused by a literal dragon can't be entirely discarded.

On the other hand, the fear of bees connects to a Beesbury, which is a metaphorical interpretation. Therefore fear of dragons may refer to a Targaryen causing Gael's death but which one? The list of suspects is: Alysanne, Jaehaerys, Baelon, Viserys, Daemon. All people who had access to Gael.

Events surrounding Gael's death:

92 AC - Aemon's death, Baelon becomes Prince of Dragonstone, Alysanne quarrels with Jaehaerys about succession and goes to Dragonstone

93 AC - Alysanne's last flight on Silverwing, birth of Laena, Viserys claims Balerion

94 AC - Alysanne and Jaehaerys reconcile, birth of Laenor, Balerion's death

95 AC - Alysanne breaks her hip and starts using a cane to walk

96 AC - Maegelle's death

97 AC - birth of Rhaenyra, Daemon's marriage to Rhea Royce

98 AC - great tourney at King's Landing, whole family gathers, Septon Barth's death a fortnight after the tourney

99 AC - Gael gives birth to a stillborn child and dies, then Alysanne returns to Dragonstone; Baelon becomes Hand

100 AC - Alysanne's death

101 AC - Baelon's death, Great Council

103 AC - Jaehaerys' death, after his death the "true tale" of Gael's death comes out; Viserys is king, Daemon is brought back to court

It's hard to say what was the order of events within a year because Gyldayn sometimes mixes it up. For example, it's unknown if Baelon became Hand after Gael's death or before.

Alysanne could be indirectly responsible for Gael's death due to smothering she did to the girl. Maybe the life under her mother's thumb, never allowed to grow up and be free was the cause of Gael's bad decisions leading to her suicide? Counterarguments: Alysanne was infirm, walked with a cane and was going deaf (couldn't hear singing), I doubt those last few years Gael didn't get more freedom. What's more, Daella worshipped her mother, she was never afraid of her. Gael died in 99 AC, Alysanne in 100 AC from wasting illness and grief over losing her last daughter. I think Alysanne didn't cause Gael's death.

It's important to determine Gael's whereabouts. The quote says that she "remained with the queen" but "in 99 AC she vanished from court, and soon afterward it was announced that she had died of a summer fever". Alysanne went to stay on Dragonstone after Gael's death. So Alysanne and Gael were in 98 AC in King's Landing for the tourney. And that's when Gael became pregnant. Presumably she vanished only when the pregnancy was impossible to hide but Alysanne stayed in court. Where did Gael go?

Out of all elements of the "true tale", Gael giving birth to a stillborn seems the most likely to be true. It's a shame of the family so if she didn't have a child, then the "true tale" wouldn't mention its existence at all and just said that she killed herself because her traveling singer left her. It seems to me that other elements that are questionable and don't fit with Daella's fears are obfuscating the most important mystery - the identity of the father of Gael's child. And the official version of the story is obfuscating it on purpose because it's so scandalous for the man. That man wasn't a mere traveling singer. One of her own Targaryen male relatives seems most likely to be the father and fits with Daella's symbolic fear of dragons as well as known incestuous preferences and traditions of the family. Three of the suspects were married (Jaehaerys, Viserys, Daemon) and one was a widower with a reputation of total loyalty to his dead wife (Baelon). Having a bastard with Gael would cause a big scandal for any of them.

If someone wanted to hide a visibly pregnant Gael, especially from her infirm and overprotective mother, where would he take her? I think the answer is easy - Dragonstone. A place she could try to claim a wild dragon to run away from her captor. Conveniently, Baelon was the Prince of Dragonstone, meaning it was his seat of power and he was ruling it. The same year Gael died, 99 AC, Baelon became Hand, therefore he had to take residence in the Tower of the Hand. Alysanne returned to Dragonstone after Gael's death. If Gael still lived when Baelon became Hand, his absence could have been the perfect time for her to try to claim a dragon (or kill herself). Though Baelon becoming Hand after her death also works.

Baelon spiriting Gael away makes sense thematically within ASOIAF - we have the famous tale of BAEL the Bard kidnapping the king's daughter and impregnating her. In the main story Petyr BAELish kidnaps Sansa and hides her away in his own seat of power. The name BAELon is pretty damning. The connection with the "true tale" is clear: "traveling singer" -> Bael the Bard -> Baelon. Furthermore, the peak of Targaryen romance is "take me to Dragonstone and make me your wife" just like Jaehaerys and Alysanne.

Baelon being the father of Gael's child makes sense. He was a widower and heir, but he couldn't marry her because of Alysanne. Previously Alysanne actively prevented him from marrying Viserra and he was feeling bad for what happened to his sister, wondering if it was his fault. "Prince Baelon was greatly distraught as well, wondering if he should have spoken to his sister less brusquely the night he found her naked in his bed." Baelon had a good reason to hide the affair and pregnancy from Alysanne and also a close place to hide Gael. After Gael died Baelon kept visiting Alysanne. "Only Baelon the Brave remained near her till the end. Her Spring Prince visited her as often as he could and always won a smile from her". He knew how much the loss hurt his mother and tried to make it up to her, probably out of guilt.

Baelon also had a good reason to hide the affair from Jaehaerys who the last time personally killed the man that seduced his daughter (Saera).

Despite all above making Baelon the most likely suspect behind Gael's disappearance, a case can be made that he wasn't really the father of her child, just the person hiding her away. Let's examine the other suspects.

Jaehaerys - it's in line with the theory that he was molesting his daughters. In 98 AC all of them were dead (and Saera was in Essos), except Gael who Alysanne always kept close and protected. In addition, his most trusted advisor, practically his conscience and moral compass, Septon Barth died that year. Maybe after that Jaehaerys took the opportunity to go after the last untouched daughter. Then Baelon realized what was happening with Gael and hid her on Dragonstone, finally saving one of his sisters from her abuser. Hiding this from Alysanne made sense, if she knew, it would break her heart. Whether Jaehaerys knew where Gael was, it doesn't matter, either way he would want her pregnancy covered up to preserve his own reputation.

Viserys - that one seems the most unlikely of all suspects. He was married, Rhaenyra was born in 97 AC and he was probably optimistic about having a son with Aemma. Additionally, he just doesn't seem like the type to have dangerous affairs like that. No true motive. He even had no dragon to kidnap her. I'm crossing him off the list of suspects. However, the "true tale" comes out after Jaehaerys' death, when Viserys was king. He would want to preserve his father's memory as a perfect prince and heir so he would cover up Baelon's involvement in Gael's disappearance. Same if the baby's father was Jaehaerys.

Daemon - it could have been him, he was unhappily married to Rhea Royce and had a known preference for Valyrian maidens. Gael would have been a suitable royal match for him, but Alysanne wouldn't allow her to marry anyone. It's possible that Daemon took the chance at the tourney to seduce Gael and later his father hid this from the king and queen. However, later on we have an incident with Daemon being found in Rhaenyra's bed, when he hoped to get annulment of his first marriage and marry the princess instead. Why didn't he try causing the same sort of scandal with Gael? It must be because he knew that Jaehaerys would just kill him like Beesbury, instead of granting him anything. Viserys posed no danger to Daemon's life on the other hand. On top of that the time of the "true tale" coming out means that if Daemon was Gael's seducer Otto would have probably used it to exile him sooner. It wouldn't be "traveling singer" but the "Rogue Prince" and everyone would know. Therefore, the chances that Daemon seduced Gael are very low.

Did Gael really commit suicide?

A real or figurative dragon's involvement in Gael's death is possible in accordance with Daella's prophetic fear. However, it's uncertain how much Daella knew or understood about her visions. The only people she was afraid of were Alyssa and Vaegon and they didn't kill any of her sisters. She didn't fear lord Arryn who caused her own death from childbirth. She wasn't scared of Jaehaerys, Alysanne, Baelon or any of the other suspects in Gael's case but on the other hand she cried because of boys similar to Saera's boyfriends.

The suicide by drowning can't be entirely ruled out as the cause of Gael's death. Daella wasn't afraid of water or drowning, but maybe she just didn't receive a warning vision because Gael chose to die. All the tragic fates of the other sisters were beyond their control. They all wanted to live and find happiness, but it was taken away from them.

Why would Daella fear suicide? She never wanted to kill herself, instead she worked hard to avoid death and misfortune. Drowning by choice was never a danger to her.

It's hard to say if the tale of Gael's suicide is true or a fabrication. Her situation on Dragonstone may have looked so bleak that it was possible she decided to kill herself. There's no mention of any suicide note which is a reason to question and doubt that the suicide happened at all.

Too many things are unknown, especially in regards to the "true tale" and how exactly it came out. We don't know if Gael's body was recovered, proving that she drowned, if there were any witnesses to her fate and what did they say before being silenced that the official story had to acknowledge their testimony or cover it up for some reason.

Was drowning real or a cover-up for a dragon-related cause of death? Was Gael truly trying to drown herself or did she attempt to escape by swimming away, back to her mother? We don't even know if she tried any other method of suicide or if it was it her first, successful try.

The true cause of Gael's death will remain a mystery as there's not enough evidence to be certain.

.

Congratulations to those who read this whole long theory post, I hope I wasn't rambling too much and the reasoning was easy enough to follow. Did I connect the dots? I'm open to thoughts about this.

[redbatchedcumbermayned]

I have recorded different versions of my name, and the last time I was told it was Haynrix and I was like, really? Haynrix? - Interviewing Chris Tester part 3

We contiune talking about the transformative power of fanworks, a bit more about romancing Heinrix, how Heinrix is pronounced actually, what a dream come through project would be for Chris and why a stage production of Crime and Punishment was his most memorable work to date and his newly discovered interest in playing D&D.

Part 1 of the interview

Part 2 of the interview

This is the final part of the interview. Thank you so much for reading and listening! (the audio quality is not spectacular but tumblr limits uploads to 10MB). If you quote or reshare, please quote me as the original source.

F: It's very transformative. You take a game and you get your own stories after the game or with the people you interact with. It's very creative. Because Heinrix is very much an archetype, as you said, he has this duality about this very authoritative man with so much trauma underneath. There is a lot to explore, and that speaks for Olga's writing as well, because only a very well written character would draw you in like that into a story.

CT: I mean, it's a crazy balancing act, definitely. And at any time, it could close off, you shut him down, or he shuts you down. And you're like, Oh, okay.

F: And it was incredibly funny that the first romance lines straddled the line between workplace harassment and flirting. And he is so unnerved and then it doesn't like to cordon you off and say, well, you were too aggressive. Game over. 

CT: Yeah.

You can switch to this closeness path like in a real relationship, you are maybe very flirty, very teasy at the beginning, and then things get real and you get real and it changes. And that was very dynamic. I never experienced that before. BioWare writes great romances, but they are often very one note in their games.

CT: And there's still the kind of like, okay, so are we sleeping together? Yeah. Or we do not. All right. No, okay, great, fine. God, I had to go through all the different fucking options just to go like, Is this, is that, no, no, okay, fine, right, yeah. So in terms of nuance and dynamic, it's you've got your issues over there, but regardless, can I just say the right thing? Uh, or not, you know, or be pure, or whatever. Garrus was always a favourite for me.

F: Oh yeah, Garrus, Garrus is great.

CT: Yeah, yeah. I'll be honest I didn't really appreciate quite how subtly all of the pieces are put together until I played through bits of the game and watched bits of the game afterwards [this relates to Rogue Trader]. Because there are so many different moving parts, but also so much is recorded out of order, it's very difficult to get a full appreciation of the whole, and it's the credit of the directors to just be able to give you enough for you to get it in two or three takes, because we gotta move on because time is money is time. 

And so that's kind of crazy, where you've got to just act in faith in the moment and trust that the people who are listening on the other end feel as if they're getting what they need. Obviously the more you record, the more you get a sense of what the character is about and the palette and the playfulness and all of those kinds of things. But because there are such a multitude of choices anyway, no one can explain to you exactly the context of what it is because that's all such a movable feast as it is anyway.

F: That's a huge credit to voice actors to still get it right in three or four takes.

CT: Well, the aim is to give them options so that they can trial it out and be able to have a playfulness about things. It's always nice when you go like, I'm just going to try this different take on how this might traditionally be read as or something, and then you maybe hear that in the game and go like: Oh, okay, that's a little bit of whatever. 

Because quite often you'll probably be told to read a line no more than three times, and the first time that you read a line, that you read it out loud is the first time that you read the line at all. So, you don't read it in advance, and sometimes that goes in. It's normally the second or third take, I would say, but that depends very much on the voice actor. Because quite often, the whole point is to be quite good at sight reading, and sometimes there's a spontaneity in the reading of something for the very first time, which might give something a little bit unexpected, or a little bit fresher. 

And then you realise halfway through, there's a word I have no idea how to pronounce. Is it von Valancius? Von Valancius as it's written or von Valen and you're just like, the hell? Okay. And then you need to go back.

F: Or his name actually, because as a German, we have Heinrich as a first name. So is it Haynrix? Is this Hainrix? But we can say it's Low Gothic, so it doesn't matter.

CT: I have recorded different versions of my name, and the last time I was told it was Haynrix and I was like, really? Haynrix? Okay. Sure? But I've not had a definitive conversation about that, so I don’t know whether or not they change it or, or whatever.

F: I settled on, it's Low Gothic and not the German version and it's fine because that's a fantasy language. It doesn't matter. And I know from other voice actors that sometimes you don't get any directions on how something is pronounced.

CT: Quite often we're just taking an educated guess. I mean, they're very good in terms of some pronunciations, but if no other character is saying this word except you, then there's probably not a guide for it in which case you just make sure that you record it somewhere. So, it's consistent. So, if you're saying it more than once, at least you're saying it wrong consistently. So that becomes the new, right?

F: What was your most memorable work to date? Stage or voice acting?

CT: Stage or voice acting or whatever? God, I would say one was a production of Crime and Punishment. There you go. It was a three-person adaptation of the massive book really condensed into about 90 minutes, essentially. Quite a radical adaptation, but it was a beautifully written adaptation, and I think I did it probably about 2017, 2018. That was wonderful storytelling because it had so much of the original flavour in it and also this ambiguity of character. A much more ambiguous character than someone like Heinrix. Someone who is so eminently fallible and flawed, and yet trying to find a through line through it and a making of sense and the justification for the reasons why people do bad things. That is pretty iconic for me as an experience. 

I do feel lucky that a lot of the things that I'm able to explore in the video game or in the voiceover world generally are completely new and unexpected things. Whereas on stage, unless you're doing a lot of new writing, the vast majority of the time, it's a role that you're familiar with or have seen or have heard about. It's pre-existing. Whereas with some of these video games, you get to create that whole original world or character and that kind of stuff. Which is why if anybody asks me, what role do you want to play? I'm like, the role that I don't know exists yet, and Heinrix is very much one of those. Like, I had no idea and neither did I have any idea that it would develop in the way that it did. 

But the whole process itself is a lot of fun and you work with very cool people to tell a completely new and original story. But having that ambiguity, having that tension within the character, every actor has to find that for themselves anyway, just to keep creatively engaged and alive, but have that so vividly running as an undercurrent and for it to be able to go in different ways, that's such a cool kind of thing. I'm just so up for more of those kinds of opportunities. Maybe hopefully in the future, we'll see.

F: Has voicing Heinrix opened any doors? Did you notice an uptake in offers?

CT: I think it means that a few more people probably know who I am, and that's cool. A few more people. Yeah, it's definitely been referred to. Other than that, I don't know. But it certainly doesn't hurt being involved in such a high profile and well respected, well-loved game. I mean, for me as well, because I've done various different aspects of stuff in that world. That doesn't hurt. 

I love the whole Warhammer 40k universe, at the same time I don't want to just be like, I'm a 40k actor and that's all I do because that world also probably doesn't need just another white middle-class man in it, even if that is like 70 percent of the world. Like you say, they're trying to broaden it out and diversify it and necessarily if it wants to get to a bigger audience and have a healthier ecology on so many different kinds of levels. So, I don't want to go all in on just that, even if it's a very rich world. So, it was a real pleasure. 

F: Would you want to broaden your repertoire into radio plays, because I know on your LinkedIn, you write, you're the voice when Cumberbatch is busy and listening to you, there are undertones of Benedict Cumberbatch in your voice, and Benedict before he became really popular, he did something like Cabin Pressure, which is so fun.

CT: Yeah.

F: Would you be open to doing radio plays like that?

CT: Definitely. I've just recently come from a voiceover conference in the UK and did a couple of workshops and that reminded me of what the work is that I want to actively seek out. And there's a lot of audio drama stuff floating about, a lot of that is available via social media or is operated in the U.S. as opposed to in the UK., though there are some great ones in the UK. as well, and it's tricky to know why and how to validate some of those things. So, it's something that I would love to explore doing more of as well as, you know, you can do these audio drama things, which are kind of like shorter versions of audio books, almost essentially with not so many voices. And I think those medium and short form ways of storytelling would be lovely. It would be great because I'm not right for a lot of video games. 

I don't think I'll ever be actually a very prolific video game actor if that makes sense because I'm okay at shouting and I can play some monsters and I've got a couple of accents in the bag and that kind of thing in terms of doing voices. People will say it's about the acting Chris, it's not about voices, but doing some voices and being able to nail certain things there are people that are brilliant at that. But there are people who have probably a wider palette of voices than I will ever have. 

I never started out as a voice actor. I'm very much an actor who uses the voice, and I'm trying to broaden that out a little bit more as I keep on going. But I want to open myself up to more different types of stuff to be creatively fulfilled. The prospect of going into a recording session and screaming “grenade” and “bang” is not very fulfilling. I did that for a few games, and then I'm done with that. Like the money's not good enough for me to do that. I mean, never say never. If the money does become good enough, then we can talk. But you push your voice and it's a different kind of acting, I'll put it that way.

F: So, last question. What would be a dream come true project for you?

CT: A dream come true project? Probably something entirely original that I can't imagine. I would love to be able to work on an audio project where I'm working with other actors in real time. I would love to be able to work with most of the cast in Rogue Trader, for example, but I’d love it for us to be able to have dialogues where you're actually responding to each other as opposed to insert A, B or C here, that kind of thing. Because that's the one thing I kind of miss so much from the audio side of work is you getting something unexpected from the other person and then riffing off it. You have to self-generate as a voice actor that a director will go do you want to try it like this? Or maybe like this, it's supposed to be funny. Try it dead pan, that kind of thing.

But quite often that kind of spontaneous element of discovery only comes from when someone gives you a line in a way that you really didn't expect, and maybe it makes you laugh, when it's supposed to be tragic or whatever, those kinds of things. The biggest thing I miss about stage work is when you're working with an actor at the top of your game and they raise you up to their level. It's terrifying, but in the best way. Some actors can do that effortlessly because they're so in the moment, because they don't know what they're going to do next, even though they can find their light and make sure that the audience is still seeing their brilliant acting at the same time. Clever, clever bunnies. That feeling because they don't know exactly where they're going, you're kind alive to the moment in a way that quite often you're not, and if there was a way to be able to replicate that in an audio way and a long form storytelling way, then that would be cool. 

I've just started playing a little bit of D&D and I don't know if I'll ever get good at that, especially in terms of like, so I've got to come up with words. Oh my God. Whereas I will never watch a D&D playthrough for four hours on YouTube myself, personally, life choice, I can start to understand the appeal of that because there's an element of that spontaneity and playfulness, but in a group. So, if there was a way to do that with actually scripted drama, I'd be all in on that. That would be amazing. Or some kind of hybrid. So I don't know exactly what that is, but that kind of thing would be quite cool. 

F: That's what the BBC did with Cabin Pressure. I attended one live recording and it was just amazing. You have all the other actors [apart from Benedict Cumberbatch] that are household names. And to see them act and how little takes they actually need for the lines and everything is amazing.

CT: Yeah, there's an appreciation of the craft, but it's also the fact that it's not into a void. It's not like, okay, we've done three. Is that okay? We're onto the next. I think in many ways it can make the work much easier, because you're using your imagination, but in a different way, because you're operating with a stimulus. And that's always exciting.

F: And good D&D is just like improv theatre.

CT: Yeah, exactly.

F: Really good players are spontaneous. Just very creative.

CT: That should be celebrated and I think harnessing more of those kinds of things would be fun, because in all honesty, still probably about 60, 70 percent of the work that I do is in the corporate and business sphere. That's just because of how I sound. I didn't go out to court that work particularly, but in terms of the stuff that pays the bills regularly, that's the kind of stuff that I do. Even then, you're trying to find levels of playfulness or colour so that you're not just coming over with: “in a world where you can trust a big corporation to take your money.” So, there's any kind of nuance or subtlety to that, that will be a good thing. So that's the kind of stuff that I crave as a result.

F: Thank you for your time.

CT: Oh, my pleasure.

F: It went by so fast. We went over time; I still have a lot more questions.

CT: Oh, sorry.

F: No, no, no, no, no, no. That, that's, that's absolutely fine. Thank you.