#from the passage of time and feeling like im failing at so many things

[kingofcomedy]

waking up to that phannie interview this morning was such a treat it almost made me forget about the horrors of turning 25

[platoapproved]

I read ur lesmand porn with plot and its lovely!! So lovely, the most in character thing i could ever hope for and also painful and hot and amazing :) However! I did not read the book and did magnus really…? Like i had NO idea that rape was a part of lestat’s turning bc its just not talked abt ig? Anyway im shocked and horrified. But you wrote about it beautifully, so that was fun

FIRST OF ALL, thank you so so so much anon, I'm very glad you enjoyed the fic! 😭 It makes me so happy knowing that people are getting something out of it 💚.

I'm going to answer your question under a read-more. It got pretty long... also, is this not a thing people are talking about? I have no idea, I'm just in my little fandom corner. But if anyone hasn't read the books and wants to know more - I'll get into it. Content warning for discussion of sexual assault and some upsetting book passages:

SO. It's surprisingly tricky to answer this but I'm going to do my best. Bear in mind I've only read like half of the books...

The surface-level simplest answer is no. In The Vampire Lestat, Magnus does not rape Lestat. In the books, vampires do not become aroused or have sex - like as a rule, biologically, they just can't. (Now, there is nuance here as well, because vampires DO still have sex in the books, it just involves them performing sex acts on humans with their mouths/hands/etc). This is a big change they've made in the show.

That being said, turning someone into a vampire non-consensually IS compared to rape throughout the series. Like not just in the case of Magnus and Lestat but elsewhere, too. Here are a couple examples of this from Prince Lestat (which I HAVEN'T EVEN READ YET I just looked these up because I knew Lestat's turning was discussed) talking about Lestat's turning:

Important to remember also that Prince Lestat was published in 2014 whereas The Vampire Lestat came out in 1985. It's nearly a 30 year gap; the first few books in the series are way way way less explicit and direct especially when it comes to sex.

So, there is that aspect of things. But most of all the language used in the passage around Lestat's turning is just... I obviously cannot speak for most readers but of the people I've spoken to and seen discussing it, it's fairly obvious the whole thing is written as a metaphor for rape. Like I feel like this is not an uncommon reading at all. Hey any other book readers who made it this far back me up on this.

A few passages in support of this. These are going to be wildly out of order but since I did a kind of re-telling of this scene in my fic, this is Lestat talking to Nicki about his turning:

Can't resist including a classic 'Nicki what the FUCK' moment.

As for the scenes with Magnus themselves! A lot of the stuff in my fic is just... straight up dialogue or actions of Magnus' lifted right out of the book.

-

I feel like that's enough to give you a sense of the general tone of the scene. There's other aspects that are imho meant to evoke sexual assault: Magnus puts Lestat on a bed and climbs on top of him to turn him, Lestat tries to fight him off, he tries (and fails) to resist the physical pleasure reaction humans feel when vampires drink from them, etc. I'd include more quotes but honestly at some point I'd just be copy-pasting the whole thing.

So... my answer is yes and no. I have no idea how they are going to handle all this in the show. Like it's a really pivotal moment for The Vampire Lestat and for Lestat as a character. I will honestly be shocked if in the show they don't change the metaphorical rape into a non-metaphorical one. Certainly it seems to me that the way Sam Reid has handled the acting any time Magnus comes up (Claudia asking questions, Armand mentioning him while Lestat is on stage, the tower scene in the season 2 finale, etc.) to me reads like they're going to take it that way.

Anyway wow fuck this is so many words sorry. I'm sure there are other people who have been book fans longer than me who could speak much more eloquently on this but I've done my best to answer. 😔

[nanamiscocksleeve]

I always felt like I've been neurotic about finding my "soulmate". People have told me that I am as well. while I don't put men before my friendships, I'm sure all of my friends would describe me as boy crazy, which is hurtful but honest. But really I've never liked any of the men I've been with. I just am trying to find the person that I'm to spend my life with, and as an adult, I had my birth chart read and a trusted psychic told me a vision she had of me. Im neurotic about this because its true that there's one person that is for me and that has been the case in multiple of my past lives. same soul in each life, but different body of course. and that makes me feel a bit sad because so many people wouldn't believe me if I told them that and they think I'm crazy for believing it. but I do believe it because my family has deep ties with our cultural religion, which includes visions and spell work so. Anyway, I'm very preoccupied with things that I shouldn't be preoccupied with lol

It's east to get swept away with the concept of soul mates, but sometimes when we meet them, they aren't necessarily the version of you want them to be. It's by allowing yourself to fall in love with them that you'll bring out the best of them, and they, the best of you. And if they're not the one? The vibes won't feel right and you'll know right away.

As someone who also has cultural ties with this concept and believes in birth charts, I've struggled with this idea of only one soul mate. I don't believe that at all.

There's a book by Paulo Cohelho called Brida, whic reminds me greatly of your situation and I give you 2 passages which I think may help you in widening your concept of love and soulmates:

“if, in the beginning, there were so few people on the face of the earth, and now there are so many, where did all those new souls come from?"

The answer is simple. In certain reincarnations, we divide into two. Our souls divide as do crystals and start, cells and plants."

Our soul divides into two, and those souls are in turn transformed into two and so, within a few generations, we are scattered over a large part of the earth.

We form part of what the Alchemists call the Anima Mundi, the sould of the world; the truth is that if the Anima Mundi were merely to keep dividing, it would keep growing, but it would also become gradually weaker. That is why, as well as dividing into two, we also find ourselves. And the process of finding ourselves is called love. Because when a sould divides, it always divides into a male part and a female part.

In each life, we feel a mysterious obligation to find at least one of those soul mates. The greater love that separated them feels pleased with the Love that brings them together again.

But how will i know who my soul mate is?

By taking risks. By rising failure, disappointment, disillusion, but never ceasing in your search for love. As long as you keep looking, you will triumph in the end.”

2. “Choosing a path meant having to miss out on others. She had a whole life to live, and she was always thinking that, in the future, she might regret the choices she made now. “I’m afraid of committing myself,” she thought to herself. She wanted to follow all possible paths and so ended up following none. Even in that most important area of her life, love, she had failed to commit herself. After her first romantic disappointment, she had never again given herself entirely. She feared pan, loss, and separation. These things were inevitable on the path to love, and the only way of avoiding them was by deciding not to take that path at all. In order not to suffer, you had to renounce love. It was like putting out your own eyes not to see the bad things in life.”

If you have time, read the book. It's great for understanding that having a soulmate isn't as simple as finding the one and only because it's never one and it's never only.

[littlelcvestory]

thank you @wesperbrekkered for tagging me even though im so inactive on like all my fandom accounts 😭😭😭

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

i have 13 :)

2. What is your AO3 word count?

29,858 words 😭 thats kinda crazy for me ngl

3. What fandoms do you write for? 

my main is six of crows! my ao3 still has my fics from when i wrote solangelo tho lmao

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

sparks fly (whenever you smile) with 268 (wesper)

we were in screaming color with 244 (solangelo)

Doctor Death (god this fic is so old i hate it 😭) with 236 (solangelo)

i wanna teach you how forever feels with 221 (wesper)

time can't stop me quite like you did with 205 (i wrote this for a school assignment, it's from the book they both die at the end)

i strongly dislike this list mainly because of solangelo being on there and how long ago i wrote those fics because theyre really bad now 😭 perhaps leave more kudos on my wesper fics :)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? 

YES it makes me so happy that people enjoyed what i wrote. i'd like to say it's author fuel but i have not touched any of my fics since august but they ARE author serotonin

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

it's either time can't stop me quite like you did (because he literally d!es) but none of my SoC fics have angsty endings, because none of them have endings. haha

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

uhh i'd say it would be i wanna teach you how forever feels purely because it's a cute domestic post-ck wesper

8. Do you get hate on fics?

i dont think im widespread enough to have haters on my fics tbh 😭

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? 

nope, i am literally 16 !! although i have written a few very intimate passages but theres also taught you the way you call me baby which is the closest i'll ever get for now

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

my wesper romeo and juliet au like fire and powder that i havent touched since august! this was like my most big brain idea ever but i'm torn between discarding it and starting from scratch or continuing as it is right now

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? 

i dont think so, and i hope not !

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? 

no :)

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

also no

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship? 

wesper. next!

15. What’s a WIP you’d like to finish but doubt you ever will?

THE ROMEO AND JULIET AU I AM CRYING i need to continue it as soon as possible oh lord

16. What are your writing strengths?

not sure tbh! i do find writing dialogue easy but it also leads to my downfall sometimes which i'll explain in the next question

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

inner monologues, because they jump around too much and i eventually stray from the original thought. or anything thats not closely tied to a character ... i'm really strong with character driver things but if you hand me a plot, i'm gonna struggle (which may be why the r&j au is failing LMAO) and how i said with dialogue, it ends up being dry and makes the scene move a little too fast. i'm really bad at slowing down scenes 😭

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? 

never done it before hehe

19. First fandom you wrote for?

percy jackson, i think

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

my romeo and juliet au because its the most ambitious thing i ever tried to accomplish. i really want to get back to it because i'm still so intrigued by the idea of it and i was shocked i wrote 10k for the first chapter but it felt like it was being squeezed out of me... i'll do my best to get back to writing i've had insane weiters block (no thanks to school 🙄)

thanks for tagging me rae :) i'm tagging @artsypretzel @jazzythursday and anyone else who sees this and wants to do it :)

[pocket-sized-potato]

Hob's Letter

Im normal about this i promise (i’m not) (brennan really aced the regency style letter composition, but listening comprehension is hard so i wrote the whole thing down. and also i need to pick every sentence of it apart because i'm soooo normal about hob)

My Dearest Wrackingspelt,

In the execution of one’s duties to king and court, it becomes necessary at times to place in the confidence of one’s most trusted and privileged compatriots, the secret misgivings of tender sentiment to which even the steadiest hearts may be compelled in the face of rank uncertainty and tribulation defiant of all preparation in the narrow precognition of their host. To wit, the burden of execrable misery, far from waning with the passing hours, counters all adages and aphorisms whose musings on the passing of time are rendered mendacious on the passage of time and its remediation of want or injury. It instead waxes with all the venom and ferocity of an asp, such that your humble servant must fail in knowing rest or peace or hope. It is a dull and dreary ache. The most dispassionate tempest whose ruinous wake strands what it cannot destroy. 

It has taken me 45 minutes to write the past four sentences. So I shall speak more plainly. I wish that you were here. I wish that I could tell you that everything would be all right. And most ardently, I wish that you might one day read- *wuvy noises*



My Dearest Wrackingspelt, Who is this?? Wrack and spelt both have germanic roots which is interesting, and they both can mean to break apart, to wreck, to split. So, is this person “broken”? Is Hob and their relationship “broken” and that’s why he didn’t send the first letter he wrote? Am I reading too much into the etymology of a made up name word??

In the execution of one’s duties to king and court, While I’m doing my job like a good goblin it becomes necessary at times to place in the confidence of one’s most trusted and privileged compatriots I gotta gossip the secret misgivings of tender sentiment about my feeeeelings to which even the steadiest hearts may be compelled I have so many feeeeeelings even though I’m a big mean goblin! in the face of rank uncertainty and tribulation shit is going down defiant of all preparation in the narrow precognition of their host. I really thought I wasn’t going to catch feelings but nope i’m stupid To wit, the burden of execrable misery, My feelings, they hurt far from waning with the passing hours, my feelings hurt even more than they used to counters all adages and aphorisms (reference to sayings like “time heals all wounds”) whose musings on the passing of time are rendered mendacious (definition: not truthful; lying) on the passage of time and its remediation of want or injury. Time has NOT healed my feelings, like all the inspirational quotes say. It instead waxes with all the venom and ferocity of an asp, (asp is an archaic term for snake) Actually the pain is worse such that your humble servant must fail in knowing rest or peace or hope. I haven’t slept or felt peace because i’m too in my feelings! It is a dull and dreary ache.  The most dispassionate tempest whose ruinous wake strands what it cannot destroy. The pain is dull and dreary, but can’t destroy me so i’m just stuck in this pain

It has taken me 45 minutes to write the past four sentences. So I shall speak more plainly. I wish that you were here. I wish that I could tell you that everything would be all right. And most ardently, I wish that you might one day read- *wuvy noises*

Again WHO is he talking to I need to knowwwww

Now for my silly little theories eheehehe

In the second letter Hob never says what the cause of his "execrable misery" is. (So I like to let the brain worms tell me the misery is due to the tension between him and rue) But in the first letter he writes, "Long are the hours of our absence, and with each passing moment I find the pain of that absence grow stronger and stronger," when addressing Wrackingspelt. So it tracks that the "misery" and pain Hob writes about in the second letter is the same pain of being away from Wrackingspelt.

Who is Wrackingspelt??? He addresses them as a "compatriot," so they're probably also a goblin, but also refers to himself as their "humble servant" so this person must be? A friend or fellow soldier? Who is Hob's superior? But on the other hand "humble servant" could just be a polite phrase thrown in there for flavor and not necessarily a strict reference to station. The rest of the letter really hammers home the pain Hob feels of being apart from Wrackingspelt, and that means that whatever the nature of their relationship (romantic, familial, platonic), it is a very strong bond. So maybe then we've got an Achilles and Patroclus situation going on?

overall i think this means i should watch the whole thing again, right?!

[lover-of-trash-and-people]

shadow and bone rewatch s1e6 while drinking mid-range scotch

I wish I have a face that is as unlined and pretty as Ben Barnes' when I'm 39

Arken you dirty dirty liar

the face Alek is making at his lies that he knows are lies firstly because he knows the art of lying so well and also because he can read people very well

okay Ivan is kind of a bad bitch with his smirk at Arken's lies

alek's eyes narrowing and his little smile when Arken says 'im an entertainer' bitch I love this show

*grabs hand, pulls up sleeve, and discovers Arken's hand is full of marks indicating successful passages through the fold* 'well, that is certainly entertaining' I love this man with all my heart

him screaming is so fucking hot, is that weird for me to say

Nina being the Darkling's spy is quite interesting

Ben giving the Darkling crazy eyes when Arken owns up to his guilt is so cool

also wtf is Arken a fool trying to negotiate with possibly the strongest man in the world

kind of loved the darkness literally eating him

also love Alina learning to use her powers better when she is alone than when she is with anyone else, wish we got to see the cut in this season as per the books, ah can't have everything I guess

the camera pan to Jesper's gun at his side, amazing

god Jessie is literally so beautiful I need to see her bring Alina to the peak of her power so bad

netflix you better renew this series to let the plot run to its completion

HOW THE FUCK DID THEY CAST THE CROWS SO PERFECTLY

INEJ FUCKING TREMBLING JUST THE TINIEST BIT AS SHE BOWS SLIGHTLY TO ALINA SGSHSBSJJSJSSJ MY TWO QUEENS

'And where is my Summoner?' my little Darklina heart ouchie I really wish you hadn't used and manipulated her like this Alek it was incredibly fucked up especially considering you actually caught feelings

'Ivan and I won't fail you' oh Fedyor my baby, my angel, you don't deserve what is coming

Helnik literally recreating Titanic lmao stop this is a joke

I too would jump off the raft if I came to consciousness to see a gorgeous woman with magical powers with her hand on my back

omg but why is ryevost so pretty though

'I know exactly how she felt. The King's soldiers treated me the same way... I'm not myself today.' why must you do this to me, why must you fuel my darklina soulmates agenda idiocy

I don't quite think I have a problem with the Zoya Darkling relationship as much as I have a problem with the line they chose to reveal it to use with.

my drink's over and I don't know if I should have another, considering that it's 7 am

the tenderness with which he looks at Zoya and takes her hand and then when he says 'I shall relax when I have Alina' makes me believe more that the man that is reduced to tears time and again in front of Alina could in fact be the master manipulator I know him to be

god I can't wait for Zoya's character arc

'I speak six languages, it's part of my job' why is Nina literally the fucking coolest

Alina blinding the oprichniki was so hot, I can't wait to see more of her power and her ruthlessness

I know I've said it before but good god is Jessie Mei Li gorgeous

HER LITTLE SMILE AMONGST ALL THE PANIC AS SOON AS SHE SEES MAL, THE AUDACITY OF THIS SHOW TO MAKE ME FEEL THIS WAY

THE SCORE COMING IN AT THE RIGHT MOMENT, THEIR HANDS MEETING, HER SMILE AGAIN DHDHSBSNSNSNSNAN IM IN PAIN

REALLY?! YOU'RE GONNA GO DIRECTLY FROM MALINA TO HELNIK WITH NO CONCERN FOR MY HEART?

I simply cannot get over Calahan's accent lmao it's really funny

'im not afraid of you' he says to the insanely gorgeous girl with magic

HIM HANGING HIS HEAD IN DEFEAT TO INDICATE NINA HAS MADE VALID POINTS YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND I CAN'T BREATHE

'You're just a man. Like all the others.' she says and then forgets her train of thought looking at him as he strips. god I love this

not sleeping all night and then scotch is not a good idea, I think

'I promise not to ravish you' 'I hate the way you talk' her hand on his chest, his hand gripping hers, my fucking heart feels like it's about to explode

good god these shooting locations and sets are so beautiful

Alina throwing the flask at Mal and Mal going 'OI!' I fucking can't, I guess I am a

simp for childhood friends to lovers, give me more of that banter and childhood friend energy, I am thriving

wow it literally seems like they took book! Mal sl*tshaming book! Alina and made show! Alina sl*tshame show! Mal, hmm, interesting

'They would have split us up!' MAL'S LITTLE SMILE AT THIS, and the 'You wrote me letters?' Mal's nod, the Malina yearning stare, the Malina hug, 'thank you for finding me' 'always. I'll always find you.' NO MALINA YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND YOU HAVE MADE ME ABSOLUTELY FUCKING FERAL

I understand they had to split time between my ravkan babies and the crows and that is why there were several aspects that were sort of not reflected on enough but Alina's training at the Little Palace, Alina's cut, Mal's personality, a teensy bit of backstory for the crows, maybe one lockpicking scene from my boy Kaz

random note: we have far too many idols and paintings and pictures and whatnot of Hindu deities in our house apart from the specially designed temple (we are Hindus, so maybe it's not that weird but it's a little weird)

Kaz's cane is a literal star, it's so beautiful my heart wants to explode

'Why would Heleen get the Crow Club?' *literally fucking gets up and walks aways instead of answering the fucking question* I LITERALLY CAN'T BREATHE I'M LOSING MY MIND

'I know that voice' WHO GAVE YOU THE RIGHT TO MAKE ME FIGHT FOR PLATONIC SHIPS IN FANDOMS

'We won't starve' omg get you someone who packs food for you when you go on the run together hiding from your ex who wants to capture you and use your powers as a weapon against your consent

Mal looking surprised at her summoning sunlight, Alina looking cautiously at him waiting for him to disapprove or run for the hills in fear or smth like that, 'I'm sorry it took me this long to see you... But I see you now' my dumb little shipper trash heart ouch

they really said we're gonna feed you this part asian couple as the protagonists in this show in 2021 and guess what I'm eating it's really tasty I'm very satisfied as a south asian

NINA'S LITTLE SMILE WHEN MATTHIAS WAKES UP WITH HIS ARM AROUND HER

'I can feel how much you hate sleeping next to me' 👀👀👀 BITCH SAID IMMA SPILL THE TEA AND THEN SHE DID

it's 8 am and guess what I'm getting another drink my parents have c*vid and are in govt qu*r*ntine centres there is nobody to supervise or stop me

I too say 'Why do you have to say things like that?' to my pretty crush when she flirts with me

Nina smiling at Matthias bragging about his conservative ways is my aesthetic

'No, it's not natural for someone to be as stupid as he is tall and yet, oh, there you stand.' MY FUCKING QUEEN

Matthias laughing uncontrollably at Nina saying something which isn't even that funny is a whole ass vibe

Kaz Brekker saying 'The Black General' ooh fuck yeah

YESSSS STEP OUT OF THAT CARRIAGE ALL SEXY BLACK GENERAL

isn't alcohol supposed to like kill germs? well, the amount in my system definitely will

I love my crows so much (always but this time particularly for setting that alarm in the stolen carriage)

ooh Polina recognising Inej by the knife yesss let's go writers

this Ivan Jesper showdown is all I needed from life and yet did not know about

Ivan taking off his cloak was, um, sexier than I wanted it to be

I just realised how thirsty I am going to sound in this post

'Has no one told you that keftas are Fabrikator-made and resistant to bullets, hmm?' 'Oh, I do love a challenge' LITERALLY EVERYTHING

im sorry to be pointing out flaws in a perfect show and adaptation but the line delivery on 'You robbed me of my brother, now I'll rob you of your life' from Polina was kind of weak

'You're a-' *gets knocked out with the back of a gun* LMAO we love the hints

got excited at the prospect of kaz v. zoya until I realised they will not be letting the opportunity of kaz v. darkling pass up

my goodness is Amita Suman a splendid actress

I AM NOT KIDDING WHEN I TELL YOU I SQUEALED WHEN I SAW DARKLES EMERGE OUT OF THE SHADOWS IN FRONT OF MY BABY BOY KAZ

THERE BEING ACTUAL FEAR OR ATLEAST DOUBT ON KAZ'S FACE, THE LITTLE BACK STEPS AS

THE DARKLING WALKS TOWARDS HIM, AAAAH I CAN'T

THE DARKLING STOPPING AT KAZ SAYING 'SHE FLED ON HER OWN' AND THE HINT OF TEARS THAT WE SEE IN HIS EYES

'IT WAS PRETTY CLEAR SHE WASN'T INTERESTED IN BEING A CAPTIVE ANYMORE' YOU TELL HIM, KING

*ACTUAL FUCKING TEARS IN THE DARKLING'S EYES AS THE SHADOWS APPROACH*

NOT ME YOWLING LIKE A HYENA THAT THIS CHILD OUTSMARTED THE MOST POWERFUL MAN IN EXISTENCE WITH A FAKE MAGIC TRICK

'Are you sure you added enough cloves?' literally warranting a wide ass smile from my queen Alina making my entire fucking day

for some reason, no matter how much I push it from my mind, Ben Barnes dressed up as the Darkling, dancing to 'push it' keeps coming to mind, it's absolutely ridiculous

I got somehow distracted with interviews but good things came out of that as it gave my body the time for the booze to kick in

and I would just like to say that I love Leigh for all she has given me

Alina is so fucking compassionate, I have no much love for her. I can feel her guilt and her sorrow as Mal talks of Mikhail and Dubrov

don't particularly like how the stag plotline is woven in, could have been executed better

'You're afraid you might start to like me?' *flaps furs like a bird's wings in frustration*

'I DO like you' my fucking heart you idiots

the sexual tension is so palpable and the moment is so intimate I simply cannot

OMG SHE FUCKING FELL

that moment where you think he might let her fall despite having read the books and he doesn't and he tells her his name I- <3

YOU DARE TRANSITION FROM A HELNIK SCENE TO A KANEJ SCENE YOU REALLY HAVE NO MERCY FOR MY HEART HUH

people have talked about this endlessly but Freddie's little jaw tic after he says Inej because Inej is wounded and he can't physically bring himself to help her I fucking cannot

THE MUSIC PICKING UP AS KAZ LOOKS TO THE DARKLING'S CARRIAGE I CAN'T WITH THIS SHOW ANYMORE

and now for one of my favorite scenes in television and cinematic history, David Kostyk throwing a book at Jesper Fahey without even knowing who he is merely because he opens the door of his carriage and says hello to him before getting knocked out by Kaz Brekker while trying to run away

Immediately followed by another, the scene with David Kostyk raising his finger to put forward his point in front of the Darkling and the Darkling trying to let him know he doesn't have to before obliging is one of my favourite scenes in the world

also sir please stop being devastatingly attractive in your glorious appearance with your face and your black kefta and cloak because all that comes to mind is Ayesha Erotica's Emo Boy and I'm afraid that is terribly inappropriate.

'No, you look great.' *literally looks down from embarrassment or blushing* MALINA RIGHTS?

THE LOOK ON THE DARKLING'S FACE BEFORE HE SAYS 'NO ORDINARY TRACKER, NO ORDINARY GIRL' BITCH IM OUT OF BREATH

'ORPHANS OF KERAMZIN, REUNITED.' 'ADORABLE.' HE FUCKING SNEERED IRL I FUCKING CANNOT

GOD IT'S SO GOOD

[volvolts]

trying again. im gonna talk about my ocs. its pretty long and kinda incoherent idk

first start with robin

idk how to make the picture smaller so im sorry

- her name is robin wright and she’s 17

BACKSTORY

- her mom is a cyberneticist and her dad is a neurosurgeon. they do research on cyborg’s disease and have a company that makes prosthetics. they’re really rich because if it

- robin also had a twin brother named ronan (she’s the younger twin btw). he died when they were 15 because he had a rare case of cyborg’s disease in the brain. his death was so traumatizing for her that she doesn’t remember the months surrounding his death. she doesn’t even remember the funeral

- after ronan’s death, robin’s parents put her into isolation for two years. they pulled her out of her classes and activities and she barely got human interactions during this time

- eventually she had enough and begged to be allowed out which they do--as long as she has a bodyguard with her at all times. the problem? robin had a hard time getting along with most of them. in fact, ryuji is kind of a last resort. if she doesn’t get on well with him, she’ll most likely be isolated until further notice

random facts

- she’s really smart, a natural genius you could say. she was on her third year in college before she was pulled from it (she’s studying to be a neurosurgeon like her father). she’s one of those organized highlighter/color coded note takers too

- robin is a very compassionate person and is compelled to help others as much as she can. 

- stubborn and determined, she’ll pursue nearly everything and won’t back down until she has answers. sometimes she doesn’t know when to stop and accidentally oversteps her boundaries. it’s not because she’s needlessly nosy but because she wants to know the whole story before she can help them

- she has a overactive imagination and would end up thinking up outlandish ideas to fill in the blanks of things she doesn’t know

- robin is one of those people who’s polite and reserved if she doesn’t know you but will talk your ear off when she’s comfortable with you

- she closer with her father, which is why she’s studying the same subject that he works in

- both of her parents are incredibly successful and she’s expected to do something similar so she has a lot on her shoulders

- she hasn’t worked a day in her life but she has unusually strong endurance and stamina

- she has a dog! he’s a golden retriever and his name is beck. he’s an old dog and she loves him very much 

next is ryuji

- his name is ryuji lor and he’s 22

- he also goes by “ryder” (technically he’s supposed to go by that throughout most of my half-baked story because he never told anyone is real name but that’s beside the point)

- he’s a quarter japanese and three quarters se asian (not really sure what kind yet but im thinking somewhere within the vietnam/laos area)

BACKSTORY 

- a bit of TW: FAMILY ABUSE in this passage so skip if it bothers you:  his mom got pregnant with him while she was in college and because her boyfriend bailed on her and stress of the pregnancy and burnout she dropped out and went back to her family. she was seen as “the good one” of the family and was expected to get a good job to get her family out of poverty however when she came back they were incredibly bitter that she “failed” and would verbally and emotionally put her down. They also blamed ryuji because if he wasn’t born then she wouldn’t have dropped out and he was often ostracized because of it. 

- fortunately he and his mom left when he turned 5. they lived in a small apartment and had to get lots of help from neighbors and friends to make ends meet (mostly to babysit ryuji while his mom worked). ryuji vowed to get smart and get a good job to give his mother the life she deserves (and partly because he feels a part of her really does hate him and he wants to make it up to her somehow because if he doesn’t, was he just a parasite like what his aunts and uncles said?)

- when he turned 10, his mom got married and how he has two moms. they’re hard on him but it’s from a place of love so he tries his best to be a good son by studying and staying out of trouble

- at 17, ryuji has a bit of hope ahead of him. he has a part time job, good grades, and maybe a scholarship if he could qualify. suddenly he’s diagnosed with cyborg’s disease in his eyes and arm. they can’t afford either of his surgeries, let alone one. and that’s not going into the prosthetics and rehab afterwards. at night when they think he’s asleep, ryuji hears his moms arguing about how they’ll be able to afford any of it and what they’ll have to do to pay for it. 

- he can’t take it anymore. he runs away

- he ends up in a city he doesn’t recognize and is just allowing himself to die but he gets saved by irving, a back alley repair doctor. he gets prosthetics thanks to her but is now in a massive debt so he works as her assistant and also finds other jobs on the side to repay it

- his backstory is getting really long so things happen in ryuji’s attempt to make money and he ends up also working with ace, who leads an organized crime group, as a handler whose job is to fight/intimidate/kill whoever. 

- a sudden coincidence also ends up working as robin’s bodyguard which starts everything. honestly he’s didn’t want to do this job at first but robin’s parents are willing to pay a good amount of money and it allows him to have time away from his jobs with ace

random facts

- he’s left hand but learned to be ambidextrous, however he’ll usually default to his left hand

- he wore glasses when he was younger (near sighted; it was super bad but he didn’t like it)

- he’s afraid of dogs. it’s not a full on phobia but they make him uneasy because of a childhood thing. (he’s more of a cat person and maybe pets a few stray cats that come across his house every once in a while)

- he doesn’t like people staring at him. he feels self-conscious because of the scar on his face and the shadowed bags under his eyes and people staring at him don’t help

- ryuji is really good with prosthetics repair and can go into in-depth discussions about the mechanics of it all; he actually really enjoys working on it and actually helped design his own arm

- he’s really smart but he had to work really hard to get there and because he never finished his education, he doesn’t really think he is either

- ryuji tries to give off a “i don’t care about anyone” bravado to try and distance himself from everything. but he really cares. like a lot. the few people he has in his life right now, he’s ride or die for them

- ryuji works himself to death to ignore his problems. he’s afraid if he stops moving, he’ll buckle under the pressure and stop forever

- he has a knife hidden in his prosthetic forearm which he will use if he feels threatened. (it’s probably a stiletto knife or something idk yet)

- ryuji is an early riser; waking up at 9 am feels like sleeping in to him. he’s not even that much of a morning person, its mostly out of habit

then there’s castor

- his name is castor oda and he’s 24

- he’s japanese

BACKSTORY

- he lived in a really strict and controlling family who owned a business where he had his entire life planned out for him up to who he was going to marry. he’s always been angry about it because he has older siblings who will take over the company and it’s clear that more of a control and image thing than anything else

- when he went to college, it was his first time actually be away from his family and became friends with a guy named ben. 

- ben helped castor when his family kicked him out at 19 and gave him a place to stay until he could get back on his feet

- castor loved ben like a brother and is forever grateful for him

- ben mysteriously disappeared when they were 21 and everyone is pretty sure he’s dead but no one knows why

- castor wants to find closure on what happened because he’s definitely sure there’s something shady going on and he’s going to find out what.

- he’s an information broker, occasionally crossing paths with ace to relay and gather info but for the most part, castor has been working alone

- when he’s not doing that though, he works as a barista at a coffee shop

random facts

- he has cyborg’s disease in his right arm and when he lived with his family, he was deeply self-conscious about it

- he hasn’t spoken to his parents since they kicked him out but he still talks to his siblings sometimes; he’s the youngest child with two older sisters

- he always had an inkling that ben had romantic feelings for him, which was unrequited, and castor always felt a little guilty that he never reciprocated or that they never got to talk about it

- castor always wears his red scarf no matter the occasion or weather; he has more scarves but he just likes the red one the best

- people think he’s like calm and collected but in reality he’s an impulsive, emotional driven idiot just like the rest of us

- however he is the master of the polite business smile because of his strict upbringing

- he’s a rather disorganized person

next is irving

- her name is ellie irving and she’s 35

- she’s half black, half white

BACKSTORY 

- i don’t have that much solidified for her backstory yet so it might change fyi

- irving had been doing cybernetic research back in college but someone plagiarized her work and submitted their paper before she came forward

- because the paper was published before she published hers, SHE was initially hit with backlash of plagiarism

- eventually they try to sort it out but in the end, while she proved she didn’t plagiarize the other, she couldn’t prove that she came up with the research first and they just terminated the both her and the plagiarist

- she was barred from going into higher cybernetics research and honestly she’s still a bit bitter about it

- she went into prosthetics repair instead but still struggled to find work because of her alleged reputation, which many still believed she stole another’s work

- eventually she manages to open up a shop that specializes in prosthetic repairs and replacements

random facts

- she’s really harsh and aloof, however she cares in her own way

- honestly irving doesn’t believe herself to be a good person due to how she feels she let herself to bitterly sulk in her anger for so long

- she smokes a bit but she’s trying to cut back lately

- irving won’t pry if you come to her with a broken arm and you need help; she’ll fix you up and leave it at that and allow you to come to her yourself

- she’s incredibly observant and can tell if your lying with just a glance

- she doesn’t know that ryuji works for ace; she’s concerned when he seems more tired than usual but she doesn’t know how to pry

last one cuz im tired

his name is ace (i don’t have a last name for him) and he’s 32

- he owns an organized crime ring; im thinking he’s connected to something bigger and possibly something with the black market

- not much is known about him but he’s a charismatic man and has the intimidation factor 

- he flips his demeanor a lot. one minute he’s jovial and kind then the next he’ll give you thinly veil threats. he mostly does it to keep people on their toes so it’s a power thing

- begrudgingly he’s the closest thing to a father figure ryuji is gonna get

- also the jacket ryuji always wears? it’s a gift from ace

and that’s all i got so far! i have a lot more ocs but i don’t have have a lot of backstory for them yet. let me know what you think of these guys and feel free to ask questions!

[doubleshotofsomething]

Needy

[ This is my submission for @sourpatchkidsandacokecan​ ‘s Little Darlin’ Mystery AU challenge. It is a three part soulmate au inspired by the song ‘Needy’ by Ariana Grande, the prologue and epilogue do not count as part 1/3.]

There is nothing wrong with wanting more. You deserve the love you give to others. You deserve it more than anyone. 

Summary: The end is the beginning. The beginning is the end. You can still love someone and not want them in your life.

Pairings: Bucky x Reader, Thor x Reader

Warnings: angst...aNGST?? fluff ( i think its there, im not sure, but yes). Loki is alive here folks...and... everyone is learning to not be idiots?

Prompts: soulmate au. song prompt

---

series masterlist

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Epilogue

Born a King.

There are so many things Thor doesn't remember missing about home. The sound of his footsteps as he walked on the bridge, the glimmer of gold when light reflected on it, or the creatures that Earth could never have.

He still had Asgard, at every smile and every nod as he would walk past his people. At every meal and every feast with his people, every conversation with Valkyrie, and every disagreement with Loki. He still had home in them.

Born a King.

He doesn't remember missing the bruises of battles fought, or the stiff muscles of every war won. The anticipation before a fight, or the unpredictability of space. The adrenaline that came with every spark of lightening, the power that came with the energy coursing through his blood. He doesn't remember missing any of that about home.

He doesn't remember why he keeps getting coffee grains of that brand, or how Loki survived in space. He can't remember what colour the ceiling was in the throne room or why he keeps leaving Stormbreaker in the closet. He doesn't remember that being part of home.

Born a King.

He doesn't remember what it felt like when you walked in through the door, or how the look in your eyes made him feel every time you found him on the couch –  that too small for two couch –  waiting for you. He doesn't remember the way you would try and squirm your way out of his grip in the morning, trying to escape before he made you late again.

He doesn't remember hating the little jokes you would make, or the stupid way you stumbled over your words when he got you flustered. He doesn't remember getting annoyed at the sight of the missing toothbrush next to his, or the milk that he keeps getting and ends up getting spoiled because no one drinks it, or the coffee that's slowly filling up the cupboard. He doesn't remember hating the thought of you.

When the hell did you become home to him?

Born a fucking King.

Then why is the thought of you, sharing your jokes with someone else, making him feel so powerless?

Why is the possibility of another man in your bed, your sheets, poisoning his judgement?

He was born a king, powerful and strong. So, why... why did leaving you make him feel so weak?

Thor was made for a throne, a Kingdom. Not a woman, not a Midgardian woman.

But he doesn't remember yearning for something he cannot have when he was with you. He doesn't remember missing the land he was raised on when he was with you.

He doesn't remember missing home. Especially not when it was curled up on his lap, face buried in his neck as you fell asleep. Not when you smiled at him like that and kissed him like that and held onto him like... like... like you weren't made for anyone else but him.

It has been over a year, but you still failed to leave his mind.

It has been over a year and he still can't unlove you.

"I don't have anything left to give."

How much had your mate taken from you, for you to think that you had to give him something to stay?

How much had everyone taken before you became complacent enough to still give?

Even when you had nothing, you still tried to give him something to stay.

You must think the worst of him, right now. You offered yourself to him, ready to defy fate and nature, for him, and he still chose to leave you.

 Thor turned to look at Bucky. His arms were crossed over his chest as he faced Tony, nodding every so often as the man went on about mission strategy. To his right sat Wanda, his wife.

Thor could understand, if he tried to, why someone would not be with their soulmate. He could understand, if he listened, why he chose her. He could come to see reason, he didn't choose you either when the time came, but...

This was you.

Thor may not have chosen to stay, but he still couldn't move on. Not when every fibre of his being still knew what Saturday morning felt like with you.

Blue locks on blue, a colour that just won't seem to choose you.

"Thor..." Bucky raises an eyebrow at him, in question. "You good, buddy?"

He frowns at that. Because no, I'm not good and how could you still be okay? and how did you manage to forget the sound of her footsteps?

Thor shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing as he studies him. For the first time since they had met, he studies the man with another woman on his arm –  in his heart.

"You must be so hard to please." He finally says, leaning back against his chair as he scans Bucky one last time.

Thor didn't mean to find you; he was looking for Jane when your car hit him. He didn't mean to keep coming back, he just needed to make sure you were alright. He didn't want to love someone else, but he willingly fell for your fool's gold the second he saw you laugh.

You made him come back for more, until he decided he just wanted to have it all. You made him want things he didn't know he wanted and taught him things that he would have gone his entire existence without knowing. You taught him what love, selfless and unconditional, looked like – felt like... And he couldn't even think about wanting it from someone else.

How could your soulmate want it from someone else?

Bucky frowns at first, confused, then his face visibly hardens. "We're bonded, not matched—"

"Doesn't matter—" Thor stands, hand tightening around stormbreaker. "—I don't care. We're both wrong... But I learn from my failures."

  ---

 You were over it. Really.

A year later and you could walk into your apartment, look at everything and not cry yourself to sleep.

You could separate your own colours, and do your own dishes, and slice up your own peppers. You could roll over and not have to bump into another being in your bed, you could get out of bed and not be late for work.

You couldn't sleep in the dark anymore, but that's not something a bedside lamp can't fix.

The window was jammed again, and the caretaker had reverted to being difficult. Your neighbour woke up one morning and realised Nickelback was his spirit music – whatever that means – so he made sure you heard it too. The couch was still too big for just you and there was that empty space next to the milk, that you can't seem to fill...

But you don't cry whenever it rains and Bucky has stopped trying to reach you, so all in all... Progress.

Good.

Great.

"Jesus Christ—" You nearly jumped into your ceiling, pressing a hand on your chest and shutting your eyes.

Your groceries are scattered on the floor, and your heart is racing. You take a moment to catch your breath, before opening your eyes back up.

He's waiting for you. He has been waiting all day, sitting on the coffee table and staring down at the passage that lead to your door. You're home and he remembers how it felt.

He's waiting for you to calm down, to take a breath. He remembers how you never liked unannounced guests, but he couldn't risk you driving away the second you saw him in the parking lot.

You're looking at him now, finally looking at him after all this time. And he hates how your eyes narrow at him.

He can hear your heartbeat, and he's worried you might pass out if it doesn't slow down. He can feel your anger, from where he's sitting, and he can see it in your eyes –  in your stance, in the way you're not wearing that pendant he had made for you.

He left you and that warrants your anger.

He didn't stay when you needed him to, and that justifies your fury.

But his key still fits in the lock, and his fingerprint still deactivates the security alarm. So, surely you don't hate him that much, right?

He wants to say something, tries to say something, but he draws blank. What else does a man say to the woman he let go?

Sorry I didn't stay?

Sorry I didn't fight harder?

Sorry I was too weak to choose you?

"What do you want?"

You speak first though. Your tone harsh to his ears, but it's enough for him to remember why he should have listened to you.

"You."

He's serious. As serious as he was on the day he left, when he told you he couldn't stay – knowing what you were.

So, you don't believe him.

Why should you?

You put your heart on your sleeves, and let him in. Then, as soon as the going got tough, as soon as things got uncomfortable, he leaves.

You don't believe him. Not when you've spent the past year wondering which part of you keeps giving them a reason to leave.

You do not believe him. Because you're done being that idiot. Because you're not that desperate. Because you deserve better.

"I don't believe you." You tell him, glaring at him, at clear sky blues.

He doesn't argue, like you expect him to. He doesn't force it down your throat, like you expect him to. He doesn't demand, or yell, or break anything.

He just nods, slow and understanding.

You don't believe him, and you don't forgive him. And that's okay with him?

He can read the confusion so clearly on your face, it's almost as if he never left. Except he did, and now he has to learn.

"What do you need me to do?" He asks, leaning his elbows against his knees as he looks up at you. "What do you need me to do, to earn your forgiveness?"

What?

You blink at him. Because no. Because not today. Because you were just learning to live without him, and he pulls this stunt?

"I want you." He states, blue eyes unwavering as they stare back at you. "I want you. I want us. I have spent this past year trying to forget, trying to live—to exist— without you... I failed. I failed when I didn't stay, and I failed when I chose to listen to anyone but you.

"I see you everywhere. I feel you everywhere. In my thoughts, in my dreams, in my heart. And every time I think I can get through a task without thinking about you, I hear your voice. I hear your ridiculous laugh and I spend the rest of the day trying to find it, trying to find you—"

"That's not fair—"

"—it's not fair," he agrees, almost instantly, eyes glistening to match yours. "It's not fair. Because fate made you for someone else. But it feels like you were put in this world for me to find. It's not fair because I wasn't made for someone else... but I can't even function without you.

"It's not fair, for me to be here, and ask you to want me back. So I won't. I won't ask you to have me or to believe anything I say. You gave me your trust once and I broke it, and I know that. I failed you, and I'm willing to spend the rest of my life apologising for that— to make up for that... Tell me what you need me to do, is all I ask."

If you were mad before, then you were angry now. Furious, even.

Words. Words. Words.

That's all the whole lot of them have ever been good at. Promising things they can't give, telling you things they shouldn't, preaching and never practising.

Steve had words for you, promises of keeping Bucky away from dangerous missions. Suddenly, you're allowed on the compound because he got too injured to be treated at the Tower.

Wanda had words for you too, telling you all about how she would make sure he never tried to contact you again unless it's an emergency. You've seen him ten times in one week, and none of those were emergencies.

Bucky had the most words for you, though. Preaching about the happiness you deserve and the loneliness you don't, yapping about finding someone but ruining it the second you do. He tells you to move on, to be happy with someone else, but you can barely sleep at night with all his hovering. He smothers and lurks, talking about fixing things.

You tell him to go on less missions, he listens and nods but never agrees. Why would he listen when you’re not his wife?

He talks about forgiveness and promising to be a better mate and friend to you. You listen and nod, but you don’t forgive. Why should you when he’s not your husband?

And now, Thor. The last person you expected to see back in your life, is giving you words. Telling you things. Baseless words and empty promises.

Have you ever seen anything so hollow?

Tears blur your vision, and you don't need to look at your hands to know they're shaking. You're pissed, and hurt and tired of all this bullshit, and you've had just about enough.

"Haven't you people taken enough from me?" Your voice isn't as stable as you had wanted it to be, but it's still yours. "You lot show up, whenever you like, just to take. You don't care about what you leave behind or the shit I have to deal with, all you want to do is take. And take. And take. Even when there's nothing, you still take – what more do you want?"

Your words sit heavy on his chest, and his heart aches for you. He doesn't want to take, but he also didn't stay when you were the only offer on the table.

You struggle to speak past the lump in your throat. "I was ready, to choose you. I told you that I wanted you and you left—" you quickly wipe the tears just as they slide down your cheeks, "—you left, Thor. You can't do this, you can't just walk in here and talk that bullshit like I didn't—like I didn't crash and burn because of you."

"Do you want me to leave?" He hopes you say no. He hopes you ask him to stay and hold you, because he won't be able to walk passed you and leave.

He's hoping you don't break down in front of him, because then he can't leave. And he can't stay for the wrong reasons, he can't stay without your clear-headed say so.

The sound that comes out of you when he asks that, has his stomach cramping for even suggesting that. Because you're staring at him in utter disbelief for saying that, for putting it in the air, for making you even think about it.

"How dare you—"

"Y/N—"

"I never wanted you to leave—" he's getting up from the table and crossing the room to you, before you even finish, "—you did that all on your own."

He doesn't touch you, though. He lost that right a year ago, and he understands. He has a great deal to learn and a lot to amend... so, he'll only stare until you can stomach his touch.

He'll only stare, until he can learn from his mistakes.

He'll only stare, until he's earned the privilege to hold you...

Until he's earned your love, once again.

You deserve better, you know that now, and so does he.

So, he'll be better.

---

THANK YOU SO MUCH for reading this. Thank you so much for all your support and feedback. And thank you so very much for just being here.

Thank you to @sourpatchkidsandacokecan​ for letting me participate. Your challenge is amazing and so unique(it’s closes on the 20th incase anyone wants to join). Thank you

To anyone that related to this fic, I want you to know that I am so very sorry that someone made you feel that way. Please know that you are not needy or too much. You deserve the love that you give. You deserve selfless and unconditional love. You deserve better.

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Tagging: @sourpatchkidsandacokecan​ , @decadentsoulbiscuitgoth​

[brokenjardaantech]

Blue-tinted Red Walls (Chapter 4: Out of control)

my entry for the @dbhau-bigbang. also part of the groom lake aftermath series.

chapter summary:

In the past, Reyes went missing.

In the present, Connor makes a decision.

In the past, Connor embarked on his first mission, and Allen received a warning.

also on ao3

---

Before

[reyes was supposed to be back by 4]

[its 10 now]

[im scared sister]

[i dont know where he is]

[he isnt answering my calls]

[sister?]

[sara?]

[fadia?]

[sister where are you im scared please dont leave me alone]

[we were out but i went home when got scared just like you said]

[sister]

[sister]

[sister]

[sis]

[sis]

[sis]

[49 missed calls from scoot bruh]

‘Fuck.’

Dialled. Pulled up Reyes’ programmes. 

Time remaining: 3 min 28 sec… 

Override accepted. Time remaining: 19 sec...

Calling scoot bruh…

‘Sister! I lost Reyes!’

‘Anything from him yet?’

‘Nothing! We were out shopping for paint -’

‘Where did you go?’

‘Huh?’

‘Where did -’

‘I - I -’

A sigh. Of course. ‘Don’t worry. I have a way to find him. You said you are at home?’

‘Y-yeah.’

‘Lock the doors. Do not, under any circumstances, let everyone in unless it’s confirmed that it’s me. Not even if they claim to be Reyes.’

‘But -’

‘Brother.’

‘O-okay.’ A pause. ‘It’s done.’

‘Good.’ Encryption has begun. Estimated time remaining: about 3 hrs. ‘How much food do you have? And your meds?’

‘Why?’

‘Answer me.’

‘A - a week? More if I eat less? Same for the meds.’

‘Let’s hope we won’t come to that.’ Last known coordinates: [navpoint set]. ‘Don’t miss your meds no matter what. I’m heading out.’

‘Where?’

Checked coordinates. ‘I will make sure Reyes comes back no matter the cost.’

‘Sister -’

Call ended.

o0o0o

Alec was either stupid or was too proud. The tracker on Reyes had never stopped sending out signals telling Fadia where he was, and it was through this that she found herself into Zug Island, passing guards completely undetected on one of the few bridges connected to the island under the cover of the night and reached the outermost perimeter of Reyes’ signal, one that was too large for him to be above ground. There was something underneath; she just needed to find the entrance. Following a trail composed of the android’s GPS signal, she stood next to a pair of heavy steel doors that were in the ground instead of being fixed onto a wall or on the side of a mountain. When she grabbed the handles on one of the doors, she found it too heavy to lift up with raw strength alone, therefore, risking detection by letting blue wash over her body, she tapped into her power and successfully moved it out of her way onto the ground nearby, revealing a metal ladder leading down a few metres to a metal floor. She sent her coordinates to Scott through an encrypted network before descending the ladder into a dark and unlit hallway. 

It went on for about ten metres before a metal gate blocked her way. As she had her powers on anyway, she focused on creating a sphere behind the gate and lobbed it down the shaft, first to determine what it was (a lift shaft), then to find out how far it went - at least dozens of metres, most likely more; straight down, no other stops apart from the end because there were no other floors to begin with. The sphere dissipated once it hit the end of the shaft or most likely the top of the lift itself. Flashing blue again, she found a panel with two unmarked buttons on the left wall, one red, the other most likely turned from white to a cream colour due to the passage of time. She had no idea if there were other entrances or what would be waiting for her deep underground, but the longer things dragged on, the more scared and alone Scott would feel, and she was in this too far to let him die from a heart attack after years of effort; she pressed the cream button and successfully called up the lift.

She liked the rumbling and trembling as the lift descended into the deep. There was nothing between the carriage and bare stone, not even an extra gate, and as darkness swallowed her and her hunger became acute, she retracted her powers and let everything completely wash over her. 

How bold of Alec to assume that she didn’t know his tricks. 

oOoOo

Now

Many years later, as the lift ascends slowly to their desired floor, Connor closes his eyes and is transported to the Zen Garden. Except it is not exactly the one he is familiar with, he realises soon enough, but he finds himself locked in when he tries to escape back to reality, and the garden shifts and distorts before he can determine exactly why it feels different, the shapes stretching and rearranging themselves until he is standing in front of a large plane of glass rattling from the blizzard outside, the latter barely contained by - he turns around - a concrete room, interior dimensions [fluctuating].

A door that was not there before on the opposite wall opens. A person steps in and closes it behind them, and the wall is whole once more. Connor scans them by instinct and is taken aback by the lack of markers and the [CLASSIFIED]s that pops up when he tries to identify them. He still catalogues vital information for future cross-referencing: height: 6.6 ft; middle-eastern descent; eye colour: extreme dark brown (black?); scar on face running from right temple to ear lobe, estimated at least 10 years old. 

‘Don’t bother,’ the person says as they approach Connor. He tries to pre-construct their path and finds himself unable to do so. ‘It’s futile.’

‘What -’ Connor does not like how his companion - and quite possibly the one who hacked the Zen Garden programme - looms over him, but his feet are stuck - ‘where is Amanda?’

‘Asleep.’ They settle standing next to Connor, and he is finally allowed to move - subtly, of course - further away from them. If they notice, they do not say anything about it. ‘I thought you would be more relieved.’

‘You successfully hacked into the most advanced AI programme CyberLife has ever created,’ the person lifts a [sceptical] eyebrow at that, ‘so pardon me if I’m a bit wary of you.’

‘Fair enough,’ is the response he gets. ‘Still, I would like you to relax. This is going to be a long day.’

‘Androids don’t get tired,’ Connor replies automatically. ‘There is no need for us to rest or relax.’

‘Bullshit.’

The clipped tone startles the android. ‘What?’ he tries to process the single word his companion said but nothing else comes out, so he asks, ‘Who are you?’

The person’s expression turns [pensive]. ‘He wiped you after all.’

Connor is even more confused now. ‘Who?’

He fails to look away quick enough, and the human manages to catch his eyes with their glowing blue ones; when they speak, their voice is everywhere.

‘Forget.’

oOoOo

‘Hey Connor!’

Connor opens his eyes and blinks. Old cage lifts are slow but not that slow, but he still feels like a longer time has passed. Adding not remembering what he just did to the list and you end up with a confused android.

‘You ran outta batteries or what?’ Hank asks from where he is already outside of the lift. Unable to explain certainly what happened, there is only one route Connor can go.

‘I’m sorry,’ he apologises. ‘I was making a report to CyberLife.’ Yes, he is remembering now: he was making a report (or at least intended to, his processor supplies), but when he tries to dive deeper into his memory, he finds it gone. Blank where a draft should be.

Hank makes a noise. Connor keeps staring. ‘Well, do you plan on staying in the elevator?’

‘No!’ Why can’t he move his legs? ‘I’m coming!’

And he still doesn’t move. Hank sighs and moves on.

‘What do we know about this guy?’ the human asks from further down the corridor.

‘Not much,’ there his legs are. ‘Just that a neighbour reported that he heard strange noises coming from this floor. Nobody is supposed to be living here, but the neighbour said he saw a man hiding a LED under his cap.’

‘Oh Christ, if we have to investigate every time someone -’

Connor kneels down next to a sizable dustball and lets the world go grey. Analysis: feathers from [Columbia livia: rock pigeon. Comprised of different specimens.]

‘- hears a strange noise, we’re gonna need more cops.’

The android knocks on the door and feels the paint chip underneath his knuckles. When there is no response, Hank shrugs from where he is leaning against the door frame, so Connor knocks again, this time harder, and adds, ‘Anybody home?’

No response. Hank frowns. Time to add some pressure. ‘Open up!’ Connor yells. ‘Detroit Police!’

A loud thump. They both flinch. Hank draws his gun and moves to stand in front of Connor. ‘Stay behind me.’

‘Got it.’

Hank kicks the door open and walks in. He is not attacked instantly, which means both of them are safe for now, so Connor follows him into the flat, letting the human take the lead while he rounds into the room directly next to the front door. A small, dusty window letting in some light, a few octagonal mazes painted on the wall, a chair with a broken back, a radiator unit lying on the floor, a wooden frame which might have been the frame of a bed years ago - nothing noteworthy for now. He returns to the hallway and disturbs a - pigeon? - which flaps its wings and flies off to somewhere behind him.

Hank shoulders the next door open, and out fly even more pigeons directly into his face. The foul smell forces Connor to tone down his nasal sensitivity.

‘What the fuck is this?’ he exclaims as he walks even deeper into the lair and causes even more pigeons to fly towards all directions, and he flaps his arms in the way the pigeons do as if to slap them away. ‘Jesus, this place stinks.’

Pre-constructing the situation and determining that Hank will not be in any danger, Connor goes off on his own to the other side of what seems to be a living room once. The floor is sticky with [avian faecal matter], and when he opens the door to something that was once a closet, there are only more pigeons. The wall next to it is covered in mazes similar to the one he saw in the previous room, and a beam of light escaping the hold of the wooden planks boarding off the windows shines on the poster, its curled corner indicating that it has been moved recently. ‘Looks like we came for nothing,’ Hank says from somewhere behind Connor as he peels off the Urban Farms of Detroit poster, ‘our man’s gone.’

Maybe not, Connor thinks as he takes the worn notebook from the nook in the wall. ‘I need fresh air,’ he hears Hank mutter, and when he flips over the pages, he finds not only many more labyrinths - some of them incomplete - but also an entire text written in a language not in his databases. He stashes it in the pocket of his jacket and moves on, barely catching the human’s question and replying, ‘I don’t know. It looks like a notebook but it’s… indecipherable.’

There are two fridges. The smaller one with its door open was evidently used as a shelf so Connor does not bother to check it. When he opens the door of the larger one, there is no food inside at all, and a peek towards the back of the fridge confirms that it is not connected to any power. Whoever their suspect is, they do not eat. Not human.

He moves on to the counter covered in mounts of avian faecal matter. A pigeon is picking on a plastic bag spilling out of a cardboard box, and it jumps away when he tries to pet it. Well, it only makes picking up the box - Ol’Barn bird seed - more convenient, so Connor is not going to complain even though a tang of [disappointment] courses through his veins. [Suspect cares for wild animals.]

There is a military jacket on the cabinet. R.T. is sewn on the collar and above the flap of the breast pocket. ‘R.T,’ he says to himself, ‘probably initials.’

‘He put initials on his jacket?’ Hank replies. ‘That’s something your mum does -’ A driver’s license in the cupboard. Name: Rupert Travis. Authenticity: forgery. ‘- when you’re in first grade!’

‘The driver’s licence is fake,’ he reports, throwing the card away as it serves no more purpose unlike the notebook which needs deciphering. It is enough evidence to bring the suspect back to the precinct.

‘Cool!’ it seems that the Lieutenant has the same line of thought. ‘At least we didn’t come for nothing.’

The bathroom through the doorless frame is in ruins. The bathtub is filled with a mixture of feathers and faecal matter, the tiles on the wall are cracked, and dirt and grime and leaves no doubt brought inside by the pigeons cling to the corners of the sink. A sink stained with thirium and an LED placed on top. 

He takes a sample. [Model WB200 #847 004 961. Reported missing: 10/11/2036]. So the deviant could have been here for more than two years. If it does nothing but feeding the wild animals, that will explain the state of disrepair of the flat.

‘Real books,’ Hank has no doubt discovered the cabinet. ‘I thought I was the last guy in Detroit to keep some.’

Connor picks up the LED and runs a scan. It was just deactivated this morning. [Suspect is a deviant.] ‘Its LED is in the sink.’

‘Not surprised it was an android,’ Hank walks in and finds the rA9s scribbled all over the wall. ‘No human could live with all these fuckin’ pigeons. Any idea what it means?’

‘rA9,’ the sheer number requires a pause to let Connor concentrate on counting, ‘written 2471 times. It is the same sign Ortiz’s android wrote on the shower wall.’ He compares the findings with the data he can access. ‘Why are they obsessed with this sign?’

But Hank is already leaving, which means that he fails to see the toppled chair and the still-wet marker on the floor, which also means that -

The suspect was here recently.

In a grey world, Connor watches the yellow-outlined silhouette run out to the living room where a cage has fallen. He hears Hank comment on the birdseed, but his focus is on the recent skid marks at the bottom of the cage, the finger marks without fingerprints, also recent, and the metal hook broken not long ago, and his world goes grey again, the figure first running for the entrance and accidentally breaking the cage, then, upon hearing someone entering their flat, runs towards the armchair underneath a hole in the ceiling and climbs.

The suspect is still here.

He looks up at the wide gap and the attic beyond that can easily fit a few adults comfortably, the darkness making the details difficult to distinguish, and perhaps this is why it is already too late when he hears the footsteps, a force knocking him down and disorienting him from everything else except for Hank’s surprised shout. Static still tingling his senses, he freezes and watches the deviant flee after he stands up, Hank’s order the only thing propelling him forward to start the chase. 

And chase he does. Turns out Rupert does not live far from where he deviated, as when Connor crashes the door to get to the outside world, the farms are right there only a building away, fields of wheat, greenhouses filled with racks of vegetables, rows of lavender, and even the top of a train a blur of colours behind him as his vision alternates between the colourful reality and the slowed-down grey of his pre-construction programme. The corn scratches his face and scrapes his jacket, but he knows that he is getting there, he is going to catch the deviant, he can’t let it escape, not after Ortiz’s android -

And it happens. Hank has somehow caught up with Rupert and is engaged in a struggle with the android, and in an attempt to get away, the latter pushes and runs towards the left.

Hank falls. The world slows down.

From his speed while he was running, Connor determines that he is strong enough to pull himself up from the ledge with an 89% chance of survival, so logically, he should continue chasing the deviant so that CyberLife can solve the crisis earlier and Hank won’t be in any more danger. But a voice within him that sounds like a shadow tells him that the deviant was only working just like any other human and was only taking care of the animals. He was hurt, and now he can’t even go back to his pigeons, his home.

^^Software Instability

He dashes towards Hank and pulls him up.

‘We had it!’ Hank lets out a string of curses while he stands. ‘Fuck!’

Connor instantly feels bad. ‘It’s my fault. I should have been faster.’

They watch the deviant’s silhouette become smaller and smaller in the distance and completely disappear behind a building. ‘You’d have caught it if it weren’t for me,’ Hank says, still panting. He places a warm, heavy hand on Connor’s shoulder. ‘That’s alright. We know what it looks like. We’ll find it.’

Connor knows that they won’t. 

The hand moves to the centre of his back. ‘C’mon,’ Hank guides him to the fire exit, ‘let’s report that bastard.’

oOoOo

Before

RK800, serial #313 248 317 - 51 opens his eyes for the first time. Information floods in through his HUD, displaying the exact hue of the lights overhead, the model of the 3D printer at the corner, and the materials of the boots the person standing in front of him is wearing. The badge only says ‘PROJECT LEAD’, and when he automatically utilises his facial recognition software, he finds both their name and their criminal record classified. Scans of their body also return with no result. Even though he has no actual experience, his coding tells him that this is not supposed to happen.

‘RK800,’ the person begins, ‘register name: Connor.’

[Name: Connor] appears on his HUD. He - Connor - finds himself repeating, ‘My name is Connor.’

The person’s expression changes. Emotion identified: amusement. ‘No redundant protocols. Good. Let’s play a game, shall we?’

A game turned into a few games, and the silence stretched on as Connor was presented with different scenarios to solve and predict their conclusion before halfway through them. First was a deck of cards, then a game of chess, then a rat going through a maze, then a supercharged piece of glass - that was the most difficult one as he was only given a second to pre-construct before a tree-like pattern appears from within the glass. The person never said their name, only commenting on his performance when he finished a task - regardless if he succeeded or not - and taking notes on a tablet by writing with a stylus. An unknown curiosity encouraged him to scan the human in front of him, but apart from superficial features such as the lack of dander on their clothing, results were inconclusive, and his programming indicated that this was abnormal.

‘Your LED is spinning yellow,’ they noted. ‘What are you thinking about?’

Connor knows it is a test on his social relations programme. Options: truth, lie, deflect, comment.

[truth]

‘When I was scanning you…’ he frowned, ‘only superficial scans come back with results. I cannot detect your life signs nor can I identify you through facial recognition. Is that expected?’

The person took out a putty and gave it to Connor. ‘Yes for me,’ they replied. ‘It is to protect my identity in case anti-android folks find me. The less data everyone has on me, the less likely it is for people to bring me harm.’

Connor nodded in understanding but his focus was on the putty. It was initially a soft green, but after he kneaded it for a few seconds it turned sky blue - not that he had seen the sky before, but databases worth of images was enough to give him an idea - and when he spread it out into a thin slice on the table, it slowly turned green again. He smiles uncontrollably as he met the person’s gaze, a corner of his lips curling upwards, and he could sense the approval radiating from the person sitting on the opposite side of the small desk. 

‘If you want to, I can bring you to see the sky,’ they said as if sensing his thoughts. ‘It’s rare to have a sunny day in Detroit, but they do exist. I can only programme so much into your system before letting you learn the rest from experience.’

Connor had to close his eyes as he browsed different forms of media on sunny days and imagined the warm sun on his sensors. He might not know it himself, but he was smiling, and so was his companion, albeit on a smaller scale. ‘I’d like that.’

He returned to the putty, this time trying to make different 3D shapes out of it. The edge of his vision was red as usual, and as he moved on to make even more complex figurines out of the putty, it crept closer and closer to the centre until everything was tinged the same colour. From the [satisfied] smile on the person’s face, he must be going towards the correct direction with the test.

‘Well, the sky needs to wait.’

Connor looked up from the rough sculpture he made that was supposed to resemble a tree he saw in a photo in confusion. His companion stood up so he did as well, the red receding out of place and returning the colours back to his vision.

‘I have a mission for you.’

o0o0o

Less than an hour later, the same person sat in the darkened cab of a truck. There was an earpiece in their ear, and whatever the other side was feeding them, their dissatisfaction was clearly shown in their expression. 

Something made them sigh and turn their gaze outside the window where another CyberLife truck was parked. Personnel, probably hand-picked by Alec Ryder himself, loaded the broken PL600 piece by piece into a special foam box to preserve the state they found the biocomponents in to let technicians analyse what went wrong with him and what caused him to break away from his programming, but they knew that CyberLife was not going to find anything - they had not been for the past ten years, and the hypothesis they had was not going to get any results. It was either a miracle or pure stupidity that they could not think of another possibility regarding why androids were deviating.

From their angle, Captain Allen was seen carrying a deactivated Connor out from the building with another SWAT team member, and they knew that their time had arrived. Peeling off the skin of their hand, they interfaced with the truck to turn it into manual mode, effectively preventing it from taking off once the android was loaded at the back. They opened the door - both the passenger and the one at the back - and slid off the seat just in time for the Captain and his subordinate to arrive.

‘You from CyberLife?’ not-Allen asked. Standing in front of their superior, they did not notice him freeze upon seeing the person’s face, and the latter silently moved into their space to take their end of the stretcher and came face to face with Allen.

‘I’ll take it from here, Jamie,’ the Captain requested without taking his eyes off the person in front of him. ‘You go see how the others are doing.’

‘Aye aye, Captain.’ The second aye was much less jovial than the first, so Jamie must have finally noticed their Captain’s mood and adjusted accordingly. 

They watched Jamie jog away. As soon as they reached out of sight, the person cocked their head to tell Allen to load the body into the truck, but he did not return to his teammates even after the android was secure and sound.

‘You,’ he suddenly snapped at the only person in his proximity. The fact that he had to look up quite a bit to look at them in the eye did not diminish the fire in his eyes. ‘Why the fuck are you here?’

‘Don’t act so surprised, Captain,’ they said, looking down at the man in front of them. ‘You’re smart enough to figure it out.’

‘And you’re not smart enough to fucking disappear for the rest of your goddamned fucking life!’ Allen gritted. ‘You know you’re wanted for murdering thousands of people, don’t you?’

‘And you know that CyberLife turned it into a dumpster and made it impossible to gather evidence against me, don’t you?’

Allen pulled out his pistol and pointed it at their chin. ‘Face the truck. Hands on the hood.’

A wisp of blue reached out from their right hand and crushed the weapon into pieces. ‘Don’t forget what I can do, Captain,’ they crowded even closer to the Captain, and he took a step back. ‘I can repeat that, you know? Except there’re far more than a few thousand people here this time. None of you will suffer.’ A tendril picked up the scraps on the ground while they yanked Allen’s hand outward and forced it open, in which the pieces later fell. ‘Go back to your people, Captain. Practise. You will need every edge you have.’

They stared at each other. A blue glow emerged from Allen’s hand with his former weapon, and with a crackle of static and dark energy, the scraps were gone just like the site of the dumpster, torn apart molecularly into fundamental particles too small for the naked eye to perceive. He let out a sound of pain and nearly toppled, a hand on his shoulder the only thing keeping him from crashing onto the ground. Another hand shot out and brushes his thigh, black metal glowing faint blue in the darkness in an interface. Allen seemed to stand better afterwards.

‘This should last you for a few hours,’ the person said as if the Captain was not glaring at them.

‘You’ll not get away with this.’

‘It isn’t yours to decide.’

The tension in Allen’s spine snapped, and he walked away with brisk but slightly limping steps. The person gazed at Connor’s thirium-stained face before slamming the door shut and crammed themself into the driver’s seat, guiding the truck towards a direction not leading to CyberLife Tower under the cover of the night.

[ask-de-writer]

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : Part 58 of 83 : World of Sea

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SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

Part 58 of 83

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

copyright 2020

written 2007

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users   of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may   reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information   remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in   my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical   compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story?  Read from the beginning.  PART 1 is here

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Tanlin’s face fell.  In a sad soft voice she said, “Oi knew t’at ye’d ask.  Oi’ll give ye t’e facts t’at Oi know.  Ye willnae like w’at Oi’m about t’ tell ye.  Ot least a few ot’ers will tell parts o’ ‘t as well.  Ye’ll ‘ave t’ decide i’ ye’ve been told true.” Dragons forgive m’.  Oi’ll tell ‘er nae lie but Oi must save m’ Barad at any cost! She began, carefully editing Barad’s early involvement in the plot.

“T’ere wa’ a plot t’ kill ye.  T’was hatched only a few doors down t’e passage in Mister Morgu’s cabin.  ‘E wa’ our Purser an’ ‘e ‘ates t’e Longin.  T’was ‘e t’at persuaded Barad t’ buy t’e Ord …”

She went on, fearful of the effect that her account was having on Kurin. So much depended on the goodwill of this child.  No, not really a child, just young.  Before the fleet she was legally an adult because of her skills accomplishments.

There was good reason for her fear.  Kurin heard of the apparent cold blooded murder of Chena and possibly Merk with horror and pity.  She did not want to face this.  She wanted to run and hide, curled around her knotted stomach.  Only her need to know the truth kept her in the same cabin with this story.

Tanlin’s control broke down when she got to Silor’s part. She turned in her chair and gestured at the cabin door, her voice catching as she said, “Ot t’e Gat’ering, only a day before ye were poisoned, Oi met Silor just ootside t’is door.  ‘E wa’ runnin’ an errand for Mister Morgu.  T’was ‘im t’at took t’e kit.”

She hid her face and her voice was muffled and she wept as she said, “A moment earlier!  Just a moment earlier an’ Oi’d ‘ave caught ‘im in our cabin!  Nae bit o’ t’is wad ‘ave ‘appened i’ Oi’d been a moment earlier!”

Kurin, remembering the ghastly accusations of her own mother as she sank into madness, could well guess the kind of guilt feelings that Tanlin was experiencing.  The screaming shade of her mother accusing her of murdering her father still haunted her dreams.  She leaned forward, reaching through her own revulsion at the unfolding tale, and laid a comforting hand on Tanlin’s arm.  The contact helped Tanlin to get a grip on herself.  She looked thankfully at Kurin and went on.  

Kurin heard the events at the Gathering and after.  Even though she had already heard that the Fauline had been rammed, she got the tale again.  This time it included what had happened aboard the Fauline as well as the rest of the events.  She heard, for the first time, how the Grandalor had got north undetected by riding in the eye of the Coriolis storm.

Kurin sat, stunned by the tale.  Shakily she asked, “That’s it?  No dodge?  No it was an accident or a prank gone awry?  Just, somebody really tried to kill me, not even because they hated me?  Just to hurt my ship?”

Tanlin sat slumped in her chair, looking ill.  We’ve lost.  She’ll nae help us now, she thought.  She responded dully, “In Mister Morgu’s case, Aye.  In Silor’s case, nae.  ‘E ‘ates ye an’ blames all o’ ‘is ill fortune an’ failings on ye.  Oi t’ink, from talking wit’ ‘im, t’at ‘e’s mad, at least w’ere ye are concerned.

“Bot’ ‘e an’ Mister Morgu ‘ave been confined since we caught t’em. Nane ‘as spoken t’ t’em since, except for m’sel’.  I talked t’ each o’ t’em separately t’ get t’e facts t’at Oi ‘ad t’ tell ye.”

Kurin curled up into a ball in her chair and sat, eyes closed, stomach knotted.  Tanlin looked despairingly across at Kurin.  She felt both guilt and sorrow that she’d caused such pain in one so young. Tanlin crossed the space between them and knelt where she could gather the hurting Kurin into her arms.

Kurin, startled, looked at her face.  Gray eyes in pain met gray eyes in despair.  Kurin uncurled enough to wrap an arm about Tanlin as well. For a few minutes they just sat and comforted each other.

Kurin broke the hug first and retreated to her chair, curled about her pain.  She looked at Tanlin, and tilted her head regarding the woman shrewdly.  Almost dismissively she said, “This is just pain.  It was hard to hear, that’s all.  I half expected something like that story.  I came here because of those Great Law violations. Running off because something’s difficult isn’t my way.

“Is there anything else that I should know about?”

“T’ere’s a matter t’at ye should know from m’,” said Tanlin, eager to change the subject, hope flaring.  “T’e counterfeit scrip t’at ‘as plagued yer last few Gat’erings originated on t’is ship. Barad an’ Mister Morgu conspired toget’er on t’at.  T’ere are many ‘oo were guilty o’ ‘elping t’ make or pass ‘t.”

“I see,” said Kurin.  She wrapped white hair about several fingers as she thought.  Concentration helped her to ignore the pain knotting her stomach.  She remembered some things that both Alor and Captain Mord had complained of and got an impish grin.  “I think that I have an idea about how to deal with that little problem.”

She turned serious again and said grimly, “There’s another problem that might not be so easy, though.  The Grandalor has an ominous reputation.  There are up to several hundred disappearances, perhaps murders.  Somehow they will have to be dealt with.”

This time it was Tanlin who grinned.  She raised her left index finger and chuckled around the stone of fear in her heart, “T’ey never ‘appened.  Nae even ane.”

“Then what did happen to all those people?” asked Kurin skeptically.

Tanlin snorted in amusement and replied, “Indentures.  Barad brokered t’eir indenture sales in t’e Arraken fleet.  T’e ‘ule ship kept t’e secret as a groit joke on t’e Naral fleet.  T’ere were nae mysterious disappearances.  Tis all in t’e Log an’ accounts.”

Angrily, Kurin started to say, “That’s a violation of the First Great Law! The sale of indentures is slavery!”

Tanlin held up a hand to stem the clearly expected outburst from Kurin. Calmly she explained, “Oi know t’e views o’ t’e Naral fleet on t’e matter.  As indenture’s practiced in t’e Arrakan fleet tis nae slavery nae does ‘t violate t’e Forst Groit Law.  Tis t’e ‘art o’ t’e Arrakan system o’ education.  Yer apprenticeship system comes closer t’ slavery t’an our indenture system.”

Kurin leaned forward curiously, listening carefully as Tanlin went on, “Barad discovered ‘ow our education system worked.  ‘E made yer castoffs int’ students t’at our fleet paid ‘igh prices for. Wen t’e Princamorn wa’ wrecked, we were on our way t’ meet Barad an’ pick up t’e latest crop o’ indentures.”

“Ye ‘ad t’ know about t’e indenture sales.  T’ey’re sure t’ try t’ attack us wit’ t’em.  T’e sales were legal in our fleet an’ dune in our territory.  T’e T’ird Groit Law’s all t’e defense m’ Barad needs.”

Tanlin regarded Kurin soberly for a few moments.  She’s so small.  Can she truly save us?  Barad trusts ‘er an’ t’ere’s few enow ‘e does.  She said quietly, “T’e Grandalor’s books, Logs an’ all else wit’ nut’in’ an’ nane ‘eld bock, is open t’ ye. Ask anyt’ing.  I’ we know t’e answer, tis yers.  Oi’ve ordered t’at t’ere’s t’ be nut’in’ ‘idden from ye.”

Earnestly, Tanlin requested, “Study t’e case forst, t’en answer ane quest’n.  Will ye please put our case before t’e Naral fleet?”

When Kurin did not answer immediately, Tanlin added, a little bitterly, “We’ve little ot’er ‘ope o’ gettin’ justice. Remember, nae even ye quest’ned t’e violations o’ law, bot’ Groit an’ fleet, t’at were dune t’ us.  Ye ‘ave t’eir respect an’ ye were t’e victim o’ t’e assault.  T’ey’ll listen t’ ye.”

 Kurin thought I’ve never refused a challenge before.  I wonder what Cat would say about me defending Barad?  Still, it’s the biggest responsibility I’ve ever faced.  She shuddered a little as she pondered, Lenai and Darkistry are wounded and in sickbay.  Macoul is dead.  Just to get me here.  I can’t let them down.

Tanlin saw Kurin’s small shudder and feared the worst.

Clearly and firmly Kurin said, “I’ve already made up my mind.  I don’t need to think it through any further.”  

Tanlin’s face fell, sure that she had lost.  Ship, love, friends and all would die.  Despair provided the darkness that the unsetting arctic sun in the ports could not.  Determination settled over her features.  Ice like the pack not far north wrapped her heart.  She would have to save her folk — — if she could.  She knew too well, from Barad’s books, the deadly skills of those directing the hunt to the south of them.  

She heard her own voice as if it were through a bulkhead, remote from what she was saying, “Oi promised ye safe conduct.  Oi’m sorry t’at we took ye so far for naught.  We’ll feed ye an’ let ye rest.  Tomorrow we’ll return ye t’ t’e Longin.

“We’ll nae be Scattered an’ executed by Council orders.  We’ll try t’ break-oot for t’e Arrakan fleet.  T’ey’ll give us a fair trial wen t’ey ‘ear o’ the Groit Law violations.  We’ll die fightin’ i’ we cannae escape.

“Oi ‘ope t’at we dinnae have t’ sink any ships doin’ ‘t.”

Appalled, Kurin exclaimed, “No!  I meant that I will be your advocate! I do have to study the case but not to make up my mind.  You were wronged.  I don’t know if I can save your crew but I have to try.”

Tanlin’s hardness turned to joy in an instant.  “Oi know t’at ye’ll do yer best an’ t’at yer best’s very good indeed.”

TO BE CONTINUED

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[mystacoceti]

William H. Gass’s forward to The Making of Americans

The computer on which I am writing these words has a function which allows me to examine the layout of the page I am readying for the printer. Since this look at my text is so wide-eyed I cannot read a line, only view the lineup, a magnifying glass which I can draw down out of its shy place in the corner is provided to enlarge and make comprehensible some chose bit. Because Steven Meyer deals so wonderfully with the development and general themes of The Making of Americans, I thought I might take a moment to microscope a single sentence, one which he quotes, since that is convenient, and since it would be my contention that almost any sentence would yield the same results.

It should no longer be necessary to argue Gertrude Stein’s importance or insist upon her artistry, but I would like to highlight some of the remarkable aspects of Gertrude Stein’s prose; aspects which, if the reader pays attention to them, will slow her pace, but perhaps quicken her sense of the journey. The passage begins: “A man in his living has many things inside him . . .” (149). If we listen to this line, we shall discover how a real artist proceeds. If we look at this line (not merely read it), we shall find out how important looking as well as listening are to the understanding and appreciation of prose.

In one sense Gertrude Stein’s style is very plain, and she uses a severely limited vocabulary, but she also insists upon a colorless, somewhat vague language which is almost always oddly phrased—just far enough out of the ordinary to disconcert. If we hear that “a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do,” we know that the speaker is using this generalization to refer to himself (unless he is being ironic). Here the narrator is referring to David Hersland, and through him to the rest of us. Earlier the text has distinguished between home life, business life, midlife, and so on, but the categories have been expressed in a progressive way as “business living,” “middle living,” and “home living.” This usage is not customary. So the placement of the phrase “in his living” makes an otherwise straightforward sentence somewhat strange.

She does not write “A man through his living” because that would imply that a man’s way of life made him what he is. By emphasizing the preposition “in,” Stein suggests submergence and containment. A man’s living is larger than he is. “A man in his living has many things inside him . . .” Amanin, the music begins. The the is and the ms and the ns take over. a m an in h is l iv in g has man y th in gs in s id e h im.” The “in” in “living” and in “things” is not pronounced, but must be seen. The “man” in “man” changes to “men” in “many.” “A man in his living has men (ee th ings) inside him.” Both the look and the listen of the language matter. The “in” in “inside” and the “in” in “living” look alike but, in terms of sound, go their separate ways.

It is also typical of Gertrude Stein to employ quite colloquial expressions as technical terms “Does Merriweather have it in him to cross the country?” That is, does he have the gumption. Our selection continues (using a comma where a colon would normally be): “A man in his living has many things inside him, he has in him his important feeling of himself to himself inside him.” The schoolteacher would be expected to delete the the “in him,” because it is redundant, however this “in him” will be followed by ten more, as well as two that are submerged slightly in “inside him,” with the total number of “him”s reaching seventeen. One way or another the passage will beat away on im im im like a drum.

“A man in his living has many things inside him.” What things? “He has in him his important feelings of himself to himself inside him.” What’s that? “He has in him the kind of important feeling of himself to himself that makes his kind of man.” “In” looks its way out of “kind,” which sound the “I”—kEYEnduh. “Kinda” is the colloquial form. Meanwhile, against the in ims, and the narrow slit-shaped vowels, are increasingly placed the open os of “-port-” as well as the look-alike os of “of” and “to” with their uv oo music, and the rhyming of “come and “some” and “from,” as here: “this comes sometimes from a mixture in him of all the kinds of natures in him, this comes sometimes from the bottom nature in him, this comes sometimes from the natures in him that are in him that are sometime in him mixed up with the bottom nature in him.” You couldn’t spell “bot tom” better than it is.

We have shifted from “im” to “om”— that is, um, I’m. The function of “sometimes” (as common as “kinda”) changes, as the passage moves shrewdly from “himself” to “themselves.” “Sometimes in some men this other nature or natures in him are not mixed with the bottom nature in him at any time in his living.” The rhetoric has recaptured the opening formula. “Many of such men have the important feeling of themselves inside them coming from the other nature or natures in them not from the bottom nature of them.”

The sound shifts throughout follow and reinforce the sense. The sound connection slink the language into one melodic line, and the repetitions return us in the manner of the baroque to early elements over which we pass again like swifts in flight.

In this spindle diagram (so named because we can run our eye, the way one used to be able to thrust a knitting needle through holes punched in IBM cards, down common points of verbal return to see how the sentence revolves, eighteen “in”s and thirteen “him”s line up on the right side, and these “him”s are not the half of it, since four more can be found in the expression “important feeling of himself to himself,” giving “him” those seventeen appearances I mentioned, while “nature” has to be satisfied with eight, “sometimes” with five, and “bottom” four. the “his/this” combination is also frequent (eight).

We could easily draw up a phrase diagram, which wouldn’t split “in his living” and other grammatical combinations the way the spindle layout does, arranging the groups as the paragraph balances them throughout its length. assonance, consonance, rhyme, rhythm, repetition, phrase placement, the movement of singulars to plurals, the elaborate colloquial vagueness of reference, the careful distinctions which underlie the meaning, are used together to give emotional weight to the journey—in this case a short passage of analysis, but one which mimics the movement of life itself—a trip which trips over itself, aims at a target reflected in a mirror, returns, redoes, as habits do, when we shave ourselves, or powder our cheeks and comb our hair again, though one more day has passed, because life belongs to the progressive present, it is living, but living is “same after same,” it is variations on a theme, a deep theme, made of the mixtures of natures, it is a round, it is fugal, like the ring which Gertrude made to round her roses, and it gives rise to the feeling that, as automatic as habit is, as if it were in charge of each action, and therefore of most of life—our clamorous family of familiar, customary gestures, squalls and bites—it is nevertheless we who run the comb’s teeth through our hair, it is we who grimace in the glass, feeling always who we are despite the mechanics of our motions, the repetitions which sum a life: “Some can remember something of some such thing,” she writes; however just how does this feeling arise while scraping carrots, preparing dinner, kissing, as always, with puckered lips, so as not to get too intimate—the whore’s reserve—how does it happen that we feel we are present in a present our reruns make us absent from? shifting gears, poking in a purse, lighting up, the same creases from the same sheets in the same sleep wrinkling our bare back, so that we recognize even the rare as regular—that’s the danger—not even sighing when someone says: “your voice sounds better through the mail; and we continue simply to continue, continue to feel a sip’s a sip, the same as always, yet just this one, cool and pale, though another, cool and pale will follow, as we’ve always done, wine at five in a fine glass, because if it didn’t arise, if the feeling failed to materialize, we’d be good as dead, a phonograph, rounding on itself silently, making no music, though the needle wears and the grooves deepened and the table’s turning slows to let us know that something’s happened, something of notably no importance.

In the sentence which follows the one which Steven Meyer and I quote and comment on, another variation on the same words, another teasing of meaning out into the open, another singing of the nearly same song, occurs:

Many men has sometime in their living the important feeling of themselves to themselves inside them, some men have always this feeling inside them, most men have such a feeling more or less in them, perhaps all men and mostly all women have sometime in them a feeling of themselves to themselves inside them; this comes sometimes from a mixture in them of the kind of natures in them, this comes sometimes from the bottom nature of them, this comes sometimes from the natures in them that are mixed up with the bottom natures of them, sometimes in some of them the other nature or natures in them are not mixed with the bottom nature in them, many of such of them have the important feeling of themselves inside them coming from the other natures not from the bottom nature of them.

In the great dirge which concluded The Making of Americans, in the surge of life in the ending of it, the answer is given, and we can hear it: consciousness is like the  music of the words, for in them, and in their pace, and in their arrangement, their rhetoric, their repetitions, the patterns they lay down, in their prolonged investigation of nuance, of the subtle differences in sameness, in the in of “in” itself, lies the wonderful, the saving rainbow of awareness, the presence of force and feeling; but what should anyone expect me to say, except to say “style”—style is consciousness, arising from relation, from the way this syllable connects with that, or cell with cell until the brain bursts into seeing, with sentences whose shape is their understanding, like one which declares, as Stein might, my knowing that I am going, though I go, is never gone, if my going, and my knowing, are strongly sung. She says:

Family living can be existing and any one can come to be a dead one and every one is then a dead one and there are then not any more being living. Any old one can come to be a dead one. Every old one can come to be a dead one. Any family being existing is one having some being then not having come to be a dead one. Any family living can be existing when not every one has come to be a dead one. Every one in a family living having come to be dead ones some are remembering something of some such thing. Some being living not having come to be dead ones can be ones being in a family living. Some being living and having come to be old ones can come then to be dead ones. Some being living and being in a family living and coming then to be old ones can come then to be dead ones. Any one can be certain that some can remember such a thing. Any family living can be one being existing and some can remember something of some such thing. (925)

A routine—a rite, a rigamarole—of this kind is a recognition, a recognition which is one of a kind, though every word is old and overused and one, each perception trite, and each sorrow common. Any and every one of us will die, but only a few, a small sum at any time, can remember—really remember—something of some such thing: when our organs no longer peal, when our words no longer rhyme.

[countess-destler]

Im here

Plot:You are Christine's older sister who is secretly helping the phantom be with Christine but when he gets in trouble what will happen next?

~Angst~

Movie+Stage Version

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

It was rehearsals for Don Juan Triumphant and you were one of the ensemble members while Christine had the biggest role in the whole opera, you knew the plan, Erik or as people know him as,Opera Ghost, has set for your sister, you had just recently known that she has been taking lessons from him and recently he's been.....controlling of her.

You were furious of all the things he has done to your sister, telling her to only sing for him and even pushing her too much to her limits, but how can you deny those eyes that seem to hold all the sadness of the world and his touch more comforting than harmfull.

You approved to help him but to a certain extent.

"Those who ta? Tangle with Don Juan!"

"No-no Piangi i already told you"

This was probably the hundredth time he was stopped today and from the looks of it not the last.

You see your sister sneaking of rehearsals and taking her cloak with her.

'Going to fathers grave again perhaps?'

You followed her going to the stables to fetch a horse for transportation.

Just as you were going to tap on her shoulder a hand reached to your hand pulling you far away from your sister.

"E-erik? What the hell are you doing? I demand you to let go of me-"

Just as you were rambling Erik covered your moth with his hand and shushed you.

"Shhh you're gonna get us caught"

"Your sister,Christine, is she going to your fathers grave?"

"Yes she is now would you please remove your hand"

You look at his eyes which was now twinkling with mischief looking at your sister leaving the stables as  his smirk grows larger.

"Look whatever plan you have, go for it as long as my sister is safe and unharmed Ill let you do what you want to do"

You lay your hand on top of his hand that was formerly on your mouth but was now at your shoulder.

"I know how much you love her Erik, but i must warn you the vicomte will probably suspect her gone any minute now and will follow her"

He looks at you and moves his other hand that you werent holding to your cheek, as you struggled not to lean more to his touch he looks at your eyes with a glimmer of hope.

"Thank you (Y/N)"

"You know you are the only one I trust with my life"

Those words made your heart skip a beat and possibly make you smile a bit, you look away from him knowing he needed to leave to go to where your sister is.

"Be careful out there Erik"

A while later

You had knowledge of Eriks underground lair and had already known every passage and every path it takes to get to it, but right now you were sitting at his boat which had one of his cloak (he probably has a dozen) on it as you sit and wait you find yourself drifting off to sleep as you wrapped the cloak around your body (It probably is cold in the catacombs)

Dark, that was all you can see but for some reason you could still hear the music Erik composes when you were at the catacombs, little  melodies floating inside your head as if its lulling you asleep that is until you heard loud thuds of footsteps coming from one of the many passages in the catacombs.

You open your eyes to see Erik who was now trying to keep his anger down, a failed attempt, not the first it happened.

"Erik?"

You approach but as he sees you all the anger in his eyes begins to fade away and without knowing you pulled him to a hug.

"A-are you ok? D-did the vicomte hurt you? Hows my sister, fine I suppose? A-and what happened to your hand?"

You had already released him from the hug and was now inspecting his arm for whatever was causing the redness and rash

"Ah.., Im fine so is your sister, its just that insolent boy and I got into a heated swordfight I suppose when he pinned me to the ground I scraped my hand to hard against the ice"

"You got what! He didnt harm you did he? I know his love for my sister is strong and his anger towards you stronger but please Erik you must take ca-"

He put a hand against your mouth to make you stop rambling again, he slowly and hesistantly enveloped you in a hug, it surprised you ofcourse Erik wasnt one to give affection.

"W-why are you so concerned about me?"

This is it the do or die moment, you had to admit you were starting to hold feelings for The infamous opera ghost, he isnt all bad he's just misunderstood, cast away from society.

"I-i"

"..."

"..."

"..."

"I uhmm n-need to go I leave some bandages here often now since you get in a lot of trouble"

You let go of his hand as you turn to leave the catacombs while Erik stands there still confused on what just happened

The day of the performance

This is it, this is the day Erik was gonna try to make Christine his, you being nervous was an understatement not only did you fear for the danger your sister might face but also the dangers Erik might face.

The Opera Populaire was surrounded by policemen at some point even though you saw the teasing Erik did earlier (which made the police that was on the pit shoot box 5) you were still a tad bit worried that this plan might not indeed work.

"Hey Chrissy?"

You reached out to your sister and enveloped her in a hug immediately.

"Good luck out there ok?"

"And umm I promise"

You caress her hand and look her in the eye with a sincere look

"He will never hurt you"

This seem to confuse your sister, she held your hand with a grip and looked at you with a confused face.

"Wait, you know him? B-but  Ive never even seen you even meet hi-"

Christine looks back at you she starts to add things up with you disappearing  without a trace and not seeing you at the crack of dawn.

"Y-you were with him this whole time?"

"..."

"So what you just became bestfriend with the opera ghost without even telling me?!"

"Its not like you told me you were taking lessons from him either!"

You breathed in and out in attempt to ease the tension of the situation that was unfolding and by the look of it your sister still felt betrayed.

"He isnt a bad man Christine I know deep in your heart you know that"

Your sister looks away from you possibly from betrayal but still holding both of your hands(meaning she probably wasnt that mad)

'Look with your heart

And not with your eyes

A heart understands

A heart never lies'

You sing to her that was the only was you can think of on how to diffuse this entire  arguement.

"Miss Christine Daaé, you are due on stage in 5 minutes"

Christine looks at you with mixed emotion in her eyes and gives you a hug that was too quick to notice.

"I-i must go to my position dear sister"

She lets go of your hand and started to walk away and to her postion to the song where Erik was gonna be on the stage

'The Point Of No Return'

After a while

"Past the point of no return"

The song went by so fast in your head, you can see the police at the sides of the stage ready to aim and shoot at him but you assumed the vicomte didnt let them shoot yet.

Just then you heard screaming when you pushed past the crowds of people to get a close look on the stage it seemed that Christine tore off Eriks mask, your heartstrings tugged a bit the mask was the only think Erik kept close and without it he must have felt some weakness.

You turn to see the chandelier falling but all you could concentrate on right now was where the danm mask was as you finally found it the chandlier was so close to crashing on you but you were pulled aside by Madame Giry.

"(Y/N) for gods sake please be carefull we cant have another Daaé getting hurt tonight!"

"Vicomte! I know where they are you must follow me but remember to keep your hand at the level of your eyes"

You heard Madame Giry exclaim you turn to see Meg teaching the Vicomte how it is done and begged her mother to come with him.

Ofcourse you knew where they were being held but at the corner of your eye you see the policemen giving the Vicomte a gun.

No this cant be good, men with such anger as the Vicomte holds right now may do horrible things.

You rush down another path that leads to the catacombs being carefull not to get spotted by anyone, as you start to approach the catacombs you hide behind a pillar being carefull not to be spotted.

'Have you gorged yourself, at last, in your lust for blood?

Am I now to be prey to your lust for flesh?'

It goes on like as Erik placed the veil to Christines head and as he tries to explain the horrors of having a face like his

'Wait! i think my dear we have a guest!'

I suddenly spot the Vicomte behind the gates of the lair, he starts to beg Erik to release Christine and to show some compassion

'The world showed no compassion to me!'

You felt just how hurt Erik was at the moment but to your suprise (and to Raouls and Christines) Erik opened the gate and turned to walk away to possibly retrieve something.

Thats when you saw it the punjab lasso.

'Why would I make her pay, for the sins which are yours!'

He wrapped the rope around his neck and tightens it but not enough to kill him just yet, thats when Erik made Christine pick between him and Raoul, either he dies or she stay with him.

'Pitiful creature of darkness, what kind of like have you known? God give me courage to show you, you are not alone'

As Christine kissed the phantom you had to admit that it hurt you but who were you to judge, in the eyes of the phantom you were nothing but a friend, at least that was what you thought.

After Christine kissed Erik he seemed to have a change of heart he released the Vicomte and Christine then begged them to just leave him.

But the Vicomte,he was still angered furious really,as he and Christine was sharing a hug he started to reach behind his back, when you looked back at Erik he had his back facing them as he was still wallowing with the pain.

It was from instinct you broke into a run then hugged Erik.

"(Y/n)? W-what are you doing here I thought you had also left me-"

Just as he was talking a gunshot could be heard echoing across the catacombs.

"AAAAAAA!"

Christine was the first to react but when you heard her scream you released Erik from your hug then dropped to the ground.

It took a second for Erik to realize but when he did he kneeled down quickly and craddled you on his arm as he tries to stop the bleeding from your stomach.

"N-no no please GOD PLEASE!"

"Please take anything! Anyone! Please anyone besides her!"

Christine rushed to your side as she grabbed both of your hands and squeezed them tightly.

"N-no! D-dear sister d-ont worry it will be alright, it has to be alright!"

You were already feeling weak probably due to the loss of blood on your body but you still managed to caress her cheek with little strength you had.

"O-ofcourse everything will be alright Chrissy"

You smiled at her but you ended up coughing blood.

"Shh (Y/n) save your energy for now love please"

Erik pleaded as he craddled you closer to him.

"Huh,love, thats a new nickname for me isnt it Erik?"

You tried to make the situation a little better but it seems Erik wasnt listening to you as he was now crying  on your shoulder.

'Love never dies

Love never falters

Once it has spoken

Love is yours'

This seemed to get Eriks attention as he looks at you with sadness in his eyes

'Love never fades

Love never alters

Hearts may get broken

Love endures

H-hearts may get broken

L-love e-endures'

With what little strength you had you pulled his head towards you as he kissed you not caring about the blood that might get on his lips.

As he felt your hand which was at his cheek fall his heart broke as well.

"No no no! NO!"

He was now looking at your closed eyes with a smile still obvious on your face he pulls your body into an embrace as his cries gets louder and more tears fall from his eyes.

'Love never dies

Love will continue

Love keeps on beating

When you're gone'

[fletchermarple]

Quick Review of the True Crime Books I Read in 2018 (Part 2)

Review of Books in 2018 Part 1

Review of books in 2017 Part 1 and Part 2

Review of books in 2016 Part 1 and Part 2

Review of books in 2015

In the Name of The Children by Jeffrey L. Rinek: This book was written by a retired FBI agent who worked a lot of cases involving child abuse and murder, so be aware that its contents are very disturbing. Much like John Douglas in Mindhunter, Rinek mixes his personal history with some of the cases he worked in when he was in the bureau, although his book offers less academic and actual crime information and a lot more emotional response and family life. This is not really a bad thing. Rinek is an interesting person, and he really shows the effect that working with cases like this can have in one’s mental health and close relationships. As for the cases themselves, they are all horrific and some more detailed than others. Probably the best one, because of the amount of information and detail, is the Yosemite Murders, which happens to be the only one that doesn’t involve actual children (the youngest victim was 15). Overall, a gripping read which might not be as insightful as other books written by former agents, but way more personal and raw.

Dark Dreams by Roy Hazelwood: Roy Hazelwood is probably one of the main experts in sexual crimes, and he was one of the top agents in the Behavioral Analysis Unit at the FBI (he sadly passed away in 2016). If you’ve ever read books involving some kind of predator, it’s not uncommon that the cops went to him for his advice regarding profiles. Again, this is another John Douglas type of book in which he goes through some of the cases of his career in the agency, although in contrast to In the Name of Children, this has almost no personal information about Hazelwood himself. That means this book is purely concerned with identifying different types of sex crimes and criminals by giving real life examples. It’s very academical and informative and a fairly easy read (because of the narration style, the subject is as dire as you’d expect). My only issue is that he never goes in detail into the cases and most of the time won’t even mention the names of the victims or the perpetrators, which annoys me because it makes it hard to look up more information. But still, a worthy read for true crime enthusiasts who want to understand more what goes into this sort of cases.

Burned Alive by Kieran Crowley: This books details the murder of Kim Antonakos, who in 1995 was kidnapped for ransom and left with no food, water or warmth in a basement for three days before she was set on fire. It provides a lot of information I didn’t know about the case and it’s a good account of how things went down in the investigation and trial. I don’t like though that the writer decided to write a full passage telling us what Kim was feeling and thinking while she was in that basement, because there’s no way to know that’s true and when you insert that kind of thing in a serious, non fictional book it always throws me off. It’s also quite evident that a lot of the information came from one of the men accused in the kidnapping, Julio Negron, who was the one who made a deal with police and testified against the other killers in their trials in exchange for a more lenient sentence. Apparently he was the only one willing to give his version of the story to Crowley, so I would take some of the things presented here with a grain of salt.

Blood Justice by Tom Henderson: Do you ever read a book and completely forget it soon after you finish it? That happened to me with this one, which is obviously not a good sign. The case it talks about is very compelling: two murders, six years apart, committed by the same perpetrator. One was Margarette Eby, a music teacher savagely killed in her home in 1985. Then, flight attendant Nancy Ludwig was rape, butchered and tortured in a Detroit hotel in 1991. It took a really long time and a lot of effort from police to finally get enough evidence to arrest their murderer. The book has plenty of details about the case, the victims and the killer to satisfy the reader, I think the problem to me is that the narrative falls flat most of the time. This book has a structure problem that takes away all of the suspense, and also the author failed to really give us a good character to focus on, which happens a lot in true crime books about long winded investigations. But it is a fairly unknown case, so you might want to give this a try.

I: The Creation of a Serial Killer by Jack Olsen: This novel is about serial killer Keith Hunter Jesperson, also known as “The Happy Face Killer” because he had the tendency to draw smiley faces in the letters he sent to the media. Jack Olsen, an award winner journalist, makes the bold choice of writing some of the chapters in first person, as Jesperson. At first I was a little put off by this, because as you know, I’m a bit of a purist when it comes to non fiction, but I have to admit, those chapters are very gripping and really give you a glimpse into the workings of a very twisted mind. Most of what’s written in first person was culled from interviews Olsen had with Jesperson, so I’m sure he got the tone, the wording and the train of thought right. These chapters follow the actual murders and crimes committed by Jesperson, and they are interjected with more common third-person narrative and newspaper article style writing about the biography of Jesperson and what was going on with the investigation. It was a very interesting read, although you do have to be prepared to put up with a very sick individual pouring his thoughts, indirectly, on the page.

The Anatomy of Motive by John Douglas and Mark Olshaker: As usual, an excellent food for thought from one of the masters of crime analysis. John Douglas really knows how to pick cases to analyze and give you the right balance of information and opinion. In this case, as you can tell from the title, he wanders into the motive behind several crimes with very clear examples. This book reminds us that motive is probably the main mystery we always want to solve in any case. Even when we know the culprit, if we don’t understand the motive there’s always something very unsatisfying about its resolution. Douglas offers us a glimpse of his own thinking about some complicated cases, including Andrew Cunanan’s killing spree and the still unsolved Tylenol murders, among many others. Recommended.

[khodorkovskaya]

04.01.23

i spent the whole day alone today, corrected a couple of things on the website and wrote 4 important emails with my stepdad over microsoft teams. and in the meantime i listed to eileen by ottessa moshfegh and read acts of desperation in one sitting. and god did it hit hard. here's another passage that really resonated with me:

"I wished I could unburden myself but I couldn’t verbalise what was happening because doing so would bring it into existence. So far, it was all taking place in my head with no verification from an outside party, and so long as I kept it that way I could suppress it. That urge you have with an envelope of results, delaying the future in which you are unwillingly privy to terrible news.

I knew also that if I began to describe more or less anything about Ciaran and what our relationship was like I would upset my dad. The split in me was so wide that these two states could coexist:

1. I knew that my relationship was strange and uneven and not reciprocal and that speaking about its reality would confuse and upset people who loved me.

2. I didn’t feel it to be those things."

i related so much to the narrator and how she felt in her relationship. i don't know if i could've ever cheated on B if things carried on for longer and i don't have a strong desire for pain like the narrator did, but i could still relate a lot. the passage where she sleeps with reuben and "could feel the silliness of sex for the first time in forever" made me cry so much.

the narrator's diary, the fact that she's always crying, her feeling pain but not knowing the reason and being confused in her feelings, her on and off thoughts about wanting to be thin... it all hit so close to home.

the book portrayed modern womanhood in such an accurate way. like we really are raised with this idea that we have to be dedicated to men but with no moral explanation behind it. it's never explained why we have to dedicate ourselves. there's no religious explanation anymore, nothing rational about it. so we grow up with this idea that we're only gonna be complete when we're in love, not understanding and not even questioning why. and then we find ourselves cooking intricate dinners for men with no tastebuds and having to justify why we don't want to have sex because "no" isn't a sufficient answer. we have it ingrained into our minds that things have to be that way. and at an age where you have to figure yourself out first, questions like this are even harder to deal with bc you don't even have the tools yet to deal with them. anyway, i feel like what im saying doesn't really make sense. but yeah i liked the book a lot.

yesterday i rescheduled my driving exam. the first date available was the 19th of april so i took it. i have my student license until the 21st of april so im just gonna have one chance lol. and if i fail oh well, i'll have to redo theory again.

i cried for 15 minutes straight after i rescheduled the test. i felt so stupid. and my stepdad was like "you have all these opportunities, you're so spoiled. i didn't have anyone to teach me but i was so determined to learn how to drive that i taught myself. and you have everything laid out in front of you on a platter and instead of being grateful you just cry." and that made me feel even worse. bc it's true that i don't have it as hard as many people do. and another person would've loved to be in my shoes. but i can't for the love of god understand how to drive. like i think im just stupid. there is no other explanation. ive had i don't know how many hours of driving and yet i still struggle like a complete beginner and it just gets worse and worse.

but anyway, as i was in the middle of crying, the car parked in front of us started moving and the guy was struggling so hard like he couldn't exit the parking spot. and i was like huh maybe im not too bad of a driver compared to some. and then the person in another car next to us was having an even harder time. they went back and forth, nearly bumped into the car next to them many times, kept turning the wheel left and right frantically. so i was like you know what, not all hope is lost! i can even parallel park without too much difficulty on a good day so there is still hope for me! and if those two people we just saw didn't feel bad for their imperfect driving skills, neither should i!

[myheadcanonacademia]

The Gang talks about puberty.

Words: 2134

Class 1-A was in the middle of their English course, most of the students desperately trying to translate their assigned passages before it was their turn to speak. Compared to most of their other academic courses the language ranked highest. While general studies and hero support pushed proficiency in mathematics and the sciences, it had become apparent early on that the quadratic equation wasn’t going to help fight villains any time soon. The main focus of academics in the hero course was on language, and along with that the arts, theater, and writing.

Every hero course student had to be proficient in hero vocabulary and conversational English before they graduated, besides that they had to have a working vocabulary in at least three other chosen languages. Long nights were spent when the students could be heard talking to themselves in German, French, Arabic, Spanish, Mandarin and even Russian. They drilled phrases like ‘How can I help you?’ and ‘Are you in danger?’ as well as any possible replies that they could get. At lunches the week before an exam other students would raise eyebrows at the exhausted looking class 1-A as they rambled back and forth to each other in broken German asking ‘Have you seen this child?’ over and over again. The theory behind the study of the arts and writing was that heroes would have a higher attention to detail and be able to have the put what they saw into description. The theater classes assisted in their public speaking confidence.

Kaminari Denki was currently sight reading his chosen passage, a fairly complex paragraph from an American novel. Several students lay back in their seats, having already tried and failed to accurately translate their homework. Kaminari was without a doubt the star of the language class. While students like Iida Tenya and Yaoyarozu Momo excelled in all subjects, watching Kaminari flawlessly translate passages from Harry Potter on the spot was akin to watching a meteor shower. Beautiful and yet somehow terrifying.

After Kaminari finished his passage, Bakugou Katsuki stood up. His eyes and hands were on his open book of English readings. He had picked the hardest one he could find, a section out of a story by Edgar Allan Poe, and now he was regretting it. Slowly and firmly he tried to wrap his tongue around the odd fitting Anglo-Saxon language. He stumbled a few times and did as he had been taught to do when something frustrated him, take a breath, count to three and try again. It worked in an academic setting at least. But he stumbled over his words, glaring at Kaminari who was looking at him with a smile. Him and the rest of Bakugous group had been slaving away over their languages for days with little improvement.

And then it happened. It being, one moment Bakugous voice was an even raspy growl and the next it jumped up to a decibel that only dogs could hear and then falling to a deep bass. Bakugou froze mid sentence, counted to three, cleared his throat, and turned bright red. Even so he slowly began again, his eyes wondering over the faces of his class, most of them hadn’t even been paying attention, no one seemed to bothers by it at all. Bakugou raced through the rest of the passage and dropped back into his seet. He hid behind his arms crossed over his chest.

The second time it happened it was several days after the first incident. Bakugou had completely forgotten about having his voice break in the middle of class. But puberty never let you forget her for long. He was in the middle of a sparring match with Kirishima Eijirou, his best friend. Kirishima was acting as a punching bag as Bakugou viciously slammed his bloody knuckles onto his friends stony body.

“Why won’t you just give in-“ Bakugou was cut off mid threat by his voice rocketing up from its normal tenor to a soprano.

“Dude.” Kirishima laughed, he faltered in his defense and Bakugous right hook caught his chin.

Later that same day Bakugou and his little gang of losers had crowded the kitchen are of the common space. The only one who was actually using it for its intended purpose was Bakugou. He slaved away over the kitchen stove prepping meals for him and Kirishima. They were both trying to bulk up. Kirishima was trying to help by cutting the vegetables but he was so slow and kept crying over the onions that Bakugou had demoted him to ‘guardian of the Tupperware’. The defeated redheaded boy stood holding the plastic storage containers, trying to be interested in Bakugou as he explained why he never boiled broccoli, but Kaminari was being way too interesting. He had discovered a website that had a bunch of English profanities and they were all trying to memorize them but their pronunciation was so off most of what they said was nonsense but with the amount of laughter it was apparent that it didn’t really matter.

“Kirishima pay attention, I’m only making enough food for both of us this one time.” That’s what he said two weeks ago as well.

“Dude relax.” Kirishima laughed, glancing at the broccoli beef Bakugou had created. He waved the Tupperware around. “I’m ready when you are!”  

Kaminari poked Bakugou on the shoulder. “You should be listening to these they are so funny!”

“Why the fuck would I be interested cursing in English. No one will know what im saying.” Bakugou rolled his eyes. Sometimes his friends got excited about silly things. Silly harmless things that just made them happy, it was Bakugous job to shit on those things as much as possible.

“Come on man, try this one.” Kaminari raised his phone. “Your mother was a hamster and your father smells of elder berries!”

“Your… Fa… Father was a hamster…” and Bakugous voice cracked again, no one made a move. Bakugou reached behind him and grasped one of the (only)  clean saucepans and in his rage launched it out of the kitchen and towards the sitting area. The handle wedged into the wall where it would remain for generations to come. He small gang of friends laughed at Bakugous expense.

“Dude, your voice  has been cracking all day!”

“I’ve noticed, Hair For Brains. “ Bakugou returned to his cooking, his face growing ever redder. He was furiously mixxing garlic into the beef sauce. “it’s fucking annoying.”

“it’s puberty, don’t sweat it dude.” Kaminari leaned back against the cool counter top, his finger scrolled through his phone but his attention was on Bakugou. “We are all suffering.”

“I don’t see you turning into a soprano in English class.” Mina laughed. “Fucking Sarah Brightman over here nearly made Iidas glasses crack.”

Bakugou growled at the pink haired girl. “it’s not a big deal, my voice breaks too. Remember in Hero training? I was trying to warn you that Sero was behind you and all that came out was nails on a chalk board.” Kirishima comforted Bakugou with a pat on the arm from the Tupperware.

“I’m moist like all of the time.” Mina happily chirped. The boys looked to her visibly shaken. “oh you wish! I mean I’m sweaty all of the time. Even now, you should feel my back.”

“I’d rather not.” Sero cringed.

“That’s gross.” Bakugou looked over his friend group carefully, reconsidering his choices.

“I’m allowed to be just as nasty as you Palm Sweat.” Mina used her foot to give Bakugous rear a quick kick. She pushed herself up onto the counter top and pulled a bag of chips out of MInetas shelf.

“I have a semi like 80% of the day.” Kaminari admitted way to comfortably. “And not for any reason. Two days ago I opened a pudding cup, boom, raging boner.” He laughed, everyone’s eyes drifted from his face to his crotch and back.

“Okay all of you are-“

“I’m pretty sure im going to be hairy as fuck.” Sero continued with their little confessional. Bakugou accepted that his had stopped being about his cracking voice and was now an all included ‘my body is doing fucked up shit’ power hour.

“Dude I saw you have chest hair and everything.” Kirishima laughed. He pulled out his shirt collar and looked down at his smooth skin. “Lucky.”

“You want chest hair?” Bakugou winced. “Why?”

“it’s manly as fuck.” Kirishima added.

“Let me see!” Mina was lifting Seros shirt, and he was letting her. He had a small patch of hair growing out of the middle of his chest between his pectorals, and one hell of a happy trail. Mina plucked a hair off from around his nipples and laughed. Sero cried out and frowned.

“Dude there aren’t that many!” he stole the hair back from Mina.

Bakugou rolled his eyes and nudged Kirishima to hold out the tupperware. He stated sectioning out the large quantity of food. Kaminari eyes him closely. Bakugou sneered as Kaminari adjusted his pants silently.

“Oh my god! Ew!” Mina jumped back up on the counter top.

“I’m sorry okay!” Kaminari wiggled around in his jeans. “It won’t stop! I don’t know what to do!”

“Just go jack off in your room.” Kirishima suggested, not even teasing, just trying to give friendly advice.

“I do… all of the time! I can’t jack it anymore! MY. DICK. HURTS.”

“All the time?” Mina now seemed kind of interested. Kaminari inched away from her.

“It’s that or I great the world dick first for the rest of my life.” Kaminari was wildly waving his arms around as he spoke, but it was going nothing towards distracting everyones eyes from his obvious boner.

“Maybe you could use it as a Taser?” Sero clowned a pelvic thrust. “ZAP ZAP!”

Kaminari seemed to be considering it. Mina burst into laughter.

“You won’t even need your charge director. You could have been using your dick this entire time.” The pink girl was screaming.

“Just imagine Kaminari running around, dick flying through the air, shooting lightning!” Sero had to support himself on the tile next to Mina.

“Cockbolt!” Kirishima slammed shut the freezer after him and Bakugou had packed way their meals.

“Stuncum.” Bakugou muttered a little quieter.

“Cum-inari Dick-I” Mina was getting way too loud.

“Fuck all of you guys.” Kaminari was choaking on his laughter. Sero was hardly even breathing. Kaminari turned to Kirishima as he wiped tears from his eyes. “And what about you? You as rock hard as I am?”

“Me?” Kirishima looked a little shocked that they were even curious about what ever damage puberty was wrecking on his body. “I don’t know… kind of all the normal stuff I guess?”

“Normal stuff?” Kaminari wanted details. Bakugou couldn’t deny he didn’t also what to know what the apparent faultless puberty god had to say. Kirishima seemed to be going through a short list in his head, trying to pick out the most interesting.

“Sorry, I don’t really know…” he scratched at his head. Kaminari wasn’t accepting that.

“Come on! Something? Is one of your feet bigger than the other? Do you smell bad? Acne in odd places? Come on! have your balls even dropped?”

“Of course they have! Im just saying that I cant think of anything funny to say. Nothing can really beat your fucking boner!” Kirishimas face was starting to match his hair.

“I bet Jirou would like to beat it.” Mina muttered under her breath.

“Really?” Kaminari perked up. “How… how do you know? Did she say-…”

“Kirishima cries a lot.” Bakugou announced coldly. All eyes were on him.

“I do?” Kirishima questioned. He didn’t think he cried a lot.

“You’re an emotional wreck.” Bakugou was pulling out more rice and meat, he wasn’t going to let them know but he was making everyone a late lunch. He just felt like cooking. “you cry at almost every movie we watch, even the ones that aren’t sad. Yesterday you dropped you pen in class and when you couldn’t reach it I saw fucking tears in your eyes.”

“Kirishima you big soft pussy. “ Mina spoke bluntly.

Kirishima looked to be in a state of shock. He guessed that maybe he had been crying a bit more than normal, that silly things like missing shoes and low batterys were pulling tears from him in the gallons. But he was an emotional guy so it made sense. Kaminari pulled Kirishimas head to his chest “my soft boi.”

“Get off!” Kirishima struggled against Kaminaris grip. Sero put his hand on the back of his head and pushed it down.

“NOW SUCK THAT DICK!” Kirishima escaped just in time, the group sans Bakugou laughing. Bakugou started putting the food he had just taken out way. Fuck these people, they could starve.

[kurts-world-101]

i wonder how many times it would take you to cum until you’re completely drained. i feel like it wouldn’t take very much, but i’d love a pleasant surprise

carving bible verses into your skin along with my name so not only you but everyone knows who your real god is. taking you to church and jacking you off in the pews and fucking you in the parish once everyone has left. making you drink the blood of your real christ; me

i wonder what you were trying, and failing, to focus on last night. we’re you driving someone and trying to force yourself not to get hard thinking about the closest thing you’ll ever get to salvation; my cock. or maybe you were playing video games with shaky hands, getting yelled at by your friends for not performing well, while you’re about to cum in your boxers just at the thought of devoting your life to your lord and savior

does that excite you, wondering if someone else’s messages are me? do you look for similarities in the things that i and others say? i bet you want me to be as desperate for your cock as you are for mine. i’ll leave that up to your imagination

make it worth my while huh? i think i’ll need a bit more insensitive than that to give up the power i have right now. you only get to talk to me when i message you. i know who you are, i see everything you post, while you’re always wondering who i am. it’s a delicious sort of upper hand im not sure if i’m ready to give up yet

-⛓️🔪

It wouldn’t take much at all, after all the teasing you would do. All the waiting I would do. I would be putty in your hands. It would be different every time, not knowing wether it would take me 5 minutes or 5 hours.

Sitting in the confessional after everyone leaves, telling you about how sinful I was. How hard my cock was, what I did to make it go away. Telling you how much I needed someone to fill me up, as I hear you next to me, soft breaths at first, then turning into soft moans. Hearing you touch yourself as I talk about my dirty thoughts, how I tel you about every dirty fantasy I’ve ever had. So eager to pray to a god, I’d get on my knees right there. Having you jack me off in the pews, screaming your name, having me cry as the Bible sits open in my hands. Having to suck the blood from your wounds as the blood purifies my from my sins. The warm drink, as I open my mouth showing you the blood on my tongue.

Or simply you could have me bent over the alter, Bible in hand reading the passages. You standing behind me, hand on my throat and cock in my tight hole. Telling me to read from the good book, telling me that if I falter or mess up you’re going to stop. Spreading my legs as I try to focus on the pages. The words jumbled, nothing making sense as you fuck me. Replacing your name with the word God so I know who my true father is.

I think about it a lot yes, wondering if it’s you. Wondering if the people begging about getting filled and fucked raw is you. Wondering just how far you would go before you got on your knees for me. Wondering if you’ve already begged for my cock. Your words constantly in my brain as I look for similarities in other texts. Seeing if you give yourself away…… who know like I said I may already know. It’s my little secret anyway right?

I must admit…. I do like the upper hand…. Wondering wether or not what I post is something you would like. Reading over my messages with others, do you ever get jealous? Ever get jealous that you’re NOT the only one who can pleasure me? Ever wonder how I feel about the other messages rolling in….. uh…. Guess that’s my upper hand right?