#i can fucking split a fucking infinitive if i fucking want to this is english not fucking latin you fucking fuck

[spark1edog]

another minor grammar pet peeve i have is people quoting quotes with quotes in them using double quotes for the quote e.g:

“so then i said “me running away with breadsticks” and everyone clapped”

rather than

“so then i said ‘me running away with breadsticks’ and everyone clapped”

[nostalgia-tblr]

My main take away from various tumblr dramas about this or that character being this or that "coded" is that many, many people don't seem to understand that I as a viewer/reader inferring something is not necessarily the same as the creator implying it.

[ace-reviews]

Fall 2024 First Impressions Digest Part 2

Part 1 here.

Ranma 1/2: Hey, Mappa, cut out Happosai.

Puniru Is A Kawaii Slime: This show is going to be formative in nurturing the slime kinks of a bunch of young kids. Also, Puniru is the colors of the trans flag, uses a masculine pronoun (boku), and Kotaru keeps loudly insisting that she's "not a girl", but I'm sure none of that means anything. Anyway, it's a cute show but not my thing.

TsumaSho: I read a chapter or two of the manga this is adapted from a while back and completely forgot about it until checking the description of this anime to see if it could be interesting. It's not. I have very little patience for mothers being portrayed as perfect saintly beings at the best of times, and her being turned into a grade schooler gives it a layer of weird I really don't want to deal with. Ultimately, though, it's biggest problem is that it's boring. This premier dropped with two episodes and I didn't even make it through the first one.

Nina the Starry Bride: This one is also boring.

*thousand yard stare*

Magilumiere Magical Girls INC.: It's a good show. Wish the uniforms looked different.

Orb: On the Movements of the Earth: If the universe expands infinitely in all directions, then wouldn't everywhere and nowhere be the center of the universe? Either way, this is one of those shows that's so good that I have nothing to say about it. I'm not much of a medievalist but I do like a well-made, talky cartoon that portrays Catholics like horror movie villains.

Haigakura: Holy inelegant exposition, Batman! A premier opening with a history lesson immediately followed by some character explaining the protagonist's motivation to him is generally a bad sign. And it certainly doesn't bode well for this premier, which is roughly 50% characters explaining things to each other that they already know for the benefit of the audience and 50% lame slapstick. Anyway, it's bad.

Yakuza Fiancé: Raise wa Tanin ga ii: I do not like this art style and never have. That's the only negative thing I have to say about this premier, however. This is trash, but it's fun trash. We love a man voiced by Akira Ishida who can beat a man into a crate of beer bottles and then make this face:

he's like hakkai without the sister fucking

I might not stick with it all season (there are already a dozen other anime on my watchlist for this season and we're only halfway done with the premiers), but the way it delivers it's last-two-minutes-of-the-episode twist was chef's kiss.

You Are Ms. Servant: Do.... Do the people who decided on the English title not know that 'maid' is a common English word? They have to know, don't they? Maids are popular in anime and among anime fans why would they take the word 'maid' out of the title? That's so weird. I haven't even watched the episode yet and I can't concentrate on anything except how weird that is.

That aside (for now), this premier is worth checking out just for the OP & ED and their really extremely cool mix of really extremely cool visual styles. The actual episode is pretty good, too. Still, it is very weird that they translated 'meido' as 'servant' instead of, y'know, 'maid'.

A Terrified Teacher At Ghoul School!: This is another one I read a couple chapters of the manga of a little bit ago. It was cute. I mostly stopped reading it because it was on one of the official manga reading apps that's really bad (I think the Square Enix one that split one chapter into like 4 chapters and then limited you to only one 1/4 of a chapter per day).

way to be motivational, sensei

Regardless, the anime is also cute. The pacing is a bit hectic, but it's a fun time. It also makes for an interesting double feature with Kimi wa Maid-sama since Maid-sama kept making me think of Mahoromatic and this one makes me think of GTO, which are both classic anime that are better than these (though they're both fine).

[svartalfhild]

Summer Reading/Writing/Arting Tag

Tagged by @late-nite-scholar to complete this "get to know the author" tag game. Thank you~!

Tagging: @wayfaring-rune, @celamity, @boxingcleverrr, @mxphanes

1) Describe one creative WIP project you’re planning to work on over the summer.

Just one? Well shit, that's tough. I have so many ideas percolating in my noodle, both in terms of writing and art.

Let's see...aside from my current ongoing march of ESO fic which is very likely to continue through the rest of the year, I do have a cyberpunk novel I've been wanting to continue working on. It's currently titled Ars Voltaica, and it's set in Detroit about a hundred years from now. It's about a young woman fresh out of college who gets into a corporate sponsored debt relief program in which she has to sign a contract to work in the data entry department of said corporation for five years and also live entirely on their campus. While she's there, she becomes privy to some information she shouldn't know and oops! suddenly she has to flee for her life. And that's just the beginning! There's a lot of stuff to do with androids in there. One of the central characters, the personal assistant of the corporate boss, is an android, and he's got wild shit going on with him. A lot of my motivation for this story comes out of me being mightily salty about how bad Detroit: Become Human is lol.

Anyway! In terms of art, the main thing on the docket is doing the final player character portrait for my DnD group. He's a Fallen Aasimar Conquest Paladin who's getting his holy power from Bane but doesn't realize it yet. He's played by my friend Jim.

2) Rec a book!

Aw shit I'm not the reader I used to be, and unfortunately I've disliked more of the books I've read lately than I've liked. I can always go back to reccing the Starlight & Shadows trilogy by Elaine Cunningham for the DnD novel inclined who want to read about a drow other than Drizzt or Jarlaxle who is also a lady. The story actually explains why drow magic works on the surface when it didn't used to. Also a good series if you're a fan of fancy wizard/scruffy barbarian romances.

3) Rec a fic! (outside your character tag)

Once again, I'm not the reader I used to be, but every now and again, when I'm thinking about my love for Perc'ahlia from Campaign 1 of Critical Role, I remember AFK: a critrole MMO AU and how fucking good it was, both in concept and execution. The premise is that the characters are living in the modern world and all know each other through playing an MMO together.

4) Rec music!

Kill the Alarm's album Fire Away is nothing but bangers (especially the title song) and tastes of distilled 2008 to me. Been listening to those songs for a looooong time.

Eva Under Fire's cover of Separate Ways fucking slaps and it's been in heavy rotation lately.

5) Share one piece of advice!

Let me share a writing secret from your friendly neighbourhood linguist: in fiction, grammar is your bitch, and anyone who tells you different is trying to sell something. Obviously it's good to know grammar rules, and a certain amount of obeying those rules is necessary for coherent and clear communication, but everything after that is fair game. You can have your characters speak in run-on sentences, because people do that all the time in real life, and it doesn't even always sound awkward. You. Can. Put. Periods. In. Improper. Places. You know why? Because bending and breaking the rules can convey something that following the rules can't. Think of the way people convey tone and cadence in their posts online or in texts. You can totally do some of those tricks in your writing to get the vibe you want, especially in dialogue.

Related: "don't split your infinitives" and "never end a sentence with a preposition" are fake rules literally made up by some asshole scholars during the Renaissance because they thought English needed to be more like Latin. Don't pay any mind to that shit. You can quote me on that.

[cryptfile]

Hii!! Can I request frenchie from the boys x f! reader, maybe she's patching him up after a long day? <33

yes,,, thank you for this from the bottom of my heart, might went above with what you actually asked, but whatever, i’m living my best and just rolling with it.

⟢ mountains at midnight, [ frenchie x f!reader ]

summary — After a failed relationship, Serge knocks on your door half baked / half bleeding-to-fucking-death.

warnings — angst, some smooches, it's implied that reader is in her twenty-somethings, filthy mouth, frenchie is in loOOoOve here, some fighting, fluff in the end, usual the boys content aka violence, blood, drugs, mentions of murder, infinite sadness, if you’re a medic you might hate me, little nina is a warning herself.

side notes — hi lovely people on the internet! first things first: i've recasted frenchie to dev patel cause fuck zionists, also loved writing for frenchie, been writing about gen v on wattpad but this? a whole different level. word's on the street my ass latin, so you know now english is not my first language and if there's any mistakes is my own fault being just a girlie out here,, comments, reblogs and likes are appreciated and very much loved! thank you guys so much for the support.

It’s way too late when you hear the knocks on your door.

You’re not used to receive visitors in the middle of the night. Your friends know you hate people to show up uninvited so it’s almost a non-spoken arrangement: You sell the weed to afford med school and they keep you out of trouble.

So you can’t stop yourself from thinking the absolute worst when you hear the noise in your front door, already cursing cause you don't have these expensive cameras that allows you to watch who's outside: What if the police knows you’re selling weed? Worse. What if Vought discovered all about your nice ability of astral projection? Just the thought of it makes you grab the bat, trying to find something to defend yourself with as if it’s going to work against someone as powerful as Homelander.

When you open the door, it’s something similar to seeing a ghost.

Cause that's what Frenchie is to you. A fever dream you must experience after being so tired, after exhausting yourself with the damn residency. You've been doing turns lately in the hospital and you are drained all the fucking time, too many hours standing and trying not to fuck it up it’s now passing you the check.

But when he talks. Jesus fucking Christ, when he talks, you just know it's him in the flesh, stopping the world for a minute — "Bonne nuit," he says all normal like you understand more than just the basics of French. "Long time no see, mon ami."

How does he still remembers your address? How did he managed to get to your apartment when you explicitly said you don't want him anywhere near you? Your heart skips a beat when you're realizing the blood covering his shirt, the dirt on his skin, the bruise forming in his eye: he's injured.

It makes sense soon after, why he's there outside your place, surpassing the locks that protected the building and are supposed to keep people like him out yet, failed miserably. You let out a scoff, taking mental notes of talking about security to the building manager tomorrow.

"You need to go to a hospital, there's also a vet clinic a couple’ blocks away, both do the work" It's tempting. The thought of closing the door in his face after he was a complete asshole with you last time you saw him, but you cannot bring yourself to be cruel, to leave him standing while he seeks for somebody to stitch him up. — "Told you not to come here, Frenchie."

He's different now. He has now cut his hair in a different way, split lip while he pouts like he has loose a huge fight. He looks better, more composed even, but you don't let it slip while you look at him, debating if he won the fight he was involved in or if he just managed to escape, as usual, always in danger.

"Please," he says placing his hand in the door frame like he just read your mind, preventing you from closing the door. "Need your help, mon docteur."

When he looses balance you know shit's for real, quickly grabbing him by the waist as you take one of his hands to place it in your shoulder. He smells like blood, sweat, and weed, and it takes a minute for you to get used to it, being so intense at first when you hold him close to you that it stays with you even when you help him lay in the couch, already knowing it's going to be stained forever.

Fuck's sake. It's not physically possible to say no to him.

You hate him from the moment he's inside. Hate how he has you now all stressed looking for everything you need to prevent him from bleeding out on your couch, still trying to understand if you're worried about his well being or if it's actually about the fact that he could die in your apartment with good grams of weed well hidden, leading you to arrest under micro-trafficking and possible murder charges.

And when you see the large cut on his stomach, you know exactly why you guys didn't work out in the first place, why his way of living was so different than yours trying to keep a low profile, not used to get in trouble with superheroes, usually surviving. You hold your breath in as you notice the situation, his body bruised, blood spread all over like it was a medal.

“The person who did this didn’t do any harm to your organs” you say inspecting, lucky bastard. “But you're gonna’ need stitches.”

"See? I’m gonna' be fine, docteur" he says almost trying to keep you steady while you took the new-moon-shaped needle, that damn nickname you hate with all your guts. You know he would not come if it wasn't absolutely necessary, his gaze following you like he cannot possibly believe he's talking to you again after all that time promising not to. "Not planning to die on your settee."

"You're high" it's not a question but more of a statement. "So please, shut up if you are really not planning to die tonight."

You’re struck by his accent, the way he combined the words so easily while you worked on stitching his skin, finally stopping the bleeding as you can breathe in peace. Med school has been awful, but at least you can do decent stitches even under the dim lights of the lamps, looking at your work almost proud moments after.

Handled him like a fucking pro.

You seem to forget about the contact, being trained to be a doctor has hit deep down now that you can keep professional at all times, but for Frenchie, even after being pretty much stabbed, he managed to fill his mind with memories of you while your cold fingertips close the cut, to think, once again, that he does not deserve you at all, your meeting being a mistake he wouldn't do all over again.

He stills hallucinates about when he met you in your second year of university, selling weed in your campus parties making a pretty good list of clients for yourself. He remembers being so mad at you for stealing possible clientèle at the time, he was planning on beating your ass and scare you out until you didn't dare to sell at all. At least, that was the idea until he notices his potential nemesis. You.

He talked about the situation with Little Nina convincing her he could take care of the problem, but in reality, he chooses to make you his problem instead. You were just a twenty-something med student that stayed up late at night and sell plain weed in order to afford some stuff he knew you needed: How could he be aggressive with you?

He's almost whipped before even talking to you, after following you for a while without you even noticing, he's studying you like you're, indeed, the enemy. And when he finally talks to you in that stupid party, you finally seem to notice he's not there for a nice business, not when he's pulling you aside from all the noise.

You both are so different it's annoying, however, fits so good must be a curse.

You managed to work out the next couple of months, split the clients, the money, and there were no suspects until Nina found out and killed one of your classmates in response, leaving you surrounded by cops and detectives and a profuse sadness that never seemed to go away.

Frenchie is pretty sure you're one of the best thing he used to have in his life, utterly convinced that he must remain far from you after years of not talking to you, yet, he's unable to do it much longer. Maybe it's the weed, the fever and the pain all combined together, but when he noticed he was close to your place, he choose to seek for your help instead of turning to his teammates.

He's no good for you. Even after not being around Nina and changing completely. He's simply no good for you.

You work in silence, unsure of what to say at first. Your breathing is steady as you cover the wound with bandages, neck sore already after keeping the same position over the minutes without sleeping much all that week. Frenchie doesn't whine even when it hurts, making it easier to work with as you check other injuries.

When it comes to the split lip, you know it's going to be a thing.

"Thanks for patching me up," he says while you press the alcohol revealing a much smaller wound that you'd actually imagined, mouth's always bleed tons. "I'm just sorry for showing up so late, mon ami."

Inconsiderate. Your eyes dart the movements of his upper lip while he speaks, trying to clean the blood while it moves with no victory.

"Please talk to me princesse" he says soon after, crazy by your silence — “Please.”

Your eyes narrow in response, looking at him while inspecting his lip. “How did you manage to get so damn fucked up?” You wished you didn't ask, because you already know how he got it, how he was working now for a whole different group doing suicidal missions all the time, heard it from a close friend.

He stays silent for a while, and you cannot help but roll your eyes in response. You’re used to it, to the lack of information and the blatant lie he always used to tell just to reassure you, so instead, you continue cleaning his wounds with alcohol, pressing the gauze with less patience now that he regained the color of his skin. You’re simply not doing it anymore.

“Just stay still so we can do this fast enough” you say tired already, having to deal with him even just ten miserable minutes results in a classic headache.

Silence. You are dragged by the current into an awkward silence, inspecting the stitches and the bruises that now appeared in his skin. He’s warm to the touch in spite of the blood loss, and you cannot help but worry about his well-being deep in your mind, hating him for it: The guy disappears however he wants to, and now has the fucking nerve to show up like nothing ever happened? God.

It’s impossible to keep quiet for the next two minutes, specially when you notice he’s biting the inside of his cheek like he’s stopping himself from saying something stupid — “What?”

“Nothing,” he responds, avoiding your gaze. "I know you're mad at me, docteur."

"I'm pretty mad at you, you're right" you admit in a low voice, finally taking your utensils to the kitchen sink when you finish, cursing when you notice you got blood on your shirt. "That's why you're waiting an hour before leaving. Not involving in whatever is going on in your life right now.”

His pained expression makes you almost regret everything you say. He knew he deserved it, but it didn't stop him from being miserable when he hears you, the cold words lingering in the air as they repeated in his mind over and over again.

"Sober up. Leave after."

It's almost a command, and he hates the sound of it, far from the way he wanted you to command him in reality, the sound of your voice making him shiver. He hates every second of it, remembering why he kept far, giving you space to continue your life without him in the picture.

It stings on Frenchie’s chest, and you try to keep your pride high enough to not think about how much you actually missed him, how you're done with him after moving on at least twice since the last time you saw him, staring at the blood circling in the drain.

"I'm sorry, mon ami" he says when you pass close to him, grabbing the dirty towels as you search, in your mind, for ways to make miracles in that sofa, and you believe him for a second when he grabs you by the wrist, cause deep down you just want him to be sorry for all the shit he did, the lies, the danger.

You just started to sell weed again recently, and his sudden visit makes you so damn uncomfortable: You don't want to take anyone's clients, you learned that the hard way. "I'll never be able to make it up to you docteur, not even in a million years. Je ne voulais pas te faire de mal."

You don't fully get what he says, and you blame it on that fucking app that's been teaching you french all along, you don't even dare to look at him until you think you can handle his intense gaze, now burning in your cheek — "Created this huge mess just to leave me alone to the fucking wolves."

“And there will not be a day I won’t regret it.”

“You’re not going to be able to make it up to me even in a century, Serge.”

It happens all so sudden after, when he pulls you down slightly, enough to press the palm of your hand flat against his chest, the feeling of his heartbeat giving you straight up chills. It’s beating so fast you’re sure it’s abnormal, the expression of his face almost begging you to have patience with him, that he just needs you beyond explanation.

“Don’t call me like that,” he asks, and you’re just standing there, so fucking close, looking at him slightly blushed.

“Like what?”

“Like I don’t mean anything to you, coeur. Like we’re strangers.”

“I don’t know you, at all” you admit in a low voice, and it saddens you to say it out loud — “I don’t think I ever did.”

God. You don’t expect it, you don’t expect the visit, the way he enters to your life again through the main door, dissolving you completely. You don’t expect any of it, it catches you by surprise without giving you any time to even prepare yourself.

He somehow manages to make sit down close to him, composed now that the he’s not bleeding-to-death. And fuck, it takes a minute for you to adjust, to notice what you’re actually doing, the feeling of his hand holding your wrist making it impossible for you to leave, to even put some necessary distance, his breathing changing as you got closer.

“We’re not strangers, mon docteur, never would when my heart beat that fast for you. To me, you’re the most real thing in my life” he’s smiling, and you can’t help but look at him amazed of his way of always change everything around. “It’s visible you don’t want me here, but I cannot stop myself from coming every single time, tu me manques, coeur.”

“You miss me, huh?” you ask almost in disbelief.

“You are missing from me,” Frenchie corrects. He knows the world is a pretty fucked up place to be, but he just wants you to be okay, to avoid trouble and just live a regular happy life.

You are willing to reply, to say something about it, about the time you spend hating his ass and missing him at the same time, but you stay silent when you can feel his gaze following your every movement, when he’s the one that puts his free hand on your cheek, his touch being enough to warm up your face, staining your cheeks red.

It’s so intense. The lack of air, the way his eyes find yours in demand of something you already know.

“Please forgive me” Frenchie says, blatant sincerity. “I’m deeply sorry, mon docteur. I’m the worst thing you’ll ever met, and I cannot help but come back to you.”

His words echo in your brain, and you don’t know exactly when, but you lean into his touch, the palm of his hand warm against your cheek.

“Fuckin’ hate you.”

You don’t. You know you don’t hate him at all. It’s quite the opposite, and it weights on your chest as he smiles like he just got his life back in track again, like it’s everything it takes to make him really happy after all that shit he’s enduring day after day.

And you try put some distance between both of you seconds after, but your heart betrays you sooner than you expect and it’s all it takes for him to finally kiss you, a tender kiss at first that freezes you for an instant, his touch transforming in something else — Something your skin has already experienced before, a taste you’ve savoured long time ago. Makes you shiver when you realize how it feels not foreign at all but just natural, like something you already learnt but it’s kept in the depths of your mind.

He’s damanding when pressing his lips against you, and it clouds your mind for a second, a thick gaze that just makes you dumb at his touch. His hands on your hips are pulling you closer without even caring for his damn stitches, and it becomes intoxicating, the need to keep on kissing him, to have him close, you forget about Little Nina, the weed, and almost everything that surrounds you.

Heavy breathing you seemed to understand it all. Nose touching his as you get it. Maybe you do need to talk. Maybe it’s important to keep your guard down one last time. You cannot avoid him much longer, not when your own heart aches in need.

Serge’s like climbing a mountain at midnight: Just impossible.

[usmsgutterson]

could you maybe do something based off the song Dark Red by Steve Lacey with Kaz?

ill leave everything else up to what u feel like, and welcome back :))

Ya Sila- Kaz Brekker

Okay, this one got really bloody really quick, and I apologize in advance if any of the phrases in Romani or Russian are wrong! I googled the languages that the Suli and Ravkan languages were based on and then used google translate to go from english to romani or russian, so if they’re incorrect, that’s why!

Fic type- a safe middle ground between fluff and angst, more on the side of edgy probably

Warnings- mentions of murder, a lot of mention of greedy men, slightly graphic depictions of violence, mentions of the Menagerie and Pekka Rollins, this is unedited and the ending is rather rushed. 

From the moment you entered his life, Kaz knew he was fucked. You worked out of the Crow Club, as a musician that Inej had convinced Kaz to hire so as to keep losing gamblers spirits up at the tables. After a month, you had the crow and the cup on the inside of your forearm and it seemed like you had every single gambler wrapped around your finger, but Kaz knew you.

He knew you worked that way; you captured the attention of everyone in the room and you did so intentionally, your music just one asset that made you valuable to the team.

You were like Nina in that you had the gift of being able to flirt with anything that moved, a skill that you knew you had and used well. You could persuade just about anyone into anything; Kaz had once watched you cajole a skimming bet keeper into cutting off his own pinky in favor to Jesper and as a lesson to the bet keepers and the ones who ran the cards at the tables. 

"They'll break your heart, Kaz," Jespers tone carries warning as the pair head back toward the club, heist successful and information filling their pockets to the brims. "They do it just about every man that enters the Crow Club. They’ve lasted half a year here since Nina helped them perfect the art of flirting.” 

"They flirt so that they get their tips," Kaz said. "How do you think they can afford to live in the financial district?"

"So, what you're telling me is that they flirt the money out of elligible customers' pockets, and you're just... you're perfectly fine with that?"

"We all need to make a living, Jesper," Kaz tightened his hold on his cane as a cool breeze smacked him across the face. "If they want to flirt the money out of idiots who would've lost every game that they played, I'll allow them to be my guest in doing so. I'd rather have Y/N stealing money from the pigeons and using it to pay off their mortgage than the pigeons going into debt and returning each night to try to get their money back."

"I doubt you'd be saying the same if it were Nina," said Jesper. “She taught Y/N all her tricks.”

"I would be, perhaps," said Kaz. "She can kill me with a thought, Jesper. Y/N can't kill me at all." He was partly lying; your skills as an assassin were known to few, Kaz among them, but even if he wasn’t quicker, a smack with his cane could break bone. 

"If they tried, you'd let them." 

Kaz rolls his eyes, hating Jespers incredible observational skills for a split second.

"Perhaps I would," said Kaz. "It'd be a hell of a fight to witness, though."

"I'd pay to see it," Jesper mused. "A musician against a Barrel boss. Who'll win?" Kaz coughed out a laugh as they entered the club, the sound of your cello hitting their ears instantly.

—

"What is infinite, Y/N?" Nina asks as she passes you a whiskey. You're taking a five minute break, throat tired and hands achy.

"The universe and the greed of men," you answered. "Especially the greed of the gamblers this past week. How you’ve been able to put up with it is beyond me.” 

"This from the person who's so persuasive that they cajoled a bet keeper into cutting off his pinky."

"It was a favor for Jesper."

"A rather bloody favor, Y/N." You shrug, smirk playing at your lips as you take a sip of the whiskey. The burn is welcome, and you watch as Hannlen, one of the newer Dregs recruits skims on the profits, hastily stuffing what must be fifty kruge into his pockets whilst he thinks nobody is looking.

“Hannlen is skimming,” you noted. “He’s got a pinky cut off as is. I don’t think he’s learned his lesson.” You could play the cello, sure. You were good at the violin and most string instruments, but your musical talents weren’t why Inej had convinced Kaz to hire you.

Not entirely, anyway. 

Your keen observational skills, the talent that you had to see something even if it were behind you. You’d been trained as an assassin growing up, having fled the program at ten and finding yourself stuck in the Menagerie until you were fifteen. At eighteen, you were pretty decently off, you’d say. 

You worked with gangs but held no loyalty. You were paid to kill and you did, but you never once got the ink of the Black Tips or the Dime Lions. The Dregs were the first and only gang that you were truly loyal to, for the good wages, the good whiskey and the good company. Putting your skills as an assassin to work was something that happened only during missions or when skimming was caught at the tables, and even as such, you weren’t like most of the people in the Barrel.

Your bloodlust had only been slight, you rarely killed if there wasn’t a reason to do so. You’d been trained to do it, and you were used to it. Kaz offered payments for each drop of blood you had to shed, so you did it for the money. Money had been the only real reason you’d ever killed, and the loyalty you’d sworn to the Dregs was a first. You’d not sworn loyalty before then, only killed members in the Dime Lions that needed killing or members of the Black Tips who’d gone askew. 

“Kaz plans to deal with it tonight,” said Nina. “He’ll have eight fingers by the time that Kaz is done, or with luck, he’ll lose a hand.” You set your whiskey on the stool beside you, nodding as you grabbed your cello again.

You start playing as Kaz and Jesper enter the room, turning your focus off your cello to catch Kaz’s eye for a moment. You glance toward Hannlen and he gives you a nod, splitting from Jesper and heading toward Hannlens table.

“Consider it dealt with, babe,” Nina presses her cheek against yours as she stands. “Your boyfriend seems to have it handled.” You rolled your eyes but grinned, letting some of your focus turn to Nina.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you said. 

“Half the Barrel seems to think otherwise,” she said. “Use it. Being with Kaz for any reason gets you protection. Whether you love him or not, the people love you and with Kaz around, they’ll know to keep their distance.” 

“I can handle a few grubby handed idiots who think their money is worth more than a song.”

“I know that you can,” she said. “I’ve seen you cut fingernails off, Y/N, but even as such, you love Kaz and he loves you in his own way. You might still have to flirt to make the mortgage payments in time, but with Kaz around, you’re less likely to have to cut off more than the occasional pinky finger.” 

You rolled your eyes as she walked away, smile playing at the corners of your lips. 

You caught sight of Kaz exiting the backroom of the club with blood drying on his shirt and spattered over his face about two hours later. You finished the song you’d been playing and bowed as you stood, thanking the people for the tips they’d dropped into the plastic bowl you’d taken to using for them. 

You put your cello back into it’s case and wheeled it to the backroom, not even flinching at the sight Hannlen, pinky completely gone as his hand bleeds on the table.

“Help me, Y/N!” He begged. “Your boyfriends gone insane! Talk some sense into him!”

“You reap what you sew,” you said simply. “You’ll perfect your shuffle again, Hannlen. Try your hand at the Kaelish Prince, but if you skim there, the old kaelish fucker Pekka will cut both of your hands off.” 

He looks at you pleadingly, and all you can do is shrug. “Be glad that Kaz decided he was feeling merciful,” you said. “If it were me, I would’ve taken the rest of the fingers on your right hand and all but two of the fingers on your left.” 

“You’re insane,” 

“I’ve got some bloodlust issues,” you exaggerated as you shrugged. “When it comes to punishments for going against the rules of the club, I tend to think in extremes. It’s why Kaz and I work so well together.” You turn, giving Hannlen one last smirk before exiting.

“I have a job for you,” said Kaz. You grinned. 

“I play music for six hours and my night begins with a murder?” You asked. “How kind, Mr. Brekker.” 

“I aim to please,” Kaz said. The pair of you exited the club, beginning the walk through the Barrel and up to the East Stave. “Nina has a meeting with a client in the White Rose in thirty minutes. She spikes his adrenaline, you kill him, forty thousand kruge goes straight into your pocket.” 

“What’d he do to be worth so much?” 

“One too many visits to the Menagerie, several family members dying when he was ‘out of town on council business trips’ and a hundred thousand dollars in debt to the Dregs and the Crow Club,” Kaz said. “He has three hundred thousand in his bank account. Nina gets forty thousand, you get forty thousand and I get twenty thousand. He’ll die a man in debt but the money that we’ll steal from his bank accounts will go into business and payments for future jobs.” 

“And how, exactly, are you getting all of his money without it seeming suspicious to Kerch officials?” 

“His sole beneficiary is one Kaz Rietveld,” Kaz responded. You caught as he gripped his cane just a bit tighter, fought the urge to ask how his leg had been handling the cold. “The money goes to him, and by extension, it goes to us.”

“Perfect,” you said. “That’ll be the last of my mortgage payments.” Kaz nodded.

“Payments on your house should be covered by this mission, yes,” Kaz said. “After then, I won’t force you to stay with the Dregs.”

“I have the crow and the cup,” you said. You bent for a moment, plucking the knife you’d hidden there from your boot. “You might not force me to stay, but I’ve already chosen to.” 

“Wonderful,” said Kaz. You could’ve sworn you caught a grin on his face for a mere moment, but thought nothing of it as you looked at him and saw nothing there. “Who would get the pigeons to come to club with nothing but a smile if it weren’t for you, Y/N?”

“Nobody, perhaps,” you said with a shrug. “So long as I get to cut someone when they get too close, all else can remain as normal.”

“You’re going to stop running the gambling men out of money before they’ve even started down at the tables?” Kaz asked.

“With my mortgage paid off, I should be just as well using the wages I get from working at the club for groceries and other essentials,” you said. “I used to run the men out of their money to pay for things but I won’t need to do that anymore.” 

Your gift in the art of flirting had been a learnt skill, and you were thrilled at the prospect of having the opportunity to unlearn it. With your mortgage paid off, you could put your wages towards bills and food and an upgrade in terms of the weaponry you used. 

“But you’ll still find comfort behind a glass of whiskey?” Kaz asked. “With Nina at your side, shit talking one of the more terrible players?”

“She and Inej,” you said. “I’ve been friends with Inej since I was caught in the depths of the Menagerie. No way am I giving that up for a damn thing.” You flipped the knife you held in your palm.

You showed Kaz the handle, letting him read the Suli inscription on one side. “Eu sunt puterea,” Kaz says. “Suli.”

You gave a nod. “Inej says that it means ‘I am strength’. I’m not sure if it’s a  proverb, but if it is, it exists in Ravkan cultures as well.” You flipped the knife, showing Kaz the inscription in Ravkan. 

“Ya sila,” said Kaz. “Ravkan for the same thing.”

“Inej gave it to me the night you recruited her into the Dregs,” you said. “I’ve been training to become the person I became since I was five. She told me to take it as a reminder, to make sure that the assassin that boiled within my blood stayed as active as possible. Two months after, I’ve escaped the Menagerie and I’m being introduced to you after another six. .” It was weird to look back on how things were before you’d met Kaz. You hated to think of your time in the Menagerie, let alone talk about it, but as you walked to the White Rose, it almost felt easier to discuss it rather than not. 

“I’m sorry that it had to happen to you,” said Kaz. “The worst things tend to happen to the best people. Most of them turn into menaces.”

“Or assassins with bloodlust issues,” you mended. Kaz rolled his eyes as you approached the White Rose.

“All right,” said Kaz. “Nina should be waiting.”

“I’m thirty minutes off from never having to pay a mortgage bill again,” you said. “Saints, that feels wonderful.” 

“You might make frequent visitors of Inej and I,” said Kaz. “It’s a long walk, but a worth it one.”

“Thank you, love,” you say as the pair of you head to Ninas room. “I promise to stop being a flirt.” 

“You can flirt with the wall for all I care,” Kaz said. “But the moment that anybody thinks they get to take more than your wink and faux fancy-eyes, I intervene.”

“You end his life?”

“I happen to deem flirting with my investments a worthy cause for a kill.” 

“Quite the charmer, Mr. Brekker,” you said. “I didn’t think you knew that the first way to an assassins heart was to murder anyone who deemed themself worthy of anything more than a wink.” 

“I don’t know very many assassins,” Kaz said, knocking on the door once, twice, three times. “But I know you, Y/N, and that’s enough for me.” 

You know he doesn’t mean it as an insult so you don’t take it as one, grinning at Nina as she opens the door.

“Get this done with and give me the money I’m owed,” she said. “I’d much prefer if I could go to sleep before midnight, Kaz.”

“Evening to you too, Zenik,” he said. She rolled her eyes as she let the two of you in. You grasped your knife, glancing at the man in front of you, standing like he’s been stuck to the wall like a moth to a light. 

“This kill will be fun, at least,” you said. “His most frequent visits to the Menagerie were when I was fifteen, Kaz. You would’ve been about the same age, I think. How long has he been in debt with the Dregs?”

“Five years,” said Kaz. “You’re right, though. He was spotted going to the Menagerie every single weekend that year, even when the rest of the world was basking in a holiday.” 

“You know him?” Nina asks.

“Enough that this kill will bring me satisfaction in the knowledge that he’ll never head into the Menagerie again,” you said. “Say a prayer to whatever saints you believe in, Jakob.”

Kaz stood dutifully to your left, meeting Jakobs gaze and giving him an evil smirk. 

“You knew?” Nina asked. “You’ve known about him since...”

“I’ve known that he was visiting Y/N for three weeks,” said Kaz. “It took time to plan, Nina, and a revenge kill is a revenge kill, regardless of when it happens.”

“Ya sila,” you whispered. You took a step forward, killing him with the force of a blade to the jugular and again through the chest. The killing is swift, easy for the sake of it and so that clean up wouldn’t be too difficult when the Stadwatch found his body in the morning.

You, Nina, and Kaz headed back towards your place, and as Kaz caught sight of your eyes, glinting under the moonlight, he realized that you were all he truly needed. 

Only you darlin’, only you babe

[sothischickshe]

🗑📚💡

For the fanworks ask!!

ty!!

🗑 What is one fic idea that you loved at first but then scrapped?

mm, I don't think ideas are ever really scrapped!! I had an idea for filing her nails but then I thought it was too silly... But that eventually became maybe there's something in the water! I had an idea for a pretty dark fic set post s2 abt Beth discovering Rio's alive but I didn't feel like writing something so depressing... But that eventually wiggled into dirty dirty game! I had an idea for a rio rhea fic but at the time I was militantly trying to not add anything to my tbw list... But then I ended up frankensteining it together with another fic idea! Etc etc etc

I think ideas can always be kept in the back pocket & merged with other/future things, and if they can't, you can always force them on others as prompts 😈😈😈

📚 What grammar mistakes do you always make?

Ah, grammar! Well I'm pretty unlikely to use the subjunctive, but I'm not sure it's even considered correct in British English really (unless maybe by prescriptivists)????

I'm very fond of 'gotten', which is incorrect in british English (though correct in American), and I use which and that interchangeably (correct in british English for non restrictive clauses anyhow, whilst incorrect for American English).

The 'correctness' of English grammar isn't static nor universal, and we were certainly not taught much about it at school so I'm just going on instinct most of the time 😂 and then ofc langue vs parole... 🤯

Writing americans as a not American is challenging and annoying but also can be fun! Like.... I can make Beth and rio americanly ungrammatical, simply by giving them formulations which are 'correct' in (~standard) British English, and to make them americanly grammatical, I have to give them formulations that sound wrong/weird/archaic to me sometimes.

There's also a trade off btwn what sounds natural vs what's 'grammatical'? Eg I tend to give both Beth and rio a lot of adjectives in the place of adverbs, which I'd note as a feature of American English (though I suspect it's technically considered incorrect?), & it gives me great pleasure to write them using the word 'less' 'incorrectly' where 'fewer' 'should' go haha.

I tend to envisage them both as reasonably fussy and/or prescriptivist ('broken'; 'whom') but I also generally write tight single person stream of consciousness pov, and I think most people's aren't super grammatical or necessarily consistent so I think that's def fun to play with!

Anyway... What grammar mistake do I always make? 🤔 believing in it?! 🔥 or maybe not believing in it...?! literally go split every infinitive you want 🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️

💡 What’s the weirdest thing you’ve been inspired by?

weirdness seems a very complex & arbitrary scale 😱😓 may I say Beth and rio? they're absolute fucking freaks!!!!!!!!

fanfare

[mr-walkingrainbow]

exes for abimel, as in mel is the one to meet one of abby exes this time, and she is jelly. Abby loves it.

X’s HERE WE GO

(I kinda made some angst? Instead of Abby loving it she’s a bit upset by her ex) but like it think it’s still ok?

As in MEL MEETS ABIGAELS EX AND IT GOES AS GREAT AS “Who wears a bikini watering their plants???” WENT

ahahahha this gonna be fun

“Heyyy Cariño!”

Abigael laughed, rolling her eyes at Mels flirtatious tone, “Hello my love.”

Mel quickly took a seat across from Abby, grinning wildly for not particularly reason.

“What’s got you in a chipper mood?” Abby questioned pleasantly.

“Nothing really,” she smiled wider, “I just love being in your presence.”

“How warm hearted.”

Mel reached out, heart picking up slightly when Abby immediately entwined their hands.

“Did you order our coffee? You know I usually take-“

-“Ultra dark, three shots of expresso, two creams, and exactly 2.5 lumps. Which honestly seems fairly annoying because everyone knows you shouldn’t split a lump!” Abigael ranted, face screwing up slightly at the thought of her English ways be so ‘thoroughly tarnished’

Mel sighed lovingly, attracting her attention.

“What?”

The Latina giggled, “Your simply so adorable when you get like that!”

A noise akin to a mewl was heard from the secret softy, her nose scrunching in the most adorable way.

“I am not adorable!” Abby tried to defend, “I’m a demon overlord. Adorable is not allowed in our description!”

“Oh sure!” She mocked placatingly, “Definitely not adorable.”

The hybrid scowled, “Oh wipe that smile off your face! Besides the fact I have no idea how you even drink that boiled trash! Everyone knows If it doesn’t come in appropriately sized cup it’s rubbish!”

“Appropriately sized?” Mel snorted, “You mean those literal mini tea cups you have at home?!”

Abby sighed with a flourish, “And this is why tea is the superior drink.”

The lesbian fake pouted, “But I love coffee?”

Abigael softened, just like the huge marshmallow she was.

“And apparently fate has decided that I love you. So for now, I deem your Rubbish drink tolerable.”

She laughed, bringing Abbys hand to her lips for a kiss.

“How I love meeting your high and mighty British standards!”

The later preened, “We are an unusually flawless brood.”

“Oh my GOSH! Abigael Jameson-Caine does have a soft side! Alert the press!”

The sultry rich accented voice came out of nowhere, Mel taking notice on how Abby stiffened. Hands jerking in a quickly stifled stim.

A girl in her mid twenty’s walked up to them, her swagger matching her voice to a T.

She was fairly light skinned, her dark tresses curling into flamed highlights at the end. Her waist was slim, her beauty as evident as her immaculate complexion.

It more then annoyed Mel when she draped herself over Abigeals shoulders.

“Abigael,” she crooned, “So nice to see you.”

The smiled Abby wore was forced, Mel knew this just by looking at her.

“Rachel.” She spoke smoothly, as if the laters presence wasn’t affecting her.

“Rachel is it now?” The girl smirked, leaning down till her mouth was right behind Abigaels ear, “What happened to what you called me in the night?”

Abby uncharacteristically squeaked, her face reddening considerably.

Her poor Cariño looked absolutely flustered, practically sweltering under the blunt statement.

Mel didn’t like this.

She didn’t like it one bit.

And no, she totally wasn’t jealous of the supermodel clone in front of her.

How crass would that be?

“Ehghem!” Mel coughed loudly, drawing the unwanted attention of ‘Rachel’ who looked at her as if she was something disgusting on the floor, “Abby? Care to introduce me to your….”

She trailed off, peering suspiciously at the girl. Gripping Abigaels hand just a bit tighter, if not possessively.

“Right! Right yes of course.” Abigael fumbled slightly, the glint in her eyes saying everything she couldn’t.

“This is Rachel, Rachel Parkingson, you could say, she was one of my Ex’s.”

She gestured vaguely to the girl behind her, the beautiful woman grinning like a Cheshire Cat.

Rachel laughed coyly with a wave of her hand, “Oh Abigael, we were More then Ex’s.”

Mel was sure her face was burning, She couldn’t pinpoint her exact emotion. Just knew it was negative, and aimed toward Rachel-Supermodel-Parkingson.

Rachel soon leveled Mel with another uninterested stare.

“And who might the girl with the simply styled hair be?”

“It’s bloody wonderful hair!” Abby bit in defensively, calming down just a tad afterwards, “And Rachel, Meet my Girlfriend, Melanie Vera.”

She emphasized the word girlfriend, trying to get her obvious point across.

“Hmmmm,” the miss universe copy barely acknowledged, “Must be recent.”

“And why is that?!” Abby retorted

Mel, however, could tell from Rachel’s smile that her girlfriend had just walked into a trap.

“We’ll it’s simple!” She left her perch on Abbys shoulders, walking leisurely till she was finally in view, “You don’t stick around for anyone! She’s a quick bang in a series of hookups!”

Her voice dropped to a whisper, “I would know. I was one of them.”

Abby looked petrified, letting her hair fall in her face slightly, as if a curtain to shield her.

Mel could feel the hybrids hand shaking in hers, matching her own rapidly increasing anger.

She didn’t quite understand why this was phasing her girlfriend so much, as she usually has the sharpest of tongues and infinite wordplay.

However, someone was affecting her Cariño, and she wasn’t about to let that fly.

“Rachel I’m pretty sure-“

-“I mean, it’s not like it matters!” The girl interrupted loudly, leaning in close, “I mean she’ll be done with you eventually. And then we could hang out again? Hmm? What you think? Ditch lame haired and come for some awesome Netflix and chill minus the Netflix?”

The anger Mel felt was threatening to boil, the only reason Rachel wasn’t sporting a broken flawless jaw, was because she was currently holding Abbys hand, and she was worried letting go might cause her fragile personna to break.

“Oh don’t you remember?” Rachel eloquently purred, lowering herself so she was near Abigaels head once again. Hand snaking upwards, “The fun we used to have? Your buttons, which I always pressed.”

Abby was shaking now. Face trembling with restraint.

Mel could see Rachel’s hand trailing upwards, and with rapidly growing concerned, understood the later was going to try and pull Abigaels hair here and now.

That.. that wasn’t allowed. Mel herself would never tug the brunettes locks somewhere she wasn’t comfortable, nevertheless in public, where people could observe it!

She made to punch Rachel in the face, but apparently her girlfriend beat her, to well, the literal punch.

“NO!” The overlord barked immoderately, free hand blazing up, catching the models wrist in her hand before she could reach her hair. Fiery gaze turning to stare at the envy green orbs.

“Rachel I understand your bitter, but I love Melanie. She’s my girlfriend. She’s amazing. And she’s actually loves me. Like can you believe it? She loves me!”

Abby smiled appreciatingly at Mel, who blushed in reply, giving a smile of her own.

“Oh I see,” Rachel’s tone had become harsh, “Cause where’s Abigael without her Mommy issues.”

Abigael let out a choked whine, rapidly bringing both hands to her face so Rachel wouldn’t have the satisfaction of seeing possible tears well.

“Oh that’s ENOUGH!” Mel boomed, finally standing up.

Sure the girl towered over her, but she had just hurt the person she loved the most, and that amount of anger made up for the height difference.

“You are rude, ignorant, cruel, and not to mention a total BITCH!” She seethed violently, the model actually looked worried by her demeanor, “I don’t get why your so strung up on Abby- wait no, scratch that. I do! I do understand! I understand because she’s the best person I’ve ever met In my entire life. And every day I wake up with a smile on my face because I know I’m lucky enough to be loved by someone as amazing as her! And you, Rachel Parkingson-whatever the fuck. You not only ignorantly came over here, you made Abigael uncomfortable, and continued to do so even though it was obvious, you treated me like dirt, you threatened to Out her secrets, and then, on top of all of that, you had the bare audacity to make fun of her trauma she’s gone through with Ratcesca! So now, if you don’t want to loose that pretty little face of yours, I suggest you get the fuck out while you can!”

Rachel let out an unflattering shriek, before stomping away in her break-an-ankle heels.

Mel knew some people were staring, but she couldn’t care less. Right now she wanted to make sure her Cariño was ok.

“Honey? Mi amor?” She cooed softly, quickly moving so she was near her girlfriend.

“Cariño I’m going to hug you now, ok?”

Their was a quick nod from Abby, which is all she needed. Letting her arms wrap around the hybrids slim waist, resting her head on her shoulder.

“Mi sweetness, are you ok? That girl was a total jerk and you shouldn’t listen to a word she-“

-“Thank you.”

“Huh?”

The Latina gazed at Abby, with slight confusion, “I mean, of course My Love, I couldn’t just let her treat you like that?”

Abigael blushed, looking down, “You still didn’t have too.”

“Oh honey, sweetie,” Mel fluttered a hand underneath Abbys chin, lifting it so she could look straight into her hazel orbs, they were red rimmed, but she ignored it, “I will always defend you, I will always love you, no matter who says what. I’m sorry I didn’t react quick enough in fact. Your always so sharp with your tongue, but I should have realized Rachel was affecting you.”

“No!” Abby argued, “If anyone should apologize it’s me! I shouldn’t have let her say that stuff to you. I was too weak.”

“Don’t you say that!” She begged, squeezing tighter, “Abby you are the farthest from weak!”

“But I let her say that stuff…”

“Let her? You let her? Last time I checked you didn’t control what people said to me. You didn’t let her do anything! She hurt your feelings and made you uncomfortable. And while I wish no one ever did that, it’s ok to feel hurt and uncomfortable. It’s not weak or pitiful!”

Abigael still avoided her gaze, something else was wrong.

Mel crouched in front of her, grasping both hands in hers.

“Cariño, I love you, what’s on that beautiful mind of yours?”

Her girlfriend looked up, giving her a pained expression.

“Mel, your not Rachel.”

“Oh.”

Mel wasn’t sure how she was supposed to handle that information.

“Um… is that a bad thing?”

“NO!” The hybrid exploded, wincing afterwards, “Bloody hell, I’m messing this up entirely!”

She took a deep breath, looking at Mel once again.

“What I’m trying to say is, Rachel said your were just a simple hookup. Just like she was. But your not! Your not like Rachel, can’t you see?” Her eyes glistened with her passion, “Melanie, Rachel could never even be compared to you, because unlike her, I actually love you! I didn’t feel a single thing for her. She was just an outlet for whatever frustrations I had back then. And I had a lot of them. So I also understand why she’s so bitter to me. I wasn’t the best as communicating boundaries, and I assumed everyone knew I only did things for sex. I guess she was just unfortunate.”

Mel smiled a loving smile, cupping the side of Abbys face, “Aww, Cariño! You love me! You really love me.”

“I really really do.” Abigael breathed out, leaning into the touch.

“Aww, your so adorable.”

The squeak of rage that left Abbys mouth was by far the cutest thing Mels heard so far.

“Traitor!” She accused, “I am not adorable!”

“Aww you can’t deny ittt, I looove how adorable you are!” The Latina teased.

Abigael grumbled something unintelligible, letting her head fall forward onto Mels shoulder.

She smiled, pressing a kiss to her crown,

“I love you too.”

[thewebcomicsreview]

Oh shit, Homestuck 2 is back! Looks like the art team problems are getting worse, but maybe the writing’s good? Quick, recap of the story so far, since there was a hiatus

Previously, on Homestuck 2:  DIRK: I’m evil now and we’re on a new planet where we shall create our own lifeforms and rule them as gods ROSE: I’m making memes and vaginas DIRK: NOOOOO ROSE: Jade got me preganté and we named our kid Yiffy and I kept it a secret from everyone this whole time, including my wife but inexplicably not the dictator I’ve trying to overthrow, who kidnapped her JOHN: NOOOOO CALLIOPE: I’m in ur bod drinking ur juice JADE: NOOOOO CALLIOPE: Oh, like you’re not used to having weird people inside you, skank JADE: Wow, rude, I’m kicking you out of my brain for that  CALLIOPE: NOOOOO JOHN: Man, I love how my son tells me everything and keeps no secrets  KARKAT: John! Vriska’s alive and she murdered the clown pope and your son is hiding her because he and his friends are wanted for treason  JOHN: ...... KARKAT: You’re supposed to say “NOOOOO” John: Why would I? That fucking rules!  We now return to Homestuck 2

Yay, we’re finally seeing Davebot, Aradia, and Calliope. Fun fact: In a comic with like ten billion retcons and timeline splits, this Aradia is still the definitive “real” Aradia in a way no other character can claim to be (except Sollux), which is a fun endgame for a character who was introduced has having hundreds of thousands of duplicates.  I can not wait to see how the HS2 writers ruin her. (Also, where did they get a rocket ship?)

Also it it me, or is there something a little off about this art?

DAVEBOT: beep boop ARADIA: i have told you several times that i was a robot before and i know for a fact you dont have to say beep boop DAVEBOT: hm that sounds fake does not compute ARADIA: david DAVEBOT: mom

“David”? 

This is the first indication in the entire series that any of these kids’ names are short for anything, something Hussie explicitly said wasn’t the case but which was never actually addressed in the comic proper so I guess it’s not a plot hole. Still, it feels a little....wrong? 

ARADIA: well we are both an infinite number of years old living countless lifetimes at once but thats no reason to waste any of our...

Wait, what?! Aradia is Ultimate, too? When did that happen?! Why does she not need a robot body? 

DAVEBOT: time DAVEBOT: say time ARADIA: ... DAVEBOT: time then make a weird face

There’s a fine line between “callback” and straight up recycling a joke. 

ARADIA: would you say you are hung up on leaving your wife and friends behind DAVEBOT: are you ARADIA: am i hung up about leaving your wife and friends behind ARADIA: i do not think that i am no DAVEBOT: arent you even a little guilty about ditching your boyfriend ARADIA: what ARADIA: oh fuck

I do like the implication here that Aradia flat forgot about Sollux. Poor dude can’t catch a break. .

Ooh, an [S]. An extremely basic one, but still. Also, from this scene in the epilogues:

The distant sounds of war travel above the canopy of a forest. The artillery fire fades to a series of muted knocks and thuds as the sound waves cross beyond a thinning patch of the forest and arrive in a clearing of grass and shrubbery. Above, the sky is dramatic, colorful, menacing. The way it looks when a storm is coming. The clouds are wild, whipped into a sort of spatial frenzy, as if they know what’s imminent is no earthly phenomena. Aradia stands in the field, her mouth gaping wide. But not at the sky.

Probably the starkest example of how the epilogues presented Earth C has falling about and doomed and stormy and scary like the system crash in Reboot and Homestuck 2 has it all sunny and bright. I kind of wish HS2 kept the semi-apocalyptic feel of the epilogues, even if it made Aradia’s spurious decision to leave Sollux behind way more dickish. 

Oh hey, God’s back, and back in the body of the OG pre-Retcon Jade Harley. There’s something very Shoujo about this posing.

DAVEBOT: thanks JADE: They sit in each other's presence, the silence between them as meaningful as any words they could exchange. DAVEBOT: its always really cool to hear how meaningful my silences are DAVEBOT: especially while DAVEBOT: CALCULATING DAVEBOT: CALCULATING DAVEBOT: especially while i am attempting to experience them

I think Calliope, and possibly Aradia, is shipping Dave/Aradia right now, which is a pairing that has some comedic appeal were it not for Dave’s gayness.

ARADIA: i think she looks quite lovely covered in the viscera of the all-powerful enemy she consumed ARADIA: floating lifelessly in our periphery

We just established that this is months after they left Candyland. Has Jade’s body been covered in the blood and guts of Lord English this entire time? Take a goddamn shower, Jesus. 

Oh, there we go. Much better. Also, the one thing I heard about this upd8 was all the discussion of jorts, and then Dave references jorts, but no one is actually wearing them, unless Aradia’s got a pair on under her cultist robes? (Also, is Calliope’s Jade body healed from the shard of reality that killed it originally, or is there just a huge hole under her shirt)?

JADE: As a point of curiosity- ARADIA: oh shit!!!!

The dead Cherub possessing the body of an equally deceased Goddess of Space pauses at the interruption. Were she to voice her opinion, it would be that --actually-- it is not unusual for those whose primary concern is The Grander Scheme to have a passing curiosity about the insignificant. So when one really thinks about it, any annoyance with the attendant’s small mindedness is both understandable and warranted.

ARADIA: :(

Given how much time was spent on how Terezi can sense Dirk’s narration, I like how Calliope’s narration is literally just her talking out loud and everyone can clearly hear it and just assumes it’s like a troll quirk.

ARADIA: in this form our bodies stop aging once we reach maturity i think ARADIA: the god tier keeps our physical form locked in a state of undying ARADIA: even in death the bodies do not decay ARADIA: only lay dormant DAVEBOT: no thats boring DAVEBOT: like how long have you been alive JADE: yes, that one.

One of the things I don’t fully get about Calliope is why there’s stuff like this she doesn’t know. Another thing I don’t get: How come John and Jake are visibly middle-aged? They’re gods, too. 

ARADIA: you were there too i threw your air conditioner into the sun DAVEBOT: wow thats fucked up DAVEBOT: thats not where that goes at all JADE: these events are not-canonical. ARADIA: rude

I believe this is a reference to Pesterquest?

DAVEBOT: is that the trope of being hundreds of years old but looking young forever patently sucks ass DAVEBOT: a plot device an asshole would write ARADIA: :( JADE: that is not what i am trying to say at all. DAVEBOT: hmm wow yeah thatd really be a sort of pot/kettle situation i guess DAVEBOT: i cant believe im the only woke one here DAVEBOT: its hard being such a visionary AND such a fine metallic specimen

What the fuck is David even talking about? What? 

DAVEBOT: but can she see why kids love the sweet cinnamon taste of cinnamon toast crunch JADE: i do not know, or care, what that means. ARADIA: neither do i :)

I like the “Best Narrator” mug, and with this sudden headache to interrupt the laughter comes the end of the chapter and presumably a lead in to the next one when we’ll learn what’s blowing Calliope’s mind 

[prorevenge]

Cruel Teacher Gets Yelled At By My Parents, Never Messes With Me Again

So, this happened back in my sophomore year of high school. Our school district is weird so we ended up having a separate freshman school then attending the “senior high school” for sophomore, junior, and senior year. That being said, it was basically my first year of high school all over again and I wasn’t exactly sure what to expect.

Queue Mrs. C (Cunt), an older Hispanic woman with the voice of fucking nightmares. I will NEVER forget how she sounded, ever. Very scratchy and ear-splitting high pitched voice that I hated. From the beginning of the year this woman had it out for not only me, but every single other student in our class. I didn’t mention that she was an art teacher. Hence, she thinks she’s important but she’s at the bottom of the food chain. Fourth period was when I came to her room, right before lunch, and she decided that she would make our lives infinitely harder by punishing us to not going to lunch for talking, slacking off, etc. Her threats were often empty, but pissed me off nonetheless.

The table I sat with had a group of people I became pretty close to in that class, and thus we were the loudest but we still finished our work. To sum up the things she said and did, most of the time she would call us out in class and say something like, “Get back to work or you’re staying for lunch,” or something generally like that. Then she would proceed to march up to us and get two inches from our faces, not even joking, and demand to know why we weren’t working.

Even if we were finished with our assignments and projects, she FORCED us to color pages or simply draw in our sketch book. She was one of those teachers that hated phones and would try to rip it out of your hands if she caught you looking at it for longer than 10 seconds. I wish I was kidding.

Mrs. C was the rudest, most disrespectful teacher I have ever known. She insisted that we be kind and sweet to her when she was the exact opposite to us. I know that there were many people who didn’t do their work, but when we had to make literal PowerPoint presentations and essays over every single project, I can understand why! Being one of the only white people in that class, she would always mutter things about me in Spanish so I couldn’t understand. It pissed me off. (My friends would translate). The hate grew as she continuously yelled in my face over the year, grabbed my earphones and yanked them painfully out of my ear, shamed me in front of my entire class for not knowing the answer to a question, repeatedly told me that she didn’t want me in the class, and even went so far as to STAND on our table (we had connected group tables) and rant about how she hated all of us and how she was, “tired with our shit.”

Then came the final blow.

The year before, my dad had suffered over twelve heart attacks and had nearly died. I was very upset after the incident, so my therapist passed a letter on to all of my teachers to notify them of the situation. Mrs. C was, surprisingly, nice. She didn’t yell at me and seemed to even...like me? It was very odd, to say the least, but once I got “better” and started acting more like myself then she went back to hating me.

Then came the week before everything. My mom suffers from borderline personality order and her family has a history of substance abuse. I was unaware that she was tripping on acid while me and my brother were at her house (my parents broke up before I was born, my five year old brother at the time is technically my half brother, different dad, but that’s a story for another day).

Anyway, while we were over I noticed how she became more and more manic and retreated to my room. She ended up falling on the kitchen floor and I had to clean up the blood from her head wound; my hands were drenched in it. I threw up, and she paid no mind. I cried myself to sleep and went to my dad’s the next day.

I told my therapist of the situation and she called my mom to ask if she was okay. The following weekend my mom called back and said she was scared of doing something bad. For the first time, my therapist went to a client’s house (aka my mom’s) with my mom’s dad and found her. She was high on mushrooms that our family friend had supplied and tried to kill herself. She was taken to a mental hospital and my family was told everything. My dad was heartbroken for her. I was heartbroken, too, to know the truth.

But this isn’t my sob story. This information is important because the Wednesday after this all happened (my mom had been taken to the hospital on a Friday) Mrs. C decided to be as cunty as she possibly could. I was already failing English due to my mental and emotional state plummeting, so was working on a paper in her class. I was literally reading a fucking book.

She marched over when I didn’t respond to my name being called and tore the book out of my hands. She asked me what I was doing and I told her, and she said, rhetorically, “Is this English?” Obviously not you stupid bitch. She only let me have the book when I told her I’d put the homework up and she walked away. I started reading again, because this was already a day late and this was the day it was due and cut-off time was by 4:20, no later.

She came back over and said, “Come outside with me, we’re calling your parents.” I obliged and trudged after her in front of the whole class, and she shut the door. The conversation began, and I’ll try to state it below as best I can remember.

Mrs C: Call your parents.

Me: They’re at work.

Mrs C: Do you know how HARD my life is dealing with all of you?

Me: ...

Mrs C: I ask you to work, and you don’t work. I ask you to put the homework away, and you don’t.

Me: I’m sorry, but my English homework is due today and if I don’t finish it then I’m going to fail the class.

Mrs C: Well you’re missing an assignment in my class, and you’re not in English. You’re taking up my time with this.

Me: Like I said, I’m going to fail english if I don’t get this turned in, which might mean I have to drop your class if I do.

Mrs C: The work is late because you didn’t do it. Who’s fault is that?

By this point I start crying because I haven’t let myself truly process the emotional turmoil that comes with knowing your mother is a suicidal drug addict.

Me: Things are really hard right now.

Mrs C, becoming colder even after I’m crying: I understand, but you need to get to work in this class. Why can’t you do your English at lunch?

Me: I’m leaving for a doctor’s appointment.

(Seeing my therapist):

Mrs C: Well then do it in the car. Why didn’t you do your English any earlier than today in my class?

Me: I worked on it first period but I couldn’t for chemistry and geometry. And like I said a lot is going on, my mom is in the hospital now..

Mrs C: You could bring your sketchbook when you visit her and draw.

My heart stopped. I was fucking FUMING. Not only does this dumb cunt have the nerve to tell me she “understands” my situation, but proceeds to state that I should be drawing while visiting my mother in the hospital? No one in their right mind would ever do this, and a teacher shouldn’t fucking expect an emotional student to either! She didn’t even sympathize with me at all! Agh....I’m getting angry just writing this.

I didn’t say anything until she was done berating me. I was sobbing at this point.

Me: Can I go to the bathroom now?

Mrs C, condescending: Oh, NOW you have to go to the bathroom.

I didn’t answer and swiftly walked to the bathroom, shut myself in a stall, and sobbed into my arms. It wasn’t that I was just angry, but thinking about my mom was tearing me apart.

It took me a few minutes to gather myself, but I eventually stopped crying and tried to let my eyes dry up so they wouldn’t be red. I didn’t want anyone to know I’d been having a panic attack over this stupid fat bitch. I came back into class and sat down. My friends asked if I was okay and I didn’t reply or I knew I would start crying again.

I went to my therapist and told her what happened. She was shocked and my dad told me to stand up for myself. She was an art teacher, not a professor at Harvard, and I shouldn’t give her the satisfaction of upsetting me. I realized he was right.

That weekend, I went to dinner with my mom and she was doing a lot better. I informed her of the situation and she was pissed. She told me to have Mrs C call her if anything like that ever happened again.

And then, the revenge.

I was actively ignoring her until the Tuesday after my dinner with my mom, or almost a week since our little outside conversation that ended in me sobbing in a bathroom stall. I’m not a weak pathetic bitch, I was going to stand my ground this time and not take shit.

The situation was something like this.

Me, not doing my work on purpose: ...

Mrs C: Get to work.

Me, not getting to work on purpose: ...

Mrs C: Outside, NOW.

I followed her, a plan forming in my mind already. Once the door closed she glared at me.

Mrs C: Do we really have to do this again?

Me: Please don’t make me call my parents, they already got mad when I told them what happened last time.

Mrs C, smug: Oh, I’m definitely calling them. Dial their phone number now.

Me, faking: Fine..

I did so, and dialed my mom’s. I watched this smug little cunt put my phone to her ear and wait as it rang.

Mom: Hello?

Mrs C: Yes hello, your daughter is disrupting my class and is ignoring me when I talk to her.

Mom: That’s what I told her to do.

Mrs C looked up at me, clearly confused.

Mrs C: I don’t understand.

Mom: She told me what you said to her last week and I’m not happy. Something along the lines of, doing her homework in the hospital while visiting her mom for a very short amount of time? Maybe your complete ignorance to her crying? No sympathy whatsoever? Your comment when she asked to go to the bathroom?

Mrs C, stumbling on her words: You daughter lied to you, I never said any of those things to her.

My jaw dropped in shock. What??

But it was fine, because my mom. went. OFF. I couldn’t hear all of what she said, but I know Mrs C walked off and talked to her away from me. My mom put her in her place and definitely told her something, not sure what but I’m guessing it was a threat. Mrs C walked back and gave me my phone, teary-eyed, and said nothing.

Her smug demeanor had completely changed, and from then on she hardly ever said a word to me if it wasn’t praising or congratulating me. I knew it was fake, but seeing her kiss my ass like that was fucking hilarious and life changing. It made the end of my year, and I never saw her again after sophomore year.

SHE RETIRED!

God, that still makes me giddy to this day to know that whatever my mom said was enough to make this cunt literally leave her job.. whatever it was, I appreciate it so much and I’m so glad I told my mom what happened. Without her, Mrs C surely would have continued bullying me and berating me for nothing. Not only did I save myself, but I saved my classmates because she became very passive after that.

Moral of the story: don’t make me hate you and don’t fuck with my mom. We make a scary team.

(source) story by (/u/painttted)

[insertdisc5]

homestuck epilogues stuff

thoughts about the homestuck epilogues, as in, spoilers and theories and things ive noticed by reading it over twice and talking with friend @kravicle while they were reading

this is just a list of theories me and krav came up with ok. also stuff u might not pick up in only one read? we’re just spitballing here 

MEAT AND CANDY TEREZI ARE PROBABLY ONE AND THE SAME

> just didnt see proof they weren't the same lmao, we only get john+terezi's messages from both timelines and she could have gotten messages from both meat!john and candy!john

>time is fucked on her end also so (shrugs)

>(terezi meeting meat!john) "something else is different about him. different, somehow, from how she thought he’d be when she imagined they’d next meet. under all the gore, he smells... too fresh."

>TEREZI: HMMM

TEREZI: YOU SM3LL OLD3R

TEREZI: BUT NOT 4S OLD 4S 1 THOUGHT YOUD B3

JOHN: what does that mean?

TEREZI: DONT WORRY 4BOUT 1T

>"In multiple realities, all [John] wanted for her was this. To be home safe, with all their friends. And now that she’s here, she’s lost."

> (meeting Meat!roxy) "Terezi’s head is filled with stories about a different version of Roxy—the polar opposite of the one standing in front of her."

DIRK’S PLAN PART 1 (free will)

>maybe plans to get Actual Free Will thru ultimate godhood??? also explains why he feels okay with removing free will from his friends- for him, this isnt real free will anyway?

>(dirk talking about kanaya) "What WAS she thinking? What are any of us thinking, really? Who’s doing the thinking, and who’s having the thoughts?

The more you study the question, the more it seems all concrete forms of accountability go up in smoke. Her original thoughts were never that important, and the significance of the idea that she was the one authoring them was always a bit overrated. My mission is to someday clear this all up for everyone. Remove the ambiguity, suck the mud out of the water. It’ll be a lot better that way, trust me."

>to old callie, dirk's plan "[john’s] ultimate sacrifice was made to put the missing keystone in place and avert the supreme dissipation of all that shall be considered to hold truth, relevance, and essentiality."

>although narrator callie thinks this world has some sort of actual free will. says "[john should kiss terezi etc]. it’s wrong to contradict one’s true thoughts and feelings. irrational. unbecoming of an existence governed by free will."

>his plan to give everyone/ultimate gods “free will” will end up destroying canon????

DIRK’S PLAN PART 2 (complacency of the learned, ultimate self)

>complacency of the learned, 12 people attaining ultimate knowledge (=ultimate self), and turning "either insane or evil"

> (candy ending, rose’s POV) "The thoughts in her powerful brain race. What will they name the planet? How long will it take for the ship to arrive? Once the new race has established an advanced enough civilization thousands of years from now, who will the lucky kids be? The ones who get the chance to play what will arguably be the most important session in the history of Sburb?" 

>finding more people to attain ultimate godhood???

>dirk asks terezi to come with him and rose at the end of meat, along with john's body (implied that she did accept-callie!jade points and dave thinks she points both to dirk+rose and john+terezi, callie doesnt prove him otherwise)

>dirk wants 12 ultimate gods for each aspect????

>"If your perception expands beyond the meat sack of your body, then are you really an individual anymore? Why shouldn’t we become gods? Why shouldn’t we become one God."

- (callie speaking) "[John] is simply being barred from ignoring his true thoughts. even without the aid of a juju, he is fortunate enough to be blessed with the only true form of divinity. to be released from the prison of nonsensical inhibitions which so often psychologically hobble the more primitive forms of life."

>callie is probably an ultimate god, terezi should be?? with rem8mb8r?

DIRK’S NARRATOR STUFF

>dirk probably doesnt know hes in a story/that he has an audience (us) "How can I respect a fucking pronoun when nobody can even hear me?”

>does dirk control people by using you-ness? using 2nd person to control, 3rd person to narrate?

>”JADE: and where there is an identity, there can also be an agenda.”

CANDY TIMELINE STUFF

>part of the black hole, a utopia, place removed from reality/canon in some way??? WEIRDO DREAM BUBBLE????

>cut off from canon in some way- dirk and rose cant get to ultimate godhood anymore, john cant use retcon powers

>candy!john mentions multiple times he doesnt think of him and his friends as "real"

>sky in candy!timeline described as more vibrant (VS pre-sburb being described as muted)

>candy!karkat talking to sollux and probably being foreshadowing without knowing: “KARKAT: I THOUGHT THAT YOU TWO LITERALLY DIDN’T EXIST ANYMORE! KARKAT: OR AT THE VERY LEAST WERE TRAPPED IN A DEAD UNIVERSE PERPETUALLY COLLAPSING INTO ITS OWN ASSHOLE.”

>CALLIOPE: we’re all going to be very, very happy. I trUly believe that. ^u^ 

>ROSE: Oh Kanaya, you’re right.

ROSE: We are going to be so astonishingly happy!

>ROXY: omg

ROXY: were gonna be SO freakin happy!

>Dirk in Meat: "Cherubs are fuckin’ weird, I’ll totally concede. Still not sure what makes them tick. What they idealize, what they really want. It all comes across to me as a little cloying. Perfection to them is a sweetness beyond comprehension. Sugar so potent it’s poison to us. To our bodies, to our souls. Like the place she was operating from was a realm of self-construction. A bubble of pure, phantasmal confection."

>end of meat!callie can see into candy!timeline ROXY: they stay home all day with the blinds drawn paintin some weird ass shit on the walls

TEREZI: WH4T?

ROXY: its not as bad as it sounds i promise

ROXY: some of it is like

ROXY: weird and violent??

ROXY: like lotsa nasty purple blood and um

ROXY: nudity????

TEREZI: >:?

ROXY: yeah yikes

ROXY: but MOST of it is cute stuff like... various combos of all of us being happy and gettin married and shit

>obama’s here. god i need a minute

>dirk told gamzee something??? 

“DAVE: wheres dirk

GAMZEE: tHeRe’S nO nEeD tO wOrRy AbOuT hIm. :o)

GAMZEE: YoU’rE gOnNa GeT wHaT’s BeSt FoR yOu. He ToLd Me ThAt, AnD i’M gOnNa MaKe SuRe HiS wIsH mAkEs LiKe A mOtHeRfUcKiNg MiRaClE aNd GeTs TrUe.

[...]

GAMZEE: YoU dOn’T gOt AnY nEeD tO gO aNd CoNcErN yOuRsElF wItH hIs MoRtAl FlEsH bOdY oUt HeRe In ThIs CaNdYcAnE wHiRlPoOl BeYoNd ThE iNfInItE bLaCk WiNk Of ThE wIcKeD sInGuLaRiTy, My NiNjA.

GAMZEE: a SaCk Of MeAt AnD bOnEs In OnE lIfE oR tHe NeXt Is OnLy A mEaNs To ThE fInAl ToTaLiTy ThAt WiLl DaMn AnD rAiSe Us AlL iN bRiLlIaNt ApOtHeOsIs.

GAMZEE: In ThE oNe TrUe LiFe We AlL fLoW fRoM tHe OnE tRuE pEn,

GAMZEE: aNd EvErY hEaD rOlLs DoWn ThE pAtH tO tHe OnE tRuE hAnD.”

> dirk before killing himself:  “ It is the very last moment of narratively consequential action that will happen in this whole, barren world. “

OTHER STUFF

> dirk teaching men about "combat, philosophy, life, love." (jake, dave, obama, not said explicitly but also probably gamzee????) what is UP with that

>gamzee also wanting to teach kid tavros about combat philosophy life love, “to behave the way a mentor does”

>re: john “Your complete lack of remarkability, specific motivation, drive, opinion on where to direct your own fate—these deficiencies are exactly what made you so useful, so susceptible to being endowed with the you-ness I’ve borrowed to satisfy my purposes.”

>at the end of meat, callie in jade's body in candy timeline kills lord english and gets big powers or whatever. cherub stuff

>terezi gets a text at the end of Meat, we dont know from whom (candy!(vriska)?)

>john left letters for everyone in Meat but no one’s found them yet?

>snapchats were probably before the split 

>this whole post makes both me and krav sound like we’re been talking about this for 24 hours straight (we did)

[fanfoolishness]

a stopped clock (Bioshock Infinite)

There’s always a lighthouse.

There’s always a man.

There’s always a city.

***

The mind of the subject will desperately struggle to create memories where none exist…

***

Booker DeWitt stares down at his hands.  They’re calloused, cracked, scarred.  Funny how he still sees blood there even when they’re clean.

He shakes his head.  No matter.  He’s got a job to do.  The rain lashes his hands clean, and in the distance he sees it rising from the churning sea: the lighthouse.

***

It’s a city here, nothing he’s ever seen, maybe New York in a fever dream.  He doesn’t feel so good, but shooting through the air, nearly drowning, and floating in the sky might do that to a man.  

He’s dizzy in the thin air.  He tries to take it all in, but the details slide past him, overwhelming.  Buildings rising impossibly into the clouds, the sun more blinding than it’s ever been, wind chilled like a gust from an icebox, music he’s never heard swirling around him.  The fuck is this place --

“Welcome to Columbia!” a man says brightly.  Booker just scowls, head clearing.  He’s not here to make friends.  He’s never been anywhere for that.

“Bring us the girl, and wipe away the debt,” he mutters.  The man eyes him warily.

***

A coin flips, hangs glittering in the air like one of the hummingbirds in the gardens, and Booker wonders what it means, how much it’s worth, whose blood it might buy.  Twin faces politely catalogue his choice and he prowls past them, man on a mission.

***

Ah.  Turns out this city ain’t so golden after all.  

This, this makes sense to him, nose crunching beneath his fist, knuckles splitting, blood fountaining from another man’s face.  It always comes to this, doesn’t it?  He’s a Pinkerton man, brutish through and through, and before that --

The shrieks are in English now, not Sioux, but they end the same way.  

***

Monument Island, the signs all say, but Booker’s skin crawls.  It doesn’t make sense.  What monument needs danger signs, quarantines?  Doesn’t add up.  Yet all he finds in the end, humming and twirling in a library behind iron doors six inches thick, is the girl.

Elizabeth.

***

She’s so damn naive.  

It almost hurts him, that innocence in her wide eyes.  How could anyone get through life so trusting?  There’s a hot flash of vindication he feels when it all goes south in the station, but it vanishes when she flinches away from him, recoiling at the death written into his hands and bones.  She thinks him a monster.  He’s inclined to agree.

The name Anna flits through his mind, but he’s not sure why.  All it leaves behind is a sinking bitter guilt and a rush of anger: seething, volatile, aimless.

Enough.  Elizabeth’s here now, and he tries twisting himself into the man she needs him to be.  Anything to get the job done, right?  

He tries his best.  At least, it’s what he tells himself.

***

“You were there at Wounded Knee.  I can see it in your face.”  Her voice is kinder than it has any right to be.  It cuts him worse than cruelty ever could.

He swallows.  Shivers.  Remembers the smell of burning leather and prairie grass, lullabies in Sioux, bloodied hair dried and cracking in the folds of his hands.  

Fuck, he needs a whiskey.

***

A choice.  Numbers spinning beneath his fingertips.  He’s never flown an airship, but somehow that doesn’t bother him.  New York?  Paris?  He doesn’t know what she wants of Paris.  He’s never been there, never planned to be.  

It has to be New York.  Wipe away the debt!

All he knows is what he’s been told, wipe it away and come out clean, but when she levies the wrench at his head, he doesn’t feel afraid.  He only feels he’s failed, and at least the feeling is familiar.

***

Finktown’s full of filth, but what did you expect for a place with a name like that?  Booker’s seen it too many times.  He leaves dead almost-Pinkertons behind him like shadows seared in the streets.  

Elizabeth’s compassion makes him uneasy.  He wishes he had the words to warn her of the snakepit they’re walking into.  Wishes he knew how to keep that kindness in her eyes where it ought to be.  But words are tools unsuited to his dirty hands, and besides, he doesn’t feel right here. Nose bleeding, head foggy, fucking dizzy.  Something’s wrong.  

He died.  He lived.  He died.  Did he?  He fights it.  There’s something wrong here, something goddamned wrong….

He almost thinks he has it, then, the puzzle, the shape of it, but it slithers away from him before he can pin it down.  He pushes on.  Work to be doing, after all.  Protect the girl.  

He fights through the worst of it, but Fitzroy falls.  It’s Elizabeth’s kind face wearing the blood that’s his by rights, and he’s sick, sick, sick.  Like Wounded Knee.  Like -- like Anna --

His fist is heavy on the door, but she doesn’t answer him.  “I know how this feels,” he tries, guilt coiling in his belly, but the silence grows.  He’s crushed beneath it, condemned, and Columbia’s sins collapse upon him.

***

“Let me do it,” he insists.  He stands over a dead woman cased in glass and for a moment he hears a cry ringing out, sees a sweet face whiter than the blood-blown sheets, remembers her name --

But it’s gone, quicker than he can follow, and he does this thing so Elizabeth doesn’t have to.  He’d do anything, so she won’t have to.

It won’t be New York, this time.

***

Snow in the air, January roaring across the white sky.  The wind sighs in the walls and Booker wanders the asylum, fighting panic with every step.  The faces here are wrong, horrible masks in plaster and doll’s hair, hollow blank eyes.  The thing that gnaws him is how familiar they seem, somehow.  And through it all her screams, so distant he might almost imagine them, but he has to find her, has to save her, has to fucking fix this --

Fire and blood, rage towering in him like he’s never known before, and she’s there.  She’s there.  His hands tremble.  “Elizabeth.”  

He falters with his words; they come out so small and simple.  Not enough for the hurt in her eyes or the bruises on her back.  The sounds he tries are just useless things in a graveled voice, clattering against the floor, and he leaves them there.  Blood will have to speak for him.

***

“Nothing is finished!  You lock her up her whole life. You cut off her finger, and you pin it on me?”  His throat’s ragged with the effort and hatred boils up out of him, a foulness that leaves him panting.  Comstock’s dead, he’s finally dead, and shouldn’t he feel better with the man’s blood on his hands?

But Elizabeth fixes him with luminous eyes and fists clenched at her sides.  “What did he mean?”

He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know the answer to any of it, and the wrongness buzzes in his head.  Can’t think about that right now.  Work’s not done yet.

He wipes his own blood from his nose, and it dries red on his fingertips.

***

Doorways.  Elizabeth’s right.  They’re beautiful, lights in white and gold awash against the inky dark, the sound of waves gentle.  The lighthouses call to him, and their song hums unbroken.  

For a moment he doesn’t know what he feels.  It’s wholly unfamiliar.  Is it… hope?

She takes his hand.  It’s small, but steely, too.  The doors open, and that faintness he called hope dissolves to dread.

Water rushes in his ears.  Voices singing, hymns over a river’s course.  The baby cooing, the way she used to kick her legs just so.  Rain against his face, hard to tell the difference between blood. Or tears.

She’s kind, even now.  He’s so proud of her for that.  Even with it all, she’s better than he ever was.  He knows as well as she does that this, this final choice, is a mercy in more ways than one.  

Her hands are small.  But they hold him down just as well as iron.

***

“Mr. DeWitt?” she asks, giving him a friendly smile.  He is one of her favorites, even though she has read through his file.  Pinkerton.  Widower.  The White Injun of Wounded Knee.  Still, a man’s old life has little bearing once he comes to this ward, and Polly knows she has a calling here for folks like this.

Booker DeWitt gazes up at her, green-glass eyes bright and alert.  She cannot help a moment’s trace of pity.  He always seems to be here with her.  And yet….

“Elizabeth,” he says gruffly.  “Don’t run off like that.”  Though he gives her a stern look, a half-smile edges across his face.

She likes him in this mood.  The male orderlies worry for her when she sees Mr. DeWitt, and she knows they mean well, but he only ever seems to get violent with them.  He is nothing but a gentleman -- well, a gentleman rough around the edges -- when he speaks to “Elizabeth.”  Dr. Bay has encouraged her to play along when Mr. DeWitt falls into these moods. Anything else seems to distress the man.

“Don’t worry, Mr. DeWitt.  I’m here now.  I’ll take care of you.”

A flicker of confusion crosses his face; his mouth thins, lips turning down at the corners.  “Call me Booker.”  He sighs, leaning forward and burying his face in his hands.  The bedsprings creak as he moves.  “Elizabeth, I won’t let them take you.  You understand?”  He raises his head, giving her a piercing gaze.  

It reminds her of someone.  She blinks when she catches it.  The Indian woman that lived near her parents’ farm; she remembers that same steeliness in the eyes.

“Of course, Booker.”  She carefully checks his heart rate, gives him a thermometer.  He keeps it under his tongue obediently, but holds out his hand for her to check.  She turns it over.  As always, the only abnormality is the jagged AD scarred into the back of his hand, long since healed.  There are no new wounds.  Yet he has held this hand to her a dozen times.

He looks at her expectantly.  She sighs, then removes a strip of gauze from her apron pocket and wraps it around his hand.  “Much obliged,” he says.  She makes a note to replace the gauze for the next time she tends to him.

She turns to the tray behind her, then turns back to him, his medications nestled in a tin.  “Here you are.”

Mr. DeWitt looks at the tin, his forehead creased in concentration.  She notices the lines at the edges of his eyes, the gray streaking his hair.  It’s a shame.  He’s no longer a young man, but nor is he elderly, unlike so many here.  Perhaps that is why she sorrows, now and then, thinking of him.

“Salts?” he asks.  They have never been able to figure out what he means when he says this.

“Salts, Booker.”  She hands the tin to him, and he pops them into his mouth readily, cradling the tin in his hand.

Dr. Bay tells her it’s called Korsakoff’s, named after a famous Russian neurologist.  A curious syndrome brought on by alcoholism.  She had never heard of it before coming here.  Anterograde amnesia.  

They don’t know how to treat it, though.  Dr. Bay tries sedatives at a low dose.  Polly isn’t sure they do much but make the man sleep.  She always hopes they will rest his mind, but every time she sees him, there is a new story, usually more fantastical than the last.  She has pieced together some of them.  A floating city.  Strange worlds beset by violent rebels.  A bird that somehow frightens him.  

She remembers Dr. Bay’s notes, the phrase that makes her heart ache.  The mind of the subject will desperately struggle to create memories where none exist…  She scratches down today’s log in his file.

“How did you get to be so good at codebreaking?” Mr. DeWitt asks her, noticing her writing.  

Polly’s mind races, attempting to keep pace with the delusion.  Before she can formulate an answer, though, Mr. DeWitt yawns.  With a start she notices a trail of blood from his left nostril.  

“Booker, you’re bleeding.”

Dr. Bay says it’s something to do with the alcohol.  Hurts the platelets, somehow, makes it hard for them to clot.  She reaches hurriedly for extra gauze in her cart and tenderly blots the blood from his nose.  They’ll have tests to run on him later, poor fellow.  She checks his eye and gum color.  Still all right, thankfully.

“I remember I fought -- Slate and I, we burned the Hall of Heroes -- I died for the Vox --”  He shakes his head, breathing hard.  She lays her hand on his shoulder, hoping he finds it a comfort.  It will only be a moment now.  

“Bring us the girl, and wipe away the debt,” Mr. DeWitt mumbles, pupils unfocused.  His grip on the tin that held the medication loosens, and carefully she wrests it away from his fingers before it can drop on the floor.  His hand is warm, the fingers heavily calloused.  

“Stay with me, Booker,” Polly says softly.  He slumps, leaning heavily to one side with his shoulders sagging, and she helps him down the rest of the way until his face meets the pillow.  She pulls his blanket up over his chest.  Once he is asleep she collects a blood sample from him, then tapes a bandage to his arm.  Dr. Bay will need to check his platelets again.  

She carefully notes the encounter in his file, but she is temporarily distracted by the rain drumming against the window, lightning sharp in the distance.  With the aid of its flash she can see the lighthouse far beyond the sound, miles beyond their city.  She shivers.  Something about it seems sinister, somehow.

“Constants, and variables,” says a woman’s voice.

Polly jerks upright.  A man and a woman in rain slickers, both alike, stand beside Mr. DeWitt’s bed.  “Excuse me!  Visiting hours are over!” says Polly indignantly.  She’s quite surprised.  Mr. DeWitt’s only family listed is a wife and daughter, both deceased.

The man looks mildly put out.  “It seems you win this round, dear sister.”

“I told you this one could not be considered.  Far too damaged.  Biology and self-loathing are strange masters, brother.”

“Excuse me,” Polly repeats.

“The file is fascinating, though, you must admit!  I suspect there may be other windows between realities beyond the ones we have made ourselves,” the man suggests.  Polly stares at them in bewilderment.

“The girl may be communicating with him, but I think it is more likely that a mind can only be broken in so many ways.  Eventually, it might happen upon the truth.”

“Excuse me….”

“Such a faint possibility for these particular delusions to be created, unless counterparts are somehow innately connected --”

“You are overthinking it, as usual.  Even a stopped clock is correct twice a day, and in an infinite universe, no single outcome is as unlikely as the next.  Sometimes I wonder if biology might have been as equal a pursuit as physics --”

“Excuse me!  You’ll have to leave!” shouts Polly, standing and squaring her shoulders.  “Mr. DeWitt needs his rest.  How did you get in here?  Was it Alice at the front desk?  She’s always shirking --”

“There is no need to get upset.  We won’t be troubling you again,” the woman assures her.  

“We have seen all we need to see.  We wish you the best of luck in caring for him,” the man says, gesturing to Mr. DeWitt.  “We do apologize for the inconvenience.”

A terrific flash of lightning is followed by a resounding crack of thunder. Rain slams against the window in a mad staccato.  Polly blinks.  The man and woman are nowhere to be found.

Must have hurried out, she thinks, suddenly anxious.  Then she breathes a sigh of relief.  Korsakoff’s, at least, is not contagious.  No need to worry about her own mental state. 

The rain pounds against the building.  Beneath his roughspun blanket, Mr. DeWitt stirs.  “Anna?” he murmurs, his voice gentle.  “Anna?  Is that you?”

Polly frowns at the sight of his sleep-slacked face, worry sinking into the pit of her stomach.  Not again.

She reaches for her gauze, and she wipes away the red.

[codetrainwreck]

Geass Movie Super Ultimate Final Summary Extra Mega Sugoi Version (2/2)

Last time on Code Geass, Lelouch of the Re;surrection: Shesthaal is very cute, Lelouch blows up Shesthaal with Bitool’s Sakuradite, Shesthaal cries out for his father as he gets blown up, and there goes my interest in this movie.

Tbf though, it’s a good death scream. Imagine what kind of noises he makes in bed... he’s def an uke...

Anyway, continuing on.

Lelouch and the gang split from the prison and the container of prison staff he Geassed to help with their getaway is seen being let go. Although it took him 728 days longer to rise from the dead, Jesus Lamperouge has learned mercy.

Back in the capital at Shamna’s temple, Shesthaal’s dad, Cmdr. Forgnar, comes in and goes, “Holy shit my son died let’s go FUCK UP THE UFN” and Shamna is like, “No, let’s not.” Whether you think he actually cares or whether he wants to use this as an excuse to fuck up the UFN is up to you. However, based on the dialogue about how Cornelia is a curse word in this region, and how Forgnar doesn’t talk about his son like ever again (even other characters who aren’t even from Zilkhstan bring up Shesthaal’s “disappearance” later), it comes off as more like... Forgnar just wants an excuse to go fight Cornelia.

She asks Bitool how long ago Shesthaal died and Bitool replies it was in the afternoon, at 11am. Since it’s out of the 6 hour time limit (we’ll come back to this later), she apparently can’t do shit. Shamna says that with her prophecy, even if they’re Geass users, they can beat anyone. It shows Nunnally on the ceiling in some kind of tank. And also she has new clothing but isn’t wearing underwear because in Zilkh culture, they don’t wear underwear. This might read like a joke sentence, but it’s a 100% serious sentence.

At the UFN HQ, Schneizel is wearing glasses and looks hot. That’s all you need to know. There’s also a convo related to the plot and sending people and supplies to Zilkhstan including Lancelot’s new fortress frame coat, but I’m just gonna explain this in the next bit.

Back to the Good Guys, Sayoko observes some drop ships. Cornelia, who is now a general in the UFN (which makes her a Black Knight) has shown up with a small team of Black Knights and a Rag Tag Band from the TV series - herself, Guilford, Ohgi, Tamaki, Cecile, Nina, Anya, Jeremiah. The 8 of them, combined with Lelouch, CC, Kallen, Suzaku, Lloyd and Sayoko, plus Cornelia’s BKs, are going to save the fuck out of Nunnally.

Now, you might be asking yourself, “Why these specific people?” HMM WELL YOU SEE. None of them, aside from Cornelia and her few soldiers, are actually BKs anymore. Kallen is only a reserve member as she’s attending university. Basically, Schneizel can’t formally be like, “Wow send 1000 people to rescue Nunnally and mobilize the Black Knights” which is why he’s sending people who are mostly not involved with the Black Knights on this SUPER SECRET MISSION. (They talk about this back when CC first meets up with Kallen/Sayoko/Lloyd.)

And you might also be asking yourself... “Wait, what about Tohdoh, Gino, Xingke”, etc. What about those other Black Knights? HMM WELL YOU SEE. Xingke died, and the rest aren’t very popular characters, so plot-wise they stuck with the Black Knights giving the story and animators excuses to not include them in the main plot except for something really brief later.

Anyway, Lelouch has taken up the Zero costume again while CC is upset they haven’t run away to fuck like rabbits yet so she drinks a martini. And Cornelia is the only person with a brain, so she is like, “Dude, what the fuck? Am I supposed to be OK with this while Euphy and Darlton are dead?” Everyone else is like down to help Lelouch and Cornelia is not having this shit. Lelouch convinces her by taking off his Zero mask and sincerely asking his older sister for help.

Cornelia is like, “Hell yeah we’re gonna save Nunnally” after this but first since no one has seen each other in a while, they need to party first. Kallen and CC have some girl time finally but then proceed to fail the Bechdel test and talk about Lelouch.

Ohgi gives Lelouch a USB drive from Kaguya then tries to kill himself even though he has a wife and a child at home. Lelouch, without turning around, knows Ohgi is trying to kill himself so he forgives him and say it’s okay because he is merciful Jesus now. It’s chilly at night in the desert and Cornelia’s outfit is like sleeveless and zettai ryoiki so she’s walking around in the Zero jacket and gives Suzaku a drink.

Honestly, just let Cornelia be Zero.

Lelouch signals Suzaku up to the water tower, where they talk about how Lelouch understands the plot regarding his resurrection as well as the viewer (as in he doesn’t) and as far as he knows he could roll over and die at any time. Then an extremely misplaced Ali Project insert song plays while Lelouch watches a video from Ohgi’s wedding with lots of characters conveniently gathered at once... one of which happens to be Nunnally.

Also, Cornelia’s tits are one of the most well-drawn things in this movie next to Shesthaal’s hair when he’s in the cockpit. Honestly, I appreciate you, Sunrise.

SO, keikaku time. Instead of trying to explain this chronologically, I’m just gonna explain it... not chronologically.

Shamna’s Geass is to send her memories back in time 6 hours when she dies, so she effectively knows what’s going to happen and Zilkhstan can prepare for it. In an interview, Lelouch’s VA Fukujun compares this to “uploading her memory to Cs’ World and then downloading it” since Cs’ World has no concept of time. So, basically, the reason why Zilkhstan has been successful is because Shamna is fucking save scumming.

It is implied she already reset time at least once in the movie by now. The first is that at the start of the movie, Shalio remarks about how Zero moved to the place that Shamna said he would, so Shalio and the other KMFs are able to set up a trap under Suzaku in advance. I don’t know why she can’t chain this 6hrs -> back another 6hrs.

Lelouch and co initiate their plan. Lelouch successfully outmaneuvers Zilkhstan at every single place possible: Suzaku and Kallen are on the flats in Strike Freedom and Infinite Justice and wipe out all of the mooks. Everyone else is also able to make it to their destination. Zilkh soldiers have been Geassed to blow up their bases, Bitool can’t make it to his Guard Scorpion mech, etc.

Finally, Lelouch rides up to Shamna’s temple on the Mahoraba (the one Suzaku didn’t wreck at the start of the movie). Shamna goads Lelouch by hitting a button that auto-kills Nunnally in her tank. Lelouch responds by gunning Shamna down immediately. Shamna sends her memories back in time 6 hours.

Shamna is bathing with Shalio when she has a “prophecy”. We see she has a Code on her lower belly in this scene. She calls up Forgnar and explains the plot to him. This time around, Zilkhstan is prepared for all of Lelouch’s bullshit. Lelouch starts to despair and is almost shot down in the Mahoroba when Anya and CC show up and rescue his dumb noodle ass. Lelouch and CC co-pilot the Gekkoei. Lelouch has an existential crisis as he freaks out about his plans not working while everyone around him also freaks out about the plan not working and asks him for further instructions. And I mean like, literally everyone except for uhmm Cornelia? I think?

There’s a scene in R2 where Suzaku debuts the Lancelot Albion. Bismarck is there in Galahad and uses his Geass to fight Suzaku. Lelouch then rings up Suzaku and goes, “Dude, this being broadcasted worldwide, don’t fucking embarrass me”. Suzaku then goes on to use his live Geass to somehow overpower the Knight of One.

If this were a scene in the movie, it would be like, the Knight of One dodges one of Suzaku’s attacks or something and then Suzaku freaks the fuck out and goes, “OH NO, THE KNIGHT OF ONE HAS A GEASS. LELOUCH, WHAT DO I DO? MICROMANAGE ME AND GIVE ME SPECIFIC INSTRUCTIONS.” That is honestly what this whole sequence feels like.

Eventually, CC puts a gun to his head, out edgelords him, and convinces him to get his shit together. Lelouch gives her orders to give to everyone else because Geass doesn’t work on her. Thanks to Tamaki’s stupidity, he then uses the Zilkh public channel to declare that it’s time for the final phase of this mission. Suddenly, everyone becomes competent again and CC starts issuing commands to people. CC asks him what “final” means, and Lelouch replies it means nothing.

We then go through 30(?) implied time resets. While it doesn’t show time resetting literally 30 some times, it is implied that Lelouch gets 1 plan to work, then Shamna resets time and is ready for his new plan next time. We know it’s 30-ish because Lelouch has 8 folder plans he gives to CC, and also has 22 theories about what the enemy Geass user’s Geass is and he goes down the list eliminating them.

Something that I think English viewers missed from the American theater screenings is that CC does not retain their memories because Shamna’s Geass only affects herself. So, essentially, from Lelouch’s POV, he’s just going down the list until something works. From Shamna’s POV, she goes back and prepares to counter him every time she sees his next move.

On the last loop, Lelouch’s last ditch effort to figure out Shamna’s Geass is to bluff her by saying, “I have the same Geass as you”. Shamna freaks the fuck out and tells her guards not to kill Lelouch. Lelouch can tell from this reaction what her Geass is, so he Geasses her to sleep, and also sets a bomb that will go off in 10-11-12-whatever hours. (E.g. even if Shamna resets time, she’ll be back in time but it’ll be when she’s sleeping.)

Lelouch and CC try to wake Nunnally but she isn’t responsive. CC deduces that her soul/KOKORO/whatever is not in her body. However, they set Shamna’s temple to blow up in [X] hours. Lelouch and CC use Shamna’s system to enter the metaphysical world. CC goes to confirm something, then she will leave to move their bodies so they don’t die IRL.

CC confronts Shamna and learns the plot: “I want to remake the world.” Recall that in R2, Marianne and Charles needed 2 Codes to fuck Cs’ World. Shamna has 1 Code on her womb. Charles is dead, she doesn’t know Lelouch has one. Seemingly, she tried to use Nunnally has a make shift second Code due to her connection to the magic world cause of her family. (Her “wavelengths” are the same as Charles’s.)

Ah, yes, an older sibling with a Geass who has a younger wheelchair bound sibling tries to fuck the whole world. Hmm NEVER HEARD THAT PLOT BEFORE. Shamna wishes to stay in the metaphysical realm so she can see Shalio as he passes by. CC warns her not to “leave her [heart/essence/whatever] behind”. Interpretation is that CC is saying, “Can you please not fuck this up like how Charles did” [by leaving himself behind].

In the real world, CC, Tamaki and Ohgi have moved Lelouch and Nunnally’s bodies away from the temple. Lelouch finds Nunnally. The two get swallowed by black particle bullshit until Lelouch confesses that Geass is his sin (or something... I don’t actually remember what he says before the “uhh this is my sin” part). After, rainbow fucking magic hands appear to “catch” them, and Lelouch remarks that these are the people who helped earlier. (Earlier as in, when CC reached for Lelouch.)

The sub-plots that occur during all of these time resets are as follows:

Ohgi and Tamaki steal a KMF by distracting the pilot with camels crossing the road then getting on top of the KMF and beating the pilot up. Then they make hot pot while waiting for orders from Zero.

Sayoko ditches Ohgi and Tamaki to meet up with the science crew who can’t escape the city because Qujappat is after them. Cecile gets shot during the skirmish (all 30 fucking times) and Nina kills Qujappat by disconnecting her KMF’s energy filler power lines and dropping them in water to electrocute him and the other assassins to death.

Gino and Tohdoh (and others) are trying to talk to Zilkhstan official politic-y people about the Nunnally and Zero being MIA thing as members of the Black Knights. Gino asks to know why Zilkhstan’s Official Elite Bodyguard Captain Something Something Rich Pretty Boy PR Person Shesthaal is mysteriously missing from this meeting as he was supposed to be there. Milly, who is watching events unfold at the TV station, also asks about where he went.

Suzaku fights Shalio with his new Lancelot (ugly as) siN and its thicc frame coat. Shalio beats him in the frame coat. Suzaku purges the frame coat and then beats Shalio. However, by this point, Shalio’s body is seemingly at its limit (he’s bleeding out of his eyes), and honestly it feels like a free kill. At one point, Suzaku asks Shalio, “Why the fuck did you ruin peace etc” and Shalio replies that he has to be the ultimate warrior (implied: for his sister) so he can’t do this hand-holding peace shit and his country has nothing but fighting.

Kallen gets trapped by Bitool’s guard scorpion mech in the Guren Special Type (also thicc). She purges the frame coat and magical warp speed jumps out of the energy sphere she’s trapped in, then blows up Bitool with her good ole laser knife.

Cornelia and Guilford are on the bridge. Cornelia fights Forgnar, who then tries to sacrifice himself and orders his troops to kill both him and Cornelia. Cornelia encourages him to find a peaceful solution.

After all of this bullshit resolves, Shamna’s temple blows up and we see a visual representation of her being exploded inside of the Thought Elevator where CC last saw her. In the real world, Lelouch and Nunnally chat about being together again. The scene between them ends without you hearing his response to her. CC skips town, but not before Kallen gives CC her bootleg Cheese mascot.

Lelouch catches up to CC (out of breath, ofc). CC says something about going to find other Geass users like Shamna (I don’t remember the exact details cause Shesthaal has nothing to do w/this scene, sorry). Lelouch goes with her, taking up the name LL to match CC’s non-human name. CC pauses, then blushes and makes a moe anime waifu noise.

However, it is nowhere near as cute as Shesthaal’s “umu” or when he asks where Zero is in the prison (”Zerooooo?”). Lmao fucking get rekt CC he’s cuter than you and also has long green hair.

In the post-credits scene, Lelouch and CC have clothes from a 2000s Hot Topic - CLAMP-looking black gothic outfits. Something that like... no one has mentioned so far is that Lelouch is wearing a rose choker that matches Shirley’s rose earrings from the ending cards. Shirley also showed up in a mall earlier in the movie. Shirley... was shopping at Hot Topic for Lelouch and CC and bought herself earrings while she was there? Idk.

Lelouch recites the same Power of the King speech that CC gave him in the first episode of the anime, but with a couple differences. He says the power MAY isolate you, not that it will, and also that if you suck at Geass, he’ll take it away from you.

~ ThE eNd ~

OKAY YEAH SO I didn’t really enjoy this movie a lot. You have about 5 seconds to mourn Shesthaal before Daddy Schneizel shows up in glasses. It’s like you’re eating a cute little salad and you’re not done when your entree shows up. (Your entree. In glasses. And looking hot and appetizing as fuck.)

Pretty boy stuff aside, my opinion is generally that the main plot stuff is a bunch of “whatever” but the smaller stuff is good. Like... Tamaki and Ohgi making hot pot in a KMF after knocking out the pilot by distracting them with camels crossing the road (semi-foreshadowed earlier when Tamaki and Ohgi were hiding out near some sleeping camels) was some pretty great character interaction that actually led up to Lelouch’s, “Yo, final phase” speech on the open channel.

Shalio knowing that Suzaku is Zero BECAUSE OF THE FUCKING SPINKICK was pretty great too. There are lots of small things that have nothing to do with Lelouch and CC that I found way more memorable and Code Geass-y. Even just reading interviews is fun - Nobbu is a good VA and there’s an interview where he’s like, “Taniguchi told me, ‘Your dad is Akio Ohtsuka’ and I instantly understood”... lol...

The stuff with, “Everyone is useless, good thing Lelouch is here” was kind of physically painful to watch. From a thematic POV, we see the compare/contrast - Nunnally able to live without Lelouch but Shalio unable to do the same without Shamna. And also with how Zilkhstan are a bunch of headless chickens without Shamna micromanaging them with her prophecies yet all of the old TV cast magically become competent again after Lelouch says their plan is now entering the final phase.

E.g. we see how a ~decorated war hero~ like Cmdr. Forgner was also reliant on her explaining the plot (maybe it’s for the best poor Shesthaal died before finding out everything about his dad and his country were big fucking shams ;_;). However, just because I understand why it’s in the movie doesn’t mean I have to like it. ‘_>’

It was like watching uh, idk, Advent Children or Nadesico: Prince of Darkness or something. Which was also about the expectation level for this movie, but I actually felt fatigue kick in around the 1hr 20min mark...

[blood-fangs-talons]

Random headcanons: Alucard's shapeshifting

Okay y'all, infinite shapeshifting is fun and all but in my own writing I like rules and I like consistency and side effects.

At the time of Dracula, he is fairly limited to certain forms, like any vampire. They are:

Human--he can't change his face, or modify how old he appears without drinking blood.

Brown bat--tradition and canon demands it. I can huff and puff all I want but there's no hope of disassociating them from Vampires now.

Eastern Eagle Owl--I added this because it doesn't make sense NOT to have an owl form, especially since a bat form would be too affected by the cold. Besides, vampires became associated with bats AFTER the discovery of what we call Vampire bats. And have you SEEN eagle owls? Fucking red eyes!

Large black wolf--easily mistaken for a big dog by the idiot English who'd never seen one before, since wolves went extinct in England some time in the mid 1400s.

Fog

After his... whatever with van Helsing, Drac obviously gets a power boost. In my revamp, he becomes a vampire^2, or a nosfuratu, and also eats a couple of creatures and gains their power. By the time of Integra, he's got a few more shapes

Human--can change age, gender, form, face at will. He most often uses this to appear less horrifically anorexic than he is, and changes his face to be more conventionally attractive according to his time. He also applies different appearances to different aliases and personas he has. When he wakes up in the evening and changes his form, Seras describes this as "putting on makeup" or "putting on his face".

Bat--still just a bat, but species is variable, appearance is variable. Not usually an issue, but he's learned to be careful after a close run in with a couple chiropteran enthusiasts. To this day Paula down in the mammal department swears she and Ahmed saw a totally new species of bat.

Wolf--still just a really big wolf, but again more malleable. With a little ear adjustment and a slightly curled tail, he can look like a wolfdog, and with a high enough deception check can convince people he's just a wolfish hound.

Eastern Eagle Owl--just more variability

Fog--lets talk about invisibility and intangibility baby, let's talk shadow walking.

Bat Monster--see the monster as my header? The bat monster from Cabin in the Woods? THAT. A bat the size of a horse, with massive wings and a jaw that splits open to reveal more jaws. Capable of incredible divebombing speed, but flight is noisy. (He got this after eating his first elder vampire)

Hellhound--hunting hound the size of a moose, with far too many red eyes, and a constant, roiling growl. Alucard got this by being enveloped by the ghost hound, later named Baskerville. (Its actually kinda sad, but.... No spoilers...)

Cat--Just a cute black cat. Semivariable size and fur, but fairly limited. Alucard won't say who he ate to get this form.

For all of these forms, he acts differently after being in it for more than an hour. After being a wolf, he is more wolfish for some time--more outspoken about his opinions, more outwardly affectionate, and more beholden to his master. Bat--more skittish, likely to startle, and attuned to sound. Owl--quiet, aloof, watchful, mistrusting. Fog--sluggish, languid, patient.

Because of this side effect, the more monstrous forms are also fairly dangerous even after the fangs are put away. He's more bloodthirsty, sadistic, cruel. He's more vengeful, protective, hateful.

He's also still limited in shapes per night. He can't just change willy-nilly, he has to strategize. I'm not sure where my hard limit here is, but I imagine he can only change into a monstrous form maybe once a night, with a little wiggle room for the smaller animals. Fog/shadow though might as well be the same thing as his normal body as far as changes go. Like a cantrip.

Anyway, that's the basics of shapeshifting that I follow for my revamp.

[crystalelemental]

Can you explain to us non-FF players what was so awful about Fates?

FE.  Very different trainwrecks.

And...probably?  I had a TON of posts about the problems in the game, but I can try to do an abridged version here.  Or at least, I’ll make an attempt.

Starting with the obvious, they took one game and split it into three, then charged us for three separate games.  It was complete horseshit from second 1.

Face-rubbing minigame.  You know Pokemon Amie?  Imagine doing that with humans.  That’s the waifu simulator they put in this game.

The creators of the game went on record early on saying that, yeah, Awakening saved the entire franchise from death with its simple but impactful storyline, but it was kinda too simple so we’re gonna make it better.  They then proceeded to make the shittiest plot I’ve ever been involved with, filled with nothing but contrivances to make anything make sense.

Characters sucked.  There are like 5 good ones, and at least three are debatable depending on who you ask.  The problem with infinite supports is that no character ever changes, so whenever one character would support, say, Oboro (the worst example of this), they’d reach A rank and she’d move on from her blatant racism, only to be right back to racist central for the next character’s C-support.  As such, no one ever grew as a character, and no one was particularly compelling, especially because both sides in the war were idiots.

Speaking of idiots, the reason for the war?  Invisible soldiers from an ancient dragon god attacked people on both sides of the border.  Rather than investigate, they both immediately accused the other and went to war.  The reason no one pointed out the soldiers or dragon god?  If you talked about them, you’d be magically transported to the dragon god’s kingdom and mind controlled into working for him!  Yeah, pure contrivance, because otherwise your entire plot would be resolved in literally two seconds as someone mentioned what was going on.

THE BABY REALM.  So, in Awakening, you could get married and have kids.  They wanted to do that mechanic again.  But Awakening had time travel, so it made sense.  Here?  Instead, they had a baby, and you throw them into an inter-dimensional rift, where they will immediately be spit out at combat-ready age.  I think like two of the kids briefly mention being sad their parents weren’t around.  Otherwise, somehow no abandonment issues at all.  Leo is a fucking asshole, though.  Forrest deserved better.

Speaking of the kids, fuck the kids.  Again, there’s like 5 that were good, and at least 3 are debateable.  But I think we can all agree that Kanna is a horrible little gremlin we should’ve kept locked away in another dimension.  FUCK YOU, YOU’LL NEVER BE MORGAN

On the topic of shipping, the main ship?  Corrin and Azura?  Yeah, you’re cousins.  So after all the debate about the main families being incest, but they totally aren’t because you’re adopted and not related to either of them, the main couple of the game that I think the game itself actively pushes, is incestuous.  Fucking great job, team.

I could bitch about the difference in female costume design between this game and the rest of the series all goddamned day so let’s just say “Camilla is just there for fanservice” and call it a day.

The final boss is literally the stone mask from JoJo and yet the game is somehow still lame.

Speaking of the final boss.  That dragon god?  We never learn his motivation.  Or rather, we do, but only in the DLC.  So after paying over $80 for this shit game they sold to you three times?  You have to pay even more to get the DLC that fucking explains anything.

Weapons came with penalties now.  So strong weapons had severe drawbacks that made them less useful, and instead forging was the way to go.  How do you forge?  By buying like 50 copies of the same weapon, and farming endlessly for arbitrary resources through other players’ My Castles (I’ll bitch about that in a minute), then spending a shitload of gold in the forge to give it slightly better stats.  Hope you like farming!

Christ, the My Castle thing...  You know what Fire Emblem really needed?  Instead of steady progression through a story, it needed to grind to a fucking halt as you farmed out all your arbitrary resources that are now required, and get all your skills through this method alone.  Most of your game won’t even be the main story, it’ll be My Castle, the fucking shitshow nightmare they added into this series for no goddamned reason.

“We finally put in gay characters!” the series said, giving you version exclusive options of (1) the reincarnation of a stalker who abused her daughter mentally and physically, or (2) a gay man whose only defined personality traits are “sadistic” and “makes a lot of uncomfortable sex jokes.”  Fucking top-tier representation.  Shame you didn’t pick sensible options, like...I dunno, Soleil?  The obvious bi girl?  But no, Tharja 2.0, that’s fine.

But on top of that?  On top of all that?  Pick your poison from the following:

The english translation was so unbelievably bad, that most characters spoke in decades-old memes, and entire support conversations were outright removed for funny ninja moments like no spoken dialogue because ninjas don’t talk.  But at least they removed the incredibly creepy face-rubbing minigame that you just know someone was jerking it to.

OR you keep the Japanese version, where one support conversation is literally your main character drugging a girl who thinks other girls are cute, without her consent, to make her see men as other women and vice versa, basically so you can fuck and marry her, in what’s basically a point-for-point re-enactment of conversion therapy.  And that’s just one of the incredibly horrific things the Japanese version had in it.  There was an entire SITE listing the problems people had with how it portrayed things.

And that’s just what I remember off the top of my head.  I know for a fact there’s more.  But imagine going from “Oh man, a new entry into this, my favorite series” to getting all of this information, bit by bit, over months, and trying to convince yourself that it’ll be okay and you should still get it.  Then you get it, and it’s somehow WORSE.  That’s what the experience of Fates was like.  Constant horror and disappointment, followed by an attempt to compromise that backfired spectacularly and resulted in, bar none, the worst game I’ve ever played, with absolutely nothing gained.  I am a lesser person for having played Fates.

[chrisengel]

(AVR): Jouissance as experience implies a dissolution of the subject as well as the impossibility of appropriating its object. How then can we define what makes us enjoy [jouir]? And above all, since the questions of object goes back to that of the subject: Who is it that enjoys [jouit]? Jean-Luc Nancy (JLN): It is because, in jouissance, these two questions of object and subject are linked, that jouissance can be in such a proximity not only with joy, but also with réjouissance , exuberance in general. Exuberance is a word marked by femininity: It is the swelling of the breast (uber in Latin), the milk that gushes forth. We can also think of ecstasy, a word of Heidegger’s and Schelling’s that signifies “being outside of oneself,” or rather “élan, impetus, outside of oneself.” In this outside-of-self, appropriation is impossible, because in it the subject is not a thing, a substance, but a simple punctual “I,” which allows us to unify our representations. But this relationship no longer functions in jouissance, which implies rather that we abandon representation, and thus leave that “I” that can no longer accompany the experience of jouissance. I think that is really what we are talking about, that loss of a subject capable of saying “I.” AVR: Yet jouissance, far from being abstract, is always an experience, which means that it holds meaning only for a particular person. For instance, if we confine ourselves to sexual jouissance, the one who is coming [jouit] can say, “I’m coming…” Who is this “I,” then, who comes? JLN: This crucial question finds a privileged inscription in Sade, for whom the one who comes enters into a twofold relationship with destruction. First of all, the relationship of the one coming with the one with whom he or she comes is a relationship of possession pushed to the point of destruction; he is enjoying [jouit] the risk of opening a gaping chasm in the very place where what is causing him or her to come exists. But this relationship with destruction turns against the one coming himself, who can try to go as close as possible to his own death. In Sade, we find heroes who have themselves hanged in order to ejaculate, after asking their valets to cut the rope at just the right instant. It’s in these sorts of situations that, often, the Sadean hero says, I am coming [je jouis]. That is: I am being carried away by jouissance. The exclamation is torn from him. Often some sort of blasphemy is added: “Fucking God!”—which also testifies to his being carried away. AVR: But does this mean that jouissance is inseparable from pain? Here, the person who says “I am coming” says it simultaneously with the experience of pain. JLN: Pain is always present in jouissance, tangentially or asymptotically. The extreme intensity becomes unbearable, and perhaps one comes precisely from being at the limit: there where the height of excitation is exceeded and is beaten back, only finally to fail. The Sadean hero intensifies the ambivalence of that instant when he cries out “fuck! [foutre],” which means baiser, and which he uses as a kind of condemnation or insult for what he is in the process of doing or undergoing. Today, we don’t say foutre much anymore, or else just to designate sperm (cum). The Sadean hero, though, says, “Fuck! In the name of God, I’m coming!”—It’s a proclamation. We can find these proclamations in a number of erotic poems, in Apollinaire’s Poems to Lou for instance, where they are addressed to the other: “You are coming!” We hear it, too, in the “come” [viens] of Deguy that we mentioned earlier. What’s more, in English, jouir is to come, venir. AVR: …which we don’t hear in the French term of jouissance. JLN: In fact, the term jouissance is difficult to translate in a certain number of languages. In English and German, there is no word that is in the same family. Either the register is sexual, or, more rarely, legalistic. In German, Genuss evokes more the idea of satisfaction. But being satisfied with something signifies having enough of it, which leads us to the opposite of jouissance. Of course, the possessive aspect of jouissance is also linked to the idea of satisfaction: I want to have enough of it. But what does “having enough of it” mean? That implies the idea of an objective measure, which can be that of my means: I possess so much money and I will be satisfied if I obtain everything this money allows me to possess. But can I have enough of something that has no measure? That makes no sense. If my desire is measureless, it will never have enough, it will never reach a threshold. That is what happens for jouissance: It occurs outside of any measure or any idea of a threshold. Which does not mean that it never terminates, but rather that it is very difficult to know that that stopping-point is made of. I would even say that the property of jouissance is to be endlessly renewed. This is very striking in the case of aesthetic jouissance, which we find in works of art, and to which we will return. Why doesn’t art stop, why do people continue to create? Because in art as in sexual jouissance, we never say we’ve had “enough” of it. This idea makes no sense. If people continue to create and jouir, it’s because desire doesn’t stop when it takes one particular form. Because there is a constantly renewed desire, the desire to make new forms arise, that is, to make a new sensibility perceptible [sensible]. And this new sensibility is desired and created not because we lack something, or out of a compulsion for repetition, but because what is desired is the renewing of meaning as such. What art testifies to, then, is our desire to make sense infinitely. AVR: Do you think that jouissance expresses a desire to meaning? If that is the case, this desire must emanate from someone, thus presupposing a subject of jouissance. But you have insisted on the dissolution of the subject in jouissance. Isn’t there a contradiction? JLN: Unless we wonder if it’s desire itself that is the subject. In the same way that it’s language that speaks and makes us speak, it’s desire that is the subject of our desire. This desire has no relationship to self: It is impulse. When Freud says, “Impulses are our myths, and our doctrine of impulses is our mythology”—an extraordinarily bold, even provocative statement—he is expressing something very important. Here, we should understand “myth” in the sense of fiction, that is that space where explanation becomes useless; but we should understand it also as muthos, uttered speech. It is Plato who defines myth as a lying fable, whereas in Homer muthos refers to speech. There can be logos only because at a certain point, muthos opened the way to it, with Plato especially. What’s more, Plato set about fabricating his own myth, which is called philosophy. Let’s return to Freud: What is an impulse? The term designates the fact of being unable to think of ourselves otherwise than as driven on by something, which you could call gods or material forces (you can choose your myth). Heidegger would say we are driven, set off by the very fact of being. Freud, however, does not tell us by what we are driven, but this movement is precisely what we find in jouissance. AVR: Not only does jouissance have no precise subject, but might it be the sign of belonging to a community, something that surpasses the subject and makes us join with being? We are almost in the Kantian experience of the beautiful, which attests to a sense shared by everyone. Jouissance might be the locus for such a shared meaning, a common sensibility. JLN: Exactly, because since I am not the owner of my jouissance, I still experience it in a way that I can actually be there where however I cannot find myself. It is not enough to say that the subject is lost in jouissance—rather it is as if the self is subjected to it, in the earlier sense of subject, the subject of a monarch. Jouissance is stronger than me, but this subjection I know comes from elsewhere. It comes to me from the other, from others. This is why there is no solitary jouissance. Already I can hear the objections pouring forth: “Of course there are solitary jouissances, everyone talks about solitary pleasure!” But precisely, the pleasure in question is not in fact solitary, because it cannot take place unless the subject places himself in exteriority in relation to himself—this can take several forms. First of all, this relationship is always imaginary, fantasy-based. Then, procuring pleasure by oneself implies a splitting in two [dédoublement] It’s a little like the famous chiasmus of Merleau-Ponty: When I touch my hand, I am both the hand that touches and that hand that is touched, I am both inside and outside. And when I touch myself, I experience this self as being outside of myself. I refer [rapporte] back to myself. This experience raises a classic question: Do I have a body or am I my body? To this very pertinent question we must reply: both. Because when I say I am my body, I cannot disregard the fact that I also possess it; and when I say I have a body, I am forced to note of this body that…I am it. Having a body refers to the object, being a body refers to the subject. But I myself am object as subject. At least so long as I regard my body not just as a tool. If I touch my body, and if my body touches itself to give itself pleasure, it is outside of itself. That said, masturbation is not exactly the same thing as the sexual relationship, since, precisely, in masturbation the other is reduced to the state of a fantasy. Whereas in the sexual relationship the other is not based on fantasy—although a certain kind of psychoanalysis says there is no sexual relationship without fantasy… —Jean-Luc Nancy with Adèle Van Reeth Translated by Charlotte Mandell

http://numerocinqmagazine.com/2017/02/05/coming-excerpt-jean-luc-nancy-adele-van-reeth/