#i drew her house once before & posted it on my main account a year or two ago.... i bet u cant find it 😈

[potatochip-oc-dump]

hey girls... did you know, that um

princess house

[kittycatasaurus]

Love Flavoured Chocolates (2023 Willy Wonka/Reader)

(Cross posted to my AO3, I'm obsessed with Wonka and wanted to share this purely self indulgent reader insert because there simply isn't enough out there and hey it might encourage me to write some more if other people can also enjoy my writing!)

Word count: 3.2k

Willy had come to the Galéries Gourmet with nothing but his love for chocolate making, a wish to once more see his mother, and a hat full of dreams. One thing he certainly hadn’t accounted for was falling in love. He’d first had the pleasure of meeting you the first time Noodle smuggled him out of Scrubitt’s.

You'd befriended the young girl in passing on the street after she’d bumped into you with her laundry cart while neither of you were paying quite enough attention to where you were going. Though the collision was soft enough to keep you both on your feet, she had knocked the book your face was buried in straight to the ground causing you both to startle. Immediately the pair of you burst into apologies (which had made you laugh, despite the girl’s sincere panic), “You’re alright little missy, that was entirely my fault for not looking ahead of me, I simply can’t put this one down, I’m so close to finishing this new tale of a young detective!” You attempted to ease her worry with a big smile, it seemed to work as the girl’s face shifted from concern to interest. “Is-is that the latest Nancy Drew story?” She asked eagerly, trying to get a better look at the book in your hand. With a simple nod, keeping the easy smile on your face you answered, yes. From there the pair of you spent at least a half hour chattering excitedly about the fantastical feats of the young investigator until a nearby clocktower chimed, making her realise she was falling way behind schedule and would soon have to return to the wash house with a few deliveries still to make their destinations. “It’s been wonderful talking to you miss, but I’m afraid I really must hurry along, I hope I run into you again, my name is Noodle in case you see me before I see you!” The girl, now known to you as Noodle, what an interesting name, jumbled out as she made off to scurry away to wherever she needed to be. “I hope I see you again as well Noodle, you’ve been a delight to talk to! The name is Y/N” You called out after her and continued your stroll once she was out of sight, only somewhat more aware of your surroundings this time.

After that initial encounter you had run into each other a few times, eventually budding a wonderful friendship wherein you shared books and life stories with one another. Gradually you learned of Noodle’s more than unfortunate living situation and provided her comfort and reassurance in any ways you could, be that a book from your collection which she hadn’t yet read or a warm hug and shoulder to cry on, the girl became a younger sister figure to you.

This was where Wonka came into the picture, you and Noodle by this point had been friends for the better part of two years and saw each other frequently so you were understandably concerned when you hadn’t seen her around for the last couple of weeks. Just when the worry was getting to the point of you preparing yourself to storm into Scrubitt’s and demand to know about the wellbeing of your friend you saw her, tucked away from the main roads and pathways, talking to her trolley? Now that is upsetting, such a beautiful young mind lost to the madness of her circumstance. As you were about to approach, rounding the corner of the wall you’d hidden behind, a man emerged from the trolley clearly in conversation with the young girl. If not for your sheer confusion, you would have hastily approached the stranger as instinct kicked in to keep Noodle away from any potential danger. She didn't appear frightened or startled so logic told you this was no stranger to her, and therefore not a threat. Upon the realisation, you called out to your friend whom you’d missed in the two weeks of absence, “Noodle! Where’ve you been, little lady?” Immediately, both heads turned to face you and your breath caught in your throat as the mystery man turned and you finally caught a glimpse of his face. It was a beautiful face too, puppy-like hazel eyes, framed by fluttery long lashes, thick full eyebrows sat above them, complimenting his slender, pale face. Both pairs of eyes were wide upon you but you were still taking in the gorgeous man before you, to the point you failed to hear Noodle as she repeated your name, asking “Y/N? What are you doing here?” At the lack of response, she followed up “Earth to Y/N?” with a somewhat exasperated sigh after. Seeing the man turn to face Noodle shook you from your reverie and you let out a sharp little “Hmm?” “I said, what are you doing here Y/N? Were you following me or something?” Her look caused a twang of guilt for a second until you registered that, no you hadn’t been following Noodle, just actively looking out for her as you’d thought her to be missing. “Of course not you numpty! I heard your voice coming from a sketchy alley and saw you talking to your laundry pile, I only wanted to check you were alright, especially considering I haven’t seen you in a few weeks kid! It’s completely understandable for me to be at least a little worried, even more so after seeing a strange man come out of your trolley,” Your voice was taking on a bit of a scolding tone as you softened it to turn to the aforementioned man “No offence.” He shook his head as though to imply none taken as his eyes flitted between the two of you, the friendly smile never once leaving his face. “I take it this is Y/N, Noodle?” his eyes remained on her this time as she nodded back to him. Well that was unexpected, this mysterious dreamboat knew who you were courtesy of Noodle, and while you were flattered she told this new ‘friend’ about you, you worried over what she said in order for him to deduce your identity.

Together, the pair of them explained their plan to get the money to free themselves of Scrubitt’s unfair debt, going into detail about the wondrous and impossible chocolates made by who you now know to be ‘Willy Wonka, future chocolatier extraordinaire’. In all honesty your mind is positively racing to keep up, but with such bright smiles on their faces you can only nod your support and shoot a smile back, albeit a smaller one.

———————————

That had been a while ago, though it felt even longer. By this point, you had collectively put a stop to the chocolate cartel and Scrubitt and Bleacher. Wonka’s chocolates were doing better than ever and with everyone from the wash house going back to their old lives, Willy was alone again, well mostly. Abacus Crunch had been happy to remain the financial adviser for Willy and the group would do their best to stay in touch thanks to Lottie Bell and her phone operator gig but it was definitely lonely, going from all those people around him, that warm environment to nothing again. Although, you were still around weren’t you? You and Noodle? While you both saw her often, upon finding her mother and the library where she stayed, it was less and less that you found yourself in the young girl’s company, she had years of catching up to do after all. You wanted to believe that was why you were seeing less and less of Willy too, but the pair of you had no reason not to see each other often, after all, you’d quit your boring old job to help out and work with Willy at his shop as soon as it had been acquired. So then why did it feel like he was avoiding you, or attempting to shut you out.

This is where you find yourself as you sit with Noodle outside her mother’s library one warm evening. “I don’t understand Noodle, he seems lonely, it's simply a fact that he thrives off of being around other people so I don’t understand why he’s shutting himself away” a too big sigh leaves your mouth. “I miss him, I miss his cheshire grin, the confusing way he talks, even just seeing his garish purple coat” “Hmmm, kinda sounds like you love him” “Yeah, I just don’t know what’s u- WHAT?!?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN NOODLE?” Your face burns red as your brain takes a minute to register what the young girl chimes in with. In response she holds up her hands, palms facing you, “I’m just saying it as I see it.” With a shrug she shakes her head. Though her words do make you stop and think back to the many months you’ve known the eccentric chocolatier.

The first day you’d successfully sold Wonka’s chocolates on the street had resulted in a quick getaway where you and Willy had ended up lost in the tunnels below the city, escaping the corrupt chief of police for an hour or two as you attempted to meet up with the others to get Willy back to Scrubitt’s with the others in time for roll call. At this point you hadn’t yet been alone together, and the lack of familiarity seemingly made Willy nervous to the point his breathing got panicked and you shared a rather intimate moment where you helped ease his discomfort with a simple breathing exercise and hand massage. “Willy, give me your hand please,” you spoke in the most gentle tone you’d ever mustered after his laboured breaths stabilised, he acquiesced rather quickly as you reached out to him, gently cupping his hand. “I’m gonna trace the lines of your palm okay? It might tickle but I promise you, you’ll feel better.” The smile on your face eased any remaining nerves and once you started to caress his palm with your thumb he seemed to lose the last of the tension. “See,” your voice was still incredibly gentle, but now you were both smiling though his was significantly smaller than usual, “You’re okay, sweetie, I’m here” The pet name left your mouth so naturally neither of you reacted, though a moment later you flushed realising the implied closeness of calling him such a name. With level heads you managed to safely navigate your way back to the others in time and wished Willy a restful night. In retrospect that may very well have been when you first started to develop feelings for the man, you could no longer tell, in the objectively short time that you’d known him, you could think of at least a dozen other times that may have stimulated this apparent crush of yours. Though one particular memory comes to mind more often than the rest. The most recent to boot, the day you reunited Noodle with her mother!

It was the day you’d put an end to the cartel, Willy would finally be free to run his chocolate shop and live out the dream he’d shared with his late mother. The celebration in the Galéries Gourmet seemed to go on forever as everyone enjoyed the chocolate fountain filling up cups seemingly endlessly. A group effort had the shop back together in no time, looking as good as new. As the sun was finally descending from its high perch, your friends from Scrubitt’s all said their goodbyes and well wishes to Willy, Noodle and yourself. Leaving the three of you to lounge about in comfortable silence for a while. “We have a surprise for you, Noodle!” You said excitedly to the young girl who was almost falling asleep where she sat. Exchanging eye contact with Willy, you rose with Noodle in tow. Wide awake after jolting her about, she rushed to keep up with both of your longer legs as you sped away from the shop. Stopping abruptly outside of the library, Noodle gathered her bearings with a confused expression on her face and heavy breaths leaving her lungs, “The library?? What could possibly be so important in there you felt the need to sprint AND drag me along too no less!” She was understandably irritated, but you knew it would be worth all the effort soon enough. “Close your eyes for a second for me Noodle-dee!” Willy told her cheerfully as you approached the door holding onto the girl’s hand to bring her with you. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. “Now open them…” You whispered just loud enough for her to hear and comply. Before her, stood her mother, finally reunited after years of wishing and hoping. Immediately the two shared the warmest embrace you’d ever witnessed as you backed up and gave them their space, returning to Wonka’s side and overlooking the tender moment. A soft sniffle from beside you reached your ear and you glanced over to see Willy’s eyes glossy with unshed tears, the poor boy must’ve been reminded of his own mother in that moment, your heart hurt for him. “Come here sweetie,” you hummed to him, pulling the chocolatier into a comforting hug. “She’d be so proud of you right now, you know?” You got a teary chuckle in response to that as his arms wrapped around you. Noodle and her mother looked over to you now and you raised your arm in a wave to let them know you’d be heading back to leave them to catch up on all the time they’d spent apart.

The walk back wasn’t far, but it felt much longer without Noodle especially since you’d run practically the whole way there and were now strolling very leisurely. Neither of you said anything but you were touching in some way the entire time, holding hands for part of the walk, then switching to linking arms, even simply resting your hand on Willy’s back. Eventually you made it back to the shop, with the lights off, it was as though the magic was sleeping. As you entered ahead of Willy, you looked back to examine his expression, he wasn’t upset, of course not, he just reunited his dearest friend with her mother whom she thought long lost, perhaps forlorn was more accurate. The cogs in his head were clearly turning as he wrangled with his feelings, particularly regarding his mother and the seemingly impending loneliness he was soon to face. He stopped walking as soon as he entered, eyes still downcast as though expecting you to turn around and leave right then and there as well. With a low sigh you finally broke the silence “Willy, I’m not leaving you, not after that, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I just walked out after seeing those tears in your eyes.” He looked up, this time they had escaped and he had a sad pout on his beautiful lips. “Can you tell me about her? Have you got any pictures?” You’d not heard much at all about his mother from him aside from how much he loved her and that she was the inspiration for his dream turned reality. Willy gave a little nod and led you through the store to his makeshift office/home/break room, and on the desk sat a framed photo of a beautiful woman with a very familiar smile. “Wow this is her then? She’s beautiful Willy, you look so much like her.” You said the last bit somewhat under your breath as you realised the implication of what you said (as much as you meant it, it seemed a bit forward). You picked up the picture and sat down on the sofa in the room, patting the seat next to you for Willy to sit beside you, the rest of the night was spent listening to stories of his childhood and asking questions. The pair of you laughed, you cried, and eventually Willy fell asleep with his head on your shoulder. Getting as comfortable as the pair of you could, you let yourself join him in the land of dreams shortly after.

Now, it had been a few weeks since you and Willy had experienced the almost intimate exchange of life stories, as well as your chat with Noodle and you had the day off. Willy was on a break from work and went to visit Noodle at the library to tell her all about that night and how great a person he found you to be, gushing over how ‘kind, pretty, sensitive, and funny’ you were but somehow avoiding the ‘L’ word and seemingly ignoring his feelings for you. Eventually, the girl could take it no longer and burst out “Either ask her out, or I will do it for you! You’re such an idiot Willy, it's so obvious you love Y/N and I don’t understand how you’ve danced around it for as long as you have!” Noodle’s frustration was apparent from her face alone, if her words somehow hadn’t conveyed exactly what she meant them to. Willy’s eyes went wide at her outburst and his face started to resemble a tomato almost in how brightly he was blushing. As he opened his mouth to make a retort, Noodle interrupted him with a raised finger and a look that shut him up before he could even make so much as a noise. “Go see her now Willy, or I will.” Was all she had to say to get him standing up and practically sprinting out of the door.

A hurried knock at your door startled you out of your thoughtless stare out the window, you sat up abruptly, I’m not expecting any visitors, you thought to yourself as you walked cautiously over to the door. Through the peephole, you spotted the one and only Willy Wonka, pleasantly surprised, you opened up the door to be pulled into a tight embrace. Despite the initial shock, you quickly recovered to hug your dear friend back, “Heya, what’s gotten into you, sweetpea?” Genuinely confused as to the context despite reciprocating the affectionate action. Pulling back from you to look into your eyes, Willy responded, “I love you, Y/N.” Cue the widening of your eyes as you started to stammer out a reply, “Wh-what, huh, I-” “I love you, Y/N, I can’t believe it took Noodle calling me an idiot to realise it but I’m hopelessly, wholeheartedly in love with you.” He affirmed with a fire behind his gaze. You realised then that he wasn’t joking, this wasn’t a prank or him using the word in a friendly sense. “You, you do?” Tears started to well up in your eyes as you looked into his, “I love you too, Willy Wonka.” Not wanting to keep him in suspense, you confessed right back. A laugh broke free from your mouth as the tears started to fall from your eyes. Gently cupping either side of his face, you brought your lips together in a sweet kiss that felt like it could last forever, his hands finding a comfortable perch on your hips as you held each other close. Breaking apart for air, you both giggled, and leaned back into each other for another kiss, this one escalating a little past wholesome as you softly tugged at his bottom lip with your teeth. Breathing heavily now, you separated once more to stare into each other's eyes. Willy Wonka had confessed his love to you and you were ecstatic to say you felt the same. This would be the start of something beautiful, of that you were sure.

[pyreo]

deltarune megapost

I wanted to make a Deltarune post about the lore and the things that aren’t  obvious. And once I do that I wanna focus on why Mettaton is incredibly important to this setting

And also why he poses a problem

Why did Toriel and Asgore get divorced?

Without the setting of Undertale, Asgore and Toriel’s marriage still broke up after they had Asriel. There needs to be a reason though. In UT it was Asgore’s ‘worst of both worlds’ decision regarding killing anybody that fell from the human world, including children. We saw how close they were before this happened. Only something deep and serious caused that rift. In Deltarune, what on earth did Asgore do?

What happened to Dess?

Mentioned a handful of times by Noelle, Dess was her older sister and is mentioned In Undertale.... in that Xbox exclusing casino thing. The way Noelle talks about her, the conspicuous way Noelle gets locked out of her big house - it implies Dess is gone or deceased. Berdly recalls a spelling bee when he and Noelle were younger where she, despite being smarter than him, misspelled ‘December’, allowing him to win.

In the two-player spelling puzzle, it also spells out ‘December’ as Noelle recalls the past and her silhouette regresses to a child while she does so. Being distracted by her sister’s disappearance, rather than pure shyness, could account for her misspelling her name on stage, and it clearly left a big psychological mark for her to have this visual regression in the Dark World.

However, there’s a graveyard in Hometown with no Dess. I heard another theory that she has been missing for years, because where each character’s personal room is made by Queen to reflect their tastes via their search results, Noelle has a calendar where every day is December 25th. This could imply that Noelle continually searches the internet for ‘December Holiday’, her sister’s name, to see if there are clues to her disappearance, but of course the only result you would get is the date of Christmas.

Who is the Knight?

It’s now implied to be Kris, who has been forcibly removing the player’s influence to act on their own. By all accounts the Knight is the game’s main antagonist. Spade King and Queen both mention the Knight as someone who influenced their position - they brought Spade King to absolute power, and showed Queen that creation of new worlds was possible.

We’re led to believe that Kris was doing this, because they’ve been acting outside of the player’s control. Eating the entire pie between chapter 1 and 2 might have been a red herring to cover that they also went to the library and used that knife to slash open a dark fountain there.

However. This has issues. How would they even manage to shuffle slowly all the way to the library and get in the computer lab? The Knight is also the one creating the hidden bosses. They talked to Jevil until he realised he was in a game and he lost his mind; they ruined Spamton’s life by elevating him to success and then crushing him. Whatever the Knight is doing seems to be deliberately planned with key players in mind.

Kris opening the fountain at home at the end of ch.2 can be explained in that you just figured out in Cyber World that anyone determined enough can do this, and so, Kris decided to. So a better question might even be...

What does Kris want?

We have no idea. They are capable of removing the SOUL, ‘us’, temporarily, and putting things in motion we cannot influence. But they also keep putting us back in control afterward. This is hinted at right when ch.2 starts, where if you inspect the cage in Kris’s bedroom they threw us into, the description says it’s inescapable. Meaning Kris came back and took us out, willingly.

They allow us to pilot them through the game. Why? Because they cannot live without the SOUL for long for some reason? Because they’re bad at bullet hell? Why did they slash Toriel’s tyres before opening the fountain, making sure nobody could drive away?? Why did they specifically open the door?

You can find out details about Kris through the creepy way you interact with the townsfolk, who think you are Kris. They play the piano at the hospital waiting room - better than you. They used to go to church just to get the special church juice. It’s all normal, relatable things, not like someone who’s trying to plunge the world into darkness. Judging by their search history portrayed in their Queen’s castle room, they really want to see their brother again. However the castle has a room based on Asriel’s search history too, and Kris (not you) closes their eyes and won’t look at it.

What is Ralsei?

His name is an anagram of Asriel. Is he an extension of Asriel? The slightly flirtier dialogue in ch.2 would point to no. Is he an extension of Kris themselves, given the link between Kris’s childhood habit of wearing a headband with red horns on it, to pretend to be a monster like their family?

Ralsei knows exactly where the Dark World in the school is located, and unlike regular Darkners, knows the world is folded up inside the ‘real world’. There’s a certain whiplash to Ralsei telling you to hop out of his reality into yours and go down the hallway to retrieve all the board game items.

How does he jump from one Dark World to another, without assistance? How does he not get petrified like Lancer and Rouxls? Is this a power level thing because he’s a prince or something else? We definitely do not know enough about Ralsei.

He also says this incredibly suspicious thing after you spare Spamton NEO. Susie was also curious but accepts that maybe it ‘didn’t mean anything’, which is a sure tell that these optional bosses do mean something.

Someone is orchestrating what’s happening, opening fountains, manipulating the rulers, and influencing NPCs to become the optional bosses. Why? I suspect Ralsei for both knowing too much, and pretending something doesn’t matter when it clearly does. Until Asriel actually comes home from college I’m going to suspect he’s involved in this too.

How much does Seam know?

Seam on the other hand knows a lot about what’s going on but is openly withholding information while helping you. He’s nihilistic. He says things like:

One day soon... You too, will begin to realize the futility of your actions. Ha ha ha... At that time, feel free to come back here. I'll make you tea... And we can toast... to the end of the world!

Either this ‘end of the world’ is a reference to The Roaring, where opening too many dark fountains dooms the Dark World and the real one... or, I can’t get out of my head the idea that Deltarune takes place in a fake, or weird reconstruction of Undertale where things don’t match up, and eventually it will have to disappear. After all, powers of determination and creating and manipulating universes are Undertale’s basic bread and butter. How can we look at an Alternate Universe containing the characters we already know and not suspect that? Seam also uses Gaster’s key words, ‘darker, yet darker’, seemingly to clue us in that he’s not off track here.

Why haven’t we seen Papyrus?

This is a bright neon flashing ‘something’s not right’ sign. It’s not like Papyrus’s voice actor was too busy or anything. His absence is noticable and for a reason. Nice of Sans to promise we could meet him despite being aware we’re piloting a child’s body around, though, even if he didn’t follow through.

What locations in town could be used for dark fountains in the next 4 chapters?

If the sequence continues, we have chapter 1 in the school games room, chapter 2 in a computer lab, and chapter 3 in front of Kris’s television, where the aesthetic of each setting influences the world, characters, and enemies in the Dark World created there. Future possibilities include the church, the hospital, sans’s grocery store, Noelle’s house, and the closed bunker.

What the hell’s in the closed bunker

This one’s too obvious, honestly. I think it’ll open for no reason in chapter 7 and a little white dog will bounce out and steal one of your key items and nothing else happens.

Why does Asgore have these

Unlike the bunker feeling like a joke teaser, I gotta believe this is foreshadowing something weird. For example, what does opening a dark fountain in here with the seven flowers do? Does it just take you into Undertale?

Each chapter will have a hidden boss with a ‘soul mode’ from Undertale

Chapter 1 let you stay red, but I think each subsequent chapter is going to change your soul mode to one of the seven colours and design the encounter around that. Purple, yellow, green and blue were used in Undertale, leaving the light blue and orange modes yet to be revealed.

How does Spamton emulate Mettaton Neo’s name, body, and incorporate his battle theme, and the ‘Dummy!’ theme, with no actual connection between them ingame?

This is a really fun one that’s explained over in this post here. Swatch is the Dark World creation from the paint program on the library computers, so he’s able to explain that a Lightner made the robot body decaying in the castle basement that way.

Mettaton went to the library and drew his ideal form, Mettaton NEO, in MS Paint, and the Dark World formed that into a puppet body which Spamton was able to hijack temporarily. So by doing that Spamton was able to channel Mettaton’s appearance, attacks, music, and SOUL mode for the fight.

This might mean that the future hidden bosses, each with their own SOUL mode, might be based on the associated character for that mode (Muffet, Undyne, and Sans or Papyrus), and the boss will take on some aspect of them from their world to leech their fight mechanics.

The Problem With Mettaton

We don’t exactly know what Deltarune is about. It’s an alternate universe where the characters from Undertale already live on the surface, have completely normal lives, but diverge from the storyline of Undertale and, crucially, have not lived through the changes Frisk brought to their lives.

Remember how Undertale had a dozen different ending routes depending on who you befriended? The constant reinforcement in Undertale was that your choices mattered. Through Frisk, you chose to bring Alphys closure about her mistakes, you chose to befriend papyrus instead of attacking him, you chose to help Alphys and Undyne realise their feelings for each other and it’s only doing that that leads to the golden ending and escape to the surface.

Deltarune is the opposite, your choices do not matter. The only thing you can do to force the route of the game to change is to force Noelle into a No Mercy run, which is indirect, and also, a total desperation to mess with an otherwise set course. This version of the characters have not been helped by Frisk - Undyne and Alphys are not together, Papyrus has no friends, Asgore cannot get over himself, and they’re clearly the worse for it, but potentially, you COULD still do these things. In fact it’s hinted that you already are.

But there’s Mettaton.

He’s still a ghost and does not leave his house. In Frisk’s world, Gaster deleted himself, promoting Alphys to royal scientist by bluffing with Mettaton, and she then build him his ideal body. In Kris’s world... Alphys is a school teacher. There’s no barrier to break, no reason to experiment on souls, no Flowey mistake, and no body for Mettaton.

It was sad in Ch.1, but now with the Spamton NEO fight in ch.2, it’s unmissable. Mettaton wants that body and he cannot get it. Alphys in this universe is not going to leave her teaching job and suddenly be able to build a robot. Mettaton is just... screwed out of his happy ending and cannot get it.

So what resolution could this have? If it wasn’t for Mettaton I might believe in the vaildity of Deltarune and Hometown. But. How can you doom this character? If Undertale was the only way Mettaton could be befriended, then Undertale is Primary Universe A and Seam is right - the world of Deltarune is doomed as some kind of aberration. It all relies on how this gets explained in the future, but the core mystery of Deltarune is how exactly this universe intersects with Undertale and whether one is an offshoot of the other. How the Dark World links into that is another complication. But even as we get more fun characters and neat stuff in the Dark Worlds, let’s not forget we have absolutely no idea why Undertale’s characters are living here with no mention of underground or why there are no other humans beside Kris.

[phoenotopia]

The Last Phoenotopia Blog Update

(Date 2021 MAR 01)

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

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

Recent Events

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

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

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

SO what is next?

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

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

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

The Experience

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So… what IS next?

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

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

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

Is it really the last Phoenotopia Blog update though?

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

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

If a physical edition of the game happens

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

When we're ready to talk about our next game

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

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

Fan Art

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Closing Notes

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

Goodbye! Until next time!

[joachimnapoleon]

“The throne had disappeared, but the charm remained”

An excerpt from Countess Potocka regarding her visit to Trieste in 1826, where she stayed for several weeks as a guest of the widowed Caroline Murat. She details her observations of Caroline’s manner of living, her relationship with rumored second husband General Macdonald, and her reminiscences of Napoleon. 

[As a side-note; Countess Potocka met Joachim Murat in Poland twenty years earlier, in 1806; suffice to say she was not a fan of him. I’ve posted her less-than-flattering, but highly entertaining, accounts of him here and here.]

Anyway, the following excerpt is from the Countess’s Voyage d’Italie (1826-1827), 1899 edition, pages 5-13. Any translation errors are my own.

***

Trieste can only be interesting for those who, like us, have seen some personage there, because the city does not offer great attraction. We encountered Caroline, one of the sisters of Napoleon.

She was living in 1826 in a pretty country house adjoining the city. This charming villa was called Campo Mars; the queen had bought it from a merchant from Trieste and had arranged it with infinite taste. The care and the activity she brought to directing the work of this small property seemed to have made her forget that she had once owned the most beautiful of kingdoms. An alley planted with vines--à l'italienne--led to a small arbor which had a view of the sea and gave onto the very busy road; it was there that we spent the hours of the evening, so beautiful under the Italian sky; this is where I heard the anecdotes that I am going to tell.

The cascine, of an irreproachable architecture, contained, apart from the elegant apartment of the Queen, a large salon devoted to memories. A magnificent portrait of Murat on horseback made up its main ornament; Caroline never showed off this room, where were gathered the portraits of the whole family, marble busts or paintings. The general (Macdonald) alone did the honors.

It was not easy to assure oneself if a visit might be agreeable to the queen, and one could not know how to go about it so as not to lack in etiquette, the only possession of fallen kings; I urged my husband to come with me to see the garden, which was not closed to the curious, hoping that luck would come to my aid. Indeed, at the moment when we were going to retire, the porter asked us to write down our names; we lectured him so well that the next day we received an invitation which we eagerly accepted.

I had seen the Queen of Naples in Paris, at the time of the wedding of Napoleon with Marie-Louise; she'd had the effect on me of a pretty woman on the throne. I found her with a still pleasant face, as before. One felt that she needed to endear herself to everyone who came near her. The throne had disappeared, but the charm remained, contrasting in a sharp manner with an uncommon fortitude, a serious mind, a kindness, an equality of temper, which such great misfortunes had not been able to sour, or even trouble. Fate, by robbing her of all the favors with which fortune had showered her, could not take from her the most precious of all. A loyal friend remained. The qualities of this man, like his attachment, were superior; the elevation of his soul was reflected on his noble face. An infinite sweetness was found in exploring the character of a man whose existence was composed, so to speak, of devotion and delicate feelings. Such was General Macdonald, who was said to be secretly married to the Queen.

During the six weeks that I saw them daily, I perceived nothing which could make me adopt or reject this idea; on one part, the most frank friendship and well-founded esteem; on the other, the most sustained respect and the most complete abnegation. Such were the relations that existed between them. It is probable that love had passed by them, and what remained did honor to them both.

One can easily divine that, seeing the Queen a lot, we spoke often of the events of her life and of the extraordinary man to whom she belonged so closely. I regret not having noted down daily everything she told me; I especially remembered the anecdotes concerning the childhood and life of Napoleon; they had a stamp of truth and simplicity that enchanted me. We transported ourselves to Corsica often; the Queen liked to evoke those early days of life, so precious as one advances in age.

Each of the children had his nurse, and all of them remained at home, according to the custom of the country. Napoleon's nurse, far above the common class, read and composed songs. She had made one for her child, the prophetic refrain of which was:

Voyez mon petit roi! Mon souverain sera le votre, prosternez-vous en l'admirant!

She would sit in the window with her beautiful child on her arms, thus singing to passersby; they stopped to listen to her and went away delighted with the nurse and even more with the toddler, who already seemed to take part in what was happening around him.

When he grew up, he governed the house, though he was not the eldest. Everyone obeyed him, everyone consulted him. He led the oldest and protected the youngest. He was loved, because he was good, but he was respected, because he was serious. Never was seen from him the natural childishness in the first age. Pain never drew tears from him; nor the desire to possess, a prayer. His mother loved him with passion; he was the only one of her children to whom she showed a vivid tenderness. However, they were all good and spiritual. Later, Napoleon's relationship with his family became that of a noble and generous benefactor; but what was charming in this business was that Napoleon like to be given small gifts in return; he seemed enchanted when his sisters brought him some on his birthday.

Queen Caroline was the one of the sisters whom he preferred for a long time; he spoke to her with abandon, and often she dared to tell him great and useful truths. It was necessary only to choose her moment, then he would never get upset; more than once even he even gave in to her advice, which tended only to enlighten him on the intrigues of those around him who willingly sacrificed the interests of the State to their own.

When an observation was made to him, he always listened with patience and attention. But he did not suffer contradiction; when he gave an order, it needed to be obeyed without hesitation. It was thus when in 1810 the Queen of Naples was charged to go and receive Marie-Louise, or rather to go and find her across the Rhine, which then marked the borders of France. Caroline perfectly mimicked the Austrian accent of her august sister-in-law. Rarely have I heard such curious details told in such an interesting way.

I will never forget that in the midst of her intimate confidences she came to tell me about her flight from Naples on an English vessel at the moment when the Austrians were about to become masters of the city; having made her conditions with the captain, she had made him swear that if she was about to fall into the hands of the enemy, he would blow up the vessel; she always preferred extreme parts to transitional means, and maintained that the most spontaneous and energetic resolutions are easier to take than half-measures.

The season was advanced, it was necessary to put an end to a stay that had become so pleasant. Our farewells were sad, and the memory of the benevolence shown us by the Queen will never be effaced from my memory. She gave us some letters for all her family. Her eldest daughter was the one we would meet first in Bologna.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #336

"get back, you’re never gonna leave him  /  get back, you’re always gonna please him”

What were your favorite things to draw when you were a lil kid? When I was a very little kid, idk. But once I got into meerkats... I drew them like crazy. Do you think there is something with or around you, like a spirit, angel, ghost or something else? How does this make you feel? No. Imagine you’re a stranger looking at yourself. What things would immediately catch your eye? Ugh, let's not. When did you feel the most confident in your life? Probably my senior year of high school. I was happy with Jason with plans for the future together, I was doing excellently in school... I thought I was really going to go somewhere. Do you think love is needed to have good sex? For some people, no. For me, loving one another is an absolute must. Do you think, or want to, die in the city you currently live in? Fuuuuuuuck no, I hate it here. What is the strangest thing you have ever encountered? Probably when I was otw home from my doctor appointment and we passed a random guy in drag walking on the side of the street... That guy is an icon. Favourite soft drink? It's really strawberry Sunkist, but I love it to a degree I don't even allow myself to drink it, because I will fucking destroy that shit so quick. So I tend to just say Mountain Dew Voltage is my fave. What do you like to put gravy on? I hate gravy, period. Have you ever gone canoeing/kayaking? No, but it sounds fun. What is one thing you know about your family history you’re proud of? Uhhhh idk. Who depends on you the most? My snake. Are you related to anyone famous or historical, if so who? Yes; William Clark and Queen Victoria or Queen Elizabeth, idr which. Would you ever donate a kidney to anyone, and who? Mom. She only has one kidney, so, y'know. She kinda needs at least one. I wouldn't even hesitate. What is the main quality you think makes a great parent? Unconditional love. What three things do you think of most of each day? My weight is #1. Every second of every day, it, as well as Jason, are somewhere towards the front of my mind. The final is financial and job-oriented stuff. Does/did your high school have pop machines? It did. Do you know anyone who’s won the lottery? No. Have you ever slept in a water bed? Yeah. How often do you use Flickr? I pretty much abandoned my account; nowadays I only occasional check my friend's profile who works at the Kalahari Meerkat Project because she uploads wonderful pictures of the 'kats as well as gives interesting info about them! Who is the last child that you took a photo with? Mom took a picture of me holding my youngest niece Emerson because it surprised everyone; I NEVER hold babies. She crawled over to me and reached up though, so of course I was going to pick her up. How often do you wear hats? Never. Would you ever get a nature tattoo? Sure! Idk what, but I'm rather sure I'll get at leaast one. Is anyone in your family sick at the moment? No. Where do your siblings work, if anywhere? My older sister is a mammographer, and my younger sis is a social worker. Where is your favorite place to buy groceries? Wal-Mart, I guess. Who do you generally talk to the most? My mom. Is anyone saved in your phone under a nickname? Mom is "Mama Bear," and then my siblings are "Little Sister" and "Big Sister." Whose birthday is coming up? My lil sister has her birthday in April. Have you ever ordered from an informercial? No. When, where, and why did a needle last pierce your skin? I needed to get blood drawn for some testing. It was drawn from my inner elbow, obviously at the doctor. Have you been to an escape room? Was it a success? I never have, but it'd be fun. I enjoy puzzles. How many followers do you have on Instagram? I don't feel like checking. What’s the most recent music video you watched? Thoughts? "Mutter" by Rammstein. I picked a screenshot from it to draw, so I rewatched it to select one. It's a beautiful video, but also strange, which Rammstein is great at. Have you ever recorded a cover of a song? No. What makeup products are your go-tos? If I wear makeup, the bare minimum is black eyeliner. Are you going to school this year? No. I gave college as many shots as I could handle both sanity-wise and with finances in mind. I do NOT want to even ATTEMPT to imagine the debt I have after going to three different colleges and dropping out each time. What is your favorite water activity? I enjoy just kinda swimming around aimlessly, relaxing. What are your favorite video games? Okay, I talk about SH2 and SotC enough on questions like this, so I'll mention some others I really enjoy as well: the Silent Hill franchise in general, Spyro games, The Last Guardian, both The Evil Withins, The Last of Us, some Resident Evil games (the 4th in particular), etc. etc. I just love video games. Do you like jello? I enjoy the flavor, but the texture makes me squirm. When was the last time you gave someone "the finger?" Probably while riding in the car with Mom when a dumb motherfucker swerved into our lane. Or something like that, idr the exact occasion. Have you ever held a snake? Yesssss, I want to hold all the snakes. ;_; Most unique place you’ve ever been to? Uh. I guess maybe the Whirligig Park/"Acid Park" nearby us? It's just this large expanse of unique architecture that are mostly, as you guessed it, extravagant whirligigs. You've got to see it if you come to the town. I have some pictures on my deviantART if you wanna see a few pieces. If you were a superhero, what color would your cape be? NO CAPES! Have you ever slept out on your porch all night? Oh fuck no. I'd feel way, way too unsafe. Do you like horror movies? Yeah! What’s your favorite Coke product? Just normal Coke. Watergun or water-balloon war? Watergun. I don't like being hit with stuff. Do you know anyone that’s afraid of elevators? I kind of am. Is there anything in your room that belongs to a boyfriend, or a friend of the opposite sex? I have three plushies from Jason, Tyler, and Girt. My Marilyn Manson poster is also from Juan. Who’s your favorite Beatle? I don't know; I was never a big fan, so I don't know any of them as people well at all. Have you ever texted an ex whilst drunk? How’d that go? I've never been drunk, but no, I've never texted an ex because I was drinking. Do you have to stand on your tip-toes to kiss your boyfriend? I don't have one. The only instance where I had to do that was with Girt. Tall motherfucker. Have you ever been tackle-hugged? Yes. Those are the best. Have you ever rejected someone’s kiss before? Girt once tried to make out with me and I noped the fuck outta that situation. It was so fucking awkward. Is your mood or the overall tone of your day often affected by the dreams you had the night before? My nightmares definitely can. Do you think that there are any positive aspects or outcomes of suffering from a mental illness? If you have a mental illness, do you think it has changed you for the better in any way? I definitely believe my mental illnesses forced me to mature faster and also instilled a great sense of empathy in me. And don't forget emotional endurance. What is your opinion on celebrity culture and celebrity worship? Have you ever been guilty of putting a celebrity on a pedestal? Do you think it’s somehow more acceptable/understandable to obsess over certain types of celebrities (musicians over YouTubers, say) than others? At what point do you think an obsession like that crosses the line? It's dangerous and can be very blinding. An outsider could say I put Mark on a pedestal, but I've always been very aware that he's not perfect and really just another human, I just happen to love him a lot for the human he is, haha. As time's passed, my vision of him has become healthier though (not to say it ever reached the "unhealthy" threshold); it's gotten easier for me to judge him and stuff like that. I think an obsession crosses the line when you put on rose-tinted glasses to look upon someone and entirely ignore their flaws, or if you try to invade their personal lives, ex. being one of those creeps that loiter outside their houses and stuff. If you were to pursue a career in photography and had the opportunity and means to photograph whatever you wanted, what would most like to photograph? Ah, livin' the dream. If I had to choice and would be paid well regardless of focus, I would absolutely travel and photograph the local nature/wildlife. Is there a certain type of clothing (outerwear, activewear, loungewear, etc.) that you enjoy shopping for more than others? Shirts, 100%. Are you ever afraid to post your ideas, artwork, photography, etc. online for fear that they will get stolen or not credited? When it comes to OCs, yes, given that things have been stolen from me before. Photography doesn't worry me much because I don't think I'm good enough for someone to possibly want to steal it (and besides, I use a watermark), and I do the same for drawings. It's the unique characters I make I worry about being stolen if I share them. When is the last time you did something sexual? A few years back. Who is the last person you showered with, if anyone? I haven't showered with someone since I was a little kid and my younger sister and I would to conserve water. What do you think when you see roadkill on the side of the road? It really makes me genuinely sad, and I always wonder if it could have been avoided if the driver was more alert, slower, and thinking about more than the damage it could cause to their car... I enjoy photographing roadkill, brutal as it may be, out of respect for them and the desire to make their individual stories known and just kind of like, raise awareness of it. Too many people are just annoyed by hitting an animal versus more concerned. "Stupid deer," stuff like that. I sometimes worry that doing so can be interpreted as disrespect, to photograph and publish pictures of their corpses online, but I sure hope not. It's the least of my intentions. I just want people to see and care. Have you ever had an ex that just didn’t understand that it was over? Biiiitch I was that ex, 120%. But besides my situation with Jason, this was how Tyler was. I had to tell him about five thousand times to stop texting me. Are your fingernails currently short or long? They're always pretty short. Would you rather have big or small dogs? I like medium-sized dogs most. I'd have to pick large dogs between the two, though. What is your favorite sports drink? I'm not a fan of sports drinks. What was the last compliment you gave a guy? Yesterday, a guy in PHP shared two poems he wrote while hospitalized, and they were wonderful, so full of passion and emotion. I sure as hell told him they were amazing. He's going for his Master's for poetry, so he knows what he's doing for real. Does your jaw ever crack, pop, or lock? It's popped on very, very few occasions. Have you ever thought of how you would give your kids “the talk”? I don't want kids, so no, I've never thought of this. I certainly wouldn't wait for sex ed in school, though. I feel like it's a bit late. I feel children need to know what it's about at a younger age with how disgusting some people are... I want them to be informed on what consent and molestation are so they know to let Mama know so I can punch someone's face into a whole new galaxy if they're ever violated. Do you ever feel like you’re missing out on something? Oh, always. Do you ever write/draw on windows that are fogged up? I did as a kid, sure. Not so much now. If you were married, and your spouse’s parents became ill, would you let them move into your home? If they were truly sick enough to need assistance but not actual hospitalization, yes. I'd want my spouse to do the same for me. Have you screamed in a pillow before? Yyyyep. What do you like more, acoustic or electric? Electric. Did you actually have a cookie jar? We have a Santa one, though I don't even know if we ever used it versus just having it as a decoration. What’s worse, having someone mad or disappointed in you? Disappointed. What do you bite on more, your tongue, lip, or nails? Bottom lip. Do you think that knowing when and how you’re going to die would ruin your life? "Ruin" it seems a bit extreme, but I definitely wouldn't like it. Do you have a favorite bromance? From TV or a movie. Not really, if we're only talking those two options. Do you find flea markets and thrift stores enjoyable? Yeah, you really can find the coolest shit for great prices. What color is your wallet? Mostly red and white; it's a Harley Quinn design. Have you ever been somebody's photography subject? No. Nicki Minaj fan? I believe she's a very talented rapper, but I don't enjoy her actual music. I just don't like rap. Have you ever seen the Niagara Falls? No, I wish tho.

[creativeskullcreations]

Chapter 10: A Real Guilty Feeling

Hey everybody, here's chapter 10! But, unfortunately, it'll be the last chapter you see for a while. I need to take a break from writing for a while, do something else and recharge a bit. Maybe also knock out some drawings too while I'm at it.

Current timeline is looking like this: Couple of weeks without writing, and then maybe build up a bit of a buffer of chapters for <i>Outside</i>. But first, I'll be working on episode 2 of <i>Happy Times at Handeemen HQ</i>. Y'all are starting to show an interest in that, and I wanna put something new out for it.

If you want to keep updated, or even just see what I'm drawing, you can follow my art Tumblr here. Also check out my YouTube, in case of livestreams or speedpaints!(Am I plugging my own stuff too much?)

Whenever I'm ready to start posting again, I'll make sure to leave an announcement on here.

I'll see y'all later.

When Will got home, he dumped Stacy's stuff and scout on the couch. He then pointed out his locked workroom, and told her that she was never to go in there no matter what. That done, he left her to her own devices, and went off to bed. He took off his shirt and jeans, then crawled under the sheets. The last thing he did before passing out was shoot off a message to the group chat about how DnD Night was canceled until further notice.

When he woke up, far too few hours later, it was to a light weight on his chest. He stared at Scout for a moment, then picked her up and dropped her on the floor, rolling onto his front. He grabbed his phone, squinting at the too bright screen. Several messages were in the chat, and he sighed as he opened it up and scrolled to the top.

Masonary: um, excuse me?! i asked for that day off u can't cancel!!! somebody better be dead! D:<

Blooming_Stitches: Mason, shut up. We don't know what could be going on.

drWEED420: ugh, stacy. I told you to call me.

Masonary: y would stacy need to call u sam?

Masonary: is it because she hacked ur account and changed ur name again?

 drWEED420 has changed their name to DrSamIAm

DrSamIAm: no but it is something we'll going to talk abaout.

Will_and_a_Way: Stace is in the hospital for infected surgery stitches

Blooming_Stitches: I'M SORRY WHAT

Masonry: dude i was joking about som1 being dead

DrSamIAm: goddamit stacy

 DrSamIAm has left the chat We're ALL Idiots Here

Masonry: ok first of all what happened to stacy

Masonry: second who changed the chat name again?

Blooming_Stitches: lol

Will sighed, the went into his phone and pulled up his drop box, where he'd sneaked the file into a while ago. He hesitated briefly, then sent it to the chat. Stacy could be mad at him later, but he was too tired to think up a cover story for her right now.

 Will_and_a_Way posted a file in We're ALL Idiots Here

Masonry: ?

Blooming_Stitches: !

Will_and_a_Way: read that if you guys want to know what happned.

Will_and_a_Way: I'm going back to sleep now try not to kill each other

He clicked his phone off, dropping it to his mattress and letting his head fall on his pillow. Within seconds he was back asleep, completely oblivious to Scout Jumping back on his bed and climbing onto his back. She curled around the small Kirby toy, using it as a pillow as she settled back into sleep herself.

()()()

When Will woke up again, it was to a light weight in the center of his back, right below his shoulder blades. He huffed, glaring at the wall. He took a deep breath, then heaved himself up with all his strength. As predicted, Scout was catapulted off, and he quickly got out of bed, heading to the kitchen.

He made himself some toast, checking his phone on the way. The group chat was mostly just full of the various reactions from Lisa and Mason. Sammy had come back at some point, going on a rant about what Stacy hadn't told him.

He read over the various comments as he  ate, able to tell where they were in the document. Unsurprisingly, Mason finished it first, and Lisa was intent on meeting Scout. Sammy had told her Scout was nothing special, which Will privately agreed with. He finished the back reading and, seeing as nobody was online at the moment, locked his phone again. He picked up his toast and moved into his work room for the time being, deciding to get something done.

It was easy, really, for Will to get lost in his work. Dissecting the "toys" he brought home, taking them apart and recording it in his notes. He was currently working on the body of the head he'd been looking at last night. The brown, fuzzy thing was strapped securely onto the table, the front having been sawed apart and spread open.

He shifted through the innards, making careful, detailed notes about what was in there. He would compare them to the stolen blueprints later, figure out what was supposed to be in there and what wasn't. For now, though, the intention was to make a catalogue of parts.

When his phone alarm finally went off, signalling it was lunch time, he straightened up with a sigh. He pulled off his rubber gloves and, making sure the straps on the table were tight, went out to the kitchen. He made himself a simple sandwich, eating it in the kitchen as he glanced through the group chat. Mason and Lisa were on and currently discussing things, but Sam hadn't been on again since his rant.

He lurked a bit longer after he finished his sandwich, then got up to go back to work. On the way through the living room, he paused when he saw Scout sitting on the couch. She was curled up in the corner, Kirby plush on her lap as she stared at it. Even as a Puppet, he recognized the look on her face as one Stacy had often worn in the first year after her mother had died.

'Why the hell do I feel so bad for that thing?' He sighed, rubbing at his face. Making a snap decision, he went over to his DVD shelf and pulled out The Iron Giant.  He turned on the TV and player, then loaded in the movie, skipping the previews. When he reached the main menu, he selected play and dropped the remote near Scout. He then left, heading back towards the basement and his work.

Scout watched go, staring silently after him as he once again disappeared behind the locked door. She didn't even try to follow him, instead settling in to watch the show he'd turned on. With any luck, it would be violent and/or funny enough to take her mind off of things.

()()()

'That is the saddest shit I have ever seen...' She sniffed, rubbing at her frustratingly dry eyes. 'I can't believe he let himself get blown up like that. What the fuck.' She rubbed at her eyes some more, then tried to figure out how to choose a different show. When she couldn't figure it out, she threw the remote down in frustration. 'Fuck it! Where's Will?'

She Jumped from the couch, heading over to the locked door. She peered in the crack between the door and the floor, but couldn't see anything. She could hear, however, and what she heard were power tools. The sound sent a shock through her system, dredging up unwanted memories of Riley's lab. She drew back, then jumped onto a nearby table when the noise stopped. Thinking quickly, she opened the drawer that was there and tried to pretend that she had been going through it.

Will came out of the room a minute later, wiping his hands with a dirty towel. He glared when he saw what she was "doing". "What the hell are you doing? Get out of there!" It wasn't quite yelling, but his voice was definitely louder than it needed to be. Scout suppressed her fear and scoffed.

"Fine. There wasn't anything but batteries in there anyways." She slammed the drawer closed, feeling a small, petty joy in how the contents rattled around when she did. She watched him cross to his bedroom and, when he'd closed his door, opened the drawer back up in order to snoop for real.

Batteries, keys, some weird plastic clips, and other odds and ends she didn't have words for had been organized neatly in the drawer. Working quickly, she shuffled everything around even more, then shoved a handful of what was sitting on the table into the drawer. She then closed it again and sat back as innocently as she could, tilting the shade of the lamp next to her. When Will came back out, now dressed in different clothes, he sighed and fixed the shade.

She watched as he gathered up a couple of things, then came over and grabbed up a set of keys she hadn't dumped into the drawer. There was a pause, or maybe more of a hesitation, and then he scooped her up and left the house, ignoring her protests.

"Hey! Hey lemme go! H-mmph?!" He easily covered her mouth with one hand as he locked the door. He made his way to his car, not letting her go into he'd climbed in and dumped her in the passenger seat. "What was that for?!"

"Okay, here's the deal." He told her, ignoring the question. "We're going to go see Stacy. To do that, we have to go through a whole hospital full of people. And you will be quiet and good the whole time, or you will be going out the nearest window."

"We're going to go see Stacy..." That was the one thing she had really comprehended. Her Host was alive, Scout knew she had to be. If she wasn't, then the Puppet wouldn't have long to-

It didn't matter. She didn't matter, not after what almost happened. Not after what she almost did, accidentally or not.

She was jolted out of her thoughts as Will started the car, realizing belatedly that he'd continued talking to her. She hoped he hadn't noticed she wasn't paying attention. Whatever he'd been doing behind that door, she did not want to become his next patient.

In the silence of the car ride, Scout easily lost herself in the thoughts swirling through her head. The most prominent were thoughts of guilt, knowing she was to blame for this and wondering where she had gone wrong. Maybe she hadn't tried as hard as she should've to subjugate her Host back in the Studio? Or maybe she shouldn't have stayed with her after they escaped. Maybe she should have left after making sure Stacy was okay.

'Maybe I should leave anyways.'

She missed it when Will parked, only noticing when he picked her up. She let herself stay limp, though not so much out of compliance than a desire to try and keep working on the plan that had come to mind.

Vaguely, she was aware of the clean white halls Will was taking her through, as well as a nauseating smell that reminded her of Riley. A few other unclaimed Hosts like Will, though wearing clothing that, again, reminded Scout of Riley. She watched  those ones carefully, just in case. She may not like Will, but Stacy did and she didn't want something to happen to him.

Will came up to a door, opening it and peeking inside. Scout tried to look, but could only see the very end of a weird looking bed. Whatever he saw he seemed to like, as he fully entered the room, kicking the door closed behind him and approaching the bed.

"Hey Stacy." He began quietly, and Scout felt her stuffing go cold at the sight of her Host in the bed. Her normally warm brown skin was several shades paler, and there were dark circles under her eyes. She was mostly upright, though leaning heavily against the pillows behind her. The scariest thing, though, were the several tubes connecting her to various machines by the bed.

Scout felt another cold rush of guilt when she saw how Stacy's eyes lit up when she spotted them. She waited for her to say something, anything, but the Host didn't speak, instead lifting her hands to use that weird hand language.

"She can't talk right now." Will translated. "She had to be intubated and her throat still hurts. But, for some reason, she's happy to see you." He sounded annoyed by that, and Scout couldn't help but be confused. Surely Stacy knew about what she did.

'Unless she doesn't.' The Puppet realized. 'She doesn't know shit about how it works. She had no idea what I almost did to her.' Somehow, that didn't make it any better.

Against her will, she was handed over to Stacy so Will could go set down the bags. Stacy hugged her tight, and Scout couldn't help but curl up in her hold, clutching at the weird shirt she was wearing.

She ignored the humans as they talked, or rather as Will talked and Stacy did one handed signing. Instead she stared at the tubing connected to Stacy's arm, watching the clear liquid slowly drip it's way into her body. She didn't know how long she stared for, but she must've dozed off at one point because she suddenly became aware of her hair being stroked.

It couldn't have been too long, as the room was still bright, though she couldn't hear Will anymore. Instead there was a quiet, steady beeping that matched up with Stacy's heartbeat. It was relaxing, and brought up memories of when Scout had first woken up, all those years ago. Before she'd been made to take part in Riley's "tests", or found that TV. Even before she'd met her siblings and learned who and what she really was. Those first few moments when it had just been her and Daisy, enjoying the gift of life.

She almost wished she could go back to that point. Things were so much better back then, when her world consisted of Daisy's sewing room and her siblings. When she didn't have a Host to worry about accidentally killing, or her own people coming after her.

But she wouldn't have to worry about that for long. If her plan ended up working, Stacy wouldn't be in danger ever again.

[andagii-writes]

Oracle Calling

Hydrate me with a Ko-Fi!

Summary

(inspired by Rick Riordan’s Percy Jackson series, as well as Supergiant Games’s Hades)

Miss Levinia is the master of The Oracle Winery, a quaint yet historic operation nestled in Napa Valley for the last couple centuries. Her day staff tends to the mortal patrons, but at night, the tasting room transitions into a haven for displaced demigods, Levinia their overseer and protector, "Switzerland," by some accounts. What begins as an uncharacteristically quiet evening quickly evolves into a night of revelation, when a specter from her past crosses her threshold. (7,501 words)

Cross-posted on AO3 and WordPress.com

Glossed lips pursed in a frown, and with deliberate severity in her gaze, tall, dark Miss Levinia stood, arms crossed, behind the bar of her winery’s tasting room. Only a faint hum pervaded The Oracle Winery, as though the evening had forgotten its role in Levinia’s routine, as well as an earlier camaraderie.

But rather than making herself maudlin by recalling those regulars—twin brats of Hades and their snuffling, oversized Cerberus pups—Levinia turned her attention to administrative catch-up. With no one barging in for asylum or medical attention for the half-divine, or even for a drink, she at least had the perfect amount of peace to attend to the tasting room’s inventory. Clipboard in hand, she wove between the wicker lounge chairs and glass-top tables, pen scratching notes on a log sheet. Wheat crackers and cheeses for the main bar. More bottles of riesling and moscato for the refrigerator at the secondary dessert bar. Prepare the menus for the upcoming seasons. Oh, and inventory the grocery bags the twins had left at the end of the main bar.

The twins had, for the first time, asked about the otherworldly fare they brought for her in those bags. What exactly did she brew with the stuff?

“You’d have to drink them to know,” Levinia had responded. “But you might find yourselves on an express ferry back to your lord father if you did.”

They asked no more and finished their drinks on their way out.

Without paying, yet again.

Shoulders heaving in a deep sigh, Levinia set aside her clipboard and unrolled the long receipt detailing the twins’ tab, readying herself for the weekly recalculations. Pen rocking between two fingers, she punched numbers on her phone’s calculator while her mind added more to the to-do list. Check the stock on the venom and hallucinogenic brews. Re-apply poison to the knives hidden under the bar top. Regular protective maintenance, though she avoided altercations whenever possible. After all, unlike most of Levinia’s patrons, The Oracle afforded her a boring life of stability and routine. The day staff, a rotating roster of demigods, maintained the vineyards, the cellars, and the tasting room, while Levinia oversaw the operation at night, when she donned her waistcoat and customer service smile, and presided over what the brats called their personal Switzerland.

Though she appreciated the mystique and respect, even ancient Miss Levinia saw distress in the face of constant monotony. She enjoyed her stability, yet the quiet made her reminisce, made her memory clear away the fog over her childhood, made her consider the stars outside as she once considered the stars above the ocean spray of her old home.

Home? She scoffed at herself. The Oracle was home. She’d made this place her home. Even halfway across the world in this foreign wine country, history ensconced her, in a petrified forest further up north, neat rows of grapevines at her flanks, and splendid wineries for miles in either direction, each lot boasting more history and grandeur than the last. Among the pueblo-style bungalows, stone castles, and even a mountaintop vineyard that required an airborne cable car for access, The Oracle Winery stood proud yet modest, little more than a glorified cottage.

Levinia, sighing, rolled her shoulders. With the tasting room’s mood lights dimmed to gentle amber flares, The Oracle needed a distraction as well, lest it fell into a fitful doze with her. Music, she thought, would lift the spirits of the place. She added that note—'hire nightly entertainment’—to her list, since she, unfortunately, never inherited her father’s knack for revelry.

As she started her calculations again, a breeze swept outside, disturbing the ivy leaves and grapevines to a gentle rustle. A visitor had arrived.

Levinia re-rolled the twins’ tab and nestled it against her register. Whatever came through her doors deserved her cordial welcome as thanks for the break in the evening. Tugging her waistcoat straight, she drew back and fastened the curlicue waves of her hair with golden ivy pins: mementos, Mother once claimed, of Father.

The doors opened. Levinia curled her lip in her customary slight smile. She started, “Welcome,” then choked in surprise. As she stared wide-eyed at the silhouette on her doorstep, her smile hardened into wariness.

She knew that broad shadow. She remembered that height.

‘No,’ she told herself, shaking her head. ‘I don’t know. That’s not—My mind’s just playing tricks.’ Just a specter from her memories. Reminiscing had never been good for her. She sucked in a sharp breath and loosened her clenched hands. What an embarrassing mistake to make of a likely regular patron. Or an enemy. ‘Come on,’ Levinia scolded herself. ‘You’re working now.’

Even while eyeing her customer, Levinia kept her tone civil. “Welcome to The Oracle Winery,” she said again, then gestured to the bar stools. “’Tis the tasting room. Have a seat; tell me what you need.”

The man stooped to clear the threshold and said nothing as he closed the door behind him. Levinia curled her lip in slight offense, but swallowed her snap. After all, most of The Oracle’s first-time patrons kept to themselves, usually out of sharp distrust. The same probably held for this man. Curled hair sprung in stray sprigs from under his hood, some shade of dark color muddied by the amber lights. His shoulders filled out the corners of his thick jacket, zipped all the way up. Despite the suffocating choice, a strange gracefulness helped the man to navigate his long legs as he turned about, apparently investigating every possible corner of The Oracle.

Levinia lowered her hand to an alcove under her counter, brushing her fingers along the handles of her hidden knives. Why survey the space so? Looking for surveillance or a way out?  Yet, strangely, no sign of intimidation came off his height or hooded visage. No anticipation prickled in his silence. Rather, Levinia thought as she drew her hand back, a welcoming gentleness surrounded him.

Which made Levinia offer her hand instead. “Shall I take your coat?”

He shook his head, electing instead to partially unzip his jacket. After a hesitant moment, hands firmly balled in his pockets, he finally spoke. “You’re not asking who I am?”

He used a gruff tone to mask his voice, but its familiarity echoed in Levinia’s ears. She choked down the knot tangling in her chest and replied, “You can tell me if you want, but I won’t ask or tell. That goes for anyone visiting at this time.”

“Say I tell you, and you realize you’d rather throw me out. Would you do so?”

Levinia grimaced at the poorly-veiled sentiment. “I can’t break my own rules, now can I? Just don’t make any trouble for me.” She held her breath, as the man slid into one of the barstools before her. “So, what can I get you tonight?”

“Just a glass,” he sighed, shoulders relaxing. “A black, if you please.”

She considered the hooded man, his head low. “A ‘black’ wine at The Oracle,” she murmured, hands on her hips, “is considered divine fare. So don’t disrespect me. Take your hood off.”

The man flinched and threw a glance over his shoulder, the motion freeing another curling lock of dark hair from his hood. “You speak so fearlessly,” he said, a chuckle lacing his voice. “Like a goddess of protection. Or a mother. Have you become one since I last saw you?”

He had dropped his gruff tone as well, opting for a natural mellow accent, one Levinia occasionally heard in her faded recollections of Father’s bedtime stories. He used to talk about foreign lands, waters, and adventures.

“I only ask,” the man hurriedly added, likely in response to Levinia’s lips pursing into a thin line, “since there was no one back home to tell me what had happened to you.”

“And just how long ago did you visit those ruins?” While she had stopped herself from spitting, a dangerous edge sharpened her voice. “And no, I’m neither goddess or mother, heaven forbid me. All I do is make and maintain the rules of my house, so again, no trouble past those doors.”

He folded his hands over the countertop, still refusing to meet Levinia’s eye. “I remember that. Your mother had a similar rule.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Stomach roiling, Levinia covered her face and counted each long second of her breath. “Just take your damn hood off, Father.”

“I—I believe you have me mistaken.”

“Let’s not play this game. You might as well be standing before me in full regalia. Where’s your wand? Your chariot? Your attendants? What happened to excelling at disguise?”

“To protect the mortal eye, yes. But you, your mother…” He finally, sheepishly, shed his hood. The rest of his curled hair, some tied back in a half-pony, cascaded over his shoulders. “Your mother had a sharp, fearless eye. You’ve clearly inherited that.”

Levinia’s stomach, which had coiled backwards, now pitched forward, as she let the specter’s words and visage sink in. She remembered that voice. That face. She hated that she’d seen through him so quickly.

Mother called him Daeon. And he hadn’t changed, even after hundreds upon thousands of years. Levinia’s lord father Dionysus, despite his languid, unshaven features, still held traces of the young father who once cradled Levinia among the vineyards. No disguise could hide the gravitas of his divinity.

Remembrance stung in Levinia’s eyes, as she ground her palm into one. She’d prepared for everything—riots, medical emergencies, death threats, ichor hunters—but not her own father’s return. Why did this have to be her distraction for the evening?

Daeon went on, his voice wavering. “Levinia,” he said, “you’ve grown so much.”

“Time does that to a little girl,” she snapped, squaring her shoulders. “You missed Mother’s deathbed.”

“I swear to you,” he said, “Hades was to notify me as soon as she arrived at Elysium, but, nothing. I even made the journey below; I was ready to bring her back.

“But she wasn’t there. You sent her off correctly, didn’t you? An obol under the tongue?”

“Even if I hadn’t, the old attendants would have made sure of it,” Levinia spat. She laid her palms flat against the countertop and counted the seconds of her breath. In, slowly. Then out. “So let’s face the truth, shall we? You were too afraid to watch her go.”

“Not true. I knew where she was headed.”

“Then why? How hard could it have been? We lived on Olympus’s doorstep! Just a few steps outside, Father, and you could have seen Mother off yourself!”

Mother, who, after Father had disappeared that distant morning, waited upon the balcony every night and stared across the sea. She wistfully called it “The Promised Spot.” Yet that soft longing eventually hardened into bitter anger, solid until her final breaths when she begged Levinia to look after the family’s treasures.

The memories prickled into fury. Levinia stepped back from the bar top. Heaved another deep breath. Her staff called her tough, but, she reminded herself, the master of The Oracle Winery operated with far more finesse and impersonality regardless of the customer she faced. She straightened her back and cleared her throat. “Pardon me,” she said. “I’ll get you your drink.”

Taking a glass from the rack, Levinia knelt below as she guessed her father’s expression. Despairing, hopefully. Or guilty. Regretfully reminiscing. Self-pity, she told herself, she’d slap.

Above her, Daeon released a burdened sigh. “I had a theory,” he said, “that perhaps her soul had wandered elsewhere. You sent her off properly, yet she never arrived at Elysium. Never even saw Hades or Persephone to receive her decree.”

“Can’t say I care about your theories,” said Levinia, flipping a switch under her bar top. Soft amber light illuminated a cabinet below the register, as she produced a key from her pocket. “Take them to Athena or, I don’t know, Aristotle, since you’re so willing to head back down there. I’m sure Hades stashed him or some other philosopher in Elysium.”

“I’ll…consider it.” His tone deflated, yet he went on. “Your mother. Was—how angry was she?”

Levinia turned the lock on the cabinet. “She once promised to eviscerate you herself, if you came back while she was alive.” She simpered at her father’s groan and opened the glass door. Inside, mounted on its side, sat a plain, sealed amphora, a spigot retrofitted at its base. “But she never doubted your divinity.” Unpinning one of her ivy pins, Levinia felt about the patterned crest above the spigot. She turned the pin and fitted it into the crest, at the same time sliding the wine glass into place. “She never abandoned the craft you helped her master.”

“Which I see she also passed on to you.”

Holding the glass at a tilt, Levinia released the spigot. Dark red wine slipped in with hardly a bubble. “I like to think I did well by her.” She gingerly pulled the lever back, removed her hair pin from the crest, and stood, pocketing the pin as she nudged the cabinet shut. Pinky cushioned under the stem, she set the filled glass before her father. “But if she kept any secrets from me, she left them in this brew here.”

Levinia crossed her arms, as her father’s features creased with bafflement. “But why would she keep anything from you?”

Despite his confused tone, however, a strange, sharp clarity glinted in his eyes. Without realizing, her father had already, dimly, divined an answer, but needed a few moments longer to solidify his conclusion. Levinia shrugged anyway. “Experiments. Signatures. Something like that, if I had to guess. All she said was this one’s not complete ‘’til it received the blessings of Lord Dionysus.’” She gestured to the glass. “But you’ve already guessed that, right, wine being your domain? So go on. You’ve kept her waiting long enough.”

“With all of my gratitude,” Daeon replied, and picked up the glass. He tilted the wine toward the light and watched The Oracle’s amber lights flare through the deep red. His guilty remembrance softened into a fond smile as he brought the glass to his lips. He closed his eyes. “She’s created a masterpiece. I can tell already.”

Levinia rolled her eyes.

After another long moment and final deep breath, he tipped the glass back for the smallest sip.

Wonder filled his features then, his eyes practically glowing, while Levinia smirked. An old giddiness stirred in her as Daeon took another sip, longer this time. Then another. And another.

“Take your time,” she chuckled, dimly recognizing her own honest simper. Old memories stirred within her, reminding Levinia of fond memories of mother-daughter winemaking—to remind Father to come home!—until Mother had faded into a lonesome morosity some long, horrible time ago. After that and over the years, Levinia’s own love had withered into a desiccated husk of sadness, leaving her with the professional motions of winemaking, but none of the zeal.

‘Until,’ she thought, ‘now.’

“She’s mulled it well,” Daeon sighed. “There’s a bite, yet it’s kind. Soft.” He held a melancholic smile in his features. “As though she’s speaking to me. But this isn’t like her usual brews—what is that I taste? Persephone’s pomegranates?”

“As if she’d let you have the fruits of the dead. You’re tasting cherries, from what later became the Ottomans.”

“And the grapes?” Desperation strained his voice. “Did she use a blend?”

Levinia snorted. “Of only the grapes you raised. She wouldn’t agree to anything else for the private collection.” As her father put down his glass and cradled his head, Levinia swallowed the rest of her rebuke. She couldn’t berate his sincerity any longer. “I looked after what I could after you left. Still do. I’ll never be as good as you, but I did my best.” She smirked, sardonic. “Even stopped myself from burning them down, especially that ugly one with all the ivy.”

“Because Lyridice taught you to regard that one as though it was me.”

Mother had begged not only for the protection of the wine amphoras, but also, with sharp emphasis, the old grapevines in the private garden terrace. “For your father,” sighed a resigned Mother. “He’ll return to you during your long, long life. I promise.”

And now, millennia later, that promise had finally delivered.

Levinia raised a brow. “How did you figure?”

“I could never reach you through them,” Daeon reluctantly answered, “but I could still hear you. Your prayers. I heard both of you, whenever you called upon me through that grapevine.”

Levinia’s head spun, sour rage prickling again at the back of her throat. By force of habit, she had continued her one-sided conversations with the ivy-choked grapevines, increasingly so after her mother had passed. Even though passing time left her home in ruins, Levinia protected those plants with her life, taking them from the terraced gardens above the Mediterranean and across the world from new home to new home. Currently, they stood still and peaceful, enshrined in Levinia’s private garden.

And she still talked to them when she tended the garden. Through that conversation, Levinia realized, her father had found her. “I knew I should have burned that damn bush,” she hissed, every word pinched with more venom than the last. “So you really did know when Mother passed. You knew as soon as I told you and you still chose to not come home?”

“Forgive me, Levinia.” Distress mounted in Daeon’s voice. “I beg you to forgive me, but I know—I’m not—!” He sighed. “I’m not foolish either. You can’t forgive me. I heard that as well. Loud and clear.”

Levinia, remembering her wailing curses before the grapevine, bit her lip. Had her straight honesty then already done the damage she wanted? She leaned against her countertop, replying in a tight voice, “So what are you really here for? Obviously not to ask after Mother.”

“Lyridice has always been my reason—both of you have always been my reason.” Head cradled in one hand, he swirled his wine with the other. Exhaustion shadowed his features as he mockingly snorted, “Zeus advised me against coming here, ‘til I questioned him on his own children, those he left behind on this earth. He granted me some of his understanding then.” He lifted his head and met Levinia’s eye again. “Lyridice prayed that I look after you, Levinia. I’m sorry it took so long.”

“Your point?”

“I’m here to take you home with me. To Olympus.”

She stared, fighting to keep her expression of ennui while pure rage pounded harder and harder against her temple. Home? Olympus?

With Dionysus?

Her breath ran icy hot through her nose, as dumbfounded Levinia curled her fingers around the edge of the countertop. The wood groaned under her grip. Even Daeon pulled back. “So that’s it?” Her stomach lurched over and over. Her eyes, her cheeks, her ears, even her neck and throat, all burned. “This? After all these years? Do you take me for a damn child?”

“It’s for your safety—!”

“—My safety?! Where was this proposition when the pirates showed up? When they burned down our home looking for ‘divine ichor,’ answer me that!”

“I never heard—when was this?”

“Who cares when it was! They hung me—hung me, Father, do you hear me?!—draining me for my blood! Where were you then?!”

“I was looking for your mother!”

“You mean my dead mother?”

“She wasn’t—Levinia, listen to me—Lyridice’s not in the Underworld. She promised to wait for me at Elysium without drinking from Lethe, but I swear to you, she wasn’t there.”

She could have snatched up the glass on the table and smashed it into her father’s face. She could scream at the insolence, the disrespect, but she swallowed the rage scalding her throat. How had she not already vaporized or combusted? Pressing both hands to her temples, Levinia blew out a long, thin, tremulous breath. Then regarding her father with seething disappointment, she blew another breath and lowered her hands. Fists balled, she rounded the bar and stood before Dionysus.

Miss Levinia lifted one hand and pointed at the door. Her voice, icy and curt, sharpened further as she hissed through gritted teeth. “Get out.”

She snapped against his protest. “Mother was more right about you in her anger,” she pressed, “then she ever was in her love for you. You choose to smear her memory? Deflect your responsibility to her? Then I won’t listen to another second of this asinine talk, you hear me, especially in here! Get out!”

A shocked Daeon rose before her. “I never smeared or deflected—!”

“Yet you insist she’s not where she belongs?”

“Zeus forbade me from asking after Lyridice!”

“She was beneath you anyway, is that it? Leave her in peace!”

“I have been fighting, Levinia, fighting for leave this entire time—!”

“And it’s only now that Zeus is granting you this oh-so-necessary permission to see me? To look for Mother? Spit out that wine and cry me a river! Mother must have drowned herself in Lethe, just to avoid seeing you again!”

“By the Styx, child, relinquish your stubbornness for just one moment!”

“Take your patronizing and shove it, Father, because that stubbornness was all I ever had! For years, for centuries, for so goddamn long, all I ever had was that stubbornness to live! To survive!” Every nerve, every breath, every bone in Levinia’s body rattled. Yet somehow, as she regarded her father’s perturbed expression, she scoffed. Why even bother anymore? Why care so much now? Suddenly exhausted, she turned away. “So leave me to it. What’s another lost child to you or the gods, anyway?”

She tottered back behind the bar, as Daeon, shaking his head, fell back into his seat. “You were never lost to me,” he said. “Never.”

“Thanks for the nice thought,” Levinia muttered, “but you’re lying. Get out of my store.”

He lingered, however, drumming his fingers against the bar top. “Divine ichor,” he reflected. “How could anyone have figured that out about you?”

“Live just twenty years past your dead mother without looking more than a teenager, and people start wondering. And don’t try your persuasion on me. I’m of your blood.”

“But your ichor’s mixed, a far cry from that of the gods.”

Levinia rubbed her temples and squeezed her eyes shut as the dust cleared from her memories. Her mother had died, her father disappeared, and the people of that old vineyard had all passed on, leaving behind rumors of a ghost girl wandering the ruins of that once-hallowed estate. In the following lonely years, she ran pirates and treasure hunters for loops around the ruins and cackled at their bumbling expense, until they lashed her by her ankles and heated their cursed knives. “Details,” she mumbled. “Humans don’t care for them when they’re afraid of death.”

Pulling back from the counter, Levinia embraced herself, flinching as her body recalled the searing lacerations, one by one. Her breath shuddered in the icy hollow of her chest. ‘It’s all in the past,’ she told herself. ‘Just nightmares now.’

Just a nightmare. The distant memory of her mother’s voice sounded so close in Levinia’s head. But now you’re awake. And see? Mother is close to you. Father is always with you. The nightmares can’t reach you now.

“Levinia.”

She jerked back to reality—eyes wide, nose flaring, breath still shallow—to find her father offering his hand. “I thought,” Levinia snarled, albeit weakly, “I told you to leave.” Doubt and nostalgia pummeled her inside as she regarded the open palm before her. When was the last time she’d seen and held this hand?

“You spoke so many times before the vines—in joy, in anger, in sorrow—yet you never spoke of your suffering. Why?”

“Because…” Neither snark or sarcasm broke past the knot of honesty tangling in her throat. To tell, or not tell? After all, the last time she spoke to her father about her fears was the night before he disappeared. That was the last time they held hands.

What was that fear again? What had she told him? Levinia stared still at the offered hand, long fingers, knuckles somehow graceful, skin tanned by the Mediterranean sun. That same hand had given her a spoon of honey to soothe her, when she woke up screaming that night.

It was a nightmare.

Just a nightmare.

Wasn’t it?

A nightmare, of a thick black sea crashing forth from beyond an infinite horizon. Dark water coiled up her ankles and seized her wrists and throat and pitched her into the brine. The shadows flooded her nose and darkened her vision, whispered yet screamed, sang yet cried. She flailed and kicked for the surface, but the choking darkness dragged her lower and lower. Something—someone—grabbed her by the root of her soul, and she stilled, paralyzed. Ever deeper she sank, ever aware of the unending depth; she was returning somewhere, a place neither Mother or Father, a place from which her soul shrieked for escape.

She told Father this nightmare after crying against Mother.

Father left the very next morning.

“If you were listening at all after that,” Levinia finally responded, “I didn’t want to give you a reason to truly abandon me.” She laid her fingertips against her father’s. Like hers, and like she remembered, they were soft, maybe a little dry from tending the grapevines. And as she’d done so often as a child at the dinner table, she tapped her fingers against his, lightly, to escape Mother’s rebuke though she laughed eventually.

“It was never my intention—I didn’t mean to—no.” He curled their fingers together and gently gripped Levinia’s hand. “None of that matters.

“I’m sorry, Levinia.”

The apology hung thick, slowly permeating. Tears beaded in Levinia’s vision.

“I’m sorry, for leaving you so alone, so suddenly. I’m so sorry.”

She laid a hand over her eyes and turned her face askance. Biting her lip, she shook her head and swallowed in choking shudders. Miss Levinia, always stoic, never shed tears, not even for friends or close associates. Not even, she hoped, for her father.

Yet he, in silence, tightly held her hand.

“Levinia,” he then started. “As a child, you so desperately wanted to see your lord grandfather. I denied you that, but, do you remember how you tried to persuade me? The one thing you tried?”

Levinia, afraid of a habitual snap coming out instead of a question, sucked in another breath.

The one thing she tried?

The words came out before her foggy memory cleared. “I stole one of the wine amphoras,” she said. “A heavy thing of some special brew you made with Mother.” Lifting her hand, she narrowed her eyes and cocked her head, her memory’s eye following the movements of that little girl. “I… I drank some of it. And I fell asleep.”

Daeon nodded. “Then you had your nightmare. But, hear me, Levinia. It wasn’t just a nightmare.” He took her hand in both of his. “Your divinity shone when you told us about it. That wine opened your vision—your power. You had a vision with far more clarity than even some of Apollo’s oracles.”

“Talk about a stretch of the imagination.” Levinia sniffled. Still turned aside, she drew back and crossed her arms. “I’ve had no prophetic visions since then.”

“Have you had a wine blessed by your father since then?”

Her father’s smugness instilled Levinia with further disbelief. “You’re not a god associated with prophecy.”

“So let’s call it an epiphany. That you call this winery ‘The Oracle’—fate has good taste.”

Levinia wrinkled her nose. Still, the man had a right to believe whatever he pleased, so long as he provided the information she wanted. She crossed her arms. “Epiphany it is. So what did I see?”

In the ensuing silence, Daeon’s features fell again. He folded his hands together. “You’ll believe me, then?”

“I won’t guarantee it.”

“That’s fair,” he snorted. “Your unquestioning faith is certainly far more than I can ask for.” He took a deep breath. Then, despite the uncertain furrow of his brow, he began. “We took some time to decode your epiphany. We still have some disagreement about the details, but overall, we think you saw the seas of Chaos.”

That shapeless, tumultuous beginning of all? Levinia raised her brow. “What about it?”

“Them,” Daeon corrected. “They’re an entity, as well as a place. Considering what happened to you in that dream, there’s reason to believe They’re rising.”

“You’re insinuating that Chaos—which just is, and once abdicated Their supremacy—has adopted purpose and direction?”

Daeon chuckled. “And there’s the disbelief. But you’ve noticed the shift in this world, haven’t you? Humanity is slowly sliding this realm back into Chaos, as though to meet Them halfway.”

“Humans have always been a chaotic species. It’s their fate.”

“So you believe the Moirai designed the arrival of their siblings? The children of Nyx?”

“You say it like they’ve never been around.”

“Certainly, they’ve always had their governance over humanity—in dreams, in sleep, in death—but have they always been here, among the mortals? They’re becoming more and more deliberate in their duties, and the humans resist those machinations. You know what defiance of destiny invites.”

Defiance of destiny is the rejection of the gods’ order, and thus, a ticket for Chaos to emerge. The ichor hunters of Levinia’s youth demonstrated as much in their desperate resistance against death, and her network had reported even more: retribution stirring within and between countries, mass, fatal siren calls of both needles and firearms, older generations passing ill will rather than wisdom to the young. “So it was all one cohesive pattern,” Levinia muttered. “They’re goading humans to reject order.”

“Thus allowing the primordial gods even greater reign across the mortal realm. Their efforts will cloud humanity with the mists of Erebus, and so ready this world for Nyx’s sovereignty.” Daeon’s voice fell. “Once Nyx veils all in primordial night and refuses return to Tartarus, Chaos will surge forth to reclaim what They bore.”

“Unbelievable,” Levinia snorted, shaking her spinning head. “You inferred all of this from a drunken nightmare I had as a child, and you’re only now coming with a full analysis of it?”

“We had to be sure we correctly understood this particular thread of fate. Our preparations needed to be perfect.”

“And leaving lovers and demigod children behind in the meantime?”

Here, Daeon met Levinia’s eye. Guilt, and at the same time, conviction, reflected in his expression. “That was never my intention. We all had our parts to play in this matter, what with closing the gates of Olympus…”

Levinia blinked, eyes bugging out. “Come again?” she scoffed. “Zeus would have you and his family abandon this realm?”

“I’m sure,” Daeon interjected, “I’m certain, he made the decision with a heavy heart—humans have always fascinated him! Yet I hear the scale of this conflict won’t compare to the war against the Titans, or so Poseidon assures.”

Levinia pressed her fingers against her temples, her scrambled disbelief pounding a headache. Slowly, she parsed her thoughts.

One, her father sat before her at her bar. He wanted to take her home, to his home of Olympus.

Two, the children of Nyx, even Nyx herself, worked to set the humans against themselves. To invite Chaos back. And Levinia had had a dream prophesying this some long, ancient time ago.

And, according to Levinia’s up-til-then absent father, her assuredly dead mother had somehow missed the road signs and ferry to the Underworld. She never took her rightful place among the dead.

“Whew…” She lowered her hands and laid them flat on the polished bar top. Refocus, she told herself. What’s here? What’s now?

Herself, first of all. Her father and his unannounced visit. The wine between them, Mother’s “Prayer”—Ah, Levinia, I am so sorry. I’m nobody more than a winemaker’s daughter and yet I find myself wishing—though Levinia would not tell Dionysus this name.

And then The Oracle. She’d been here so long, along with others too. Others that mattered. “What about the other kids like me? You’ve all abandoned us for so long—now you have a plan?”

“We’re in disagreement there as well.” Daeon met Levinia’s sharp, accusatory glare and hurriedly added, “I will grant you protection, of course, but some would rather maintain Olympus as hallowed ground, and prepare those children for war instead. A crusade, they say, to restore order.”

Did you hear, Levinia? Your father finally has his throne among the Olympians! Apparently, bringing his mother back from Hades was the final test of his divinity. And now she’s ascended as a deity on Olympus too!

I… I wonder, if that honor could ever be extended to me?

Soft orange flares glowed in the crystal of Levinia’s neatly lined glasses. She asked, quietly, “Would you have protected Mother, were she still alive?”

“That’s why I made my way to the Underworld again.” Daeon murmured, as if their whispers could somehow reach the shade in question. “Hades was cross with me, but I had every intention of bringing Lyridice back. Only, she wasn’t in Elysium.”

Semele was beautiful—is beautiful. You see, beauty makes the difference between two mortal women. Look at me. I’ve always been cross. I’ve never been beautiful. I’ve this ugly red mark on my face that I wrapped and hid every day, yet your lord father unveiled me. Looked upon me. Embraced me and called me beautiful. I told him he’ll someday wake up from those delusions.

But now, without him? I miss him, Levinia. I miss him more every day.

I tell myself he’ll come home. Do you think the gods will forgive my vanity?

“She would have waited. You’re right about that, at least.” She waved aside Daeon’s touched, tearful look. “At least I’m still here. You’d have me head for Olympus as a refugee, then?”

Noting her father’s affirming nod, Levinia regarded the quiet winery. For sanctuary within Olympus, she’d have to give this place up. Whether this “rising” of Chaos happened tonight or within the next five hundred years, Olympus would supposedly protect her. Her father was luckily one of the kinder Olympians who reveled in celebration more than sacrifice.

But the more pragmatic gods meant to outfit their demigod children for war. With war came carnage, meaning those abandoned kids would inevitably be the first casualties. The thought soured in the back of Levinia’s throat. “Can’t you extend your protection to the rest of our kind?”

Daeon folded his shaking hands together. “It’s my word against those of older siblings and my father. Some have no kindness or wisdom, but I will continue asking them to reconsider. Demigods or not, our children shouldn’t have to suffer their parents’ whims.”

Levinia snorted. “You could say that twice and a few times more.”

“Please, Levinia.”

“I don’t think so, Father. I’m not as bitter now, but I still have a right to my anger. Rage is also part of your domain, after all.”

She smirked at her father’s exasperation, yet Levinia’s thoughts wandered again. Less fortunate kids had no divine or living parent to speak of or with. Those lost children floated about and survived, until rumor clued them into a haven nestled in the heart of some far-flung wine country. Half-disbelieving, they stumbled on, following the word of equally mistrustful kids until they fell upon the doorstep of The Oracle. Levinia gave them food, drink, a bed, a bath, no questions, and only one rule: no trouble. After a few silent days, they usually asked about their almighty parents, because surely Miss Levinia and her network would have answers, but she always gave her sobering response of, “No one knows.”

Now she knew—Chaos is coming and the gates of Olympus are closing—but then what? Absent parents never had sudden changes of heart. Even Dionysus needed a reason. So how would an answer change any of the demigods’ circumstances? If Levinia left The Oracle, where would those kids go next?

‘They’re resourceful,’ she told herself. ‘They know how to get by.’ Yet a sense of proud duty answered, that without Miss Levinia, who knew the ways of the divine children because she was one too, the kids had nowhere else to go. After all, she maintained the store’s front not only for her devotion to winemaking.

She tapped the bar top. “You’ll be returning to Olympus,” Levinia finally answered, “without me.”

“Without—wait—without?”

Levinia smiled despite the pang against her chest. “Ah, Father. Think of it like this: if I could get you to choose me over your other children, would you stay with me here among the mortals?” She noted Daeon’s alarmed, ponderous expression and waved her remark aside. “You see? Much as I would hate and appreciate my lord father’s company, either I would have to abandon this place, or you would have to stay with me in this possible war-zone.” Levinia took a dry cloth from a cabinet, wet and wrung it, and began wiping down her bar top. “I don’t think we can compromise either of our positions.”

Understanding visibly dawned in Daeon’s expression. He said nothing for a long while, only picking up his empty glass to let Levinia wipe. Then, “Tell me, Levinia,” he started, “about this place. You never spoke much about it through the grapevine.”

“Professional necessity,” Levinia replied. “I said nothing about this operation in case someone up there didn’t like the idea of a bunch of demigod children gathering in one place.”

“How long have you been doing this?”

“Since I realized humans believe immortality’s worth bleeding a kid dry.” She snickered at Daeon’s flinch. “I’ve had a lot of help, since I’m moving shop all around. This place is only a couple centuries old.”

“Why reveal this place to mortals as a winery?”

Levinia shrugged. “Tending to and establishing this network takes money, you know. I make good wine, and some of the kids want jobs. So I help them by keeping this place in operation throughout the day.

“Kids are smart, see. They rotate their own roster and keep me a secret. The humans believe the original owner’s long dead.”

Daeon, tracing the rim of his glass, finally smiled. “A compelling ruse. You truly do make a fantastic protection goddess.”

“Don’t joke like that,” said Levinia. “It’s just volunteer work. I only started this because I needed a place like this as a child. Figured there were others too.” She eyed her father’s glass, its bottom caked with the last drying drops of Lyridice’s “Prayer.” Then squaring her shoulders and straightening her waistcoat, Levinia folded her hands behind her back. “Well then. You have your answer, and assuming you’re telling the truth, I shouldn’t keep you. Thank you, Father, for finding me.”

To which Daeon regarded with a somber shake of his head, before he broke into a chuckle. “I see you’ve inherited that terrible habit of hers,” he said.

“Habit?”

“That dismissive tone. Lyridice was always cross, even as a young woman. I believed I could persuade her to soften her edges, but I never succeeded.” He snickered, low and fond. “I couldn’t. She was bright. Hardworking. Sensible and fearless. She eventually revealed her vulnerability to me, but I always found her snap quite charming.”

“And I’m her daughter,” Levinia snorted. “Notice, that while you confused me and pissed me off, you never persuaded me.”

“I stopped you from throwing me out.”

“Save your breath. That wasn’t your persuasion.”

“So you say, but I believe I can yet convince you to come with me.”

Levinia narrowed her eyes. “If you’re telling the truth, your father’s gates will close before you convince me to do anything, much less rely on your protection.”

“Is that a challenge? I do intend on returning to enjoy Lyridice’s masterpiece a few times more.”

“Then take the entire jug. I’m sure she’d like that.”

“Do you think it’ll lead us to her?” Eager hope made him breathless, as he leaned forward on the bar top. “She asked you to preserve this wine for a reason, something more than simply my blessing.”

Levinia raised a brow. “You’re overthinking it. She left no records or recipes, and told me nothing. So I doubt you’ll glean anything from this brew, let alone where she could be other than avoiding you in Elysium.”

“She was never a woman to back out of her promises.” Hands folded, Daeon stared, pensive, at the glass before him. “Zeus will leave the gates open to the very last minute. I’ll find Lyridice by then.”

Levinia, still wordlessly impressed by her father’s faith, shook her head.

Then a wind stirred outside, heralding the arrival of another visitor. Two, in fact, by the sounds of familiar motorcycle purrs and deep, soul-curdling barking. Levinia eyed the glass panes of her doors and watched as the twins’ silhouettes approached The Oracle. Sensing drawn blades should they recognize an Olympian at their favorite haunt, Levinia cleared her throat. “Consider yourself taken with a grain of salt,” she said, “but I’ll see what I can find on my end.”

The statement had her father beaming. “A grain is better than none,” he said. “Know that I’m proud of you, Levinia.”

She averted her eyes from Daeon’s smile as the flare of her own ears choked her smartest responses and left her grumbling, “Now I do.” While she snorted against the embarrassed tangle in her chest, her gaze darted across the tasting room. Setting her eyes back on her father then, she knew, spelled trouble for the still-restrained tears prickling across her face. “And, uh, if you could kindly see yourself out soon? You’ll—you’ll send the brats running for the hills.”

Daeon turned toward the doors, where the twins peered through the glass. “Well, that wouldn’t do,” he said, softening his voice. The doors swung open, revealing the twins already in their ready stances, hands clenched over the handles of their weapons. “I’ve truly overstayed my welcome, then?”

The brother’s black steel sword and the sister’s ebonywood flute shone orange under The Oracle’s amber lights. Lips pursed, Levinia eyed her returning customers and shook her head. “Truly,” she replied, flinching at her own cold civility. “Go on. Get out.”

Yet Daeon kept his steady grin. He rose from his seat and buried his hands in his pockets. “I hope you’ll allow me to come back, then.”

Heart leaping up her chest, and with little trace of her old bitterness, Miss Levinia returned Lord Dionysus’s radiant grin, albeit with a huff. “’Tis a promise,” she said, “and I’m personally holding you to that this time. Don’t come ‘til the store’s empty, you hear?”

“Loud and clear, my dear. Loud and clear.”

He lifted his hand in farewell, and bowing his head, passed the tensed twins on his way to the door. The door closed behind him, and like fading smoke, Father disappeared into the night. Levinia released her held breath in a deep exhale.

The twins, sheathing their weapons, slid into their stools. They leaned over the bar top, brows furrowed, eyes narrowed and shoulders tensed. Who was that man in that hideous purple hood? Did he seriously have leopard print down the sleeves and sides? That hoodie alone’s enough for an assassination request, Miss Levinia, and—friendly reminder—the twins had cleared their schedule for the evening. She knew, right, that if she ever were in trouble, she could ask them, and they’d do whatever necessary to return their favors. And their tab.

Levinia nodded, blankly rinsing her father’s glass. A part of her cursed the twins for their prickly mistrust. Another part applauded herself for avoiding an altercation between god and demigod. As she drew her sleeve across her wet eyes, she dimly registered another part of herself fading—the rage that once flared in the back of her throat, up into her head, and all through her body for centuries untold. And as she dried her father’s glass and set it next to the amphora in her sealed cabinet, a newly assured part steeled her new gamble: Mother’s prayer would again bring Father back home.

Now her business began. “You two—you’re alright,” Miss Levinia remarked, beckoning her customers to calm down. She wore her customary smile again, improved, she realized, from the new stretch of her lips and the crease of her eyes and cheeks. “I just got hold of new information for you and the other brats. New job too, personal this time.”

She set two glasses before the twins and retrieved a new bottle from the wall behind her. “I need you to find a missing shade in the Underworld. And relax; this round’s on me.

“We’re celebrating tonight.”

[strangewhitegirl321]

Pay No Mind (12th)

{Not my gif}

Words: 4315

Originally posted to my Wattpad account.

   The car bumped and jostled (Y/n) about, causing her to groan and shove the suitcase that stabbed her in the ribs down the seat. Her favourite quilt wrapped around her legs suddenly turned into a tedious task as she began unwinding it from her legs, glancing to her parents' GPS and realising they were almost to their destination.

   The building was humongous, and she had been able to see it for the last thirty minutes as they drove. At first it had simply peaked over the horizon, and was excitedly pointed out by (Y/n)'s mother.

   The building was almost like a child's building blocks made out of a shiny blue glass. The lower level stood on stilts and was larger than the rest, and a giant stairway leading up to the open doors of the hotel seemed to sprout from the bottom of the building. Sleek, white metal bordered the windows that seemed to resemble portals to another world from the outside were clear in view. The second story was also on stilts, held up high above the first and you could spy at least three glass elevators constantly travelling up and down to no end.

   The top level was the tallest, it had a flat roof and stretched high enough to be out of the way for the palm trees growing on the second level's balcony. (Y/n)'s eyes wandered once again down to the second level, taking in the different, private wave pools that somehow never managed to splash over the edge of the building.

  (Y/n) snapped back into reality just as her father pulled into the parking lot, heading straight for the VIP section as he hollered excitedly about practically being a celebrity. Just as they passed through security from the stuffed parking lot into the almost empty section for VIPs she spied a peculiar box out of place next to the modern, expensive building. Before she could clearly observe anything other than its fine wood and lovely blue colour, they turned a corner and parked just out of view.

   Almost immediately, the family was met with three employees who quickly got to work helping unpack and carry luggage up to the hotel. Everything seemed to happen in a blur, and poor (Y/n) barely noticed when her Aunt and Uncle, the owners of the expensive establishment, came to greet them. Hugs and greetings flew through the air, and other customers gawked at the family hugging the rich owners as they passed.

   "So, how are you doing?" Aunt Stella asked after giving a tight (and frankly uncomfortable) hug to (Y/n). The girl shuffled on her feet, frowning as she thought of an answer.

   "Stiff," She finally replied, rolling her neck and cringing as it popped. Aunt Stella let out a loud, obnoxious laugh and grinned.

   "Well, I guess we should get going then," She turned towards her husband, Uncle Louis, who grinned and nodded.

   "We have a big tour to get over with before we can sit down and eat," He explained, taking a bag from (Y/n)'s father and turning around as he marched away. For a moment, (Y/n) thought they would be heading for the large, circular elevators already jam packed with people, but they veered off course and headed for a more private looking corner of the building.

   Deciding not to worry about it until later, (Y/n) took in the inside of the first level. Looking around, it was themed off of a jungle. She was able to glance into different rooms based on the glass walls, and notice that each room looked a little different.

   Upon noticing her curious gaze, Uncle Louis began to explain: "Each level has a different theme: The first is the rainforests of the world; second is the beaches of the Earth; and the third the great forests of big ol' Blue. That's part of the main attraction of our hotel. However, even more interestingly, each hotel room isn't quite a room itself. Instead, we designed it to be more of a house. We frequently get people who come and will stay for months at a time, some people even jump from level to level to experiment. And, each "room" is themed off of a different area of Earth."

   He stopped to point into a room where a family of six seemed to be playing Wii inside a room that was strange in the fact that it had kangaroos hidden in the painted and real brush growing on the walls, "That one is themed off the wild jungles of Papua New Guinea."

   Gesturing to another room, all of them with trees seeming to grow up the sides and different types of waterfalls attached to the walls seemed to glimmer in their own magnificent fashion, "That one is the Ancient Waipoua forest in New Zealand."

   Uncle Louis continued to point out different rooms, naming them in order, "The Amazon. That's the most popular, obviously. Cloud Forest of Peru; the Jungles of Borneo; the Jungles of Kipling in India. All very different, very interesting. Certain rooms, such as the Amazon and Borneo rooms, customers have to sign contracts to stay in because there are living animals in the room. We have caretakers hired, and a customer has to allow a caretaker to enter the room and give the animal its daily needs at least once a day. Children love the toucan, Huracan. He's a real laugh."

   Finally, they continued on to a private elevator for VIPS. (Y/n) about slapped herself. She honestly should have guessed.

   On the way up, they stopped at the second floor. The employees who seemed to trudge along behind the family like shadows were released upon being instructed to continue and drop off the luggage at the required room. They immediately zipped off, not wasting anytime.

   "How do you get them to-" (Y/n)'s father hesitated, waiting till he could figure the correct way to phrase his question. "How do you get such great service from your employees?"

   With a laugh, Aunt Stella was quick to answer, "Oh, well this is a high paying job. And, we try and make it as comfortable a job as possible. Loyal employees are the best employees. You can't expect people to stay devoted to their job if their job is horrible."

   (Y/n) immediately nodded, agreeing with the policy, "Sounds like a good deal to me."

   "Well, I would hope so," Aunt Stella chuckled. She reached up and fixed her hair, before turning around and taking the lead of the group.

   Unfortunately, Uncle Louis hadn't thought to hand off his bag to an employee, and because he tends to talk with his hands he kept quiet and allowed his wife to show off her favourite floor.

   "The beach level!" She exclaimed with joy. "Just breathe it in!"

   (Y/n) cringed as her whole family took a deep breath in through their noses, rolling her eyes at their actions.

   "It smells salty! Like an actual ocean is near!" Her mother beamed. Suddenly, she waltzed away from the group, stopping to admire a flower bed accompanied with a hibiscus tree behind it. Paintings of crabs; sea birds; pirate ships; and mermaids lined the clean and crisp white walls, and against the largest wall stood three aquariums.

   The middle, the largest immediately drew (Y/n) to it. It was large enough to house a little shark, which her uncle pointed out was a bamboo shark dubbed Stitch. There were also millions of other fish, including a small school of blue tangs. (Y/n) didn't need any sort of explanation to know at least one of them was named Dory.

   The other two, were large and round. Jellyfish bounced around the tank, lights changing colour to keep the decoration-vacant tank interesting for those who viewed it. It was beautiful, in (Y/n)'s eyes.

   "Every Wednesday and Saturday, we get a mermaid performer into the large tank," Uncle Louis told (Y/n). He glanced back to his wife, who was excitedly chattering with (Y/n)'s mother about all the different species of tropical flowers in the room. The two women darted around, looking at all the different types. Each time they stumbled upon a new one, an excited squeal left their lips.

   Suddenly realising her father was nowhere to be seen, (Y/n) turned on her heel to search for him. She spotted him talking to an older man who seemed to almost permanently frown. He carried a mop with him, but no bucket or tray to accompany the object.

   "Dad?" (Y/n) asked as she approached the two men. The custodian's eyes caught her attention, they seemed level and firm as they scanned her up and down.

   "This is your daughter, I assume," He stated, offering (Y/n) his hand. She slowly reached forward and shook it hesitantly, glancing at her father. He seemed unconcerned, and continued to carry out his conversation with the man.

   "So, what were you saying about the wave pools?" He inquired, eyes never leaving the water that splashed back and forth in the back of the hotel room he looked into. Once (Y/n)'s eyes landed on them, she could truly see why her father became so curious. The waves seemed so natural, it was unlike anything she had seen.

   "Ah, yes," The man began. "I was saying how they were obviously built by the same company who designed the wave pool located in central California, the Kelly Slater Wave Company. Also obviously, the company was made by Kelly Slater, a world champion surfer. But it was also a collaboration between him and the fluid mechanics specialist Adam Fincham. It's truly impressive. Once it opens, you should at least see it. It won't be beautiful for long-"

   Quickly, (Y/n) cut him off at his strange words, "What? Why? Have you seen it?" His brows raised, and he glanced at her curiously.

   "Yes. And, you humans always have the ability to quickly trash anything beautiful. It's remarkable, really," He stated, earning a scoff from the girl.

   With a roll of her eyes, she muttered, "Yeah, alright. What are you then, a merman?"

   "Oh! No, no, no!" The man replied. "Definitely not a merman."

   Suddenly, he turned away from her to continue watching the pool and he began to explain the mechanics and history, "Based on this year, 2018, wave pools have been around for over fifty years. However, it's easy to calculate how to predictably model a wave a few centimetres tall. All it takes is a few linear equations, and you've got yourself a nice small wave. In the natural oceans, however, the three creating factors are the sun, moon, and Earth itself. The moon is the strongest, however. It exerts about 2.2 times more power than the sun does. The water, being a liquid, is literally pulled up towards the moon. Probably why clothes aren't liquid. That would be a bit horrific. But this-"

   He gestured to the wave at least a metre tall that came crashing down on the artificial sand of the room, "-takes a lot more than that. There are several other factors, from turbulence to oscillations of the entire body of water- which is called seiching. Very interesting topic if you ever want to write a paper to impress your elementary school teacher."

   The man ignored her protest, as well as the chuckle of her father and continued on, "But the first model was gigantic. Seven hundred metres long and one hundred fifty metres wide. So, the fact that they were able to reduce that and make it around 8.75 metres long by 7.5 metres wide is remarkable. They also brilliantly covered the hydrofoil used to actually create the waves, I can't tell where they've hidden it- the left or the right side. I'd be impressed, but I'm mostly suspicious."

   "Suspicious?" (Y/n) tried to stop him to get an answer, but once again he simply continued on.

   "I can however see the gutter off to the right side used to prevent seiching like a damper. It also is what's limiting the bounce-back from the pool walls. So, this makes it seem possible to me that the hydrofoil is on the left side. And then the bottom of the pool- the artificial reefs are what changes the shape of the wave. However, no matter what these waves resemble more of neap tides normally found during quarter moons. Actually, no- they seem more like small tidal waves, don't they? Like a teeny tiny earthquake is occurring beneath the floor." The man suddenly stopped himself, groaning as he reached up and rubbed his brows.

   "Giving yourself a headache there, mate?" (Y/n)'s father asked. The girl however reached forward, patting the man on the shoulder as if to comfort him. At first, he jumped at her touch but calmed once he realised it was a harmless act.

   Just as she was about to speak, the sound of Uncle Louis calling drew both her and her father away, "Hey! Should we get on to your room, now?"

   With a huff, (Y/n) turned to give her uncle a glare before turning back to the man, "I thought it was interesting." She said, before darting off in the direction of her family who were forming a group again.

   The man stared after her curiously, before giving a small nod to the world and turning on his heel, marching down the hall with new passion.

   Upon reaching the third floor, (Y/n)'s face was struck with the fresh scent of the outdoors when walking out the elevator.

   "Wow," She breathed. "It even feels like we're in a real forest." Beneath her feet, she noticed grass and squatted down, picking and playing with it.

   "Ah, the grass is artificial, but the trees standing in the middle of each room and in the hallways are real and living. The rest along the walls and lining the ceiling are fake-ish, however. They were real, were alive. But, you could refer to them as taxidermy trees," Uncle Louis explained. The tall man reached up to brush the leaves hanging from the ceiling, a victorious grin painted on his face.

   "You did a simply spectacular job with this place," His sister, (Y/n)'s mother, complimented. Not-so-humbly, he accepted the praise.

   Small talk began to fill the room, and finding it dull (Y/n) wandered off through the room. She admired the deer painted hiding between the trees, and the circling vultures painted on a sunny day between the tree limbs on the ceiling.

   For a moment, jealousy filled her. She found herself wishing she had invented the hotel, made something so wonderful and creative that everyone wished to see it. With a sigh, she walked around a corner and spotted the balcony. A small running stream swept through it, stones she realised were glued in place lining it. Quickly, she glanced around and took off her shoes before stepping in. The water was cool, but something unnatural caused her to jump out.

   Her feet were dyed a light shade of blue, and they prickled as if they had fallen asleep. Brows furrowed, she reached down to massage them before glancing off to the edge of the "yard." Sighing as she spotted a sign requesting visitors keep out of the water, she quickly slipped her shoes back on.

   Soon after, (Y/n) went to track down her family. She discovered them just as they seated themselves around a feast. The amount of the food on the table caused her feet to falter as she scanned it all. A roasted turkey; lobster; jello; ambrosia salad; sushi; and all sorts of foods set perfectly on the table.

   "There she is!" (Y/n)'s mother cried excitedly. "We were going to begin without you!"

   With a frown, (Y/n) replied, "You definitely can. I'm not hungry."

   "Why not?" Aunt Stella seemed to pounce. Her gaze was suddenly sharp and suspicious, and her expression could only be described as offence. The quick question caused both of (Y/n)'s parents to glance worriedly at the woman, whose eyes were glued to the young girl before her.

   "Relax," (Y/n) began. "I snacked a little too hard on the way here. I'll definitely be hungry enough for breakfast in the morning."

   Slowly, Aunt Stella seemed to physically relax. However, her eyes narrowed and she tilted her head in question.

   "Are you sure?" Her face suddenly burst into a grin, and (Y/n) rolled her eyes.

   "Yes, Aunt Stella," She answered with ease. Then, without a second to waste she began to wander off through the hotel room.

   Just as she was about to turn a corner, she heard her father yell, "(Y/n)! Your room is down the hall, very end on the right!" Hollering that she got what he said, she changed course towards her room.

   Sauntering down the hall, she watched the ceiling as the blue of the painted sky began to shift to hues of orange and pink, purple and then to a midnight blue. A sunset seemed to take place down the course of the hall, and the birds in the trees were replaced with a single owl with piercing eyes.

   For a moment, (Y/n) stopped to try and recognise the species. It took her a moment, but she quickly realised it was just an awkwardly painted barn owl.

   Finally she reached her room and with no hesitation busted in with a sigh. Closing the door behind her, she observed the room. Instead of the blue sky or the sunset in the hallway, the room was painted like the night. Except, it wasn't a regular night with regular stars. Instead a nebula swirling with colour took its place. The picture seemed to reach out and grasp at the air, and the different coloured stars almost twinkled between the fake tree branches as (Y/n) turned her head.

   The bed was a queen, the headboard resting against a glass wall that overlooked the city outside. It was strange to see the fake forestry suddenly open up to the buzzing city below and around the hotel.

   Throwing herself onto the bed, it bounced up and down. Grabbing one of the pillows, (Y/n) dragged it over to herself and shoved her face into it. It was so nice and soft, and just the thought of waking up to grass between her toes and no possibility of bugs joining it excited her.

   "Oh," She gasped as she spotted a strange lamp in a niche to her left. Two large taxidermy trees seemed to frame the opening, and (Y/n) hopped off the bed to get a closer look.

   The lamp looked like the solar system. The sun was smack in the middle, glowing and giving (Y/n) a nice warm feeling. Then the planets were suspended in the air around it, each on the correct placement and orbit.

   Reaching forward, (Y/n) pressed a button that shut off the light of the lamp. Immediately, she switched it back on. A second button caught her attention, and without a second thought she smacked it and hoped the planets around the sun would begin to rotate.

   However, they only seemed to shift before getting caught, and an estranged buzzing filled the room. Disappointed, (Y/n) flicked it off.

   "That sucks," She muttered to herself. "Where's a phone..."

   Planning to call the front desk and ask for a repairman, she turned in a slow circle trying to spot the item needed. Not finding one, she frowned before digging out her own phone.

   (Y/n) spent the rest of the evening trying to avoid asking anyone for help as she attempted to track down the office phone number. She groaned and mumbled curses under her breath as she searched the whole of the hotel room. Not a single phone, or phone number, in sight.

   "(Y/n), dear?" A voice startled her. Jumping and turning around, she stumbled and just barely caught herself as she tripped and nearly fell.

   "Yes?" She inquired, meeting eyes with her Aunt Stella. Once again, the woman was looking suspicious of everything (Y/n) was doing.

   Offering a cursory smile, her Aunt asked, "May I ask what you're doing?"

   With a slight shrug of her shoulders, (Y/n) replied, "I was looking to call the front office. The lamp in my room is broken, I really wanted to see it work."

   Nodding slowly, her Aunt began to herd her back to her room, "It's getting late. I'll call someone in the morning, don't worry-"

   "Are you feeling okay?" (Y/n) suddenly asked, cutting her off.

   With a frustrated groan, Aunt Stella hissed, "Yes! I'm doing great, actually. Now please, just get to bed. Your parents have already retired for the night."

   "It's just-" (Y/n) began to insist. "You keep talking weird. Formal, and the like. I wouldn't even be able to tell you grew up in Texas, at this point."

   Pausing, Aunt Stella took a moment before she rolled her eyes, "Yes, well that is the point. I've been working on it for awhile now. Thank you for noticing."

   Without anything else being said between the two, (Y/n) allowed her to shove her into her room just as Uncle Louis walked out and gave her a cheesy smile.

   "I just dropped off your suitcase, you're all ready to go," He explained. "And, I presume you already discovered the bathroom's location?" (Y/n) nodded, and he clapped his hands together with glee. Then, he wrapped his arm around his wife's shoulders and lead her down the hall and out of sight.

   Shaking her head, (Y/n) retreated to her room and got ready to go to bed. Sleeping in the bed was comfortable, but something about the hotel seemed to be constantly jolting her mind awake. Every hour she was disappointed to wake up after a magnificent, yet short dream.

   Finally she refused to allow her mind to lull back into a false sense of security. Instead, she stayed wrapped up in her blankets and watched the city below her. The floor was so high up, she couldn't hear any of the obnoxious honks or sirens that usually laboured the city. It appeared so quiet, so peaceful and relaxed without all the noise.

   Checking her phone, (Y/n) groaned as she realised it was only midnight. At least seven hours to go before she could rightfully be up and wandering, lost in her thoughts.

   However, she found herself panicking at the sounds of voices hovering outside her door. She laid herself out in a comfortable sleeping position; buried her head in her pillow; opened her mouth slightly to make it seem even more like she was sleeping; and then shut her eyes and relaxed her whole body.

   Tuning in to the endings of the conversation, she recognised two masculine voices. One of her father, and one she had yet to pinpoint.

   With an angry groan, her father whispered, "Look, dude, it's the middle of the night. She's fast asleep, every hotel we've ever stayed in has always put her in some sort of trance."

   "Then, you'll realise that with my super quiet mechanical skills, and her "hotel-trance," that I won't wake her up," The other voice argued lowly.

   "No! That wasn't my point. Look, if you go in there and wake her up, anything that may or may not happen to your face is definitely your fault," (Y/n)'s father claimed.

   She could practically hear the man on the other side of the door roll his eyes, "Just let me fix the lamp. Seriously, it won't take long."

   A few seconds passed, and shuffling feet could be heard. Then the door slowly peeled open, and (Y/n) heard her father sigh as he glanced in.

   "Well, we haven't woken her yet," He seemed to decide quietly. "Fine. But you do anything to her, I'm right next door."

   "Yes yes, next door. Blah blah," The other man grumbled. His feet shuffled across the floor,  and (Y/n) could hear as he seemed to come right up beside the bed. Rustles and rattles, as well as a few bumps seemed to tell her that he must have picked up the lamp.

   A second sound followed, a weird whirring that seemed to be accompanied by a low, blue, pulsing light that still caused (Y/n) to hold back a flinch.

   She heard her father close the door, and listened to make sure he wasn't still in the room. Then, slowly, (Y/n) peeled open her eyes. Once she was sure the man, who she now recognised as the guy at the wave-pool, was facing away from her, she slowly shifted to where she could see him better.

   (Y/n) watched as he held a strange tool that seemed to be making the funny whirring sound. He held it up to the lamp he balanced on one arm, and moved it up and down both below and over it. She wanted to ask him so many questions towards what he was doing, but instead opted to stay quiet and watch.

   A second later, he put the tool in a pocket and flicked a button after placing it back in the niche it came from. The planets began to rotate calmly around the light. Even the sun changed, it seemed to glow brighter, even shimmer and pulse with warmth.

   A small grin grew on (Y/n)'s face, and she couldn't help it as she muttered, "I've always wanted to see the stars and planets up close."

   The man froze, slowly turning to her. A hint of amusement covered his face, and his eyes seemed to shine.

   "Now, how am I supposed to ignore that?" He squatted down beside the bed, so he was eye level with (Y/n) as she lie in the bed. Getting a good look at her eyes, he nodded in acceptance before standing.

   The man stuck out his hand, and she took it gratefully as he introduced himself, "I'm the Doctor."

   The girl graced him with a smile, and she replied, "And I'm (Y/n). Nice to meet you, Doctor." He never released her hand, but instead yanked her out of bed and dragged her out of the room and over to the balcony. Her eyes widened at the sight of a strange blue box, before the Doctor gave her a slight shove towards it. From there, he opened the door, stepped aside, and let her peak in.

   (Y/n)'s life was never quite the same.

[turtleduckie]

ahhhh I love your latest piece with rhaenys being crowned queen!!! the symbolism of jon and egg crowning her, the way each brother is wearing the clothing of their respective mother's homeland while rhaenys is dressed more targ, the three dragon heads on the sword, it's absolutely gorgeous. what are your other headcanons for this au?

Thank you! I just see so many posts having Aegon VI or Jon as the true king and I'm like listen LISTEN WHAT IF Rhaenys is the true heir to the Iron Throne?? As a woman and being Dornish, she would have to face such huge obstacles, not to mention inheriting a crumbling empire (thanks dad and granddad). Wouldn't that make for an interesting story?

Ok so headcanon time. Forgive me if I have to go as far back as the Battle of the Trident. This will give important context to Rhaenys' eventual rule.

--

With Rhaegar and Robert both dead at the Battle of the Trident, it would seem like the fate of the Seven Kingdoms was a toss-up and the Iron Throne was up for grabs to whoever could secure King's Landing first. Tywin still sends his armies to KL with every intention to seize power.

Anyway so the Lannister forces are at KL and here I'm following @poorshadowspaintedqueens headcanon on how the Sack was averted: Elia kills Pycelle before he whispers to Aerys to let Tywin in, so with only Varys advising him Aerys bars entry to the capital. (On a sidenote, check out her fic False Sorrow's Eye which details the aftermath of the Battle of the Trident with both Elia and Lyanna making it out alive.) Jaime still kills Aerys but the gates KL only opens when Ned Stark and what was left of Robert's army arrives. Elia and Jaime present Aerys' corpse as a sign of goodwill, and to add to that, discloses Lyanna's location. (Elia knows, or Varys knows, you decide.)

Lyanna is still alive! The battle with the remaining Kingsguard is averted because well technically the family they're serving is still alive and Rhaegar's baby boy, Aegon VI, is declared King and Elia as Queen Regent. Ned wants to take Lyanna and baby Jon back home to Winterfell but part of the deal with Elia was to bring Lyanna back to KL for a "conversation." Ned is obviously apprehensive but he can't risk starting yet another ruckus when everything is so fragile.

So Lyanna is brought to KL and Elia asks her point-blank if she wishes for her (Lyanna) son to be king. Lyanna, who is very tired of all the pain and suffering, says no, she just wants to go home with her son and her brother Ned back to Winterfell. Elia has made her swear it in front of an audience, and additionally, made her tell the true account of her "abduction." (That is, she willingly ran away with Rhaegar but regretted it soon after, especially after her father and Brandon's deaths).

So with Aerys' death and condemnation of his actions, Elia quashes the main reason for Robert's Rebellion. And with Lyanna's confession, she also assuages the Northern lords and those who have taken as another cause to rebel Rhaegar's abduction of Lyanna--because now it would make Lyanna an easy target for blame (no matter how unfair it is).

She also frees Jaime from his Kingsguard oath which mollifies Tywin somewhat as Jaime is now once again heir to Casterly Rock. But of course Tywin being Tywin he still has some things under his sleeve.

With the rebels temporarily pacified, Elia begins consolidating power. She courts the major Houses, makes amends when she can and when she can't, she uses force. Rebellions, though nothing as major as Robert's, crop up every so often but with Ser Arthur Dayne leading most charges, they are held at bay.

(Oh and if you're wondering about Rhaella, Viserys and Daenerys, they're all alive and well. No one's dying in childbirth in this story because fuck that. Viserys isn't as crazed because his mom's alive and they're relatively well-taken care of.)

Okay so flash forward to a few years. Egg is being groomed to be the next king and you can imagine how fun that is for a little boy who loves books and songs and dance. He shares his father's bookish nature but fortunately none of his melancholy. He instead inherits his mother's liveliness and sweet, gentle nature. So in one rather frustrating episode where he is feeling so very suffocated by all these demands and rules and responsibilities, he says he doesn't want to be king.

Which made Elia, Rhaenys (who was in the room learning alongside Egg), everybody freeze.

Elia talks with him later and Egg tearfully confesses that he really really really doesn't want to be king. Then he says, "Why can't Rhae be the Queen? She's so much smarter and she's good at learning and dealing with people. And isn't she supposed to be the next in line, since she's the eldest?"

And well, that made Elia think. She tells Egg to think about all this first and they'll talk again. In the meantime, he should go to his lessons and do as he's told.

When they revisit the topic a year later, Egg's decision is still the same and Rhaenys who had been quiet about this, finally spoke up. "If Egg doesn't want to be king, then I will be Queen." To which Egg nods in agreement.

Elia studies her daughter's eyes wondering about her motivations, if there is a latent desire for power that's pushing her. But all she could see was determination. She talks with her daughter and learns that Rhaenys is determined to be queen to make sure they survive. It surprises Elia a little to know that her daughter had been very attentive to everything going on around them, how their hold on the throne was precarious, how they were surrounded by enemies, how it would take a strong, decisive leader to help them through this alive and unscathed.

So with this discovery, she makes her decision. She makes preparations and plans things carefully. Egg publicly renounces his title, making Rhaenys the heir to the Iron Throne. This was, of course, met with outcry, with some saying this was the same conflict at the heart of the Dance of Dragons come again.

Elia stands by her children's decision though it had cost them some of the support they had fought so hard to earn. Rebellions started cropping up once again with more frequency.

As soon as she was old enough to wield a true sword, Rhaneys started going into battles. Her mother begged her not to and Egg cried. But Rhaenys is very steadfast and tells them, "My people won't love me if they don't see me fighting for them."

Seeing Rhaenys' grim determination and acknowledging that their hold on the Throne is tenuous at best, Elia reluctantly lets her go. But not before ordering the Kingsguard to protect her at all cost.

Rhaenys cuts an imposing figure in battle. She has inherited her father's martial prowess and she soon makes a name for herself. She goes to many more battles and though Elia and Egg's concern never abates, they can see the effect that Rhaenys fighting and winning has on people. It helps quell the unrest throughout the kingdom though it still simmers under the surface.

Rhaenys has a complicated relationship with her mother and her dead father. She loves Elia, no doubt that about that, and respects her for all that she has done to keep them all alive. In fact, the only two people she really cares about in the world are her mother and her brother. Which was why when she became of age, she sends her mother home back to Dorne. A huge part of it is because she can see how living in KL and battling every day to keep them all alive has worn Elia down. And it breaks Rhaenys' heart and she promised that she will take on the mantle from her mother so that she can rest.

But of course, the other reason is that Rhaenys wants to prove herself different from Elia. She knew that she was being constantly compared to her mother and not in a good way. She knows that the other people are wrong but knowing that doesn't change their opinion of her. And so, for better or for ill, she leans heavily on her Targaryen heritage to remind them all she is still a Targaryen though she may look like a Martell. She wears black and red and always with the Targaryen sigil displayed prominently.

Rhaenys knows of how her father humiliated her mother, first at the Tourney of Harrenhall and then when he ran off with Lyanna Stark just after her mother gave birth to Egg. She hates him for it, hates him for his weakness and how he never stood up to his father, but most of all, she hates him because he's dead and that she misses him still in spite of everything. She remembers how he carried her in his arms and how he would tell her tales of the dragons of old. She loved him, maybe she loves him still even as she hates him now.

On the eve of her coronation, in a rare moment of doubt, Rhaenys goes to her mother and tells her of her fears.

"I need to be ten times the man that father was," Rhaenys rests her head against her mother's chest, much like she did when she was younger.

"That's admittedly a low bar," Elia quipped with a faint smile. It drew an answering smile from her daughter and Elia held her tighter. "You are descended from Aegon the Conqueror, who subjugated the six kingdoms. But in your veins also flow the blood of Queen Nymeria the Unconquered, the one ruler that Aegon and his sisters couldn't make to bow, bend or break.

You are both the Conqueror and the Unconquered and you will be able to accomplish things greater than both of them. You are the blood of Old Valyria and of Mother Rhoyne."

Rhaenys looks up at her mother who then presses a kiss on her forehead. "You are Rhaenys, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."

[queenofcats17]

Could you do a prompt where Jane and the main studio cast, including Joey, go to a Disney park because "Fuck you, Joey."?

I’d rather not continue writing Jane. She’s your character and I’m just not confident I can accurately portray her. I’m not comfortable writing your stories for you. But I will write the cast going to Disneyland.

Credit to this post by @adobe-outdesign for my main idea.

Joey was not happy. He’d made this very clear the entire way over, making absolutely sure that everyone knew how unhappy he was with this whole situation. Henry sighed heavily. He, Joey, and Grant were in Henry’s car, on the way to Disneyland. Technically, the whole studio was headed there. Walt Disney had reached out to the company, inviting them to tour his recently opened park. He’d mentioned wanting to do a collaboration with Joey involving both their characters. The popularity of Joey Drew Studios had waned in recent years, but the studio Henry and Joey had started was still one of the giants of the animation industry.

Most of the employees were traveling together in other cars, all extremely excited to see the park. Grant, Joey, and Henry were riding together to talk logistics with Walt. They were going to tour the park themselves, of course, but business came first. Someone had to keep an eye on Joey too. Henry glanced back at his friend. Joey had stopped complaining for the moment, but he still seemed to be fuming. He was slumped down, arms folded, glaring out the car window.

“Once we get there, be on your best behavior,” Henry said. “It was very nice of Mr. Disney to give us free passes to the park.”

“Not to mention that he still wants to collaborate with you, even after your tactless display at the awards show last year,” Grant added, flipping through some papers.

“I’m honestly surprised he didn’t completely stop talking to us after that.” Henry groaned.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Joey grumbled.

“You called him a talentless hack who only got popular by mooching off Iwerk’s hard work.”

“Well, I wasn’t wrong, was I?”

Henry just sighed and shook his head. “You can’t just say things like that to people, Joey.”

“Not even if they’re true?”

Henry didn’t answer. Grant pursed his lips. It would be a miracle if Joey managed to get through this meeting with Disney without screwing it up. Normally, Joey could deal with people he didn’t like just fine. He’d put on a smile and pretend like he didn’t want to kill them, sliding in snide remarks whenever he could. Grant wasn’t sure why Walt Disney was any different. It seemed as though Joey couldn’t control himself around the other studio head.

They arrived at the park a few moments later. Most of the studio staff were already gathered at the gates, being greeted by Walt Disney himself. Joey’s eyes narrowed as he noticed the other man.

“Look at him.” He snarled. “Buttering up my workers.”

“Joey. Be nice.” Henry said. Joey grumbled quietly. They parked and Henry got Joey’s wheelchair out of the trunk, getting his friend in and wheeling him over to where Walt was.

“Ah! Mr. Drew, Mr. Stein!” Walt waved them over. “I’m so glad you decided to come.”

“Thank you again for this.” Henry walked over to shake Walt’s hand. “I really appreciate it.”

“No need to thank me.” Walt smiled. “It’s a pleasure to be working with you, Mr. Stein.”

“On that subject, I have some logistics I need to share with you.” Grant stepped forward, brandishing a manilla folder he’d prepared. Behind them, Joey was still glaring intently at Walt.

“So, uh, do you need us to stay with you, or…?” Sammy asked quietly. He was holding Susie’s hand, both of them glancing eagerly at the park gates. Behind them, Joey could see Allison and Thomas talking excitedly with Wally, Shawn, and Jack while Norman stood a few feet away with Lacie and Bertrum looking at a map. For a moment, Joey was surprised Bertrum had come along until he saw that the architect’s hand was entwined with Lacie’s. The other employees had apparently already gone in.

“Go on.” Joey slumped in his chair. In an instant, Sammy and Susie were gone, soon followed by all the others. Joey glowered after them. None of them had been nearly this excited for the opening of Bendyland. He turned his gaze back to Henry, Walt, and Grant. They seemed to be wrapping up whatever conversation they were having, saying something along the lines of continuing the talk later. Grant left with Walt, and Henry returned to Joey.

“Mr. Disney is going to take Grant to talk with his accountant.” He said. “So we have the run of the park for the time being.”

“I still don’t understand why we had to do this,” Joey grumbled as they entered the park. “We have work to do! Animations to finish!”

“Everyone needs a break,” Henry said. “We’ve all been working too hard. Besides, you need to get over your ego and play nice with Mr. Disney. I thought you cared about appearances.”

“I don’t like him.”

“Yes, I can tell. Everyone can tell.”

All around them, children and families were walking around. The children were pulling on their parents’ clothing, screaming and running about. Joey leaned back in his chair, his angry expression softening a little bit.

“Let’s just have fun, alright?” Henry suggested, going to buy a turkey leg from a vendor. “We don’t have any work to do today. We can just relax. Like we did in college. It’ll be great.”

“We’re not here to have fun,” Joey said. “We’re here to find out Disney’s secrets and then outdo him in the market.”

“Can’t you have fun for once?” Henry sighed, taking his place behind Joey’s wheelchair. Joey made an angry noise, biting off a bit of the turkey leg he’d been handed.

“It’s not as good as bacon soup.”

“Joey, shut up.”

To Joey’s absolute horror, he did end up having fun that day. Everyone had fun. It had been a while since any of them had had a break. It felt good to have fun for an afternoon. Even Grant managed to have a bit of time to himself. A few people saw him riding the teacups. He was smiling for once. At the end of the day, they all gathered at the gate.

“Alright, so, we all had fun.” Joey cleared his throat awkwardly. “But if anyone ever brings this up again, you will be summarily sacked. Understood?”

“Understood.” The employees echoed, smiling to themselves.

“Good.” Joey nodded. “Now, I’ll see you all at the studio on Monday.” The crowd dispersed, leaving Grant, Henry, and Joey alone.

“That went far better than I expected it to.” Grant allowed himself a small smile. “You didn’t even get removed from the park for making a scene.”

“Shut up Cohen,” Joey muttered.

“Let’s get you home.” Henry started pushing Joey back toward the car. “You can sleep at my house tonight. We can talk about the collaboration with Disney tomorrow. Alright?”

“Alright.”

Grant chuckled to himself before following after them. Maybe this was actually going to go well.

[labyrinthus-magici]

🔥!!!

Was looking at my muse list to think of something that stood out but since I couldn’t pick one I’ll just go w something that affects a lot of them but anyway like 

As an autistic person I personally thing the large majority of the magi/snb cast is autistic coded! The fandom as a whole (although it’s not just the magi fandom tbf it’s kind of all of them I’ve been in) ignores that a lot! 

I have seen autistic Judar before which is VALID but it’s really frustrating when Judar and Morgiana are the only two you see (and Mor as an afterthought) bc they’re the ones with the more “stereotypical” traits (i.e Judar being antisocial/struggling with empathy which is probably due to trauma and not even his autism considering that. studies show that it’s allistic people who lack empathy for autistic people usually and not the other way around but I digress!) and I’ve been told that other characters who are autistic coded can’t be bc they’re like idk??? competant lmfao??? I don’t get when allistic people say a character can’t be autistic bc im like lmao good to know you know every autistic experience and trait! Maybe you can educate me on my own disorder that you don’t have bc you clearly know so much about it that you couldn’t possibly be overlooking something! 

Anyway my muses that I intentionally play as autistic and some of their main traits are bellow the cut bc it’s lengthy (The others I’m probably going to accidentally autistic code bc I. am autistic and it affects my writing but ahiodfhg)

Morgiana: Mor is a pretty obvious one, although I do love her autistic coding! So like most of these characters but with Mor esp you have to keep in mind that she canonly has c-ptsd (post traumatic stress disorder but when it’s not a single traumatic event but living long term in a traumatic environment such as an abusive home or any other variation) so that affects how many of her autistic traits present themselves. I do think that she’s become very good at masking (i.e hiding autistic traits) due to them being punished and because of that she is exhausted because masking is very taxing. I think that she started to unlearn this considerably once she joined the caravan with Leila’s encouragement but it was subtle bc while she did become close with Leila and Sahsa she didn’t open up entirely. 

Once she gets to Sindria though and starts opening up I think that she’ll relax a lot because she can see others with the same traits who don’t have to hide them. Masrur especially points out that it’s important for her to stim and because she’s not the only one who deos this, everyone is understanding and accommodating at times when she’s non verbal/not able to speak.  

One thing that really stood out to me about Mor is her hyperempathy. Because she doesn’t talk much, it’s hard for some people to pick up on, but Morgiana often has strong feelings of empathy for others. At first this is something that she struggles with, because it’s something that others have taken advantage of and used to hurt her, and because she’s afraid of her emotions as a whole. Later though, she learns that this can be her strength. Morgiana’s most powerful moments (in my opinion) like when she rescued Nadja, when she confronts Alibaba about the consequences of what the fog troupe is doing, and many other instances, are very emotionally charged. She’s also the first to empathize with the pirates that Madaura has brainwashed, and is able to get the others to empathize with them too. 

Morgiana was my first favorite magi character (the reason I even got into magi in the first place tbh) bc it was so empowering to see someone with many of my traits in an empowering role of a hero because of those traits and not just with them as an afterthought! 

Masrur: I’m going to focus on snb just because that’s what I’m more familiar with as I haven’t read the parts of magi that Masrur is spotlighted in in a long time although honestly all of this stuff applies to Masrur later but it presents itself differently because whilst autistic people never grow out of their traits, just like anything in a person, it changes and becomes more nuanced as a person gets older and gets more experience. 

But Masrur is another autistic coded character! A lot of his traits can technically be explained away by canon/plot details however in this house we don’t  think that because there’s technically an argument against autistic headcanons that it’s at all valid so ANYWAY 

To start we have the way he sees himself as different from others, the way he goes to sit by himself because he feels like he can’t fit in with everyone, how he’s not like them, how he’s just a monster with a single purpose that’s already been fulfilled. Normally, I wouldn’t count this exactly as an autistic trait however Hinahoho is the one that comes to talk to him because he can relate to this experience which is autistic coded so! One thing that’s a common experience in autistic people is feeling quite literally inhuman, usually in the form of an alien, fairy, or fictional character (as it was in my case). This is becuase of the isolation that we normally face in childhood. For Masrur, he feels different from the others, like who he is isn’t someone that would be wanted and that’s something that I can relate to quite strongly. It’s not until he comes to the Sindria trading company, a place full of Neurodivergent coded characters (the ones that aren’t autistic coded are coded as other disorders as well such as ADHD and BPD among others I don’t think there’s actually one person  there who’s neurotypical considering that. The entire theme of the Sindria trading company is that they take in people who are outcasts and in need of help and usually those people tend to be ND.) that he comes to realize that he does belong and that he is valued. 

In addition to that we do see him stimming or doing stim like behaviors at times, he sometimes is talkative and others seems mostly or entirely non verbal, he tends to misunderstand social queues, struggles with subjects that he’s not interested in, etc. 

I think it’s super important to take into account Masrur’s autistic coding because Masrur gets to be HAPPY. Like, yes, he does experience a lot of traumatizing things, but by the end of Magi he still has his family, he’s happilly married and a good father. These are things that people think autistic people can’t have or don’t deserve, and we never get to experience this things in character’s that are canonly autistic. So for me seeing an autistic coded character with such a positive development was something really positive, it’s the same way for a lot of these characters, seeing so many autistic coded characters getting the development that the deserved was what drew me to magi inittially if I’m perfectly honest. I didn’t know it at the time bc I had no idea I was autistic until last year (coincidentally from autistic friends also from this fandom!) but it really was what drew me in. 

Hinahoho: Oh God where do I even START with autistic icon Hinahoho? I think, out of any snb characters Hinahoho is the most heavily autistic coded. Like there is literally no other explanation for his character I can think of whenever I see him I get so happy bc I’m like!!! Yes!!!! Autistic dad!!! I love him!!!  

His backstory first and foremost focuses on his separation from the rest of the people in his tribe because he has unconventional interests (art!!) and that he isn’t able to pass the test and become and adult at the proper time. To start, being a “late bloomer” in things (or alternatively doing things too soon in some cases) is a common autistic experience. A lot of us due to many reasons (mostly due to ableism and lack of accommodations) we aren’t able to do the things that our peers do at the same times like drive, attend college, or move out of the house etc. This isn’t a lack of competence just that we aren’t able to go about things in a way that we are able to thrive in, and this is exactly what Hinahoho’s development highlights! He never does pass the warrior’s test in the way that is most traditional, instead Sinbad (whose an Adhd ND icon if you ask me but I haven’t added him to my muse list yet so aidofhg more on him and the other adhd icons in this series later ahidofhg) mentions how there’s multiple ways to be strong, how he doesn’t have to do things the same way as everyone else to be worth something. 

There’s also the ableism that he faces from others in his tribe. In addition to judging him for not having become a warrior yet, he is bullied by others and treated like a child when he shouldn’t be. The others are so unkind to him for being “different” and “weird” and having “a personality like a fish left to dry” (WHATEVER THAT’S EVEN SUPPOSED TO MEAN LMAO I STILL DONT GET IT) that in his introduction he starts sobbing bc Sinbad said thank you to him like. Like God can I relate to this, honestly his experiences though not exactly the same as my own deeply resemble how I was before I found out that I’m autistic. 

Then, after he learns to love and accept himself and marries Rurumu (Oh!! That’s another thing, people acted like he was unlovable but Rurumu always loved him. He never had to change who he was or mask his autistic traits and that’s SO important because honestly I can’t even imagine someone who isn’t also autistic wanting me romantically especially when I see shit about people taking autistic people to homecoming and calling it “inspiring” and “selfless” and a “learning experience”) he then turns around and teaches others to do the same. I noticed that he becomes very close to both Drakon and Masrur who are both autistic coded and he helps teach them to love themselves like??? LIKE???? and with Masrur he literally points out that he can empathize so points for hyperempathy again. I’m loving how many magi characters have hyperempathy that is ultimately good. Bc it’s usually a weakness in character’s that have it. 

Drakon: Honestly once again idek where to start when his entire development is deeply autistic coded but we’ll start with his backstory. So to start there’s the power imbalance between him and his (neurotypical) siblings. Whilst he is the youngest, I think that the reason that he’s unfavored in the family and is the one always catching shit is because he’s autistic. This is something that happens so often is that when an autistic child has allistic siblings the allistic one is favored or if not favored they definetely get treated better because autistic children are particularly vulnerable and easy to manipulate. With Drakon’s childhood, although again the circumstances in my case aren’t exactly the same, I really am seeing my past self. 

He was from a young age branded as a prodigy, told he was already basically an adult even though he was still a child, and this is so common with autistic children who show a semblance of talent in something. However, he isn’t praised for this in a healthy encouraging way, instead he’s given the responsibilities and expectations of an adult already. In addition to that, he is conditioned to mask his autistic traits, in addition to being taught to devote his entire self to his cause. The fact that he internalized everything so deeply that he had a breakdown when he realized that he wasn’t wanting to die for his cause, that he thought he had to follow everything to the letter all the way down to his deepest feelings, is in my opinion an autistic trait as I showed exactly the same traits for other matters, internalizing things at the same intensity. He social scripts quite a bit, meaning that he has a strong sense of “this is how things SHOULD be so if they AREN’T this way then everything is in RUINS and we have to fix it IMMEDIATELY” he has the roles he’s been given and he strongly believes that everyone else has a role. This does become far more healthy once he’s unlearned the toxic things that he was taught but he still does it, but in a healthy way. Everyone has a role to fulfill, and he’s strict about this, when people aren’t doing what they’re supposed to be becomes irritable and struggles to keep functioning as normal. 

Then there’s the fact that his entire development is learning as a teenager that he’s become a monster, literally in this case, learning that he is hated so much that he resolves to leave his humanity behind, only to gain love and acceptance and learn to love himself in the form that he takes. While I don’t think every monster is autistic coded (as that would be problematic for obvious reasons) developments like this resemble our experiences so well? It’s a perfect metaphor for what it’s like, honestly. 

One reason I think that it’s important for me personally to acknowledge Drakon’s autistic coding is because he’s a strong leader and people think that autistic people cannot be leaders, that we’re incompetent. So to see a character with my traits be someone noble, to become king even, and to thrive is something super positive for me because again it’s something that people think we cannot do that we cannot have but we really can. 

Leila, Sahsa, & Nadja: With these three it’s mostly projecting just because we don’t see enough of them for them to really be that autistic coded HOWEVER tis my blog and you get to hear all my hcs asdfgh. I like to hc these three as autistic 1. bc Leila and Sahsa’s relationship is beautiful, and to contextualize that as a romance between two autistic women is really nice for me who as I mentioned before struggles to ever see myself having a love like that. 2. Leila and Sahsa take to Morgiana and encourage growth in her and I like the idea of them helping her to relax a little on hiding her autistic traits. 3. Because as an autistic person it’s difficult for me to interpret characters as not autistic (where not autistic is other’s defaults for me autistic is the default, so it would be more accurate for me to say I have some allistic headcanons rather than autistic ones lmao) I actually started headcanoning Leila as autistic by accident because I wrote a fic where she had a shutdown (which is when there’s too much stimulants i.e sound or sights etc. and we have to go lay down and rest and shut out the stimulants that are bothering giving us sensory overload.) and was like oh!! Time to make both her and Sahsa autistic bc who’s gonna stop me lmao. 

Also one headcanon I have for Nadja (in addition to her joining Leila and Sahsa’s caravan with her family) is that after Morgiana rescued her she developed a special interest in adventure and heroism which is really cute on one hand bc she always wants to learn stories of heroes from the locals of the places they visit and her parents are like aw she’s talkative sometimes! She’s making friends!!! But on the other hand she tags along on Leila and Sahsa’s “oops lmao just fought an entire band of thieves again” adventures and is that “Let me see what you have!” “A KNIFE!!” “NO!!!” vine so ahidfohg be careful u fuckin superb lil baby. 

Myron: Hers is a bit shorter since we don’t have a whole lot of her in canon, but her strict following of perceived social standards and social scripting makes me headcanon her as autistic. I also like the idea of her being autistic because so often people think that we can’t be proper or socially conscious but more often than not we overcompensate, the deal is that we struggle to understand neurotypical social cues not that we hate socializing. 

Titus: Oh man I shouldn’t have put him so far down on my muse list bc this one is going to be lengthy. There’s a reason whenever I info dump about my son to people that I always call him Autistic Gay Icon Titus Alexius.  

I’ll start with the fact that he struggles in social settings, i.e Sphintus thinking he’s so fuckin awkward at first. (Even tho I hc Sphintus as autistic too but like I said autistic is the default for me ahidfg) He has a special interest in magic, evidently, and is very info dumpy about it as times (though not as much as notable autistic icons Yamuraiha and Ugo). Also his best friends are Sphintus and autistic adhd icon Aladdin so like. Convenient. that the three most autistic coded kids at school becomes besties. asdfgh. Also none of the 4 magi are allistic tbh. 

ANYWAY that aside and glossing over the whole separation he feels from the others (which I could go into length but it’s similar to Drakon and Masrur’s and Hinahoho’s deal and this is getting so long already oof) can we just talk about how fucking POSITIVE his Hyper-Empathy is for his character and the story? 

Okay so like. Let’s start with the 5th district, how after just a little while there he immediately jumped into action with LMAO TIME TO BLOW A HOLE IN THE SKY IM BUSTING EVERYONE OUT LADS. Like. Was it dumb? Yes. Was it noble and valid? YES! And he STILL SHOWED UP TO CLASS READY TO FIGHT THE NEXT DAY. He also tried to call out Mogamett how many times? And still stood his ground with the 5th district, even when Mogamett tried to manipulate him by saying he only cared out of his selfish desire to befriend Marga, he immediately analyzed himself critically and came to the conclusion that no, he really just wanted everyone there to be safe and happy. 

Then, when he goes to Reim and Just. Hhhhhh HE’S SO GOOD. AND HE HAS SO MUCH EMPATHY. The fact that he immediately begins changing things, is firm in that, but his main motivation is that he so desperately wants everyone to be safe and to live happily, the fact that his people’s problems are by extension his own because he feels real pain when others feel it. That’s hyper empathy and though it’s something that can be manipulated he doesn’t let that happen, he uses it for good! 

When he gives his speech about why they need to abolish slavery in Reim asap, he begins to cry and exclaims that any one of them could die tomorrow, that they need to priooritize the people that are in the now who are suffering that they have the power to help their people and to liberate their country and appeals to everyone’s emotions that way and breaks through. Also the other changes he makes?? Like making the Colosseum into a LARPing spot? That’s so fucking good? What a nerd? I love him???? 

I can go into more detail with Titus but for time reasons I won’t but. We stan Autistic Gay Icon Titus Alexius here. 

If you read all of this I love you sm thank you for reading this rambly mess. ahdiogfg 

[fear-god-shun-evil]

How She Saved Her Hopeless Marriage

By Zhang Lei

Recently, it has become a hot topic on the Internet that incompatible outlook on world, life, and value is the main cause of a marriage reaching an impasse. The incompatible outlook doesn’t refer to a husband and wife having different interests. Instead, it means that when one has different interests, hobbies and lifestyles from the other, he will blindly reject any decisions of the other one, and even force the other to live according to his own lifestyle. When a married couple can’t reach agreement due to their different interests, they usually lose their temper and get into a quarrel or war because neither of them will give in. If it should continue like this, their marriage will be brought to an end.

I once had such a marriage life because of the different interests between my husband and me. For example, he likes traveling around for sightseeing while I like staying at home. When he asked me to accompany him to travel, not only would I refuse, but instead I would say it was spending money for suffering, and that I’d rather buy some delicious food or nice clothes. This made his good mood grow bad. Besides, it should have been a good thing to buy a new automobile, but because he loved SUVs and I liked cars, neither of us gave way to the other: When he happily drove an SUV home, I ignored him with a long face. And because of that, we got into a cold war and didn’t talk for one month. One more thing, I liked gardening; however, my husband not only didn’t help do the watering but mocked me and said I was getting nothing better to do. … As time passed, due to our incompatible outlook, we would come into conflict before we talked more. Like this, we talked less and less, and then we even talked nothing. My husband got home later and later; even when he occasionally came back early, he would play with his phone. Seeing his happy and released expression in chatting with his friends on WeChat, I felt upset. As a husband and wife, we were supposed to be intimates, but we were just like strangers. I felt our relationship was a bitter satire on our marriage.

One day, I cooked two bowls of noodles for our breakfast. He took only two bites when he said to me, “I don’t like noodles at all, but you cook them every day. You can cook something else for a change. Don’t always cook noodles.” “I only like noodles. If you don’t like them, then don’t eat.” I replied disgruntledly. Hearing my words, my husband violently pushed his bowl toward me and got the noodle soup to splash onto the table, onto the floor, and onto me. He said crossly, “We were simply enemies in the past life!” Then he slammed the door and went away. Seeing his attitude, I was heartbroken: We are just in our forties, but we two have been incompatible like fire and water. How are we to get on in future? Rather than living in such pain, we’d better separate from each other. With tears I packed my things, drew up a divorce settlement, and put it on his bedside cupboard. In the following week, he didn’t sign it, but just smoked and smoked, coughing badly. We both felt sad about our broken relationship. I thought: Naturally a husband and wife sleep in one bed and should be the most intimate partners. But my husband and I are getting stranger and stranger, as if there were a gulf that couldn’t be bridged between us. Coming to where we are today, what on earth is wrong? If I had foreseen my marriage life would be like this, then I would rather haven’t gotten married. However, marriage isn’t like a piece of cloth which can be thrown away if I don’t like it. After all, our son has grown up. But what should I do to change our situation? I was thrown into confusion …

Until later, I saw the word of God: “The source of man’s opposition and rebelliousness against God is his corruption by Satan. Because he has been corrupted by Satan, man’s conscience has grown numb, he is immoral, his thoughts are degenerate, and he has a backward mental outlook. Before he was corrupted by Satan, man naturally followed God and obeyed His words. He was naturally of sound sense and conscience, and of normal humanity. After being corrupted by Satan, his original sense, conscience, and humanity grew dull and were impaired by Satan. Thus, he has lost his obedience and love toward God.”

Only from God’s word did I come to know why my husband and I lived such a painful life. Because after our corruption by Satan, we are of less and less human likeness, and all that we reveal are satanic corrupt dispositions: arrogance, superciliousness and selfishness. This results in people being unable to get along well with each other, and so it is with husbands and wives. Thinking back on these years when my husband and I lived together, no matter what I did, I took myself as the boss. When we had different opinions, being controlled by my self-righteous satanic nature, I would hold to myself and force him to do things according to my will, not considering him in the slightest, much less having a heart of loving him. As a result, we often quarreled and gave each other the cold shoulder; we were unable to enjoy a harmonious life that a husband and wife should have had. And I lived in pain every day, even to the point of wanting a divorce. Having understood these, I was suddenly awakened. And then, I came before God to speak my mind to Him, “God, I once walked hopefully into the marriage hall, and dreamed of us loving and supporting each other to the end of our lives. But in real life, we become more and more estranged. And now our marriage even exists in name only. Dear God, thank You for guiding me with Your words and letting me find out why our marriage reach a dead end. God, I want to save our marriage and change our situation. May You help me.”

Afterward, I saw the following passage in Sermons and Fellowship on Entry Into Life: “We should not impose our preference on others, much less force others to accept what we dislike—this is not making others do things they are unwilling to do. When doing things, we should take account not only of our own interests, but also of others’. Besides, we should learn to be more considerate to others, to benefit them and to listen to their opinions more. If others have some shortcomings or do something wrong that is unfavorable to us, we should treat them correctly instead of finding fault with them or taking vengeance on them, we should learn to fellowship about the truth to help them achieve changes, and we should have an accurate appraisal of them. In this way, there will be no difficulties in getting on with others.” Yes. If we can respect, love, consider and understand each other, if we don’t arrogantly ask others to listen to us but can understand and support their interests, and if we don’t force them to live according to our own lifestyles, then we can get along well with each other. In that case, how can our marriage fall into a dilemma? Therefore, I made up my mind to act based on these words. Only thus could I resolve the conflict between my husband and me and live harmoniously together with him.

In the following days, I tried to not interfere with his way of life. Not long after, he said he would have a trip to Shennongjia with his friends. That’s a place where I thought there was nothing worth visiting but mountains and trees. Besides, he would drive there; who knows how much petrol would be burnt. It was simply a waste of money. When I was about to say “I don’t think it’s worth visiting,” I suddenly remembered the word of God: “Everything that happens to people is when God needs them to stand firm in their testimony to Him. Nothing major has happened to you at the moment, and you do not bear great testimony, but every detail of your daily life relates to the testimony to God.” I realized that my corrupt satanic disposition was going to flare up and so I told myself inwardly: I can no longer ask of my husband to live according to my interests like before. I should practice the truth to treat him with love and respect his interests and hobbies; only in this way can I have a normal humanity and bear witness for God. Thinking of this, I hurriedly prayed to God asking Him to keep me from being self-centered again. After my prayer, my heart calmed down and I said to him, “If you want to have a trip, then just go. After all, traveling is your hobby.” At my words, my husband looked at me with surprise. I felt a little embarrassed, saying, “In the past I went too far. Not only did I not support your hobbies, but I always got sarcastic with you, and even tried to change your interests and hobbies into the same ones as mine. All of these result in us coming into conflicts, being like strangers, and almost getting divorced. Today, God’s word has made me understand that this thought and behavior of mine all come from my conceited satanic disposition. From now on, I will put God’s word into practice. I won’t force you to act according to my interests, and I should accept and support what you like, and learn to live out a normal humanity in accordance with God’s word.” Seeing my sincere attitude, my husband also said with a smile, “I was wrong, too. I also wanted to impose my interests on you. I can’t do this to you anymore.”

My husband was gone on his trip. He uploaded some pictures of scenery he took along his way to WeChat Moments, and for the first time, I liked the posts of his pictures and left a message “Have a nice trip!” I no longer took digs at him about his interests, but instead I tried to accept and support them. At ordinary times, I also tried to speak my mind to him, and asked for his advice on my own initiative when I had some ideas. Gradually, he also could open his heart to me and be supportive to my hobbies. From then on, our house started to be filled with laughter. This was all because of God’s guidance. It was God’s word that made me walk out of the impasse of marriage caused by incompatible outlook. Only God can save us from pain.

[kxtemxss]

I remember reading Romeo and Juliet for the first time, I must have only been about eleven or twelve, feverishly turning the pages of my crumpled old copy. I began to search the words for meaning, the hopeless romantic inside me yearning for a resolution other than death. However, when I reached the final act, it became apparent that the curtain had fallen on both the play and the young lovers lives.

Although it may seem cliché as fuck, an impressionable young girl fawning over the actions of two fictional children, I felt a certain numbness upon learning their fate.

I often found a strange sense of calmness amongst the images of decay. 

I would romanticise the idea of death, obsessed with finding meaning in the absence of life. 

I would wonder what people would think if I ceased to exist, creating elaborate realities in which I had sacrificed myself for the good of others, desperate to discover if my life had a meaning. 

Although real life continued to seep into my delusions, like a busy train in rush hour, leaving me stranded at the platform with no hope of ever catching up.

The first time I put a blade to my skin I had hoped to find comfort in the pain, I yearned for the euphoric numbness I had read so much about. However, once again reality crept in. The turn of my mums key in the lock, the familiar mumble of “I’m home” as she struggled to carry her bags through the door. 

I’d rush to help, but by then she’d be back at her desk, the door shut and the usual groan of her laptop as it struggled to ventilate against the wooden surface would once again echo down the hall. “Not now” she would snap, her hand shooing me away from the small crack in the doorway.

My dad wasn’t around much. He was always ‘busy’ working, or as I later learnt busy playing house with other women’s children. But my mum, she was the real hero in the house, working long days to keep our family afloat. 

I didn’t see my mum as often as I’d like. But I grew accustom to the notes scribbled in haste on the back of envelopes.

“Be home late. Dinner is in the fridge. Will call you later, have a good day, Love you xx”. 

I knew it wasn’t because she didn’t love me, in fact it was the polar opposite. She loved me, therefore she had to work. Our relationship would revolve around microwave meals, post-it notes and hushed conversations from the car or the various hotel rooms. The contrast of the harsh crackle of her voice against the humming of her car as she drove became a familiar sound. 

At first I used to love being home alone. I would watch whatever I wanted and eat all the things I wasn’t meant to. But as I grew older it became quite lonely. The ache for attention would become unbearable. 

At night I would hear my mum cry a lot. The muffled sobs would often lull me to sleep. My heart breaking every time my dad’s seat at the table remained empty.

I always played the understudy in my dads life or perhaps one of those secondary characters you add into a novel to flesh it out. It was almost like I had missed the audition for the main part, spending years of my life playing catch up with the desperate hope that one day the leading actor would fall down and then I could finally be the star.

It never happened. I’m still the understudy, but these days I’ve accepted it. His absence never went unnoticed but with age I learnt not to expect much. That way I was never as disappointed. 

I was never good enough to be the leading lady. I never got the right grades, wore the right clothes, had the right attitude. I lived in an emotional prison of my own creation, desperately seeking someone to bail me out. 

When I was 14 I was bullied so badly that I began to hurt myself again. I had started dating a boy I’d known since I was very young. My childish delusions of romantic grandeur had lead me to believe he was ‘the one’. I tried to open up to him, foolishly thinking he might be able to pay the bail and set me free. I craved attention, I just really wanted someone to love me.

This of course ended after three short weeks of playground kisses and late night texting. A girl in my friendship group had told everyone I was actually a lesbian. And this was high school after all, so naturally everyone believed it. 

The late night texts stopped coming. I convinced myself his phone must be broken. It wasn’t. 

He later told me, in front of all his friends, that he couldn’t be seen to be dating the “fat lesbian”.

I was 14, so this was ultimately the end of the world.

I lost all my friends. No one wanted to hang out with the ‘fat lesbian’. They would break my things, steal my money and shove me in the halls. My Facebook account was hacked, slut shaming me, with edited photos of my face on very graphic sexual images. I became a social pariah.

The girl started dating the boy. No one ever believed I wasn’t a lesbian either.

As I’ve grown older I’ve realised how pathetic it all was. I mean who gives a fuck if you like boys or girls anyway. But back then all I wanted to do was die.

I kept a brave face for a while at home, uttering a few words about how my day was fine and school was okay. It wasn’t.

I moved to Australia not long after this. My dad had told me this was my fresh start, a new hope. It wasn’t.

I started at an all girls boarding school, by the sea. My parents were going to move over later in the year, after everything was sorted back home. They never did.

I spent my locked away in my boarding house. I wasn’t allowed to leave.

“You need written parent permission and adult supervision.”

It became very monotonous. I felt almost like I was on auto-pilot for most of that year.

I would wake up, late as usual and have to skip breakfast. I would go to class, making small talk with the day girls, suppressing the deep burn of envy I would feel as they talked about their weekends at the beach or their dinners with their families. I’d then be forced to study in silence until 9pm, before I was able to return to my room. By this point I’d be mentally exhausted, craving the comfort of my bed. Sometimes there would be a slight variation, for example on Thursdays, I’d have to go to chapel. My mum had lied about my religion to get me a place at the school. Something that became achingly obvious with each passing week. I’d often argue with the pastor, telling him he was deluded. As you can imagine, at an Anglican school, this went down like a lead balloon.

It wasn’t long before I had fallen victim once again to the school bully. She weaved an elaborate web of lies that spread across the dormitory like an untamed bush fire.

And once again, one by one, my friends stopped bothering with me. 

But this time I was all alone, 10,233 miles from home. 

I tried to kill myself in the October of that year. It was the start of summer, one of the hottest days so far. I’d been to the beach for ice cream after school as a treat. It was a good day.

By this point I’d stopped texting my mum, feeding her lies about how wonderful boarding school was. I was angry with her. She’d abandoned me here. 

My dad, the fantasist, was of course still determined that everything would work out. He couldn’t seem to accept the reality of the situation. They were never coming to Australia. The dream was dead. 

Coming home felt like a relief. The suffocating heat disappearing behind me as the plane drew nearer and nearer to my home. 

In my head I’d imagined a reality where everything would be perfect when I got home. My parents would be happy, my friends would love me again. It would be like the end scene from every high school movie I’d ever seen. 

It wasn’t.

“Suicide is stupid. Mental Illness is a fantasy. There’s nothing wrong with you. You don’t need to see a therapist you’re 15. Grow up. Get a grip. Stop being so goddamn sensitive.”

My dad’s words echoed in my head, fragments of his harsh sentences tearing open old wounds and creating space for more pain.

I later learnt that my dad had bankrupted us. My mum lost her job. We had nothing. My mum had tried to kill herself that year. No one told me, they didn’t want to worry me - especially since I was “so far away”. 

I started a new school, I thought it would be alright. I would be with my childhood best friend. I was wrong.

Her friends were awful. Their false promises of sincerity slipping through loose lips as they sold your personal business to the highest bidder in hopes of maintaining popularity. 

Eventually I finished school. I packed up my things and moved away to London. As far as I could feasibly get, much to my mum’s disdain. 

A lot happened in the 3 years that followed. I suppose you could say life happened. 

In my first week of university, I was sexually assaulted in an alleyway as I stumbled around, drunk and bewildered looking for my bus home. It felt like I wasn’t really there. I failed to believe it was really happening. 

I remember the rough texture of his hands against my shoulders as he slammed me against the wall, trapping my body. I remember I cried and screamed, I begged him to stop but he didn’t. 

I wish I could say this was my only experience. In fact I wish I could say I made this all up. That it was a lie. But it wasn’t.

It happened again in my second year, I’d gone to a party with some friends, we’d invited a guy that worked with my best friend. He seemed nice, I’d flirted with him over the bar on occasion. We’d matched on Tinder, it all seemed innocent enough. 

I was wrong. He’d followed me out of the party, explaining we needed to catch the same bus anyways. His obnoxious voice booming over the hum of the engine as the bus drew closer to my stop. 

He followed me off the bus, pleading to use my phone charger. I shrugged and permitted it, my judgement clouded by substance abuse and exhaustion. 

He made us a drink and I took it readily, my mouth dry and chalky. 

He began to brush the hair from my shoulder, whispering compliments into my ear. It was almost as if he knew exactly what I needed to hear, his words making me believe he cared about me. Making me think maybe he could love me. My mind began to run away with delusions, my vision growing hazier as I sunk into my pillow.

He had laced my drink. I couldn’t feel my body, it was as if my conscious had left my body, as though I was watching from a distance, a bystander to my own destruction.

“You didn’t seem to enjoy that. Do you not like sex? Don’t report me. You probably think I raped you.” He joked as he buckled his belt. 

“You did” I muttered, it must have been inaudible as he never responded.

I sat in shower for hours after he left. Hoping the heat of the water would cleanse my skin and burn away any evidence of his touch. It didn’t. 

I began to sleep on the sofa, avoiding returning to the scene of the crime. I hated him. I hated how he had ruined the city of my dreams. I blamed him for every grey day. It was almost as if his touch had turned out all the bright lights, as if he had dulled all the colour and now all I could see was darkness and misery.

"You were obviously asking for it, I don’t know why you expect sympathy.” My own father’s words. And just like that I crumbled. The lifelong facade was over.

[hayleyftvs7]

it’s that time again--here’s my semi-annual Steam Sale post copy-pasted with updated prices for my <$5 game recommendations, which are almost all the same or lower than this year’s summer sale:

the Portal series: Portal for $0.99, Portal 2 for $1.99, or both for $2.23 – if you have Steam, you almost definitely know about Portal. for those who don’t, they’re first-person physics-based puzzle-platformer games with a dystopian sci-fi narrative. they’re funny and aesthetically-gorgeous and the puzzles are genuinely good. i can’t do these games justice–they’re classics. and if you already own and have played both games, cool! in that case, i recommend Portal Stories: Mel–a really excellent free mod for Portal 2 with a full story campaign.

The Stanley Parable: $3.74 – this game is a sort of “walking simulator” that takes a form similar to a ‘Choose Your Own Adventure’ book–there are many paths that lead to various “endings”, and upon completing one, you’re ushered back to the start to retrace your steps and find another, but none of them are really the end. it’s a commentary on videogame structures and the nature of narrative in general. clever and funny at times, ominous and surrealistic at others. the voice-acting is perfect.

Gone Home: $4.99 – this is a first-person narrative game focused on exploration. it’s both atmospherically-creepy (although you’re never in any danger) and heartwarming, and even though the gameplay consists solely of walking through a house and picking things up to uncover the storyline, the experience feels meaningful and personal. due to the nature of the gameplay, though, you’ll get the most out of it if you’re a very detail-oriented and patient person.

The Beginner’s Guide: $3.99 – this game was made by (and narrated by) Davey Wreden, creator of The Stanley Parable. it’s a much more linear and narrative experience than The Stanley Parable was, but it’s equally as meta, and made me think about games and game design in equally interesting ways. my impression was that it’s more of a playable art piece (akin to walking through a videogame museum while directed by a voiceover) than a game. it felt like a gift for fans of The Stanley Parable… even though it might not want to be. (there’s also a bundle available with The Stanley Parable that gives you an extra 10% off both.)

Dr. Langeskov, the Tiger, and the Terribly Cursed Emerald: A Whirlwind Heist: FREE – this is one of the funniest games i’ve ever played, and definitely the best thing i’ve played for free. it was also created by a developer who worked on The Stanley Parable (William Pugh) and has a very similar spirit. Simon Amstell does the narration brilliantly. it’s marketed as a 15-20 minute game, but it took me about an hour the first time through, and is worth replaying a couple more times for extras. you’ve got nothing to lose, and if you enjoy it, i’d recommend keeping an eye on the dev company—Crows Crows Crows—for future projects. they’ve since put out a Twine game (text-based browser game) that’s pretty cute and collaborated with Justin Roiland (of Rick and Morty) on a hilarious VR game called Accounting.

The Vanishing of Ethan Carter: $3.99 – i think this game might be the prettiest one i’ve ever played. it has a captivating dreamlike quality to it–at times it felt as if i’d stepped into the abandoned world of a less-than-rosy fairytale. it’s an atmospheric first-person exploration game with a sort of linear-yet-open progression, puzzle-solving mechanics, and a mystery storyline. you can technically walk from the start of the game straight to the end location without accomplishing much, but the story is only uncovered when you stop to explore and complete the puzzles. there were many parts of this game that were challenging for me, and there definitely isn’t much hand-holding (you might want to glance at a walkthrough at least once to make a checklist), but i think it plays out beautifully and was worth every bit of effort and patience i put into it. (*note: the version i played and recommend is the Redux version–it will automatically show up in your library as a separate listing after buying the regular game.)

Life Is Strange (Episodes 1-5 Bundle): $4.99 – this is a choice-based episodic game similar in format to what Telltale does, but with subtle differences in mechanics that make it more enjoyable to me–namely the option (and occasional necessity) to rewind and re-do choices in a limited timeframe, which adds a puzzle element that feels very natural. to be honest, though, all of that is minor compared to how beautiful every aspect of this game is–the visuals, the writing, the voice-acting, the music–and how great it is at making you care. (i cried at everything.) i highly recommend a blind run; i was too anxious to not read walkthroughs but i feel like i would’ve had a better experience without them. if you need convincing, Episode 1 is free on its own. go play it. (and if you’ve already played all five episodes, then check out the incredibly faithful prequel Life Is Strange: Before the Storm--two episodes are out already, with the third coming probably late December.)

[*new to the list*] Virginia: $0.99 -- this game is fairly limited in its gameplay and is carried solely by its plot and visuals, since it has no dialogue or narration of any kind, but it’s an intriguing story and an enjoyable experience, which is especially worth trying at 90% off. if you’re not detail-obsessed like i am, you could probably play through it in one sitting, and i was able to get all the achievements in 5-6 hours. if you like cinematic mystery thrillers with orchestral music, give it a shot. (a note about graphics settings: on my first attempt to play this game, i experienced a bit of dizziness/nausea after about 20 minutes. if this happens to you, i recommend running the game at 60fps with motion blur off and camera smoothing off--some of these might affect you differently, but those settings allowed me to play the entire game with no issue whatsoever, so try them before you give up on it!)

those are my main recommendations, but as a side note, a bunch of the older Nancy Drew point-and-click mystery games are on sale for $4.19 each. i’ve played every game in the series since i was a kid, and while that makes me incredibly biased, i’d also like to think it makes me extremely qualified to recommend them. they’re a little silly and generally geared toward young teens, but i still genuinely enjoy the stories and puzzles, and Her Interactive are a class act. plus Nancy’s kind of a badass. my favorites out of the Steam library are Last Train to Blue Moon Canyon and Curse of Blackmoor Manor. (disclaimer: i’ve only ever played these games via physical disc copies, so i have no idea how well they play on Steam, although i assume they’re totally fine, albeit dated.)

and if you’re not concerned about the $5 budget, two other games from last year that i adore are Firewatch ($7.99) and INSIDE ($9.99)--both of which are worth the extra money if you have it.

if you’re a person who plays Steam games, i’d love recommendations for narrative, puzzle, exploration, or adventure games (on sale for around $5 or less is a bonus, but i can always add games that aren’t on sale to my wishlist for the future)–what are some of your favorites?

[marymosley]

From Blacklisting To Red Baiting, McCarthyism Is Back In Vogue

Below is a slightly expanded version of my column in the Washington Post on increasingly McCarthyite conduct evident in this election. I am particularly interested in the new trend toward boycotting other states that do not share your “values” in a given area.

Here is the column:

In 1950, columnist and civil libertarian Max Lerner penned a chilling prediction in the New York Post about the Red Scare: “There is a hate layer of opinion and emotion in America. There will be other McCarthys to come who will be hailed as its heroes.”

Almost 70 years later, Lerner’s political prophecy appears to be coming true.

On one side is GOP President Trump, who routinely describes the news media as the “enemy of the people” and has attacked political adversaries such as House Intelligence Committee Chairman Adam B. Schiff (D-Calif.), along with government whistleblowers at the center of the current impeachment inquiry, by saying that they might be guilty of “treason” for challenging him.

On the other side of the aisle, Hillary Clinton, the Democratic Party’s 2016 presidential nominee, just tried to tag a current Democratic presidential candidate, Rep. Tulsi Gabbard (Hawaii), as a “Russian asset.” Last month, meanwhile, the left-leaning San Francisco city council unanimously passed a resolution calling the National Rifle Association a “domestic terrorist organization.” Although nonbinding, the resolution sought to “limit those entities who do business with the City and County of San Francisco” from doing business with the NRA.

San Francisco has also issued a blacklist of 22 states that its municipal employees are banned from traveling to as part of their jobs. Or, reports the Los Angeles Times, from entering into “any new contracts with companies headquartered” in any of those states if the laws of those states do not comport with California’s approach to reproductive rights.

What is most striking about these pronouncements is the acquiescence that accompanied them: A recent New York Times account of Clinton’s comments seemed to praise her as a “master troll” and speculated on her possible return to politics, rather than addressing the gravity of her attack on Gabbard (who first drew Clinton’s ire by endorsing Sen. Bernie Sanders (I-Vt.) in the 2016 Democratic presidential primaries).

Leading Democratic contenders such as former vice president Joe Biden and Sen. Elizabeth Warren (Mass.) stayed mum when it came to supporting Gabbard or condemning Clinton. Even on the outrageous NRA “terrorism” measure or the blacklisting, leading Democrats have been largely silent. It is doubtful they would be so quiet after a similar attack by a right-leaning city against, say, Planned Parenthood.

Trump has similarly accused a couple dozen people and organizations of “treason.” And when he has, Democratic leaders have been quick – and justified – in denouncing such declarations as inimical to our protections of free speech and the free press. Yet, when a prominent Democrat suggests that another Democrat is a Russian asset or a staunchly Democratic city punishes whole states for adopting opposing policies, the reaction is muted, if discernible at all. The reason is obvious: It’s unpopular to be seen as defending the right of others to hold opposing views, particularly if those others are members of groups like the NRA.

In the same way politicians once failed to speak out against Sen. Joseph McCarthy (R-Wis.) until his popularity waned – and his damage to U.S. democracy had already been done – many Democratic leaders have now gone silent. For years, even President Dwight D. Eisenhower avoided publicly confronting McCarthy’s red-baiting. It fell to Sen. Margaret Chase Smith (R-Maine), then a freshman, to break the silence, when she took to the Senate floor, beseeching her colleagues to stop “thinking politically as Republicans and Democrats about elections” and start thinking about “individual freedom.” That’s the thing about crying Russians! If others hesitate or object, they join the list of fellow travelers.

It was only a matter of time before someone such as Clinton used this sort of cudgel against another Democrat. The “vast right-wing conspiracy,” it seems, is now a vast Russian conspiracy that just happens to include her political foes.

In the case of San Francisco’s blacklists, the approach is sadly ironic: Hollywood, one of California’s cornerstone industries, has done countless movies about the Red Scare period and the targeting of artists for their political beliefs. In the infamous 1947 “Waldorf Statement,” major studios pledged not to do business with any of the listed individuals as they sought to “eliminate any subversives” from the movie business. Now, almost three-quarters of a century after the creation of the Hollywood blacklist, a major California city is blacklisting whole states and the NRA for their stances on hot-button issues.

San Francisco Mayor London Breed and Supervisor Vallie Brown have been lauded in some circles for their move to bar business associations with nearly half the states in the nation due to their “severe anti-choice policies.” Brown tweeted: “Our +$12 billion budget should be spent on what we stand for and reflect our values.” Breed declared: “We have to fight back. Just as we restricted spending with states that have laws that discriminate against LGBTQ people, we are standing up against states that put women’s health at risk and that are actively working to limit reproductive freedoms.”

That’s a slippery slope: What happens when other groups say their values are just as important, and therefore call for the blacklisting of states, too?

LGBT rights, environmental protection, immigration and other areas of the law are all ground for sharp differences between states. Colorado may not be on the blacklist for having “severe anti-choice policies” but it is a major coal producing and oil fracking area. It is not hard to envision an environmentalist group seeking to blacklist Colorado for its “severe anti-environmental policies.”

States could find themselves in the same unwinnable position of actors in the Hollywood blacklist era who lamented: “Every time I thought I was off the list, someone new named me.” And the San Francisco blacklist could easily result in retaliatory listings from right-leaning states over its pro-choice or other “severe” policies.

It’s not about the underlying issues – I’m more inclined to agree with left-leaning jurisdictions on environmental protection. Rather, it’s about some parts of the country punishing others for supporting opposing views, or coercing states to “reflect our values.”

A democratic nation allows, even encourages, disagreement when it comes to policy choices. Indeed, different state approaches are protected in our system of federalism. San Francisco looks to punish states because of their policies on abortion or gay rights. But most of the state laws in question are currently constitutional and, until the Supreme Court declares otherwise, these states are exercising their right to take a different path.

For example, it would have been equally wrong for Alabama to ban doing business with California when it recognized same-sex marriage. States differed on the interpretation of the constitutional protections for same-sex marriage. I shared the view of California that such marriages are protected. Yet, states had a right to reach their own conclusions on that constitutional question until the Supreme Court finally resolved the question in Obergefell v. Hodges in 2015.

To be sure, there is nothing illegal or unconstitutional about a state or city exercising its right to limit state contracts or purchases. But that doesn’t make it right, or wise, to set off this type of interstate economic warfare. By cutting off fellow states, these blacklists risk creating a new patchwork system of state-by-state barriers reminiscent of the Articles of Confederation period. That period, before the adoption of our Constitution, left the country balkanized by predatory and punitive state measures directed against other states.

Ultimately, boycotts like San Francisco’s are not designed to change minds. They are designed to thrill local voters while punishing those who fail to conform to a mandated view. Before a new war between the states escalates, people of good faith can act to support the right of self-determination in these states and to end a cycle of boycotts and counterboycotts. States should enact reciprocity laws that impose boycotts on any state that boycotts other states or cities for policy disagreements. States should consider measures banning their municipalities from taking this type of action.

Ironically, California has taken an anti-boycotts positions on other issues.  Three years ago, California passed a law barring government contracts or business with companies supporting the boycott of Israel. Israel is the only country mentioned by name, but, under pressure from the free speech community, the law now includes boycotts against any sovereign state. Thus, some of the same politicians who support a bar on the boycotting of countries like Israel are in support of boycotting U.S. states for not sharing their values.

San Francisco has already banned roughly half of the nation for not adhering to its views of acceptable state policies. The only deterrent is to boycott San Francisco, which relies heavily on business generated by hosting conferences. The key to such measures is that they must be content-neutral. If a city or state engages in economic boycotts against other states over policy differences, that act should trigger immediate isolation from other states – not the particular issues at stake. This type of boomerang boycott law would be based on the common democratic values in our system, recognizing the right or states to have differing policies.

During the McCarthy period, Julia Child was pressured by the sister of conservative firebrand William F. Buckley Jr. (a McCarthy supporter) to boycott Smith College (Childs’s alma mater) until five suspected communists were fired from the faculty.

Childs responded with a profound letter that read: “In the blood-heat of pursuing the enemy, many people are forgetting what we are fighting for. We are fighting for our hard-won liberty and our freedom; for our Constitution and the due processes of our laws; and for the right to differ in ideas, religion and politics. I am convinced that in your zeal to fight against our enemies, you, too, have forgotten what you are fighting for.”

So, it seems, have many on the left in the “blood-heat” of our contemporary politics.

From Blacklisting To Red Baiting, McCarthyism Is Back In Vogue published first on https://immigrationlawyerto.tumblr.com/