#i know it's a difficult balance to obtain but come the fuck on at least make some effort

[rapha-reads]

Two thirds into the last episode of Shadow and Bone season 2 and I have one and only one question :

WHAT. THE. FUCK.

Seriously, no. What the fuck is happening?????????????

Why are they pulling a Lauren Hirsch NOW after 6 solid episodes????

Episodes 1 to 6 made sense. They were good, coherent, fun and still true enough to Canon to be enjoyable.

Episoded 7 and 8 just threw out the entire saintsforsaken script out of the window and decided to go full AU, with some elements kept, some elements completely discarded and others moved around to early or to late in the timeline.

And I don't like it. It changes too much. It's not enjoyable anymore, not in the sense that the episode isn't entertaining to watch (I'm finally getting some Matthias screentime), but in the sense that it closes too many doors to tell future stories. It doesn't make sense, both inside the canon story, and inside the two-degrees-to-the-left alternate version thry had started to tell. The same way Lauren Hirsch fucked up The Witcher by completely changing the characters' personal timelines and the events of the story, the SaB team ft Bardugo also changed too much.

Yeah, if they had actually stopped season 2 at episode 6, and then kept following the events of the Ruin and Rising book with some prequel Six of Crows stuff, and made them into a 3rd season, it would have made more sense. And then give us the Six of Crows spin-off standalone show. (I demand an actual 6oC show, that actually follows the books, thanks)

Again, this is just my (and apparently the others too) opinion as a book-reader. I do wonder if none bookreaders who went into the show without knowing anything feel about season 2? Are you guys liking it, is it objectively good when one stops trying to reunite show with book?

Also they need to stop pushing Nikolai/Alina and Inej/Tolya, especially that second one, DO NOT BREAK KANEJ OR I WILL BURN YOU DOWN. And freaking give us Zoyalai ya cowards.

Okaaaaaay, as I was composing my review, I reached the end, and... the end of the episode makes as much bloody (see what I did there) sense as the beginning, that is to say: NONE.

STOP TRYING TO RUSH THE PLOT. The advantage of TV show is that you can take the time to establish your characters and your timeline of events. Stop. Trying. To. Make. Everything. Happen. At. The. Same. Time. Show is not movie!!!!! I'm getting upset now. Ugh. What a letdown. And it had started well.

[astropookie]

Specific Venus Persona Chart observations

requested by @ahhihhuhhehhohhshit

warning: is short. I’m sorry. I’ve been really busy AAAAAAAAA I hate this but I’m gonna post soon and the way you guys deserve 🫶🏼🧜‍♀️

Picture from Pinterest

Capricorn Venus at Libra degree (7° or 19°)

I think this placement is tricky bc capricorn venus is REALLY IM NOT FUCKING KIDDING, really logical when it comes to enter a relationship, when it comes to love -something serious- and libra degree alterates this control of situationships that capricorn venus always have had. The libra degree pushing it with the idealization of people, of having a perfect relationship that’s not realistic at all. Venus in the Venus Persona Chart gives us more detail about how you act when you’re in love, what you think it’s more important, preferences etc. Capricorn Venus doesn’t express their feelings easily and openly. They’re really cautious and logical when it’s about getting into a relationship. They don’t even put effort or waste their energy when they see it’s not necessary. BUT THEYRE trying so hard bc of the libra degree, that makes them idealize every little detail that the other made just bc their mind be always activating the “what if�� and “love of movies” mode. I SWEAR this combination makes the individual THINK TOO MUCH that their opportunities go away. Earth + Air is not the best if you’re looking for someone that’s not a perfectionist, indecisive, a little bit of a maniac control. They’re CAUTIOUS. They could’ve passive aggressive. They don’t trust easily either and it takes them a lot of times to have interest in someone bc they put the “but” in front of their emotions. They block their emotions bc their goals are more important than wasting their valuable time with love: they’re afraid of being judge and not being loved for who they truly are, above all those 12942894725 layers they built. They put the excuse that no one meets their standards -that are literally only presented on a movie-. The libra degree makes them be not direct at all, they want the other to approach but the capricorn Venus be like “I have to have control, I’m too independent for this shit, that’s not gonna happen bc I’m a BAD BETCH and I’m too much for others -okay the last part may be exaggerated but they’ll be having their narcissistic egocentric bust, more than usual-. They put too often others first and they end up desiring that someone would do the same, even if it’s TOO difficult to admit for them. They have a lot of pride or that pride hide something…: inside that shell there’s a blunt soft heart that has been betrayed.

the following ones are actually mine🧍 Why do I have to expose myself this way? doesn’t matter 😚

+ Libra moon

They feel comfort when in the relationship there’s fair communicating, were each part listen to each other and let them express what worries them, what’s happening WITHOUT judging. They feel safe when they know their partner balance them, when they know they don’t hold all the weight, that they’ll don’t have to take care of the other or have to advice the other always: that there’s reciprocation.

+ Pluto 1H

This placement makes you have to learn throughout your life about your relationship with yourself, so that the caterpillar comes out of its cocoon and becomes a butterfly 😩. Transform. This placement have made a lot of introspection, they truly have analyzed themselves or every part of their mind ¿why? bc they may be into psychology, astrology or numerology, something that have to do with the occult -more than superficial, that’s depth-. And also bc they have past a infinity of experiences that made them learn and obtain knowledge, for at least, the human itself.

+ Ascendant square Uranus

This aspect makes people want to be/be unexpected with others, wants their relationships to be moody, to be full of surprises bc if don’t they’ll get bored and they’ll don’t be satisfied. They want changes and changes in a way that’s not even natural or human? They desire more and more in terms of changes and the unexpected that they fucked up their relationships just bc the other didn’t act the way they expected. They expect others to reciprocate that energy. Even though all of that, they’re ORIGINAL and UNIQUE and will surprise you everyday with their behavior that also surprises them.

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•

❀ Based on my personal experience and what I’ve analyzed in my surroundings.

❀ English is not my first language.

❀ I’m not a profesional astrologer, I just love astrology and I’m willing to learn.

Thank youu. baibaiii🫣🫶🏼💋

Do not copy. Please give me credits.

[b0rista]

— ❝︎ 𝐘𝐎𝐔 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐎 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍! 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐔. ·˚ ༘

♡︎ : the atmosphere i'm going for is frustratingly difficult to describe djjfjg the word "somber" doesn't really do it for me, but it's pretty much these emojis 🌑🌨🎞💸🚬⛓🔭

lowkey just wanted to put this trio & y/n (aka the loml) in a really dark, gloomy, modern metropolis type of place full of cold weather, inner monologues, and cigarettes JFKGK

ALSO my insp was the reiner + annie fanart in the center of the divider i made!! i really wish i knew the artist, but i couldn't find them :(( definitely NOT taking credit, it isn't my art whatsoever. but LOOK AT THEM UGH THE AESTHETIC

to balance things out, i wrote the reader as female! && characters are aged up to their early twenties.

the bunch of you met through your college courses— of course, the three of them had known one another since childhood, but you managed to weasel your way into their close-knit friend group. ever since then, you all share the melancholy city life.

during your guys' campus days, reiner worked for his master's in kinesiology. it isn't that big of a shocker that he aimed for something that pertained to his bulkier build,, mans grows up to be an absolute unit, lmao. wanting to maintain an above average salary, he used his education to earn himself a place in the certified training department. currently, he's a personal trainer of many clients, all of which he does his best to maintain.

bertholdt majored in philosophy, and worked toward his master's degree. with his intelligence, he got it. while all three of you (reiner especially), urged him to pursue non-profit professionalism, praising his skill and all around ability to do so, he lacked the confidence to push for it, and ended up going down another path. currently, he's sticking to the safe road, aiming to become a professor in the very course he excelled in. he's yet to get there, though— right now, he's a professor's assistant. it's less tiring, at least. still, he was capable of becoming something better.

as for annie, she majored in political science. unlike the other two, she worked to obtain a bachelor's degree. with that being said, she attended college for a little longer. eventually, she got her degree, and while she was a little lost after graduation, she made her way into the policy analyst game. she had the writing skills, sOmewhat of the drive, and while she's the youngest worker in her office, she's also the brightest. they're all also terrified of her, she speaks .6 words a day.

of course, what you did is entirely up to you! if you took two or three years to get your degree, you likely graduated alongside the boys. if it took longer, no worries, annie's degree took quite a bit.

now, the four of you are living in the same city, and you're all experiencing that said city's constant mournful, dingy atmosphere. the aesthetic is calming, actually; the weather is never nice, it's a rarity that you ever get an actual glimpse of the sun. no matter the season, so long as it isn't summertime, layers are a must. rainfall is a weekly occurrence, as well as the occasional thunderstorm. the merged stench of coffee grounds and burnt oil linger within the streets of the city, simply adding to the melancholy. basically, the general scenery is dark, cold, wet, and quiet. it's a gloomy place,, definitely comparable to forks, washington, but more of a metropolis than a town.

even with all of that being said, you and your friends have a good time. honestly, if you didn't all have eachother, you'd all probably go mental.

while reiner and bertholdt have their own seperate apartments, you and annie share a place. the rent was cheap, especially once split between two homeowners. two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a single kitchen & living area. it was too good of a deal to pass up. fortunately, you and her are compatible roomates.

with that being said, of course, it's often that the four lounge around at your guys' apartment. bertholdt always makes sure to check in before visiting, while reiner has the sour habit of showing up unannounced. you've both had to deny him a key, despite his pleading. you love him, but not that much.

sometimes, the two of them crash in your living room. typically, it's reiner on the couch while bertholdt takes up the floor, waking up the next morning in whatever flamboyant position he'd folded himself into during the night. every now and then, you and annie forget to head back to your rooms, and you crash right there with them. before you all fall asleep, you're typically all huddled up near the glass doored balcony, allowing the rainfall to serenade the four of you into a deep slumber whilst sitting within the crisp remnants of cigarette smoke and freshly opened liquor.

in a way, it's funny, because you all have a tendency to do that on a work night. just the four of you, sitting in your living room, drinking your alcohol, coating your furniture in the brisk stench of pure, solicited nicotine, watching your very own city drown within the darkening sky's tears as little to zero words are even spoken. when it comes to you and your friends, that's something that can never be contradicted; the quiet. these were how you spent your evenings together, especially after a rough day— silence, smoking, and the most peaceful sorrow imaginable.

of course, when you aren't wallowing in your own self pity, you're known to get drinks together. there's this certain booth in a local pub, it had burnt burgundy seats made out of leather. it's your guys' booth, and whenever you go out for a drink or two, that's where you sit. it's way back in the corner, where none of you can be bothered. one time, a couple of rascals had stolen it, and they refused to move. without a second thought, annie slammed one of those motherfucker's faces into the table. in suite, reiner took care of the other one, yanking him from the collar and kicking him to the floor. you and bertholdt only watched,, you were laughing, poor bert simply dragGed his palm down his face.

hey, at least you got your seats back! absentmindedly, you etched your initials into the bottom of the table with your pen. without a thought, the other three did the same, marking the corner as their own. don't fuck with that table, you'll be slaughtered.

when winter hits, it hits mercilessly. it's insanely aesthetic, seeing your group standing on the side of the busy street, all absolutely layered up in buttoned up winter coats and thickly knitted scarves. because they're both unnecessarily large, you depend on them for warmth every now and then. the amount of times you've buried your face within reiner's side while sitting on the subway during the midst of wintertime is stupid. as for bertholdt, he occasionally takes off his very own coat, draping it over you or annie's shoulders whenever either of you are seen shivering. he doesn't mind getting a cold, so long as you're warm.

speaking of the subway, your city has one. it's a pretty average way to travel, and due to none of you actually owning your own vehicles, it's where you go whenever walking or taking the bus isn't an option. the only one who isn't allowed to ride the subway alone is you. there was instance where on your way home from work, you had a run-in with an unpleasant bystander with the means to hurt you. ever since then, a code has been set where if you want to travel underground, you do it with one of them.

^ one time, you didn't listen, and you went by yourself anyway— unfortunately for you, reiner was boarding the exact same stop as you, and gave you quite the scolding. however, it's only because you're special to him. to all of them.

you and annie are actually closer than you'd imagine. being one of the only female friends she's ever been able to keep, you've grown to be an important figure in her life. of course, she'd never admit that to you, but you know. some nights, the two of you lean against one another on the sofa while black & white reruns play on the television, ultimately sending you both to sleep.

once a week, you have lunch with bertholdt at the university he assists at. you know just how glum the work makes him, and fortunately, you showing up every single sunday with coffee and sandwiches never fails to brighten his day. sometimes, you're the only one that can get him through the week.

bert's crush on annie is still very much a thing, even in this universe. of course, he's older, and for the most part, he's grown out of it. still, he stares. not as much as he once did, but he does. you and reiner only watch from afar, quietly sullen that he'd never quite gotten the guts to act on it.

bertholdt is also the group's umbrella holder. it's constantly raining, and due to his height, he's the one holding the bigass umbrella over the four of your guys' heads. when there isn't an umbrella, you just sort of seek refuse underneath his arms, which he gladly gives you. reiner and annie don't really mind, they get wet. it is a thing where you're all rushing to get out of the rain, the two men shielding the women's hair from the storm with their jackets as they run for shelter.

you all smoke. well, actually, whether or not you smoke cigarettes in this scenario is entirely up to you. if you'd like, ignore this part. anyway, cigarette sharing is a given. while reiner's preferred brand of darts is far more lucrative and more likely to kill him (he's dead inside, it fits), he won't hesitate to snatch a cigarette from in between the tips of your lips, bringing them to his own. it's something all of you do, even bertholdt. sharing is caring, you all say. you tend to do the same thing with wine glasses, or beer bottles.

it's practically gotham city, you're all dead inside grownups, god isn't real.

irllydidn'tlikehowthisturnedout-

[kaisa-ryo]

Megumi Fushiguro NSFW Alphabet

Warning: English isn't my native language!

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*

A = Aftercare (What he likes after sex)

Nothing can be better than looking at you, studying every part of your face up close. Watch how your eyelashes tremble, how your chest rises and falls, inhaling and exhaling air. So familiar, so lovable. What a beautiful and so necessary face at this moment. From time to time he wants to run his fingers over it, remember it, photograph it. I want to look at your face for a very, very long time. Then he drops those thoughts because he needs to focus on trying to sleep.

B = Body part (His favorite body part)

Lips.

God, he so enjoys watching you bite them, lick them, paint them with glitter. This is essentially a small insignificant part of the body, but so demanding for courting and kissing. Yes, kisses ... Megumi so wants to touch them and do it yourself: bite, lick, paint with glitter ... After all, they seem so soft and delicious.

C = Cum (Everything about sperm)

Into a condom. Even if it is not always convenient and completely satisfactory with an elastic band, Megumi still prefers to protect herself. In addition, it is useless to oppose this if you do not want problems in the future. But if you ever ask him to do it without a condom, he might even agree, though not right away. First, make sure that you really want it, since he was not ready to ever do this. So don't be surprised if he gets worried during the process.

D = Dirty secret

From time to time he thinks about how you will take full control over yourself. It makes him mentally convince himself what a lustful bitch you are for him. He understands how you revel in your own perfection, how this thin erotic veil allows you to devour him with your eyes, hypnotize. It almost makes you a god. But the deity should not so protrude his sexuality in front of his beloved. Therefore, if you do so, then in the morning Megumi will throw some reproach in your direction, but at the same time he himself will remain satisfied and completely satisfied.

E = Experience

There is. If in high school he was a cold-blooded bully with a good appearance, then it is possible that Megumi had favorites back then. Not to say that, under the influence of hormones, he wanted to fuck every girl, because on his mind he had only the goal of maintaining justice with vague and false concepts. Yet he tried it once. She was a girl with high status and good connections, which were beneficial for him to achieve his goal. Sex without commitment is not the best experience that can be obtained, because apart from the pleasure of the process, you do not feel attracted to your partner. But what you just do not go to achieve the goal, right? The guy did not particularly remember that incident, but a clear understanding of the foundations of the art of submission remained.

Now he doesn't want to remember school life, because both character and actions were not sugar at all. In addition, the intentions of what then and what from now are different, one should not exceed expectations. But speaking of being intimate with you, Fushiguro has acquired a real bond that makes intercourse more sensual.

F = Favorite position

A deck chair is a great option. It seems like an ordinary missionary, but both he and you have something to hold on to. And as a bonus, he sees your face, by which he can give an accurate analysis of how well you are now.

G = Goofy (Are you serious at this moment?)

Yes. Despite the main goal of getting pleasure, it is also important for him to control it. He is not afraid to death that everything will go downhill. It's just that perfect sex hasn't bothered anyone yet. In addition, it is not at all difficult for him to do as he wants. Therefore, he feels a great need for complete control over intercourse. If everything is done correctly, he feels proud of himself, which cannot but please him.

H = Hair (Is the hair ok?)

Hygiene is as important to him as every other aspect of his life, especially if it somehow, no matter how, concerns you. You never need to remind him of this, as he himself tries to take care of the intimate area as often as possible. Therefore, he is unlikely to have problems providing comfort for both of you.

I = Intimacy (Romance)

There is. These are mostly cute things that are usually not considered very important, but for you they are like a trophy. For example kisses on the forehead, crown of the head, knuckles of thin fingers, neck and shoulders. It is like a ritual dedicated to love for your beauty and uniqueness. Even if the process is not very sophisticated, you get pleasure every time. Towards the end, you realize that you have gained much more than the warmth from light, but sensitive touch.

J = Jack off (masturbation)

There is such a thing. And you don't have to be far away. If you have not done this for a long time, but for some reason he is afraid or does not want to offer you, then do not mind masturbating to one of your photos in the gallery.

K = Kink (Kinks and fetishes)

The guy is not indifferent to your body, no matter what shape it has. Feel his smell, touch, stroke, listen until all these tenderness reaches light bites, squeezes, licks ... He feels everything much more sophisticated than it seems. And nature is such that subconsciously very subtly feels desires. Even if they are not at all.

He likes it when you walk in sexy pajamas, stockings that accentuate the shape of your legs or open clothes, although he doesn't always approve of this, because he knows perfectly well that he is not the only one who likes your body.

I like to give you different jewelry because they look so perfect on you. It is not for nothing that people say: "It is not clothes that paint a person, but a person's clothes."

For Fushiguro, this is both the main aesthetics and a source of inexhaustible pleasure, which is noticeable with the naked eye.

L = Location (Favorite places to have sex)

Not a lover of variety, so the option with a bed is the most ideal for him. Moreover, the bed is large and soft, which allows you to do a lot without any discomfort. You often feel tired after sex (unless you're a sex addict), so in the case of a bed, you don't have to worry about passing out on the table or floor. Yes, with the bed, you are subject to almost all poses!

Fushiguro is also not cold to the sofa, which is not much different from the bed in terms of sex. On it he can relax while you ride it, clutching his shoulders or pants. The sofa is also a good control plane, which can be easily used if you understand that you need to get up. It's still convenient! Why do you even need a shower and a table?

M = Motivation

When you walk around the house in the open in only panties and a bra. He doesn't like it very much, but heck, he really doesn't want to admit that he is actually embarrassed and it still turns him on. And when he comes to pick you up from home to take you somewhere, and then finds you not ready, in only one underwear, he will be indignant at why you are still not dressed, then he will turn away, covering his face with his hand and making a slightly trembling exhale. At this time, you will notice how his cheeks and ears turn red and giggle softly, pulling on a T-shirt. Once you specifically asked him to fasten his bra, knowing that it will start. After all, in front of him, a close-up flaunts your completely naked back, which you can touch and stroke. It seems that another second and he will lose control of himself and go into a rage. Holding his breath, he will begin to gently stroke the delicate skin and excitedly run his fingers up and down the spine, feeling his legs trembling from the touch. You will have to bite your lips in order not to turn around, and all this time with concentration to look in the direction where your shadows are reflected in a black silhouette on the wall a few meters away.

Also no less exciting for him is your passion for something. If you diligently write an essay, essay, read interesting books, even just tap your nails on a hard surface - he will be immersed in your actions. After all, the main thing for him is not the process of action itself, but how you perform it. When Fushiguro sees you at work, he enjoys every second of what is happening.

N = No (Which won't do)

What he considers to be risk or abnormal.

Megumi is for healthy sex and will not settle for BDSM, role-playing or sadomasochistic procedures. Especially complete submission. It does not arouse and does not cause orgasm from the word at all. He believes that such an idiotic variety was invented by mentally ill people, after whom everything is repeated for the reason of "fashion", public manipulation and self-hypnosis. In addition, in order to decide on such an idea, you either need to be a crazy psychopath, or stop respecting yourself. At least Megumi thinks so and has no doubts about it.

O = Oral (Likes to receive or to give)

In this regard, Fushiguro tries to maintain balance.

Yes, he likes to hear your drawn-out muffled moans. I like how you all wriggle under it and beg you not to stop. I like the way you cum. But it is no less exciting to see how you walk with your thin fingers along the entire length of his penis, and then clasp your lips and swallow it as deeply as possible, periodically circling the head with your dexterous tongue. Therefore, he is not inclined to prioritize. He continues to give you pleasure simply because he thinks it is right, and when he himself wants to feel pleasure, you will guess it yourself by his eyes, facial expression and swaying his hips in time with your movements.

P = Pace

As a rule, Megumi tries to do it in full force. Physical strength is still a man's trump card in love, and should not be underestimated. But it needs to be properly stimulated. Energy should not be pushed to the limit. Fushiguro was used to stretching his orgasm, speeding up and then stopping for ten seconds. Then the surge of feelings becomes even stronger. Too much speed will immediately lead to overwork, and the orgasm becomes smooth and short. It's too predictable. Of course, the guy is not a fan of variety, but that does not mean that you absolutely cannot pamper yourself, right?

Q = Quickie

Average. The most common.

And what else do you need? High speed does not allow you to feel the process properly, and low speed dampens all excitement and quickly gets bored. Medium is perfect for both of you.

R = Risk (Ready to experiment)

Not ready.

You shouldn't force him to try new sensations. This will cause him discomfort or even anxiety, which will not lead to the best outcome. Once you talked to him about this, at the end he said that he didn’t like it and asked him not to bother with this topic anymore, since even the thought of it introduces him into slight stress. Not because of the experiments themselves, but the very fact of their fear. He is currently struggling with this because he wants to be completely perfect for you. However, it is unacceptable for him that it is easy for him to control the process, but it is so difficult to start experimenting in terms of sexual relations. He will definitely deal with it. Not right away, but it will cope.

S = Stamina (Stamina)

Pretty decent

Getting pleasure is enough for both of you, so you have the strength to wash in the shower, make tea, read a book and just lie around, warming your bodies with hugs. It even happens that there is enough strength to walk along the street, restoring not only physical balance, but also emotional one. Still, a walk in the fresh air with conversations on various topics does not let you forget that your love is real and is not a farce for sexual gratification.

T = Toys

It treats all their varieties badly.

Another trinket invented by the unbalanced and sexually addicted. You both have enough and an ordinary hookup without stupid "decorations".

* In fact, once the thought flew through his head about how you would react if he shoved a vibrator into your vagina as close to your clitoris as possible. And how he later, in all seriousness, assured himself that he would not offer you such a thing for anything. Recalls a magazine article about sexual fantasies among teenagers at thirteen. As a result, having mentally slapped myself in the face, I never thought about it again.

U = Unfair (Does he like to tease)

Yes!

He doesn't like to admit it, but oh my god, how your pleading and sobbing drives him crazy. At such moments, he seems to be in seventh heaven. He would like to listen to them, but then all the pleasure from the upcoming orgasm will disappear. He wants to satisfy his desire as soon as possible, but he really doesn’t want your sweet voice to stop at such seconds ... And when you finally finish, everything inside him contracts. Because now you shout his name instead of muffled moans. It feels like he is special to you. Yes, only he can make you make a mess in your body, which was just so obedient. Only with him can you finally plunge you into ecstasy.

V = Volume (How loud is it)

At first, he is silent, as if swallowed his tongue. But by the middle it already starts to grow. But if you only knew how uncontrollable he is in the end ... although, why am I crucifying here? Of course you know.

At this time, along with orgasm, he realizes how fucking he is. So inside him begins a feverish flow of internal current, and at the same time a fire flares up in his heart, turning into a high.

W = Wild card (Random headcanon)

When you first slept, the spontaneous thought came to you to look into his phone. Nothing criminal, you just wanted to make sure you were the first.

Waking up first and looking at the phone, which surprisingly had no password, you checked the list of contacts that were not embellished in some way, and in general there were not as many of them as you expected. But you, apparently, so much enjoyed digging into his personal life, feeling like a real Sherlock, that you decided to look at Google. There already began something from which you simply could not help but emit an unrestrained laugh: more than ten tabs related to sexual relations, the structure of the vagina, the consequences of the "first time", precautions for intercourse and a bunch of other things. You could hardly restrain your laughter so as not to wake up your loved one, who apparently became a real Alpha and a sex guru in just one evening.

It's been a long time since that moment, but you still haven't admitted to him that you then got into his phone.

X = X-ray (What's under the clothes)

14.5 cm during erection ± 1

Y = Yearning (How high is the sex drive)

Megumi cannot be called “lonely-touchy-with-a-broken-heart”, but “addict” is certainly not about him. This is an unexpected manifestation of desire when he himself begins to kiss your neck, in the hope of showing your initiative. Usually you make love at your request or at a noticeable hint. Fucking you in bed, he is not looking for any benefit for it and is not chasing cheap bonuses. He thinks that he is simply satisfying his sexual need, and does not go further so that you, too, do not get hung up on sex as an important part of your life.

4/10

Z = Zzz (How quickly falls asleep)

Quickly, if you are not trying to distract him with conversations (you are not always sure that you did everything right and completely satisfied him).

If you want to annoy him with requests, for example, if you are cold and you tell him about it, he will immediately cover you with a blanket. But you are more cunning and you do not need a blanket at all, but his strong arms.

— Mmm... and I wanted to warm myself in your arms...

Then Fushiguro will roll his eyes, sigh loudly and hug you from behind.

— I want you to kiss the top of my head! — you will rather smile when he reluctantly, but still will do it.

— Will you sing me a lullaby? - then the guy will understand that further you are just making fun of him.

— Maybe you still dance?

— What a good idea! Stand by that closet.

— Sleep, princess.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*

[tardytothepardy]

My Review of "A Court of Silver Flames" (because it's too long for Goodreads)

~`,Spoiler-free summary/review idk,`~

In "A Court of Silver Flames", the story centers around two characters that were previously in the "A Court of Thorns and Roses" series, Cassian and Nesta. As far as I can tell, this story takes place about a year after "A Court of Frost and Starlight", where Nesta is in a bad mental state. To cope with the events in "A Court of War and Ruin", she has taken to excessive drinking and sleeping with random people. The members of the Inner Court allowed her to do this for a while, but as the book begins, it is made clear that they won't let her do that anymore. It is decided that she will be taken to the House of Wind, along with Cassian and Azriel, so she can be separated from everything and heal. The reasoning behind putting Nesta in the House of Wind is that the only ways anyone can easily go to or leave the house is by flying or winnowing, neither of which are things she can do. There is a set of 10,000 stairs that she can take, but seeing as they are 10,000 stairs, it's pretty difficult.

Throughout the story, Nesta is forced to come to terms with her difficult memories and her powers, which she has pushed away in an effort to retain as much of her prior humanity as she can. It is soon revealed that her powers are connected to three ancient magical items, collectively called the "Dread Trove", and Nesta is tasked to find as many as she can to keep Briallyn, one of the human queens, who has a similar connection to the items, from obtaining them and wielding powers that could completely destroy the world.

While all of this is going on, it is revealed that Feyre is pregnant. It isn't all happy news, however, because it seems that complications (of the deadly variety) have become known, and no one knows what to do to save her (let alone herself because she's not even aware of it hooray Rice Hand you're doing fabulously).

I think as a whole, one thing that this book struggled with is pacing. For the majority of the book, I didn't feel that the characters were actively trying to stop The Bad Guys, it almost felt that they took action every so often, as if they randomly remembered that these events are happening. Most of the book is focused on the development of the relationship between Cassian and Nesta, and everything else falls around that, which would be fine if the other events were of a smaller scale, like planning a party or something (idk lmao), rather than the fate of literally the <i>entire world</i>, both the Fae and human world. A lot of the things that happened in this book seemed like they were resolved within the last 50 pages of the book, one after another, it just felt odd.

(spoilers for the entire book below the "keep reading"!)

~`,Spoilers from here on out,`~

So like I said in the beginning, it starts with Nesta in her house. It's from Cassian's point of view, so I got to endure two things that really fucking irritated me: first was where she was living. It was a similar line of thought from the "ACOFAS" description, that Velaris doesn't have slums, but if it did have a slum, Nesta would be living in it. But it doesn't have slums, but this place is still icky. Cassian acknowledges that he's stayed in worse, but this place is still icky, yucky, blecky, and gross. Second thing that irritated me was when he first saw her. He describes her as having "long bare legs, an elegant sweep of hips, tapered waist--too damn thin--and full, inviting breasts that were at odds with the new, sharp angles of her body" (10). She was thin, very thin, but not her boobs. Nope, those badonks were still (somehow) plenty large. This might be the fault of me trying to understand Fae bodies by comparing them to human bodies, but I simply do not understand how that is supposed to work. Boobs are made of fats and tissues, if you're losing weight, you're gonna lose boob. Whatever.

Cassian proceeds to take Nesta to one of (apparently 5. Rice Hand and Feyre have five houses, why) Feyre's houses, where it is soon made clear that an intervention is being staged. This has to be one of the worse ones out there, because oh my fucking god everyone is so goddamn hostile towards Nesta. Amren and Nesta were previously friendly, then they had an unresolved (and unexplained) falling out, and now holy shit Amren is constantly baiting Nesta, making snide remarks. Rice Hand seems to be offended by Nesta simply because she doesn't like him or Feyre, like I don't get why he's so aggressive towards her (and that shit continues for the majority of the book it's so annoying), but somehow everyone there is surprised when Nesta is aggressive, that she throws insults, that she's rude.

Anyway, after Nesta is toted to the House, she instantly tries to find a way out, and that's when the 10,000 stairs come in. (Tangent, in the book it says that the stairs are about a foot tall each. 10,000, 1 foot tall stairs. That would mean the House of Wind is at least 10,000ft tall, but seeing as the House has multiple levels, it's even taller than that. This building is so goddamn tall, did Maas even think about that? It's nonsensical! Anyway) She tries to go down them, but she fails miserably. She's underweight, I wouldn't be surprised if she's malnourished, she's in no state to climb down 10,000 stairs.

So that's where the training comes in. Cassian takes her to Windhaven, an Illyrian camp (place thing idk), to train, but she just refuses. After 3 days of her not doing anything, Cassian is ready to throw in the towel (I thought,,, I would think that since he's had to discipline out-of-line soldiers before he'd do better than 3 fucking days but whatever), but then he remembers what she's said about it all three of those times, that she's not gonna do it in front of everyone (because if you didn't remember, the Illyrians are massively sexist and so of course no one has anything better to do than gather round to see some random woman attempt to train but whatever), so he just has her train within the House. One top of the House, it seems. I don't know how big this House is supposed to be, but the roof at least would have to be huge to allow for multiple people to train and work out, spaced out evenly, and not be at risk for falling off. But he has her train there, issue resolved.

What is this training, you may ask? It's just basic stuff, like stretching, balance, strength training, and eventually grappling with so much sexual tension you can barely see your hand in front of your face (it's like a fog as far as I'm concerned), casual stuff.

Along with this training, Nesta is also assigned to work in the library, which is also a sort of refuge or something for a bunch of priestesses who have survived various forms of abuse or assault. It's one big safe space that also has old ass books. Sounds great. She has to work there for six hours, I believe, everyday, along with the training, and at the library she meets someone named Gwyn. Gwyn is a priestess, she's been there for a little while (it doesn't actually say how long, now that I think about it) and fun fact, she's a quarter river nymph. The person she works under is shown using that fact as an insult, but only once, because then Nesta lets her eyes go silver, which freaks them out, and then Gwyn doesn't have to deal with it anymore.

Speaking of silver eyeballs, let's talk about her powers. What are they, how do they work? What are the limits of her powers, etc.? It's not really stated, beyond vague stuff of her powers being derived from something ancient, before the Fae's time, and that she's really powerful. At one point in the book when Rice Hand had to go into her mind (she was having night terrors), he described her powers as "pure death". On one occasion as she was trying to go down the 10,000 steps (which is a recurring thing throughout the whole book), she fell partway down and when she caught herself, she saw that she somehow burned her handprint into the stone. At another point when she's a good way into her training, she's punching something and it is later shown that she again burned through the wood (it was a piece of wood wrapped in cloth which sounds like an absolute delight to punch for a sustained period of time), but somehow the burn mark was cold? Much later in the book she literally un-alives someone, like she didn't kill them, she regressed their age so much that they were un-alive. (She basically hit the "undo" button on their life) Additionally, since her powers that she got from the Cauldron have connected her to the "Dread Trove" items, she is able to find them very easily and use them without issue. With all this information, it's still not clear as to what the limits to her power are. I suppose she is the limitation, because she could choose to use her power to gather the items of the "Dread Trove" and use them to manipulate worlds and time and fucking death itself, but she doesn't. And honestly I'm not sure how I feel about that, I'm kinda iffy on the idea of a character having seemingly unlimited power (especially when they only use it a handful of times, if at all), but I suppose it doesn't really matter because by the end of the story, she gives back most of her power to the Cauldron anyway, so any questions about that are just,,, thrown to the wind.

The characters in this story were a pretty mixed bag. I can say full-heartedly that I did not like Rhysand (there, I said his actual name instead of Rice Hand, Rice Hand is funnier to me). I don't think I've ever particularly liked him, he was too smarmy for my liking, and then when we got a look into his mind courtesy of ACOFAS, all I got out of it was that whatever is going on in his head does not match his outwardly appearance and demeanor whatsoever. (On the outside, he seems like he'd be the one to smirk a lot, probably use lots of sarcasm, on the inside it seems like if someone said "boobs" he'd start laughing uncontrollably. Like, it's weird. Idk what was going on in that book, it was weird.) But in this book, I did not like him, from the beginning. He was so hostile, so aggressive towards Nesta, at any given moment. I don't know if he had any sympathy at all for her situation, because he certainly didn't act like it. At anything Nesta would do, he would push back.

For example, when Gwyn decided to join Nesta in her training, Rice Hand said in her mind to not do anything (in the book, he said, "You are to treat Gwyn with kindness and respect." (pg. 304)), and the whole thing angers me for two reasons, the first being that Nesta's kindness was the reason that Gwyn was there in the first place. Which leads to the second reason, that it seems that Rice Hand is so convinced that Nesta is an unlikable person that she couldn't have possibly made friends (or at least friendly acquaintances) during her time at the House and working in the library.

Following that remark, Nesta noted that it seemed that Rice Hand didn't particularly like the fact that she and Cassian were a thing, which also ticks me off. Am I a huge fan of Cassian and Nesta being together? They're fine, but it's again that idea that she couldn't have possibly warmed up to someone that she has to be around the majority of the time, and maybe someone that doesn't default their mentality of her as "whatever she's doing, it's wrong/bad". To give credit to Cassian, he did figure out that Rice Hand said something to her and chided him for doing so. He actually caught Rice Hand doing it a few more times within the book and got after him about it those times, which is nice.

But that's not the only reason why I specifically did not like Rice Hand in this book. There's another thing he did which I feel is so much worse than what he did or said to Nesta. That thing would be that he kept information about Feyre from Feyre, specifically about her own pregnancy. Now, I said in the beginning that she had a troubled pregnancy. Basically, her baby had wings, but her body wouldn't be able to safely deliver the baby because of those wings. Before you ask "Hey, doesn't Feyre have shape-shifting powers?" or "What about a c-section?", Maas tucked away those easy solutions by saying that Madja, the person overseeing Feyre's pregnancy, told her that shape-shifting might put the baby at risk for more complications, and as far as the c-section thing goes, they just uh, they just haven't seemed to figure out how to do that. These Fae people live for hundreds of years and no one has ever figured out how to properly do a c-section, I guess. Additionally, it seems that Illyrian wings are particularly special, compared to the wings of the other two groups of winged Fae, Seraphim and Peregyrn, because whereas the wings of the Seraphims or Peregryns can move, allowing for an easier birth, apparently (for some fucking reason) Illyrian wings are bony? Like, in utero, they're already bony and difficult to move, which is where all those complications come in.

He told none of this to Feyre. All she knew about her own pregnancy, was that there might be some complications, she didn't know that there was a gigantic mortality rate with pregnancies like this, nothing like that. He purposely kept this information from her, it seems that the whole fucking Inner Court voted on it, or some shit. When Feyre was told of this whole thing from Nesta, Amren said it was to protect Feyre, to keep her from getting stressed or scared, which could worsen things further. But I counter that Amren, with this: How fucking scared do you think Feyre would have been, when she was in labor and everything, and things were rapidly spiraling out of control? She would have been terrified! Don't you think that would've affected something, because I fucking think it would have! Was there ever any intent to tell her about this, or did all of them just decide to never tell her?

The reason why Nesta told Feyre about it was to hurt her, initially, but it was also because she found out that the Inner Court had made a decision about her, personally, because she had accidentally made more "Dread Trove" items by imbuing her power in three swords that she made while at a blacksmith. She found out (via Cassian's absolutely terrible way of bringing up the swords she made) that they were planning to take them away (or something, I don't specifically remember), and that's when she went to Amren's place and demanded more information. When Feyre was brought to intervene, Nesta told Feyre what Cassian had told her (despite the fact that he was totally supposed to keep that a secret but whatever dude). Feyre was shocked, understandably, but she wasn't angry at Nesta for that, and I can't tell you how happy I was about that, I am so happy that Feyre wasn't angry at Nesta for telling her about this. She actually was angry at the other people for deciding to keep this information from her. I just,, I'm really happy that she wasn't angry at Nesta. Everyone else, on the other hand, was fucking pissed at her, including Rice Hand. He was absolutely livid, but the funny thing is, that I don't give a shit, honestly. He should have never kept that a secret in the first place.

I think as a whole, his behavior is explained away because "his mate is pregnant", so I guess he has full clearance to be obnoxious and aggressive and withhold information without the knowledge of all parties involved. What happened to always giving Feyre a choice, Rhysand? What happened to that? Did she only get a choice when you decided to give her one? Because that is certainly what this felt like.

Another thing that Rice Hand did that I would place in between his bullshit against Nesta and his bullshit against Feyre, is another thing that he did to Feyre. So, back in ACOTAR, I believe, when Feyre was still with Tamlin, Tamlin infamously trapped Feyre in a huge magical bubble, where she couldn't leave Tamlin's house. Everyone agreed that that wasn't the best thing for Tamlin to do, and Tamlin's punishment was completely equal to the evils he committed, one-hundred percent. (Not really, now he's stuck in his beast form, roaming the Spring Court in a state of anger and pain. Sympathy for him is quite the commodity in the books.) But what does any of this have to do with Rice Hand? Well, he basically did the same thing to Feyre, except rather than being stuck in a building, the shield is on her, and it's so strong that even her friends can't touch her without being hit by the shield. And when she's asked about it, Feyre just says that Rice Hand learned how to make shields from Helion, the High Lord of the Summer Court, and like,,,, is testing them out on her?? And we're all supposed to think this is fine? The shield is so intense that they can't even smell her (which is a thing, in this series. Fae people can smell other people, they have scents, idk man I'm just going with it), so effectively he's masking her entire existence, and no one has a problem with it. It's weird. It's not as bad as the pregnancy thing, but it's still not great.

I suppose since I'm talking about characters, I should talk about Cassian and Nesta, seeing as they did totally, undeniably become a Thing in this book. Idk how to really go about it, honestly. For the majority of the book, at least one of them was sure that the other didn't like them, or that they weren't deserving to be with the other, so that was fun. I don't particularly remember when, but at some point they both just,,, decided? to have casual sex, that it meant nothing (when it did, in fact, mean something), and it was like,,, a way of distancing themselves from the other. That is particularly the case with Nesta, who felt guilty for constantly pushing Cassian away at basically every turn. Apparently her attention was caught on him from like,,, the first time that she even saw him, way back when she and Elain were still human, in their cottage. She didn't love him or anything, but it was a Notice.

Despite that Notice, she still pushed him away, as I said, because she just didn't feel like she was good enough. Over the course of the book, Nesta quickly became ashamed of the life she had been living since being put in the Cauldron, which was all the drinking and sex (and that's it? Like, a lot of people in this book made it out to be this whole thing but I think that's basically all she did. Part of me feels like the main reason the Inner Court was so bothered by it in the first place was that she was billing it to them, who really wouldn't even notice the money spent anyway, given how much money they seem to have but whatever), and this was another thing that caused her to push away. (And then violently yo-yo back it was incredible) She also has been harboring a fuck ton of guilt over her father's death, which I think was something I worried about after reading ACOFAS? Idk, but it wasn't terrible. She acknowledged that she couldn't really do anything, that it was all over before she could move, but the main reason she felt so horrible about it, was because all this time, since her mother's death (and kinda before it?), she had been mean towards her father, constantly snubbing him, acting with disdain, etc., but during the war (in ACOWAR, it's so helpfully acronymed), he came to help with a fleet of ships, and the one he was on, he named after her. It showed that, despite all that she had said and done to him for all these years, he still loved her, and she felt that she didn't deserve that.

She felt guilty about what had happened to Elain, and felt angry that she wasn't able to do more. Her relationship with Elain kinda soured at a point, because it went from Elain being the withdrawn, sallow, underfed and distant one, to her being that, except with Elain, she would just sit in a chair in an empty room and wallow in her own misery, whereas Nesta used other aforementioned ways to try to forget. Throughout a lot of this book, Nesta and Elain are at each other's throats, and they did, apparently, make up, but I don't know when. For how much of the book is spent about them being at odds with each other, there's an odd lack of them actually making up with each other and settling all that. It's weird.

As a whole though, the center of Nesta's issues stem from the fact that she feels helpless. As she put it, all these things happened to her, she didn't do anything about it. She didn't (in most cases, couldn't) do anything to get herself out of those situations. She felt she lacked agency, in essence. I believe that is mostly why she acted the way she did, because then she could control how others felt about her. The other reason why she acted the way she did, is that her mother trained her to do so.

When her family was still rich (and their mother was still alive), Nesta was trained to be absolutely vicious in the ballroom. She knew how to win people over with small gestures or expressions, and how to read people with a glance. She also knew how to dance, ridiculously well it seems. There is a point in the story when, to make sure that Eris, a member of the Autumn Court that they had been using for information, was still friendly with them, she was chosen to dance with him, to make sure that the Night Court was still in his favor. So, she danced with him. By the end of it, Eris apparently wanted to marry her, and you can fucking imagine how pissed Cassian was about that (I do think that at this point in the book, Nesta and Cassian were most assuredly a Thing, whether either of them acknowledged it or not), but the whole point of it was to show that Nesta was really in tune with music, and that she knows exactly how to meddle in the politics to win in her favor.

Her mother raised Elain to be a perfect princess, to be married off to someone with lots of money. Her mother raised Nesta to be powerful (but, from Nesta's own thoughts, she remembers asking her mother if she was going to marry a person the same way Elain was, but her mother didn't respond). As for Feyre, Nesta says that their mother seemed to mostly forget or avoid Feyre, because she wasn't quite right or something. I'm not sure.

There is a little thing where Nesta thinks of herself as a caged beast stuffed in a pretty dress, because she remembers that she's always had to restrain herself to make sure that nothing went wrong. When her mental health declines, it is equated to wolves encroaching her space, snarling her doubts and fears, and how she used to deafen them using people or alcohol. It wasn't ever enough, but it's what she did.

One thing that did help with the wolves was something she learned from Gwyn, called Mind Stilling (cough cough it's just meditation cough wheeze), a practice used by an extinct group of female warriors called Valkyries. (Yup, just like the Old Norse Valkyries.) Throughout this book, Nesta, Gwyn, and another Illyrian woman named Emerie (along with a few others but they basically only are present in theory) all trained with Cassian (and Azriel, he showed up later on, just in case Maas thought you forgot about him) to become the new Valkyries. It turns out that Cassian knew of them, I think most of the Inner Court knew them or at least knew of them (which is what happens when you're over five hundred fucking years old jfc) before they died in battle. There are a couple portions of this book that are mostly just training montages, with added notes of "it would have taken forever to build muscles as a human, but being Fae meant that Nesta could get stronger much faster", just in case you thought that 3 training montages was a lil too fast.

All this training does culminate into something by the end of the book, almost literally. I feel like a lot of this book is just watching Cassian and Nesta bounce off one another (in more ways than one lmao), and then Maas at some point realized, "Oh shit I have to actually make these things mean something!" and so the payoff for all the training, so to speak, and Feyre's pregnancy are both resolved by the end of the book, just barely.

The training thing is resolved by Gwyn, Emerie, and Nesta (in that order, it was specified that Nesta took like, three days after Emerie and Gwyn to complete her training because she was so busy probably staring at Cassian and thinking about... stuff. That's basically what both of them were doing for a healthy portion of this 700+ page tome) cutting a white silk ribbon that was tied up to a pole. I guess the idea was that if they are able to cut a piece of ribbon fluttering in the wind, they have mastery over themselves and their weapons. Personally, I get it. Ribbons are evasive as fuck and will gain enough sentience to move away from you just enough so you can't grab them. I know for certain that I would not be able to do this.

Now, I've mentioned Emerie a few times now, who is she? During the three or so days at the Illyrian camp, Nesta comes to know an Illyrian woman named Emerie. She's a shopkeeper in the village, and she likes keeping her store neat. Her family doesn't like that she owns the shop, and wants it to be carried over to one of her relatives. One of the times that Nesta visits her, one of Emerie's cousins is there, spewing stupid nonsense about how she can't run a store on her own. (He ends up dying, in case you were wondering.) She seems like a pretty interesting character, and she and Nesta bond over their shared interests in books, and that they've both been through some shit. In Emerie's case, her wings were clipped, so she can't fly. It is(or was?) a practice that was(is?) pretty common in Illyrian society, because clearly no one wants the wamen flyin around, who else is gonna do the cookin and cleanin and child rearin? Emerie ends up joining Nesta and Gwyn in training, with her main motivation similar to Nesta's: that she never wants to feel or be powerless again.

I've talked about the training a few times now, and I've mentioned how it led to something, without saying what it leads to, so I'll say it here: it leads to the Blood Rite, which is an Illyrian coming-of-age sorta thing, where the participants (typically the male Illyrians, like I said they just can't have the wamen beating them at anything it'd hurt their wittle egos) are put in this forest and they are tasked to scale a mountain (at least one) within a week, and fight off any monsters trying to eat them, or opponents trying to beat them. It's pretty common for people to die in these.

Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie landed themselves in this Blood Rite by being kidnapped, that's apparently how the participants are put in the Rite. There was something unusual about this one, however, in that someone (I think it turned out to be someone under the control of Briallyn) planted weapons all over the forest, which isn't allowed. Something that also isn't allowed in the Rite is magic, so the magic that Nesta has become accustomed to and now has a decent relationship with, is gone. Cool.

In the process of getting up the mountain, Gwyn nearly dies, she got shot in the leg by an arrow, and Emerie nearly drowns in a river. Nesta nearly gets stabbed by Emerie's cousin, the same guy who showed up in her shop that one time, but then he gets killed. Woohoo, violence!

Right as Nesta is fighting with Emerie's cousin, Cassian shows up, which is surprising because he wouldn't normally be able to be there: if outside forces help a participant get through the Blood Rite, it is then considered invalid, and both the participant and the outside person are promptly killed (Woohoo, violence!). Turns out that he's under the control of Briallyn, who shows up as well. She orders Cassian to kill Nesta (because of course), and rather than stab her, he stabs himself. This is when the un-aliving thing happens that I mentioned earlier. Nesta was so caught up in the rage and stress of being in the Rite, then the sheer fury of what was going on, and it was an instance of her mind going, "I will not let this happen to me" and so she slammed the "undo" button on Briallyn's existence. (Woohoo, violence!) All is well though, because apparently Cassian did not, in fact, stab himself.

All is not well though, because as this whole thing ends, Feyre's pregnancy issues begin. I won't go over in detail because I've already talked about it earlier, but basically she went into labor way too early, and things have only gotten worse. She's bleeding out, everyone is certain that she will die. And thanks to the fact that, in ACOWAR, Feyre and Rice Hand made a vow that, if one dies, the other will, there's also the risk that Rice Hand will die, and since the baby is so premature, so will the baby. So there are three lives at risk, and no one knows what the fuck to do about any of it.

Except Nesta. Well, she doesn't really know what to do, but she's trying something. She takes the items of the "Dread Trove" (remember those?) and she uses them to pause time, right before death (kinda like pausing right before your Sim's death to save your game), and pleads with the powers in the objects and within herself, to show her how to save Feyre and the baby, and she will give her powers back to the Cauldron from which she took them. The powers are basically like "k lol", and she saves Feyre and the baby (his name is Nyx, which is just,,, it's so fantasy fiction omfg), and she tells Cassian later that she also altered her fucking body so that it can carry an Illyrian baby. Has she, at literally any point in the series, let alone this book, ever even thought she wanted a child? Nope, but everyone gotta have babies. (I get that people change their minds, and Nesta seems to have a fuck ton of time ahead of her to think about it, but idk it just kinda came up out of nowhere. How about beginning research into situations like that and maybe learn how to safely perform a c-section, in this case, so that future situations don't turn out as they seem to have previously. Nesta fixing her own body won't affect the who-knows-how-many other people who might get into this situation. Then again, it's not on her to solve everyone's problems,,, idk man)

Rrrrighttt at the end of the book, it mentions that Cassian and Nesta are going to have a mating ceremony, which for all intents and purposes, might as well be a wedding they talk about it like a wedding some of the practices and traditions are reminiscent of a wedding, it's a wedding. But for some reason, they don't actually have the ceremony in this book, even though I imagine Maas could've totally done it. What's another few pages in a 700+ page book, right? So I imagine that the ceremony might come up again in the next book, because Something is going to happen then. I have no idea what that Something is going to be, but that's my guess.

I don't think I have many issues with this book in particular, it's more with just the series as a whole. I just have a lot of questions with this series, and I got even more questions from this book. Most of my questions circulate around the powers of the characters within the Inner Court, such as how does literally everyone's powers work?? Throughout this book, it kept referring to Cassian's magic, that he wears a bunch of thingies (they're called Siphons but they'll always be thingies to me) to contain that magic, but it never actually says what his magic is. As far as I can tell, there are like,, idk how to describe it but like kinda threads?? of magic, I guess, that come from his Siphons, but other than that it's just that he,,, punch? He fight good? I really don't know. From what I can gather, his abilities could stem from his life rather than any magic he has. (I think that could actually be more interesting, him not having any magic, and kinda lend another reason as to why so many fucking people in this book shit on him for being the way he is. They all throw "Prince of Bastards" or some similar title at him, as if he's the only bastard to have ever existed in Prythian like, bad guys, please come up with more insults. Call him a shithead or something like be creative I'm really not feeling it)

With Nesta, it also does a poor job of explaining her magic, it's just repeated that it's old, it's ancient, it's from another time, a time before the Fae, a time long forgotten, but like, bro, what is it. I guess I'll never know. Elain's power, which also stems from the Cauldron, is barely mentioned in this book, aside from them saying that it's either gone away, or gone dormant, so she's treated as though she has no powers (that is, whenever she actually shows up in the book. Elain is just,,, rarely in the series. What is she doing at any given time the world may never know).

I don't really think that Maas understands how many stairs 10,000 stairs would be. I don't think she gets how long 500 years would be, and what you would even be doing for the majority of that time. I don't think she has a scale for how much power she has flung at her characters, to the point of it all being nonsensical. Everyone has so much power, we're told that Rice Hand has a ridiculous amount of power, somehow Feyre has double his power, but Amren had even more power, but Nesta has even more power than that and it's just,,, can I please have a frame of reference because I simply do not understand. I don't think she even has much of an explanation for the powers she has given her characters, and two examples I can immediately think of are Mor and Azriel. Mor's powers have simply been stated as "truth", but have we ever seen her use that power? What the fuck does that even mean, does she have a freakin lasso of truth or some shit like I don't understand. Then with Azriel, he got some kind of shadow magic thing going on, but like even within the story, the characters don't seem to understand how it works. Even the people that have known Azriel basically their entire lives (Rice Hand and Cassian) don't understand it. So how the fuck am I suppose to understand?

I'm just going to end it here because jfc this thing is so long, it's 10 pages long in Google Docs, and I heavily doubt anyone is going to read this far. If you have, much thanks! To clarify, I do like the series (to some extent) I just,, I have a lot of questions. So many, I couldn't fit them in here because they didn't really have any answers in the books (any of them, as far as I'm aware). Idk. How do people write conclusions? It's beyond me. Agh, anyway, thanks for reading this.

[meloncubedradpops]

Repo! The Corona Opera: Final Countdown

This is the third and final installment of Repo: The Corona Opera. In the first piece, I made the argument that the surreal events we are experiencing in 2020 remind me of the world in the movie Repo! the Genetic Opera. My second essay compared the characteristics of fascism with the same movie. Here we will tie together ideas in both works to highlight a dark path that America is on, based on what we know about Repo!, in the hopes that we can reject the evils of those who are sacrificing our health and safety for their own selfish reasons. 

When I began thinking about this movie through the lenses of COVID-19, I saw uncanny patterns that just years ago seemed like an exaggerated storytelling. Millions of people dying from organ failure. Yeah, but how? 

Then 2020 happened. Oh, that's how. Sure the disease doesn't affect everyone in the same way, but its wrath and potential to harm are tremendous. The death toll in the United States alone is, as of today, is 231,000. At least, that is the death toll we are know so far. It will take time when the dust settles and we can analyze the excess death data to truly know how many of our fellow Americans have died. 

And while our world does not currently emulate those opening comic scenes in Repo, the impact from the sudden loss of life will be felt for a long time. There are a lot of really great themes in Repo: the concept of the family, drug addiction, the impact of corporate monopolies, and let's not forget it's a gothic coming-of-age story too. I am going to highlight three concepts that weave together our current reality with the world of Repo: the parallels of the Trump and Largo family, the Graverobber as the symbolic "other", and organ repossessions is genocide.

As mentioned in my previous entry, I highlighted the ways that Rotti Largo is a fascist. I went into detail supporting the argument that his company GeneCo holds tremendous and unyielding power in the city we see in the movie. And despite his efforts to save humanity from extinction, his assumed heirs and blood-related children are nothing short of entitled mediocrity. I will draw many parallels between President Donald Trump and Rotti Largo throughout the duration of this essay, but let's take a few minutes to talk about their children. Believe it or not, this meme was made by myself and my friend FOUR years ago, almost to the day! 

But unlike 2016, I had no idea that I'd find multiple comparisons to draw upon. And frankly, if we all knew how bad this presidency would be, for both America and the rest of the world, we might have made less jokes from our complacency. I ask the the real question though, which Trump and Rotti offspring are most alike?

Now, I've wanted to do this thought exercise since the inception of my essays. The surface level combinations would look something like, Amber and Ivanka (since they're both women, obvs), Donald Trump JR as Luigi (oldest child), and Eric Trump as Pavi ("you're just his useless brother!"). 

However my boyfriend raised a great point that had me rethink this: Donald Trump Jr is ACTUALLY Amber Sweet. When I took out the gender aspect out of the equation, it made so much more sense. In my next point, I will go into drug addiction in a much more dignified manner. But let's just take a moment here to consider the following. 

We know that Amber Sweet is addicted to two things in life: surgery and pain killing drugs to make surgery bearable. Amber Sweet's character provides an incredible insight to the daily life of the people in Repo. If you subtract the Zydrate Anatomy scene, you would hardly even know that zydrate is devastating lives of the people addicted to it. We hear about zydrate in the graveyard as a commercial and the media spends its first opportunity asking Rotti about zydrate's "use and abuses". After Sweet becomes a no-show in the presser, we quickly learn that she runs a support group for fellow addicts, or at least she is supposed to. 

How does this relate to Trump Jr? Quite simply, many are speculating that Trump Jr abuses cocaine. The most compelling evidence is his speech during the Republican National Convention. Now, obviously we don't have solid evidence that he is indeed consuming and abusing cocaine, and quite frankly if he is, that would not be incredibly surprising or even a huge deal. 

But the conversation doesn't end here. President Donald Trump did not hesitate to bring up former vice president Joe Biden's son Hunter Biden and his battle with addiction during the first Presidential Debate. It was a low jab, especially considering that the United States is going through a crippling opioid crisis, which he even admits is exacerbated by covid-19 and related lockdowns. Both Donald Trump and Rotti Largo exploit their own children in this manner. I mean, Donald Trump helped fucked up the Trump Foundation where his children were held prominent positions, which was caught stealing from a charity intended to help children with cancer! Every time we see Donald Trump Jr on our doom-screens, we get another glimpse into Jr's downward spiral. And with every additional crime that all of president Trump's children become implicated in, the more and more we can see that this family is rotten to the core. 

If Trump Jr is Amber Sweet, then Ivanka is Luigi. In Repo, Luigi can be described as nothing short of a homicidal maniac. I am not saying that Ivanka commits murder, at least not directly, but she does hold a lot of power in the White House. Spend any time learning about the machinations of the White House, particularly in the early days, and you will learn Ivanka competed with Melania for a voice in the administration, and still works for the White House today. Even if you exclude all of the shady business ties, such as the dozens of Chinese patents (including for voting machines!!!) Ivanka has filed, clearly the boundaries of nepotism do not exist for this family. Luigi somehow kills multiple people in the movie and faces no consequences for it. How can this be? Obviously corruption, but that is too simple. If there were multiple checks and balances at one point that would have forced Luigi to face justice for his crimes, they have obviously failed to come to roost in the movie. The obvious common denominator between today and the world of Repo is that those who want power will do anything to obtain and maintain it. Does the public know about every murder committed by Luigi? Does the public know about every crime committed by Ivanka (and also by proxy her husband Jared Kushner, who by the way, failed to pass mandatory security clearances but still has access to the intelligence of our government)? Jared intentionally made it difficult for many of the states hit hardest by covid-19 in the early weeks to acquire the necessary medical supplies because the electorate did not vote for Trump in 2016. That. IS. MURDER. Just as Luigi calls the common citizens in Repo "filthy mice", “Jrvanka” (and the Right at greater) frames the nation as two groups: us and THEM. Luigi is much less calculated, but the comparisons are there. If given the chance, the Trump and Largo family will kill because of their sociopathy, greed, and egos. 

Admittedly I don't have as compelling of a comparison for Eric Trump and Pavi. However I will say that both Pavi and Eric do the bidding for their father's empire, and I would also argue that both feel like they have to compete to get a modicum of attention and love from a paternal figure devoid of basic empathy. And at the end of the day, they do not reject their father's tyranny. And honestly that is enough of a comparison for me. 

Last but not least, I can't ignore the fact that the official Republican Party platform for the 2020 election is loyalty to Trump in the absence of any other political or philosophical idea. A majority of the speakers at the Republican National Convention were members of his family. Their pitch to Americans is “Just Trust Us”. However, a quarter million Americans aren't here to agree or disagree with that statement. With each passing day, more and more Americans are getting sick, to the tune of tens of thousands of cases a day on average currently. The Largo family and GeneCo are not much different. Remember that scene in 21st Century Cure where Shilo and Graverobber are in a mass grave where we can see truck loads of humans being added to the pile of corpses? 

The only real thing separating the corpses from the rest of the city is a poorly constructed brick wall and the years of propaganda that normalizes what I imagine would be a terrible pungent smell of death. 

The entire Trump family came into the first presidential debate without masks. The president was literally sick with a virus that statistically speaking, could kill his opponent; and he was on stage shedding this incredibly contagious virus screaming and shouting, spreading his droplets everywhere. The Trump family failed to show up early enough to be tested for covid before the debate. 

This was not an accident. Jared Kushner bragged to journalist Bob Woodward back in April that Trump was going to take the country "back from scientists". As of this past weekend, we learned that Trump is floating around the idea of firing our nation's leading disease expert Anthony Fauci in a time where our cases, deaths, and hospitalizations from covid-19 are surging. It is almost grotesquely poetic how similar this is to GeneCo. GeneCo is a company in the healthcare industry, but they exploit the worst parts of society, which I will go into very soon. And in its effort to achieve maximum quarterly profits, the ends always justify the means, even if that results in fascism and excess death/suffering. Rotti's body guards kill the doctor who gives him his grim diagnosis. Trump didn't kill the doctors treating him during his recovery with covid, but information we got from the White House doctors were straight up WEIRD. We witnessed a Gentern being killed by Luigi in the Mark It Up Scene for no other reason besides existing in the proximity of him. Trump has spread misinformation about how there's more money to be made when a doctor declares a death as a covid death. I am finding it hard to see the difference. I think I've made my point regarding the parallels of the Trump and Largo family quite clearly, but you may see additional points I bring up as the rest of my essay unfolds. 

Society is complex with more nuance than we give it credit to. The different ways that various groups of people interact with are endlessly interesting, and one of the reasons I love Repo so much is because there's an incredible amount of unpacking that you can do, even in the absence of written dialogue about it. 

If you don't know, Repo started out as a story originally penned as "The Necromerchant's Debt", which gave the Graverobber character a more active role in the world crafted by Darren Smith and Terrace Zdunich. When watching the movie Repo! The Genetic Opera, the Graverobber is certainly a character seen in multiple scenes, but in a lot of ways, his importance is left out. An entire scene was cut from the film, see Needle Through a Bug below if you're interested. 

Regardless the parts that we do see are still greatly impactful. Graverobber is essentially the symbolized "other" living in a world that is greatly stratified by social class, and he's doing what he can to survive. 

Now if you have been living on this planet we call Earth and have ever paid attention ever, you probably have noticed that there are a lot of power structures that influence the resources and opportunities that aid in our development and maintenance of our needs. The access to being able to elevate ourselves above basic survival are typically contingent upon a few things, one namely our ability to draw a paycheck. As I mentioned in my last essay, so many things went wrong to have what would equivalently be either a drug trafficking felony in today's terms or maybe theft, result in permissible extra-judicial murder. And I am not saying that Trump's bragging of the extra-judicial murder of an ANTIFA activist is at all related, but look at the way Trump compares his dissidents with the way GeneCo treats Graverobbers.

 We are experiencing the early stages of economic collapse, millions of people are hungry, soon-to-be evicted, jobless. And yet, the Republicans in power just HAD to rush through a Supreme Court justice. When arguing against lockdowns that would have saved lives, the Right spent countless hours arguing about increase suicide, drug use, poverty, domestic abuse, blah blah blah, you know all the things that were there and as equally as important pre-pandemic? And they did NOTHING to help mitigate this disaster beyond the bill that was passed this spring. The house passed the HEROES Act back in May, and senate majority leader Mitch McConnel declined to take a vote on it. 

Never mind the fact that landlords are still expected to pay the banks their mortgages on their investment properties. Never mind the fact that rent wasn't cancelled. Never mind that the Trump administration sought to prevent any oversight into the first bill passed previously to prosecute fraud. So you know, we can make sure the money went to small business owners, and not instead to the many, many crony ties to the administration who were approved for huge amounts of money. Honestly to think about this is kind of sickening, particularly when you relate it back to Repo and my essay I wrote on fascism.

I could probably talk all day about our failure with the "War on Drugs", but I feel like you can probably see based on the efficacy of its policies that drugs still exist and people are still abusing them. I bring this up because the Graverobber's occupation is essentially a drug dealer. However he sells a counterfeit of zydrate derived from the body of a bug who naturally borrow in a corpse's body, which is and also isn't stealing from the corpse / their estate, but is somehow still "bad" enough that you can legally be killed "on site" if a Gene Cop thinks you're harvesting the blue brain goo. I mean this entire concept makes my brain hurt. 

The Graverobber, as a concept, is a perfect example of the enemy who is simultaneously the biggest and the least threat, and the only way to stop them is to kill them before they can appeal before the jury of their peers or go to prison to pay for their crimes. And I am sure the propaganda that justifies this is beautifully orchestrated. It literally mimics Russian propaganda, AKA the biggest foreign intelligence threat since, I don’t know, the Cold War? I can picture authoritarian stump speeches now: 

"Here the Graverobber who comes in the night, tempting your children. They sell the promise of a good time, but did you know they are raping your daughters for this drug?? They can get your husband hooked on zydrate, and you won't know it's coming until he comes home unrecognizable. These thugs are stealing your grandmother's ring off her corpse, and you will find her half-rotted corpse thrown askew across her tombstone when you go to pay your respects."

And yet Graverobber defends himself:

"Industrialization has crippled the globe (Enjoy GeneCo's day and nighttime formula of Zydrate) Nature failed as technology spread (Ask a gentern if Zydrate is right for you) And from this wake a market erected (Buying Zydrate from an unlicensed source is illegal) An entire city built on top of the dead! And you can finance your bones And your kidneys For every market a submarket grows But best you be punctual With making your payments Lest it be you on the concrete below It's quick! It's clean! It's pure! It could change your life! Rest assured! It's the 21st century cure! And it's my job To steal and rob GRAVES!" 

He then goes into detail about how this is just the cost of doing business with his modern world. How many of our current and future stories by those who will not make a single sentence in our history books will be casted as enemies of the state who were ultimately just trying to make end's meet? You can deport the illegal immigrant but neglect to prosecute the American company who hired them to work here? How is that much different? If the people in Repo need this drug to cope with the deaths of their loved ones and their livelihoods, then what does that say about the soul of their nation? 

If you are still with me at this point, I want to thank you so much. I am going to conclude on a fairly heavy topic, but it is one worth having. Organ repossessions in Repo are genocide and in America, we are currently also committing genocide. 

The whole premise of the film is the justification that those who fail to make payments on their surgeries deserve to have their organs repossessed, because what other reality is there with unrelenting end-stage capitalism? People are losing their whole lives as I type this, through no fault of their own. Most Americans cannot afford a $400 emergency expense pre-covid-19. Millions are unable to pay for basic life expenses, such as rent, healthcare or food. Our president specifically shoved a Supreme Court justice because he wants the American Healthcare Act to be deemed too unconstitutional for public policy. Never mind the 100+ million Americans with pre-existing conditions. Never mind the millions who acquire their healthcare through the ACA marketplace. Never mind the fact that we are in a once-in-a-century PANDEMIC. Never mind that we spend more per capital on healthcare than anywhere else in the world. Never mind that the Right does not have ANY sort of plan to replace something in its place. How could MILLIONS die in an organ failure crises in Repo anyways? We already know that the Trump administration already stopped caring about covid deaths when we learned it was hurting people of color disproportionality than the general population. 1 out of 1000 black Americans have died from covid. Reread that sentence. If you don't believe me, go out and seek those facts for yourself. When we think of genocide we think of Hitler killing thousands of people via gas chambers. But there are SO many other steps that lead to the normalization of that. 

Undesirables, aka the "others", are easy to discard. Is it a surprise to anyone that ICE gynecologists are removing the uteruses of detainees? I almost made my whole essay about that one controversy alone. Genocide is insidious like that. 

"Oh but if she didn't want that hysterectomy, she shouldn't have tried to come to America for a better life, even if that's what my ancestors did." 

Of course not, she's the "other", and you're the law-abiding citizen. You were able to afford the extra $30 a month for the upgraded booby package that gave an otherwise unremarkable kidney transplant a fun twist by including breast implants. The orphan who works the streets because his parents died during the plague who needed a new pancreas because insulin became too expensive is threatening your suburbs. Bonus points if the orphan has a hint of melanin in his skin or if your daughter shows favor towards his antics, completely ignoring the fact that his mommy and daddy were killed by preventable disease. I have no idea if this was intentional or not, but look at the makeup of people who get their organs repossessed in Repo and try not to tell me there's a trend. Yes it could have been the coincidence of casting, but nevertheless it is worth mentioning. We don't see many people of color in this movie, but of the few we see, they get murdered by GeneCo/Wallace. And I don't care how stupid coincidences are because that is exactly what is happening with covid-19. The so-called essential, working class citizens (who are disproportionally POC) are putting their whole life on the line to serve everyone else who works at home. 

The ends justifies the means, kill enough elderly and the federal government won't have to pay out on social security. Force everyone to get back to work and fuck you if you think you deserve money for the hours you weren't allowed to work (oh and by the way we want to make it so you can't sue for covid-19 related liabilities). Oh you lost your job, "try something new", as told by Ivanka Trump earlier this summer. 

My main point is if you let fascism get control, they will normalize genocide and put you in jail for even making the connections of corruption. "Millions of people dead from organ failure, what's adding a few more to the pile in the name of law and order?" "The only good Democrat is a dead Democrat". Once again, I am failing to see the difference. 

Okay I threw a lot at you just now, and the fact you made it to the end is a miracle. If you skip around because you have a squirrel brain like me, I thank you as well. The fact we get out of bed everyday and do anything right now is a miracle and I know attention can be finite. 

I am writing this on the eve of the United States General election after having wanting to write this since June of this year. I am tired. We are ALL Shiloh right now. Our lives have been on pause. "I must be brave", "I'll capture it", "Run back inside". Yeah girl, same! I haven't talked about her much throughout any of my essays, but I have to give credit where credit is due. 

Humans are a resilient creature. We have millions of years of experience on this Earth, and much of our survival has been based on pure dumb luck. But we have blown so many other species out of the water in one way alone, and that is our ability to communicate. 

We don't have to let people who exploit our weaknesses control us. The sociopaths who try and run our society did not historically aid in our survival. They didn't care if we ate the mushroom that killed us or would have protected us when threatened by wildlife, it was our tribe. The Right has successfully hijacked that bond between the self and the tribe so that it can fit the needs of sociopathy and greed. It is not normal for a president to tell a nation that "it is what it is" when over 100k citizens die from a preventable disease. Do not let the sociopaths throw us in that tiny pine box in a mighty small drop in a mighty dark plot, hastening the trip to our epilogue. Because every inch you give, they will take a mile and charge you by the hour. Never forget that.

[classpect-crew]

Class and Purpose

I’ve heard a lot of people theorize about the purpose of each Class in any particular session. As you can probably imagine, I have a few thoughts about that. Let’s get into it, shall we? (Edit: this took me nearly two hours to write. It’s almost 7am. I need to sleep.)

First, we ought to start with the Witch and Heir. Now, all the Witches we’ve seen in canon seem to have a very similar beginning. They start off fairly passive (lowercase “p” this time) and have quite a lengthy maturation arc, not unlike Pages. However, once they hit a certain breaking point when they come into their powers, there’s a sort of “oh, shit” moment when everyone else is forced to reckon with one of their most unassuming players swiftly transforming into a powerhouse. With this much power at their disposal in such a short period of time, you may be wondering what they’re going to do with it. Well, historically speaking, they’re going to massively fuck things up for the session, whether intentionally or not. If the game determines that a brick shithouse of a player is required for some ultimate endgame, that means things are going to go very, very wrong. Ironically, the Witch may very well be the one to save the team from total catastrophe. It will usually work out in the end. Usually.

Now, the Heir is a bit of a different story. As one whose Aspect coddles and protects them in desperate times, the Heir is destined to become their Aspect in one way or another, for better or worse. After all, when a sullen, hungry Aspect like Void was influencing Equius, he ended up vanishing into irrelevance. Even his blood was used to obscure information in Rose’s tome. A similar fate befell Mituna, and he became the embodiment of sacrifice—of Doom. Heirs are doorways for their Aspects to affect the universe. They are the closest any living being can get to a distilled, pure form of an Aspect. If your session has an Heir, pay very close attention to the implications of their Aspect, because this will almost always determine how they’ll be used most effectively. An Heir of Blood, for example, is going to be your hard-working people-person, and you’ll want them in the center of your team, keeping everyone grounded and focused on the task at hand. Take heed: the appearance of an Heir is a sign that one Aspect in particular is going to have a strong influence on the session.

Next, we’ll discuss the Mage and Seer. A Mage’s role in a session is to unravel the mysteries of their Aspect, which means they’ll take on an advisory role. Their appearance marks a significant need for in-depth understanding of some kind. Every session has its riddles and puzzles, but those which possess a Mage need the mind of a scientist in order to parse out the most convoluted secrets. Perhaps the session is filled with difficult or confusing Aspect-related mysteries that must be taken apart and examined for an endgame victory to be possible. Unfortunately, we just don’t know enough about Mages in canon to speculate a whole lot more about what their presence in a session might mean.

The Seer has a similar purpose as the Heir, though to a lesser extent. While the Heir embodies their Aspect, a Seer is guided by theirs in subtle ways. The appearance of a Seer as an adviser ensures that the ultimate path to success will be either helped or hindered by their Aspect, and it’s up to them to figure out the extent and purpose of their Aspect’s sway in their session. This Passive Class tends to be assigned to otherwise active players who wish to exert their will over the universe, but must learn to step back and take on the role of a guide. Many will balk at this, but most will eventually realize that their true strength comes from trusting others to take their advice and push the team forward.

Now, onto the Maid and Sylph. The Maid, as I’ve discussed previously, begins their journey at the mercy of their Aspect’s most negative qualities. As you can imagine, a Maid’s purpose is to gain control of their Aspect in a way that allows them to “tidy it up” and maintain its integrity. The appearance of a Maid in a session almost guarantees that their Aspect is going to be fraying and torn, in need of their mending expertise. You can certainly expect a lot of difficulties to arise in the realm of their Aspect at the beginning, since they’ll lack the ability to smooth out those bumps for quite some time. Once the Maid realizes their potential, however, stand back and allow them to do their work. Chances are, they know what needs to be done to succeed, and you don’t want to stand in the way of a Maid and a stitch to be fixed.

Ah, the Sylph. As one myself, it’s fairly easy to imagine what my purpose in a session would be. Similar to the Maid, a Sylph’s job is one of restoration and healing, though they tend to start out with much more confidence toward their Aspect than the Maid. The presence of a Sylph in a session is a handy sign that their Aspect is likely going to be lost or broken at any given point, and therefore in need of restoration. This could be metaphorical, or quite literal, depending on the situation. As a Sylph of Time myself, it’s easy to imagine bringing back an amnesiac’s memories by “restoring” the time they lost, or healing a wound by speeding up time around it. Beware, however, as a Sylph’s energy isn’t limitless, and even the most dedicated healers need time to recuperate, or else they risk overexerting themselves and burning out. (Trust me, “Sylph Burnout” is a very real thing.)

Well, the first half is over, so now it’s time to talk about the Prince and Bard. As destroyer Classes, one might wonder what these might mean for their Aspects. That’s quite simple: both indicate an overabundance of their Aspect that must be pruned away. The Prince, in particular, is infamous for destroying their Aspect within themselves before turning their crusade outward. Too much of one Aspect upsets the balance, after all, so it must be purged to allow its opposite to rush in to fill that gap. If your session has a Prince, buckle up tight, because any semblance of their Aspect that exists is going to be an irresistible target for their princely purge. Although this is probably a good thing overall for the session, it’s going to be rather painful at the onset. Princes may “get the tumors out,” so to speak, but they’re likely to leave the patient bleeding on the operating table afterwards.

Having a Bard in your party is a little bit like inviting a chimpanzee to a D&D session: it’s exciting and unpredictable at first, but after a while, shit really starts to hit the fan and you’re left wondering “who invited this guy in the first place?” Truthfully, though, the Bard can be both a game-changing player and the one who dooms the entire session. In rare cases, they’re both simultaneously. Their Passive nature makes it difficult to predict what they’ll do next, since they act based on the whims of both their Aspect and its opposite, but it’s fairly certain your session will be rife with discord and conflict, due in part to the Bard. It’s sort of the universe’s way of throwing a curveball in the form of a player to challenge the team even further. A Bard is both a buff and a nerf to your team. Use them wisely, and never, ever turn your back on the Bard.

Well, well, it’s about time we talked about the Knight and Page. A Knight’s appearance has a very obvious consequence: whatever their Aspect is, that’s what your session will be lacking. Dave’s session was very, very short on time, Karkat’s had virtually no natural cohesion, and Latula’s was filled with big personalities with no regard for the consequences of their actions. This is because the Knight’s job is to use whatever they can get of their Aspect and exploit the hell out of it. Give them an inch, and they’ll turn it into a mile without breaking a sweat. This is especially handy when there’s precious little of their Aspect to go around.

Now, having a Page in your session may sound like a recipe for dead weight, but that would be an incredibly unfair assumption. Rather, a Page has access to a great deal of exploitative power as they reach the climax of their development. The presence of a Page is a very good sign indeed, as long as the team is willing to put up with their very slow and steep maturation arc. Their Aspect is one that will be opened up to be used by their teammates in game-breaking ways, provided they’re patient and encouraging toward the Page. Good things come to those who wait, and wasting the potential of a fully realized Page is not a mistake you want to make.

Last but certainly not least, we have the Thief and Rogue. Thieves get a bit of a bad rap in canon, but it’s safe to say that the Thief will become a powerful player in any given session. Their appearance signifies great conflict and strife, which they’ll almost certainly cause in the first place. Thieves begin much like Pages in the sense that they lack their Aspect and seek to obtain it. For the Thief, this Aspect-shaped hole is too much to bear, and their schemes to take it at any cost will likely be the source of the session’s woe. This isn’t necessarily all bad, however, as knowing your Thief well enough can help you predict the nature of this unavoidable conflict, allowing you to prepare well in advance. Remember, the Thief can make an incredible ally, but their interests won’t always fully align with those of the party.

Finally, we have the Rogue. Ultimately, the Rogue is in charge of balancing their Aspect by redistributing it from areas of abundance to those of scarcity. Too much of one Aspect upsets the universal balance, and as we’ve covered previously, there are quite a few Classes whose purpose involves tipping the scales back where they’re supposed to be. The Rogue is the most intricately tied to this delicate dance between their Aspect and its opposite, since the presence of one necessarily negates the other. Their job is to facilitate this natural order, ensuring that their Aspect doesn’t become too concentrated in one form or another, ultimately supporting a natural sense of order over chaos.

If you’ve read all the way to the end, congratulations! You’ve officially read through nearly two hours of my creative process. I’m actually really impressed.

[ratmonky]

Wicked

Sorry, this is extremely self-indulgent. I just have a thing for villains with eyepatches. 

Anyway, I just realized that both of my favorite villains from comedy/action animes have the same VA. So I’ll take this opportunity to make an awful joke. You thought it was Dio but it was I, Shinsuke!

AO3 Link

Warnings: dub-con, forced cheating (idk)

Word Count: 3.1K

The heavy metal door opened with a loud creak, turning all of the tall guard’s attention to the two expected guests.

“Welcome back, sir,” the guard’s attention almost faltered when he saw the feminine figure behind Takechi.

“Good evening.” Takechi’s large hand was wrapped around your arm, holding you tightly in place as he stared at the guard with his wide eyes. “Why don’t you greet the guard as well?”

You struggled with Takechi’s hold on your arm. “Let me go,” you hissed. “If my friends find out about this, they’ll kill you all!”

“That’s not a formal greeting.” Takeichi patted on your head, forcing you to bow your head, “She might be a little feisty but I think that’s because she’s drunk. She’s the leader’s VIP guest!” he spoke to the guard.

“We can’t treat the leader’s guests poorly. now, can we?” Takeichi added with an eerie smile on his lips. He decidedly ruffled your hair to annoy you.

“No, sir!” The guard opened the door to the ship.

Takeichi sighed. “I have work to do, I’ll leave her in your care. Make sure to take her to the leader.”  

“What if she causes any trouble?” As suspected the guard was skeptical of the decision the leader had made.

God, had Takechi done all of this for nothing? He was out in the streets ever since the morning to take you here. Now he had to listen to some unimportant guard’s worries. He just wanted to get this over with.

“She’s a good girl,” Takechi promised as he combed your hair with his long fingers. “You just have to take her to the leader’s room.”

You turned your head to glare at Takechi. You didn’t know where you were or who they were but if there was one thing for sure, it was that Gintoki and Katsura would make these people regret kidnapping you. “You’ll pay for this, Gintoki will kill you if-”

“I’m a feminist yet I have my limits, miss. If I’d have to, I’d kill you without hesitation. It wouldn’t matter if you’re a VIP guest or not. Don’t make me do that,” Takechi squinted his eyes, threatening you in his own way for you to behave. “Now,” his hand on your head slides onto your shoulder to push you forward. “Let’s not make the leader wait any longer.”

You stumbled forward but the guard caught you before you could fall face forward onto the metal floor.

Taking advantage of this moment of vulnerability, you pulled the guard’s sword and pointed it at both men. You took a couple of steps back to put distance between you and them. “You have no idea who you’re messing with. I don’t care who your leader is or who you are. Take me back, now!”

“Unfortunately, I can’t disobey the leader’s orders,” Takesugi didn’t react to you obtaining a sword at all. He was oddly calm.

The guard on the other end seemed like he was about to faint.

“If you don’t want me to kill you and then your leader, you’ll take me back.”

Takechi sighed audibly, “There hasn’t been a man in the whole galaxy who could take on Takasugi Shinsuke,” he sounded merely irritated. “What makes you think you’re special?”

You looked at Takechi in horror, your hand holding the sword started to shake violently. The name Takasugi Shinsuke had struck a chord, you had heard of the name, many times. You teared up as your body started trembling in fear, you couldn’t even grasp the sword’s handle right because of the way your hands were shaking. The sword was heavier than any other sword you had held before or was it your limbs that were heavier?

You couldn’t stop trembling, your cheeks were wet from your tears. The image of Shinsuke that came up in your mind made your throat clench. The soba you had eaten for dinner with your boyfriend and his friends earlier almost made its way back into your mouth.

Fighting was futile, you knew that. You would never admit it out loud though. Ever since you had met the four Joui rebels for the first time during the war, you were afraid of Takasugi. But unlike your feelings of him, when you joined the group, Takasugi had grown fond of you almost too much.

Takasugi had trained you to be scared of him, his image and his name.

You were thrown back in time, there was this thick, bitter smell of blood lingering in the air and the fields were full of corpses. Your eyes widened as your breathing became erratic and uneven. The grip you had on the sword loosened, the loud metallic ‘clunk’ sound of the sword hitting on the floor echoed in the empty hallway of the ship.

“You’ll be fine,” Takechi took a step closer towards you and gently walked you to the guard. “As long as you listen to us that is.”

Takechi gestured towards the hall, “Don’t make anything difficult.”

The guard took his sword from the floor and put it back in its case before showing you the way. You couldn’t dare to speak but instead got lost within your own frantic thoughts as the guard walked you towards what you guessed was the monster’s inn.

No matter how much you tried, you couldn’t think of a way out of this ship. You didn’t have anything with you. Takechi had caught you off guard when you were returning home after a night of drinking with your old friends. Both Gintoki and Katsura had offered to walk you home but you had refused. You had thought it was better if they took care of the blindly drunk Sakamoto but now you regretted turning their offer down.

You barely reacted when the guard shoved you inside a room with no lights on. In the dark, you couldn’t see anything, there wasn’t a single light source.

The door closed audibly and you turned to the sound. “Hey!” you called out to the guard who took you here but the door was already closed., there wasn’t a handle on the door either. Or at least you couldn’t find one in the pitch dark of the room.  

You punched at the door in frustration. “Let me out!”

A rustling sound coming from behind you made you flinch. He was here. You could tell by the smell. Your head was swimming within the scent of his cologne and smoke. You knew who this smell belonged to. He was clearly trying to taunt you in here, where you couldn’t escape. Typical Takasugi. Enjoying the fear he had threaded into your soul as always. Perhaps that was the reason why you were here. So he could have some sort of sick entertainment for himself.

“I’m not scared of you,” you called out, your voice trembled in fear, there was no way you could hide the pathetic tone in your voice.

“Oh, really?” came a voice right next to your ear.

The color drained from your face, your legs shook uncontrollably and you lost your balance, falling backward onto what you guessed was a bed.

Just how much power did he hold over you?

The familiar voice started laughing at your miserable attempt of showing bravery.

Your eyes had finally adjusted to the dark and the first thing you saw was the outline of him. He stood in front of you menacingly, facing your way, watching you with some sort of sick amusement.

“Why am I here?” You spoke in a softer tone, trying to get up from the bed to find something to fight him with.

“How long has it been?” He ignored everything you just had said, “We last saw each other when you decided to leave with Gintoki.”

It had been a long time since you had last seen Takasugi and honestly, you had hoped you would never have to see him again. You wanted to imagine this as a bad nightmare, before long you would wake up in Gintoki’s bed with a hangover, right?

You slowly made your way to the edge of the bed, your feet touched the ground. As you got up the floor creaked loudly. “You’re not the likable type to keep in contact with.”

“Ouch, that hurt,” Takasugi chuckled lowly and you heard a heavy click as he turned on the lamp on his nightstand.

The small light coming from the lamp was enough to illuminate the entire room. You finally got a good look at the room. It was clean and neat. Everything was in place, although there weren’t that many things in the room to start with. There was a bed, a nightstand, and a desk.

He stood leaning onto the desk, where he possibly sat and spent his time planning his new terror attacks. The desk was covered with folders, he had a library full of books next to it and his walls above the desk were decorated with the newspaper cut-outs of your friends.

The pictures of all of you together looked haunting. You couldn’t remember why you were smiling in every single one of them. Maybe it was what people called smiling through the pain.

Your eyes landed on the tall figure, lighting his pipe.

There he was, Takasugi Shinsuke.

He inhaled the smoke through his pipe, his eye was on you, watching you intently.

“Why am I here, Shinsuke?” you spoke clearly, hiding your hands that were shaking violently behind your back.

“You look pretty,” his eye landed on your face and then to your body. “Have you been eaten well?”

“Shinsuke, please,” you pleaded, ah, his name on your lips sounded like a prayer.

Takasugi pulled the chair from his desk and sat on it. He moved sluggishly slowly, he took another drag of smoke from his pipe before talking. “I need to get patched up.”

He unfastened his kimono just enough to give you a glimpse of the small cut on his chest.

Your lower lip started trembling. He had to be fucking with you. All of this, the trouble his men went through to kidnap you and the time he wasted… all of it just because of a small cut on his chest?

He didn’t need to be patched up, he was mocking you. He didn’t need a reason to have you here.

“Please let me go home,” you sobbed. You didn’t care how pathetic you sounded anymore, you would do anything to go back to home. “I need to go back to Gintoki.”

“There’s a first aid kit under the bed.” Takasugi exhaled the smoke with an evil grin on his face.

“Shinsuke, listen to me-”

“Don’t make me wait, you know how impatient I am.”

“You have to let me go,” you begged him in tears. “I don’t want any of us to fight anymore.”

“Are you disobeying me?” He didn’t miss a single tone, he put his pipe away before he got up from his chair and took a step forward. “Do you really want to take that chance?”

You took a step back, mirroring his actions.

“You’ve always been so stubborn.” he started walking towards you, forcing you to walk backward. And you did. You took a couple of steps back until you stumbled over the bed and fell backward.

A yelp left your lips as you fell on the mattress, laying on your back. You tried to lift yourself off of the bed but Takasugi climbed on top of you. “If it were Gintoki, you’d be helping him without hesitation, right?”

You noticed his gaze on your bare legs sticking out from your kimono. With a desperate attempt, you tried to cover them.

That made Takasugi chuckle, “Aren’t you a little too shy?” His hand landed on your inner thigh, caressing the soft flesh before kneading it gently. You flinched when Takasugi ran his fingers up your thigh. His other hand cupped your chin, forcing you to look at him in the eye, his smoldering eye wandered over your cute eyes before stopping on your lips. “Or… are you scared?”

Takasugi smirked as his hand went further under your kimono, out of shock you closed shut your thighs but fingers were already brushing against your panties. “But this girl’s excited,” he scoffed as he cupped your pussy.

You softly gasped, your cheeks flushed bright pink. “Stop it.”

Your words made his lips curl upwards. “Or what?”

“Gintoki will kill you,” you gritted your teeth.

“Ah, really?” His hand cupping your chin went to grab a chunk of your hair tightly to forcefully tilt your head. “But I don’t think I can stop.” He buried his face to the crook of your neck, making you tremble as he inhaled your scent and exhaled his hot breath on your pulse. “Not when I finally have you here, alone .”

“Please,” You tensed under him but he didn't seem to notice. “Gintoki-.”

“You shouldn’t call out some other man’s name when you’re with me,” Takasugi’s lips brushed against the sensitive skin of your neck.

Tears started running down your cheeks right away. When you loudly sobbed, he pulled his face away from your neck and his half-lidded, hazy stare found you. He brushed your hair back from your face, tucking it slowly behind your ear. “I like seeing this terrified look on you, it suits you very well,” he purred, wiping your tears with his knuckles.

Pausing for a second, he looked at you with a bored expression.  “Don’t cry now,” swiping his thumb across your lower lip, he pressed it on the corner of your lip and gently pulled it down to slightly part your lips. Then he lowered himself over your face, pressing his chest against yours until his lips met yours.

His hand between your legs crept inside your panties. Takasugi ran his finger between your folds and smiled against your lips because of how wet you were. His growing erection between your bodies poked your stomach as he shamelessly ground you into the bed. You gasped softly into his mouth, your hands weakly pushing at his chest.

He moaned encouragingly to get you to kiss him back and started using his entire arm to finger your twitching cunt.

The pleasure made your head spin. You couldn’t focus on anything, you hardly noticed how he had slid out of his kimono and his free hand that was stroking his cock.

He decidedly pulled away from the kiss and with using a single hand, he put you on his lap, his fingers left your pussy to rub on your clit with his thumb instead. “Do you want me to stop?” he took a staggered breath.

“Yes,” you stammered yet your body said the opposite. Your hips rolled forward each time he pressed his thumb firmly over your clit.

“Really?” he raised a brow, squinting his eye as he rubbed tight circles over your clit.

You couldn’t deny how much you enjoyed it. Not when your juices were leaking out from your pussy, soaking your thighs and his kimono, exposing your arousal of the situation.

Nobody knew you were here. You didn’t need to act tough anymore. You had nothing to prove to anyone in this room. Takasugi knew you better than any of your friends, even better than your own boyfriend. Takasugi knew what made you feel happy, scared, sad and what made you feel amazingly good.

“I’ve missed you.” Takasugi’s words left you petrified. The walls you had built over the years came tumbling down one by one. All of that mental sanity you thought you had built up dropped.

“Do you want me to continue?” he rephrased it.

“Shinsuke,” you softly sighed, nodding sheepishly.

Takasugi smirked at your reaction. Then he pulled at the tender skin of your folds just enough to expose your soaking wet entrance to his hungry eye. His other hand held your hand tightly and guided it onto his cock.

When your hand wrapped around his cock, he let out a breathy laugh. Takasugi leaned forward to take your tit peeking out from your kimono in his mouth and his hands went to fiddle with the ribbon of your kimono. Once he managed to unfasten the ribbon completely, his hands slid up your body, taking your kimono with them. You took your hand away from his cock only momentarily to help Takasugi and shrugged your clothing off your shoulders.

As you were about to rewrap your hands around his cock, Takasugi abruptly lifted you up and slammed you down onto his cock.

You let out a whimper, your lips parted and moaned his name in need.

He had already pushed himself balls deep into you, filling you up to the brim so perfectly. He gritted his teeth as your walls pulsated around his cock, and roughly thrust inside. He grabbed you by your sides, his nails digging into your skin as he mercilessly began pounding in your pussy.

Your arms wrapped around his neck and your fingers twirled around his long straight hair, moaning quietly into his neck each time he hit a sensitive spot. Takasugi’s thrusts became stronger and more animalistic each time you screamed or whimpered.

“Needy,” Takasugi said, continuing to mercilessly thrust into your pussy, “aren’t we?”

Your eyes rolled back to the back of your head, completely lost in the sweet ecstasy of his cock stretching you out. The squelching sounds coming from your pussy were louder than the sound of the running engine of the ship.

“Shinsuke,” you breathed his name in between your sweet moans of pleasure, “more.” Your hips were moving to meet his rough thrusts, begging for him to give you more.

Takasugi slammed into you with an amazing force, tearing a silent scream out of you. He started to fuck you frantically almost immediately. His hand went to rub tight circles around your sensitive spot.

You began shaking, your legs nearly gave up from under you but you managed to slam yourself onto his cock a couple more times before your walls clenched around him.

He let out a low hiss as your walls tightened around his cock and pushed inside of you for the last time, spilling his entire load inside your unprotected fertile cunt with a loud moan.

You didn’t dare to speak once Takasugi pulled out of you, it was still hard to grasp the reality of the situation for you. You two hadn’t spoken for over many years and the first thing you did was to cheat on your boyfriend with him.

Gintoki would be so disappointed. Not at you but at himself, for not walking you home. He would blame himself for this and this would add fuel to the slight hatred he had for Takasugi. Though none of it even mattered anymore.

You were far too tired to care.

Closing your eyes, you wished to wake up in between your boyfriend’s arms when you opened them the next time.

But Takasugi wasn’t planning on letting you go anytime sooner.

[theteenygemthief]

The Things That Weigh On You: Chapter 3

Rating: Explicit   |   Word Count: 4077  |  My Hero Academia | HawksxOCxDabi

Warning: The Things That Weigh On You features Sexual Themes, Violence, Drug abuse and touches on topics of personal trauma, mental illness and assault. Reader discretion is advised.

Credits: The image of Hawks is a screenclip from the anime. 

It’s just as easy to justify being a hero when everyone excuses your actions with the amount of glamour and power that comes with it. The media covers all of your triumphs and failures. You get endorsements. It’s almost second to being an A-List celebrity. But what happens when hero’s fall and suddenly, the justification leaves? What happens when ones own inflated ego gets the better of them and how do they bounce back from the rubble?

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The rise and fall...

      He had been watching from a distance in interest as their fingers interlaced with one and other. A curious yet dissatisfied glint shimmered in his eye as he leaned against a telephone pole with feigned relaxation. The bullet train that had arrived earlier had long since sped away and the announcer had been making her afternoon calls. His lips pulled into a thin line and he could feel himself bristling as his brows pinched together. His downy mess of sleeked back blond hair moved with the breeze as crimson feathers were near difficult to keep in one place. When he went to his old prison, he had crept in through the window, seeing that she had still kept his room clean, still setting his favorite books out to read as if he were going to be studying for some big exam. He saw how she tried to keep things the way she thought he liked them. She did the same things for her little sister, despite her leaving some time ago. As if it would be enough to bring both of them back.

    Edith, had always referred to him as though he were a little brother.

For a while, he ran with it to make her happy. He didn't mind. Hell, he even thought it would be a great idea for him to stop in after four years to show how big of a name he had made for himself. Make his supposed adopted older sister proud of him by saying “Hey look, I'm a big deal now!”, and what a better way to do that than showing up as a surprise guest at a gala? If only he'd known the extent of his emotions when he saw her standing at the balcony with a glass of champagne in hand. Her Crimson eyes staring over the veranda in deep thought as the light from the inside reflected off of the rhinestones of her midnight colored mermaid gown. Her lips had been painted red for the occasion and her arms had been covered in lace opera gloves. Open caplet sleeves and a bare neck and single ponytail adorned with pearls and crystals gave a regal air about her. Almost like the stories about the queens or goddesses they would read together when they were young.

    If he could laugh at himself.

The man he had seen her with had been far beneath her league with his leopard print suit and tacky alligator shoes. Yet her calm and calculated demeanor with him at least meant that she tolerated the bastard. He wasn't hardly a notable hero to say the least. Just some schmuck with an extension quirk and nothing more. Someone who was prone to get handsy if one wasn't too careful, and yet he felt that she had completely and totally forgotten about him. So he decided it would be best to dip out without a hello, stop in and say hi to little sister Daphne and be on his merry way.

As it turned out, the man had been a renowned serial killer and it had put Edith in a kill or be killed situation, where she had to resort to defensive execution. The police wouldn't have gotten there on time to find her alive. Pictures from that same night spread all over the news over the span of three days. “Susanoo Kills” or “The Fall of Fukuoka's Battle Queen”. The paparazzi went into a complete and utter frenzy attempting to obtain details of the incident and why a pro hero resorted to murder rather than call the police. She was a small town hero who lived under his old handlers big name. And after it all died down, he found himself watching as her little sister left. Leaving her to come back hours later to find a note that was left on the dining room table. And he would watch as she left the note, pour herself a drink, come back to it and read it again, leave it on the table, repeat. Until finally, watching her had become too painful.

   She fell as he rose.

   And he wasn't sure if he was supposed to feel dirty or proud.

His thoughts were pulled back to the present as he watched Dabi pull Edith close and he straightened. He could feel his irises shrink to thin rings as he beheld the sight of the taller of the two claiming her lips and watching her melt into them. He could feel his breath catch and his heart race as he proceeded to stand and watch intently at the two. His distance wouldn't blow his cover to say the least but the ache that he felt, the sting was beyond what he had been used to.

   “Ed...” He whimpered. “Ed, what are you doing?”

The winged hero Hawks could feel his face twist into a tight grimace as his teeth clenched. Every fiber of his being told him to look away, yet he still stared at the two in the distance. Watching. Waiting for something to happen. He knew Edith was a person of her own convictions. He was fully aware of her need for independence. And if this situation was forced, she would make a move. She would punch him. Stab him. Do something. Anything.

   Nothing.

And as he watched as another bullet train pulled in, he could see the intimacy in both of their eyes. The intimacy that he so desperately desired. He continued to watch as Edith turned, only to be pulled into what seemed to be another earth shattering kiss. He felt himself grow week as her knees buckled and Dabi entered the train with her, there was need in her eyes as she looked at him and Hawks continued to feel an ever growing twinge of jealousy. Wishing that he was the one who could do that.

   But he digressed.

He wouldn't get into something like that for a while. Instead, he would bide his time and see where the path ahead would lead him.

      She was pushed into the bathroom stall as greedy fingers trailed beneath the hem of her shorts. Hungry kisses consumed her throat and collar bone as a familiar click could be heard from behind her companion. His eyes were ablaze with a bestial need that longed to be quelled from their earlier encounter in the shower and the low rumble in his chest only signified the urgency of his desire. She parted her lips to say something, yet all words were chased away when his lips crashed against hers in a searing kiss. Soon, Edith's jacket would be stripped away. Her black turtleneck crop top would be nudged over her breasts with the black lace bralette she wore beneath, and she would be fighting everything in her power not to make a sound as Dabi slowly sunk between her thighs. Her back arched as his tongue slowly dragged along her inner folds, teasing her entrance for just a brief moment as he balanced her quaking body on his shoulders. His voice emitted vibrations against her clit  as he growled, encircling his tongue around the nerve.

   “Look at you,” He teased. “You are trying so hard not to come undone. You have fallen so far and yet you still worry so much about your image, little girl.”

Edith's eyes flared with mild irritation as her fingers dug into her companions scalp. She knew he was making attempts to get to her. See what made her angry. She knew the psychological evaluations that he had performed on her during their conversations were far from judgmental, but they had still been irritating. He wanted her as more than just a casual fuck buddy and she wouldn't deny that the feeling was mutual. Their relationship had been developing for a while, and he had challenged her. She still feared the day he would decide it wasn't worth coming back. Decided that she wasn't good enough or that she wasn't worth his salt.

Her thighs tightened around his head as she hummed lowly, pressing her hips tighter against his maw and seething as he accepted her.

   “Not all of us are born without expectations, Cinders.” She mocked, bucking her hips harder and throwing her head back as his teeth grazed the nerve again.

He wasn't going to correct Edith on the expectations bit. There was no point. He wasn't going to tell her about his childhood or his father. He had made a point of reinventing himself to set himself apart from it all. So instead, he rolled with her punches in this instant. Grinning to himself about how adorable he felt her momentary ignorance was. She would eventually learn about his past, yet that would come about at a later time. Depending on whether or not the situation required it. Dabi pulled away as he felt her quake against him, knowing full well how close she was and set her back on the floor, steadying her against him as he knelt down to pull her panties and shorts back up. He with held a teasing laugh as she whined at him to continue and looked up at her with a raised brow. Did she really think she was going to be let off the hook for her assumptions that easily? He slowly rose and towered over her, sealing his lips against hers for a brief moment so that she may taste herself.

   “I don't plan on finishing until we get back to your place, fangs.” He crooned. “Consider it punishment for mouthing off to me.”

    The house had nearly been encased in a shroud of darkness as Dabi and Edith crept in through the back. Doing their best to avoid attention from prying eyes. During their trek, it had been obvious that someone had been following them. The occasional flurry of fabric or movement in the corner of their eye had set them on edge, and the fire starter of the two knew that he couldn't return home for the evening. Edith did not mind at all.

   “Relax.” She reassured.

   “I can't.” he argued.

He stared out her bedroom window as she lit candles in the background. He'd been watching her from the reflection of the glass and doing his best to keep it a secret. Her bedroom had been minimalist to say the least. She kept a coffee table in the middle of the space to entertain guests or close herself off from the world. He wondered how often she closed herself off. How many bad days or weeks she'd had when he wasn't around? He couldn't focus on what they had been doing earlier knowing that she had let her fall get the better of her. Sometimes, he wondered if she felt any conviction to being a villain. Vigilante had been a strong maybe for her. She didn't have it in her to blatantly kill anyone based on their conversations. She was still too much of a goodie good. As much as it annoyed him, it was sweet that she tried. His eyes wandered down to the garden, watching as a couple took the back road home in deep conversation. Had he been able to live a normal life, that might have been him and the woman behind him. The idea of the two walking home arm in arm, deep in conversation on the way home from the grocery store, possibly expecting a child on the way as they hypothesized the quirks they would have was a fantasy that could only afford to be lived in a dream.

   Villains didn't get that reality.

    SMACK!

The sound in and of itself was enough to start a small fire in the bedroom as he jumped and spun on his heal. His hands cast aflame while his cool blue irises glowed with white hot embers. He had been ready to kill in that moment, only to find Edith's hand curled into a fist around a rolled up KEIRA magazine. Her fists had paled along with the rest of her body as if she had seen a ghost.

   “What happened?”

   “I had to kill a roach.”

Suddenly, all of the tension he had been holding on to had disappeared as he saw his former fuck buddy, now lover, standing like an actual god of war over the corpse of a roach.And the sound that escaped from him had been far from human.

       He spun around in circles as he moved to and fro in his swivel chair. His agency had been calling him several times to receive updates regarding his entry into the League of Villains and it was safe to report that no one had suspected him of anything. At least, so long as he was able to maintain that lie. One person in particular had recognized him and she had been standing behind one of their lieutenants in the shower as her eyes met his. He recalled how the curve of her hips had barely stuck out from behind Dabi as he tucked her protectively in the corner. Something told him that if the Fallen Hero Susanoo had been co-mingling with the league, he would have orders to kill her. He knew just how fast his quirk worked compared to hers, and just how intimately it would effect her if she dared to turn it on him. Then he would have no choice.

His fingers rapped on the edge of the computer desk as he tried to make sense of everything. Tried to figure out how to remove her from the equation in a way where she wouldn't get hurt. Otherwise, he would have to make a decision as to whether or not it was worth being a superhero himself.

   “You seem rather transfixed on the files in front of you, boy.”

There it was. The voice he had been dreading all night. He turned to face a man who had been an idol to him since he was small and smiled gleefully, acting as though he had been greeting an old friend as he slowly stood. In comparison the man stood at about six foot four and the fire that he donned on his suit could easily be used as a torch in a dark cave. Perhaps an ignition for a gas pocket if he trekked deep enough. But in that moment, his cold blue eyes were trained on reading him. Looking for a hole that he might have failed to cover up as he looked around the room. His spiked red hair added a menacing touch to his demeanor as he towered over him with folded arms.

    “I'm just planning my movements four steps ahead, Endeavor.” He replied, coolly. “With this type of organization you can never be too careful. The information they have is valuable and could potentially cost thousands of people their lives.”

Personally he wished he could turn his back on those people. He didn't understand what the point was in protecting a public who treated you like a damn movie star when you did absolutely nothing for them in their daily lives. Matter of fact, his public face was nothing more than a farce to keep up appearances for the top ten. It may as well have been a pissing match to see who was better at being a self righteous asshole.

   “I noticed that you've been to Fukuoka, recently.”

   “I have.”

There was a long pause that had run his blood cold. He knew what the other pro hero was about to ask as he did his best to keep his mask on.

   “Did you pay her a visit?”

Hawks could feel his stomach turn and twist as the trick question fell upon him. He had to think of an answer as quickly as possible to avoid suspicion, or some sort of confused reaction. He didn't want to bring up what he saw by the train station earlier in the day, nor did he want to confide in a man who could incinerate him right then and there.

   “Who?” He asked, keeping a stupid smile on his face.

If playing the fool could fan the flames of rage on a man who only very recently took the top of the hero's roster any more than it did in that instant, he would make it a personal hobby of his. Endeavor was so easy to manipulate in to a state of frustration, and like a jenga tower, his composure was so easy to set off balance. Unfortunately, the smaller of the two men facing eachother was not so easily swayed. He could keep a clueless smile on his face while knowing exactly what he was doing in the midst of danger, all the while his opponent would reveal their hand in thinking he wouldn't use it to his advantage.

So as the flame hero threatened to torch the entire room to ashes, the avian took note of the fire extinguisher in reach.

   “Takeda Nonoka's grand daughter, you stupid little...” Endeavor trailed off in a flurry of growls and curses at the smaller man.

   “Don't remember her.” Hawks said blankly.

   “Fallen hero, Susanoo.”

   “Nope.”

He really didn't know why they continued referring to her as Fallen Hero. She had stated in several interviews that she had killed in self defense. He watched as reporters hounded scoop after scoop on the matter, given that the serial killer she had executed was also a superhero.

   “Bah!” The older man finally grunted, leaving without another word.

Hawks listened carefully as his stomps disappeared down the hall and waited at least an hour before leaving.

He needed a reprieve.

     Edith slowly wandered up and down the aisle, collecting ingredients for a stew she had learned how to make when she was young. It was simple, nothing too big and was easy to send Dabi home with while leaving enough for leftovers. Hopefully no one would try and take his food. She remembered sending him home with lamb curry one evening and received a message more than two hours later regarding him having to make it again himself. And when she hadn't responded he had called her ten minutes later to apologize for not eating the food she'd sent him home with. And now, he was waiting for her to get back home with the ingredients and asking if she wanted him to prep anything, or clean any important dishes. It was a temporary paradise that she could live with.

Temporary being till the moment he went back on his words.

   “Don't forget the eggplant.” came a voice.

   “Oh believe me.” She said without thinking. “Grams would kill me if I forgot the eggplant.”

   “And the potatoes?”

   “Already at home.”

She turned to the person speaking to her with a smile, only for it to fade into the abyss. A woman just a few inches taller stood beside her as long wavy black hair fell over her shoulders. Her white trench coat hung down to the middle of her calves as black heeled boots lifted her heel just an inch off the ground. Brown eyes studied her intently as she peered past black spectacles at the older of the two. Her calm demeanor ensuring that no one would pay attention unless the younger of the two made a scene. The basket in Edith's arm nearly fell and as she moved to catch it, she looked up again and the woman was gone. Every muscle in her body had tensed. She wasn't sure how to react and her mind had filled with questions. Questions that would follow her until she sat down for dinner.

She knew Dabi had been watching her. Picking her apart like some science experiment in a psyche ward that continued to make the same mistakes over and over. Perhaps the issue was her. Maybe she was the reason why so many people went away. And if that was the case, how could she change it? How could she turn herself around and make herself more likable? Were there likable villains? No, if there were, they would be endorsed by big corporations and given assignments like heroes were. Her fingers clutched at the table cloth as her mind pondered why a woman she hadn't seen in years had suddenly been showing up after so long. Why would she appear at a grocery store of all places and how did she possibly know that Edith was there? These sorts of things raised questions as to what she needed all of her life. Or if being a villain was a birthright of hers.

   “Fuck.” She cursed.

     Her hands covered her face as she tried to hold back all the emotions that had been hitting her in that instant. Another hand had gently landed on her arm and though she didn't dare herself to look up, at least some semblance of relief washed over a part of her.

   Screams had echoed throughout the building as bodies littered the ruins of her hometown. Bomb sirens sounded off, she had been hiding beneath what remained of a fallen building and her heart had been racing. Crashing and explosions could be heard in the distance as she was currently one of the standing few. A ringing noise in her ear caught her attention as laughter mixed in with the sounds of someone screaming. Fire and ash entered her view and her heart began to race. She couldn't use her quirk. She had no weapons or anything to defend herself against her unknown adversary. And she grit her teeth as she felt helpless with the whole situation.

“Look out!” Cried a voice.

Edith barely had time to think as a force sped into her side, lifting her out of harms way and stealing her breath altogether. Shock had begun to overtake her. She was only a small time superhero who had little experience with life or death situations. She knew the reality of it all, she understood, but she had never had to deal with a situation so intense.

“I'm here.” The same voice reassured. “Just hold on to me, okay?”

Her breath began to settle as she nodded and looked up, the sun flashing in her eyes.

     She was whimpering in her sleep again. It was times like these where he felt helpless and incapable of doing anything. When she had returned, something had very obviously shaken her and he knew it. You can't shake quarts without chipping at its roots. And his lips drew into a thin line as to what exactly her roots were. He knew that her mother was a supervillain who expressly showed little interest in her development, though nothing that her grandmother couldn't make up for. However, unlike him, her trauma came at a later date. A later time and even though she had decided to become a hero as a child, the psychological damage she had gone through was pretty apparent. As for the physical...well, based on her scars, he could see that she had barely been through the ringer. Yet there were still those who could sweet talk their way out of a situation or be a complete and total wise ass where it was inappropriate.

He guessed she did quite a deal of sweet talking.

His icy blue eyes landed on a discoloration on the back of her shoulder and his mind slowly tried to make sense of it. As he ran his thumb over the mark, he had found that the skin in the area had smoothed over and thickened just slightly over time. Not like a flesh wound, but like a burn scar. Dabi's eyes narrowed into slits.

   “Was this the intent to punish or the means to kill?” he mused.

Sure, he'd seen the mark many times before. No one would even notice it just by a passing glance, and he had been certain that she'd forgotten all about it. He knew full well that he couldn't stop her from whatever decisions lay ahead. She would drink his blood and kick his ass with his own fire if he tried. But in the very least, he could dress the wounds and even stay beside her as she healed. That would at least be enough, wouldn't it?

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

Chapters:

P-1, CH2, CH3

[kariachi]

Okay, so now I’ve gotta get to work finding shit out for trainers, because I’m apparently horribly self-destructive. The problem is here’s where I have to figure out the one big thing- just how much does it cost for the standard person to live in the pokemon world, and the corollary- how much does it cost a wandering trainer to live in the pokemon world?

(To read the first post on this topic, focusing on contests and coordinators, start here)

Okay, so, given Pokemon Centers appear to be free I think we can assume the pokemon world has free healthcare (I should hope we’d get free healthcare before free vet care) so we don’t have to worry about that.  There’s also free board at them, but I’ve been running with the assumption that it’s for people with trainers licenses (which are probably common, honestly, given kids can get them, they’re probably cheap to get but less so to renew) and the accommodations are probably pretty barebones. Still, you don’t really see people going around without homes, and with pokemon the costs of construction are probably lower. We still have the filthy rich, but they seem less filthy rich than we have to deal with (I don’t think we’ve seen a billionaire yet in pokemon, I could be wrong) so mayhaps this free healthcare is because the fuckers are actually getting taxed properly.

So, healthcare probably isn’t a thing and housing is probably cheaper (we see a lot of people in apartments, but maintaining the environment is a big deal in this world so it makes sense people would build up and have multi-family homes rather than spread out). Food bills are probably higher for most households, if just because most people have pokemon and those things gotta eat. like I can’t help but think a Houndoom probably eats more than a similarly-sized dog, ya know? Though there’s still the question of availability. One would expect food to be easy to come by, given all the benefits pokemon bring and how quickly things like berries grow, how much Miltank produce, but then we’ve got Jesse’s backstory... I don’t know.

Public transportation also seems to be free, at least for trainers, which re can probably tie back into the whole ‘they actually tax their rich’ thing.

So, I think for this I am going to base numbers off a family budget calculator I have bookmarked (you’d be amazed how often it comes in handy), looking at a single adult with no children living in a mid-range area to get my baseline, then removing things like transportation and healthcare from the costs while adding to the food bill to account for pokemon. We’ll assume the average for the pokemon is half the food expenses of the owners, because we want to feed our friends well and the variety of species means a wide range of needs (an Aron eating metal is not going to be fed as cheaply as an Arcanine with pokechow).

So, going by those numbers, our estimated cost of living for a single, childless adult is $20-25k a year in the pokemon world. Of course numbers will vary, but we’re not here to get so deep we’re gnawing seagrass so we’ll just take that as our baseline. Which means hey! Our second friend from the contests income post was doing better than expected! Still not enough to live off of alone, but definitely a good way to making a decent living.

Of course we still have to worry about the cost of living for a wandering trainer though. They’re going to have more pokemon who are more active, and be more active themselves, so we’ll just straight double the food budget from what just the trainer alone would need. Plus they’re going to need the extra supplies of pokeballs and potions and the like- first aid needs are going to be huge. But they don’t have household expenses, which should help them a fair bit.

I’m using thru-hike costs as a baseline here, since hiking seems to be the major method of travel for these things, so individuals unable to do long hikes for one reason or another are likely to have very different numbers. I won’t go into them here but think longer travel times, differences in gear needed (if you’re in a wheelchair and trying for the ‘authentic’ experience the gear needed is going to be much different and probably more expensive), or even simply more time spent in town while taking vehicular transport around the place. Though even still it’s annoying because does anybody have a good average cost dear fuck. Some people recommend $1,000 a month as a minimum, some $700, some as high as $2,000, and these of course are all including things our trainers don’t need and missing our additional pokemon feeding budget.

We also need to account for various factors that thru-hikers don’t generally deal with. For instance, in areas with things like snow trainers are likely to spend a good portion of the year in town, with free rooms and healthcare but higher expenses, while they wait for weather you can safely travel in.

$1,000 seems to be a good average, and we can easily slot things like extra trainer gear into the budget space normally reserved for hotel stays. We still need to add in the pokemon feeding budget, and account for things like extra time in town due to seasonal changes though. So we’ll bump that number up to, say, $1,700, which is high but allows for these things. This means that our estimated cost of living for a wandering trainer is about $20,400. So the low end of the cot of living we already put down, and it could go higher or lower depending on the needs of the individual (someone with only one pokemon who doesn’t have to worry about weather will be spending less than someone with health concerns who lives somewhere it snows six months out of the year) but it’s a solid average to have.

Now, though, we need to work out how much they can expect to make from their profession, and for that we’re going to have to figure out the most consistent source of income for a wandering trainer- gym battle winnings. They have an advantage over the coordinators here. They may have to sleep in tents a lot, but they also don’t have to pay an entrance fee to try to make money.

First up we need to find out how much one earns from beating a gym, monetarily. The games have a whole set-up, but ti’s very much set on the whole gaming scale and we’re working beyond that. Instead we’re going to average the prize money from a game and call that the standard. We’ll be using my favorite region, Johto, and my favorite games in the regions, Heart Gold and Soul Silver, because I’m biased and I can.

(1560 + 1800 + 2280 + 2760 + 3720 + 4200 + 4080 + 4920) / 8 = 3,165 which I think we can safely round up to $3,200 per gym.

Now, if we assume that one can hit eight gyms a year, 3200*8 = $25,600 in gym winnings a year. Which not only would cover their expenses but also give them some wiggle room. Heck, even if they can’t hit all eight in a year (though it should be doable, I can’t imagine most regions take more time to traverse than the US would and nine months to cross it on foot is more than doable) even just getting six gets them most of the way to their expenses covered, and this isn’t even counting prize money for battling other trainers, or selling items found along trails as we see trainers do in canon.

Heck, a person could probably make some nice coin just getting a team of pokemon with Pickup and selling what they find, especially since when you’re out hiking those items are less likely to be potions and antidotes and more likely to be berries, mushrooms, and nice rocks.

But fuck, while I’m here I probably ought to do something with that whole ‘prize money from battling other trainers’ things, shouldn’t I? It’s kind’ve a big part of the whole mess... We’ll do that, then move onto the League Championships and how much money I think is probably earned for that mess.

The problem with working the trainer prize money out is that in-game mechanics aren’t really any help here. So, we’re going to have to work shit out for ourselves and because I do have limits on how difficult I want to make things for myself- shocking, I know- I’m going to say that the number varies from battle to battle and trainer to trainer. Custom dictates a minimum amount of money you can give to a trainer who’s beaten you (the cost of a potion, about $5) but otherwise it’s figured out by the trainers themselves. Upon agreeing to battle the trainers will negotiate a prize, normally never more than $1,000 but sometimes you find an obnoxious rich guy you know you can take and, well. As a result income from battling other trainers can vary wildly, but one can make some decent pocket change that way. Just don’t pick on the little kids.

Now, onto the League. This one’s gonna get the same treatment as the contests

Pokemon League Championships (Entry Fee: $250 + 8 badges from within the region)

1st: $9,000 + League Cup + League Champion title

2nd: $5,000

3rd: $3,000

4th: $2,500

5th: $2,000

6th: $1,500

7th: $1,000

8th: $500

This may seem rather low if you’ve also looked at the numbers for contests, but entry is also... not easier but certainly something more likely to be obtained. It’s not fair, but little in life ever is, really. As it stands the league otherwise functions the same as the Grand Festival- each region’s requires a certain number of prizes already won to prove one’s place and this requirement must be repeated for each. If you enter a Grand Festival or Pokemon League Championship than the ribbons or badges you use to do so will be registered and cannot be used for the same purpose again. You’ll have to re-earn them to have another go.

Most wandering trainers don’t bother, only going through a region once or twice before moving on to the next. It’s the balance between the two professions. You may never make a living being a coordinator, but you can have a stable home if you so wish. A wandering trainer will be able to make a living off their work, but as the name implies to do so they have to stay on the move, always searching for that next challenge.

But, if that’s the life you want, is that really a bad thing?

[canvas-the-florist]

Meeting Strawberry

Warnings: ducks, swearing, physical violence, attempted murder

Summary: Mous illegally obtains a pet and the conundrums that come with that. The italics in quotation marks indicates sign language. The S.A.F.E acronym was the original title of The Charlotte.

Word Count: 2435

-

A breathe in. There was a loud bang against the window. Mous sat up in their bed to get a better look but it helped nothing. If they wanted to see anything they would have to get up from the warm covers. Almost worth it to just go back to sleep. They hardly got any as it was. Another thump hit the window and they furrowed their eyebrows. Mous got up, not bothering to put on their prosthetic leg and reached the window. It was still too dark to see.

Maybe… With a little struggling, Mous got the window open and stuck their head out, their mop of hair started following the wind. They still couldn’t find a- Mous fell to the floor as something hit their face at great speeds. It was squawking and Mous sort of felt like joining it. After the creature was off their face they realized it was a duck. This duck woke them up at 4 AM to achieve what exactly? Mous rolled their eyes and picked it up, attempting to throw it out before realizing something. There was something wrong with his wing. They had no intent or want to care for this bird but Mous wasn’t heartless. So, they carefully picked up the bird and realized it should go outside, for at least the night. Mous put on their leg lazily and walked through the apartment, trying not to wake their evil roommate.

Once reaching the small balcony of failed dreams, the duck was placed there. Mous stood for a few seconds, wondering if they should give it a blanket or cushion, and settled on making a small bed out of an old raggy blanket they found. The duck seemed content and so Mous was as well. They had school tomorrow so attempted to get a little more sleep in. 

There was no rest for Mous Harringburg that night. They made their coffee and checked in on the bird. It was squawking and angry. Or perhaps hungry. Mous didn’t know how to take care of this stupid duck and google wasn’t helping that much. They scheduled a check up with an aviary vet (even though their wallet cried over it) and that would be happening in two days. Until then, they would have to keep this duck away from their landlord and their evil roommate. So, Mous placed a strawberry on the ground of their balcony and took a sip of their coffee. It felt too early for this. It also felt like they should give this duck a name. 

Out of boredom and pure lack of imagination, they chose the title for this duck. “Strawberry.” And this was a big deal too. This was the first time Mous had verbally said something to this duck, surprising the hell out of her, and Mous absolutely avoided talking at any possible moment. Selective mutism or just hatred for their power’s downsides? The world will never know, but the narrator will. 

Strawberry finished up her food and squawked at Mous, demanding no. Mous raised their eyebrow, tempted to laugh and went on their phone to find anything remotely healthy that they had in the house to feed a duck. 

-

What happened next was an accident.   

Mous didn’t mean to lie to the vet about owning Strawberry. It just seemed easier to pretend that a friend gave them a duck. The two days past and Mous was starting to get attached to it. And besides, with their track record, illegally obtaining a duck wasn’t that bad. AT least, compared to the arson they had helped their friend get away with. They didn’t have a spotless record by any means but now they have a duck. And that’s what really matters. Mous drove home with Strawberry on their lap, only stopping once to buy things necessary to take care of a duck for real this time. Their Evil Roommate might be a bit pissed at the blatant disregard for the no pet rules in their apartment but… Strawberry would grow on her eventually. Strawberries are resilient motherfuckers. 

They decided to climb into the apartment via the fire escape. Luckily everyone in this crummy and falling apart building had day jobs to eventually leave as soon as possible. Mous opened their window and placed Strawberry down delicately. They didn’t notice until they entered the room itself that their Evil Roommate was staring right at them with an unimpressed look. Fuck.

“Harringburg,” She sighed, rubbing her temples with exhaustion before crossing her arms. “Out of all the shit you do, how to fuck do you think I’m okay with a duck in our house?”

Mous picked up Strawberry quickly, making her squawk in an annoyed manner. They let out a nervous chuckle to match their Evil Roommate’s tired groan. Mous moved to talk, albeit almost impossible for them to hold a complete sentence, but their roommate stopped them by taking the duck out of their arms and placing her on the ground again. Strawberry started wandering off while Mous looked increasingly more worried about the whole situation.

“Mous, I know that you have this really weird bias against me but you have to tell me when big things like this happen. You can’t just bring a duck home one day without communicating to me about it first, alright? I won’t force you to get rid of it but next time I swear, I need to know these things.” Mous nodded and signed an apology. “So… Does it have a name? Can I help in any way?”

So without thinking, well that wasn’t entirely true because Mous’s thoughts were always racing and they were constantly thinking of basically everything they could… Without hesitation, Mous started signing all about Strawberry. Quickly, the two realized they had to find that duck to make sure she stays out of trouble. But Mous told their roommate the basics of what they’ve learned. The two agreed to hide this duck together in the apartment after seeing that Strawberry was asleep on Mous’s bed. And for a split second, Mous almost considered that their evil roommate wasn’t actually that bad. 

-

    Strawberry didn’t cause any incidents for about… Two months. Mous and Evil Roommate had their routines. Evil Roommate worked during the day and had day classes while Mous worked nights while having a mostly online presence in their classes. They both had weekends off during the day and it turned out that one weekend the balance was thrown off. 

    Their neighbor had made a noise complaint. Most likely because of either Strawberry or Mous’s broken roomba they refused to part with. Mous was lounging on the couch with Strawberry on their lap when their roommate had barged in after work. The door slammed while their roommate looked at the two with something resembling fear. Mous sat up and placed Strawberry next to them despite her quacks of protest. Evil Roommate then went on to say that there was a 24 hour notice on their door for an inspection check.

    So that’s how Mous ended up bringing Strawberry to work… Which probably would’ve been fine if they had like any other job. 

    You see, Mous worked in the rebellion, hired by The Owl. They were doing this for a number of reasons but long story short, it’s fucking difficult to murder some business associate with a duck in your backpack. Especially when your duck seems to like your arch nemesis. Mous put some cucumber pieces in the backpack to hopefully keep Strawberry busy while they broke into a mansion with their coworkers. Wolf raised an eyebrow and gestured to Mous’s backpack, seeing as they didn’t usually carry one. 

    “My roommate wanted me to be safe. Probably put a tracker on it because she’s evil.” Mous signed with an eye roll to show they weren’t serious. “Let’s just get this over with, I have a paper due in five hours that I haven’t started yet.”

    Wolf burnt three sides of a window and pushed it open. Lion climbed through and helped Mous through too. Wolf made a leap and fell into Mous’s backpack, which let out a pained noise from Mous and a quack from the backpack. Wolf furrowed his eyebrows and went to unzip it, only for his hand to be caught. 

    “Can you guys stop fooling around, we’ve got an asshole to kill.” Lion reprimanded. Wolf retracted his hand and walked over to the door hesitantly. Mous snuck a carrot out of their lab coat pocket and slipped it into the bag as a silent apology. Lion looked out into the hall and hissed, bringing herself back into the room. “There’s SAFE personnel here, shit.” She looked back at the two behind her. “Catnip, how do you feel about distracting your arch-nemesis while I bother the tall one?”

Before Mous could respond Wolf cut in. “Actually, can I talk to the big guy? I’m very distracting.”

With a roll of her eyes, Lion nodded. Then, she shifted to look like the SAFE officer, Fox. They smiled, cracked their knuckles and adjusted their hijab a little before stepping out of the room. Lion gave the big guy a panicked look and mouthed ‘help’ to him. The personnel furrowed his eyebrows and stepped forward to see what the issue was. Apparently, it was Wolf holding a gun to their back. The SAFE officer widened his eyes as he recognized him immediately. He seemed, slightly betrayed. Mous wasn’t paying too much attention, but walked out calmly while the others were having a very dramatic conversation. They rolled their eyes at the antics and kept walking down the hall, looking around almost out of boredom. Strawberry probably didn’t like the backpack, but she was being pretty calm. She had mellowed out in the months she had lived in an apartment but… Mous was getting a little worried for her. So, they took off their backpack and set it on the ground. They started to unzip it just as someone yelled.

“It’s you!” 

Mous flinched while looking up to see, Mousetrap, their worst enemy and greatest rival. They let an unimpressed sigh and stood up, leaving the bag on the ground. It looked like they had to fight in front of Mous’s bird baby. Oh well. They waved slowly and gestured around, as if to ask what Mousetrap was up to in this very tall building. 

“I was hired, Catnip.” She huffed, looking like she was ready to punch the fuck out of Mous. “So, I’m making the assumption you want to kill my employer.”

She was answered with a noncommittal shrug. He wouldn’t die if he complied to what Mous wanted, if he could figure out what that was. It was sort of hard to have banter with a villain who doesn’t speak. Normally, villains were none for their long monologues, and trust me, Mous really wanted to do that, but the two got by with what they had. A fight that usually left with one of them having to rebuy their disguise. 

This time, it was going to be both of them. Mousetrap threw the first punch, which Mous blocked with their arm. They immediately knew that it was going to bruise. It's a little hard to avoid that when your nemesis has super strength. Mous ducked down to hit Mousetrap’s stomach, which knocked her back against the floor to ceiling windows that lined the hallway. Mousetrap looked to see a small crack in the glass let out a sigh. Mous stood back up the moment Mousetrap rammed into them and pushed the both of them into the opposite wall. The only action Mous decided to make was a petty one. They reached out and grabbed Mousetrap’s ID card clipped on her shirt, snapping it in half. 

“What the hell, Catnip?!” Mousetrap backed off of Mous and looked at her ID card laying on the ground. She turned back, to continue speaking but then a familiar beak bit at her legs. Mousetrap tried to kick off the duck but Mous lifted up her leg before that could happen. The SAFE agent lost her balance and fell to the floor, and made eye contact with the duck her nemesis just protected. Mousetrap looked between the two, eyebrows furrowed. “Okay, it’s always a weird ass job with you, huh?”

    Mous sneered and picked up Strawberry in a protective embrace. “Strawberry.”

    “Is.. that…?” Mousetrap paused and gave a small gesture. “Your duck? Strawberry?”

    She received a nod. Their fight was thrown off of it’s usual course and the two weren’t sure what to do. This wasn’t how most of their fights ended. Typically, it would end with someone actually winning. But, you know, sometimes there’s a cute duck that takes the attention in the end. That’s not anyone’s fault.

    Mous used this time to put Strawberry back into their backpack to keep her safe. Then, made direct eye contact with their foe, walking backwards to the target. Mousetrap just kind of watched, frozen in her spot as she wasn’t sure what to do.

    It took until her nemesis was completely out of the room that Mousetrap had even realized what just happened.

-

    When Mous got home it was about 5 AM. They let Strawberry loose in a small part of a park before coming back. Strawberry was annoyed at Mous but still followed them around as if she had nothing better to do. The apartment was sparkling when they came back and saw their roommate passed out on the floor. Mous rolled their eyes and set up Strawberry’s pen in the living room to keep her off of the woman on the ground. Mous took of their lab coat and gloves, along with their tie. The last thing that Mous needed to hide was their goggles, which glinted slightly in the moonlight. After Mous was all cleaned up from their job, aside from the multiple new bruises, they went back to their roommate.

    She was heavier than Mous could carry, which didn’t say much, but they managed to get her into her room without Evil Roommate waking up. Mous let out a sigh of relief and saw their roommate on the bed. Must’ve been a long day for the both of them.

    Mous let her sleep and left the room. They let out Strawberry and got out her bed, which would be on the floor of Mous’s room tonight. The room was calmer even as the sun finally started to rise again. Cars became more and more frequent as Mous became deeper and deeper into their sleep.

[sigmalied]

Sig’s Anthem Review

Verdict

BioWare’s Anthem is a genuinely fun and engaging experience that sabotages itself with myriad design, balance, and technical oversights and issues. It is a delicious cake that has been prematurely removed from the developmental oven - full of potential but unfit for general consumption in this wobbly state. Anthem is not a messianic addition to the limited pantheon of looter shooters because it has somehow failed to learn from the well-publicized mistakes of its predecessors. 

Am I having fun playing Anthem? Absolutely. Does it deserve the industry’s lukewarm scores? Absolutely. But this is something of a special case. The live service model giveth and taketh away; we receive flexibility in exchange for certainty. Is Anthem going to be the same game six months from now? Its core DNA will always be the same, but we’ve already begun to see swift improvements that bode well for the future. 

Will my opinion matter to you? It depends. When I first got into looter shooters I was shocked at how much the genre clicked with me. They are a wonderful playground for theory crafters, min/maxers, and mathletes like myself who find incomparable joy in optimizing builds both conventional and experimental by pushing the limits of obtainable resources ad infinitum. The end game grind is long and at times challenging as you make the jump to Grandmaster 1+ difficulty in search of top-tier loot to perfect your build. This is what looter shooters are all about.

If you don’t like the sound of that, you’ll probably drop Anthem right after finishing its campaign. But if you do like the sound of that, you might find yourself playing this game for years.

TL;DR: This game is serious fun, but is also in need of some serious Game & UI Design 101. 

I wrote a lot more about individual aspects of the game beneath the read more, if you’re interested. I’ve decided not to give the game a score, I’m just here to discuss it after playing through the campaign and spending a few days grinding elder game activities. There are no spoilers here.

Gameplay

The Javelins are delightful. I’ve played all four of them extensively and despite identifying as a Colossus main I cannot definitively attach myself to one class of Javelin because they’re all so uniquely fun to play and master. Best of all, they’re miraculously balanced. I’ve been able to hold my own with every Javelin in Grandmaster 1+. Of course, some Javelins are harder to get the hang of than others. Storms don’t face the steep learning curve Interceptors do, but placed in the hands of someone who knows what they’re doing, both are equally as destructive on the battlefield. 

I love the combo system. It is viscerally satisfying to trigger a combo, hearing that sound effect ring, and seeing your enemy’s health bar melt. Gunplay finally gets fun and interesting when you start obtaining Masterworks, and from there, it’s like playing a whole new game. 

Mission objectives are fairly bland and repetitive, but the gameplay is so fun I don’t even mind. Collect this, find that, go here, whatever. I get to fly around and blow up enemies while doing it, and that’s what matters. Objectives could be better, certainly. Interesting objectives are vital in game design because they disguise the core repetitive gameplay loop as something fresh, but the loop on its own stays fresh long enough to break even, I feel.

The best part is build flexibility. Want to be a sniper build cutting boss health bars in half with one shot? I’ve seen it. Want to be a near-immortal Colossus wrecking ball who heals every time you mow down an enemy? You can. There are so many possibilities here. Every day I come across a new crazy idea someone’s come up with. This is an excellent game for build crafters. 

But... why in the world are there so few cosmetic choices? A single armor set for each Javelin outside the Vanity store? A core component of looter shooters has always been endgame fashion, and on this front, BioWare barely delivers and only evades the worst criticism by providing quality Javelin customization in the way of coloring, materials, and keeping power level and aesthetics divorced. We’re being drip-fed through the Vanity store, and while I like the Vanity store’s model, there should have been more things permanently available for purchase through the Forge. Everyone looks the same out there! Where’s the variety? 

Story, Characters, World

Anyone expecting a looter shooter like Anthem to feature a Mass Effect or Dragon Age -sized epic is out of their mind, but that doesn’t mean we have to judge the storytelling in a vacuum. This is BioWare after all. Even a campaign that flows more like a short story - as is the case with Anthem - should aspire to the quality of previous games from the studio. Unfortunately, it does not, but it comes close by merit of narrative ambience: the characters, the world’s lore, and their execution. 

(For a long time I’ve had a theory that world building is what made the original Mass Effect great, not its critical storyline, which was basically a Star Trek movie at best. Fans fell in love because there were interesting people to talk to, complicated politics to grasp, and moral decisions to make along the way.)

While the main storyline of Anthem is lackluster and makes one roll their eyes at certain moments or bad lines, the world is immediately intriguing. Within Fort Tarsis, sophisticated technology is readily available while society simultaneously feels antiquated, echoing a temporal purgatory consistent with the Anthem’s ability to alter space-time. Outside the fort, massive pieces of ancient machinery are embedded within dense jungles in a way that suggests the mechanical predates nature itself. The theme of sound is everywhere. Silencing relics, cyphers hearing the Anthem, delivering echoes to giant subwoofers… It’s a fun world, it really is. 

As for the characters… they might be some of the best from BioWare. They feel like real people. Rarely are they caricatures of one defining trait, but people with complex motives and emotions. Some conversations were boring, but the vast majority of the time I found myself racing off to talk to NPCs as soon as I saw yellow speech bubbles on the map after a mission. And don’t even get me started on the performances. They are golden.

The biggest issue with the story is that it’s not well integrated with missions. At times it feels like you’re playing two separate games: Fort Tarsis Walking/Talking Simulator and Anthem Looter Shooter. And the sole threads keeping these halves stitched together during missions - radio chatter - takes a back seat if you’re playing with randoms who rush ahead and cause dialogue to skip, or with friends who won’t shut the hell up so you can listen or read subtitles without distraction. I found it ironic that I soloed most of the critical story missions in a game that heavily encourages team play.

Technical Aspects: UI & Design 

This is where Anthem has some major problems. God, this category alone is probably what gained the ire of most reviewers. The UI is terrible and confusing. There are extra menu tabs where they aren’t needed. The placement of Settings is for some inane reason not located under the Options button (PS4). Excuse me? It’s so difficult to navigate and find what you’re looking for. It’s ridiculously unintuitive.  

Weapon inscriptions (stat bonuses) are vague and I’ve even seen double negatives once or twice. They come off as though no one bothered to proofread or edit anything for clarity. Just a bad job here all around. And to make matters worse, there is no character stat sheet to help us demystify any of the bizarre stat descriptions. We are currently using goddamn spreadsheets like animals. Just awful. 

The list goes on. No waypoints in Freeplay. Countless crashes, rubber banding, audio cutouts, player characters being invisible in vital cutscenes, tethering warnings completely obscuring the flight overheat meter… Fucking yikes. Wading through this swamp of bugs and poor design has been grueling to say the least. 

And now for the loot issues. Dead inscriptions on gear; and by dead I mean dead, as in “this pistol does +25% shotgun damage” dead (this has been recently patched but I still cannot believe this sort of thing made it to release). The entire concept of the Luck stat (chance to drop higher quality loot) resulting in Luck builds who drop like flies in combat and become a burden for the rest of the team. Diminishing returns in Grandmaster 2 and 3; it takes so long to clear missions on these difficulties without significant loot improvement, making GM2 and GM3 pointless when you could be grinding GM1 missions twice as fast. 

At level 30, any loot quality below Epic is literal trash. Delete Commons, Uncommons, and most Rares as soon as you get them because they’re virtually useless. I have hundreds of Common and Uncommon embers and nothing to do with them. Why can’t we convert 5 embers into 1 of the next higher tier? Other looters have already done things like this to make progression omnipresent. You don’t have to reinvent the wheel here, BioWare. It’s already been done for you. 

When you get a good roll on loot, the satisfaction is immense. But when you don’t, and you won’t 95% of the time, you’ll feel like you’ve wasted hours with nothing to show for it. We shouldn’t be spending so much time hunting for useful things, we should be trying to perfect what’s already useful.

It’s just baffling to think that Anthem had the luxury of watching the messy release of several other looter shooters during Anthem’s development, yet proceed to make the same mistakes, and some even worse. 

Nothing needs to be said about visuals. They are stunning, even from my perspective on a base PS4.

Sound design is the only other redeeming subcategory here. Sound design is amazing, like the OST. Traditional instrumentals meet alien synth seamlessly. Sarah Schachner is a seriously talented composer. 

I’m just relieved to see the development team hauling ass to make adjustments. They’ve really been on top of it - the speed and transparency of fixes has been top-notch. They’re even working on free DLC already! A new region, more performances from the actors... I’m excited and hopeful for the future. 

[themockingcrows]

Two Fates, Two Kingdoms Ch. 16: Survive

This chapter is SFW! cw: animal death, blood, animal attacks This chapter is available on AO3! John/Dave, Jake

Long distance travel is difficult as it is, but long distance travel in winter conditions through rough terrain can feel damn near impossible. With their feet finally on the snowy terrain of Derse, the trio finally get a taste of just how dangerous this mountainous territory can truly be.

    Dave woke warm in his bundled bedding, with the heavy press of a prince at either side of his body from how closely they'd slept in their fireless camp. An extra weight pressed down atop him, feather light and barely noticeable till he'd started to move in place, trying to buy himself more time before he needed to get into the cold air to pee. He shuffled his legs a few more times before lifting his arms to open up the head space, flinching when powdery snow fell in on top of him and letting out a gaspy yelp. John and Jake snorted and immediately rolled his direction as if trying to cover him over before they'd even opened their own bags up, a nice thought in context but in reality a terrible idea as all it did was share two people's worth of snow collection onto his face as well. There was no describing just how thankful Dave really was that there wasn't more than half an inch of snowfall thus far, and that what was still currently falling was in the form of big, fat, slow falling flakes.

    “Whatsit, where's--? Shit,” John muttered, thrashing to get his head out, then immediately changing his mind and retreating. “Fuck me that's cold!”

    Jake, alert now but not as rushed considering Dave hadn't continued to make sounds or give them any follow up information, peered out and around with a yawn before snow lit upon his bangs and eyelashes. He groaned under his breath and dropped back flat on the ground with a few rubs to his face.

    “The horses're still there, right?”

    “No idea, I haven't looked,” Dave said. The pressure in his bladder had only grown with the cold exposure and he knew he had no choice but to carefully get out into the open air, put on his boots, and make his way into the fresh canvas that surrounded them. He cast a glance towards the last place he'd seen them, listening closely in the dark gray of morning to make up for the lack of depth perception making the distance a bit harder to interpret between the trees. A soft nicker from one, then another horse in the gloom answered the question for him.

    “Good horsies. Good,” Jake said to the air in reply. “Sleeping was a good plan, I don't want to imagine how I'd be after a round of guard duty on top of how sleepy I already feel.”

    “Five more hours, please,” John mumbled with his mouth behind the material of his sleeping bag, not wanting to rise again to the crisp air. Dave had slowly sat up in the chill and unfolded the top edges of his boots to rid the entire mass of snow, shaking them a few times before extracting himself from the sleeping bag and rising up into a boot at a time. A brave Dersian approaching uncomfortable but familiar territory, far braver than the Prospitians who were already in their worst element with more to come in their future.

    “Oof.. It's not as bad once the rest of you is out in it,” he promised, rubbing down his legs and the sides of his arms before traipsing off through the far side of their camp to the brush, knocking balanced snow like piles of sugar down from the tops of low bent branches as he passed them by. In the stillness of the morning it was honestly gorgeous out there, cold or not, standing as a stark wonderland of crystals and soft grays and blues over glistening white. It nearly made it worth it to have to get out of bed and start moving.

    Nearly.

    “You're a filthy liar, Dave, but I still love you,” said John as he slowly extracted himself from his own nest with a displeased shiver. “Oh what I'd give for my fireplace.. Or a hot bath. Or a hot bath with breakfast on a tray to the side,” he groaned.

    “Hot bath when we're in Derse, and breakfast is from the bags.”

    “Can we warm it,” John asked hopefully, already knowing the answer long before Jake sighed and shook his head. “All the more pity, then.”

    “We'll be able to have a better camp the further along we go. Eventually we'll have fire, even. We'll need to, to keep ourselves going and to help the horses,” said the elder prince as he too rose to face the day. “We're already going to be running them quite hard. Should rub them down before we set out again, actually.”

    “Poor things. I don't even want to be out here, I can't imagine they're thrilled to be away from their cozy pens,” came Dave's voice as he shuffled back into view, tucking his trousers into place beneath the top edge of his tunic.

    “The horses will survive, but I might not,” said John. “Isn't Derse colder than this? Are we just heading into an ice flow?”

    Dave's nod made him pout.

    “Derse gets colder than this, yes. But there's a chance we'll have missed the worst of it. And don't forget, we'll be able to have fire eventually! We'll be able to warm up when it gets colder out!”

    “When we stop. We'll be icicles while riding,” snuffled the younger prince as he rubbed his own arms and tramped off through the snow for his own turn with the bushes like a changing of the guard before a vast estate.

    “We're still in Prospit you know. How do you plan on surviving for any length of time in Derse if we're still there by this season next?” Dave asked as he crouched and grabbed his bedding, shaking it off before starting to roll it up tight. It'd be suitable to sit on till they headed out at least and would give him a comfortable place to eat his breakfast before the saddle once more claimed him. There wasn't much time to waste, but time was still precious.

    Jake seemed to be of similar mind, already following Dave's lead of wadding up his bedding before rummaging in the bags for some food. Cold jerky and a bit of bread wasn't that filling but it would be enough to start out with. The dry tug at the back of his tongue had him craving other, more familiar foods already. Oatmeal with thick cream and spices. Hot eggs and bacon. Melted cheese and ham over soft bread gently crisped by the heat of a fire. Hot, satisfying tea.. He had to rip his mind away from the pleasant things by the end of his meal, pulling up from the soothing bit of daydreaming in the fact of things that needed done. The horses needed rubbed down before the saddles could go on them, the rest of the camp needed packed and tucked away, and then they needed to get going as soon as possible.

    John's more even stride back to their disjointed circle was a welcome sight, and their simple breakfast was spent with a bit of conversation, teasing back and forth, discussion of the map Dave had found in his sleeping bag before to plan routes, and eventually even conversation towards the horses who continued to shuffle and make soft sounds where they were waiting. With gloved hands the animals were tended, the supplies were eventually loaded, and all too soon the trio were once more moving. They had their goal, and now had a better way to actually obtain it. So long as they kept a good clip, their escape plan should bear sweet Dersian fruit.

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

    The trio made good time over the next few days. The snow proved thicker as they progressed out of Prospit and into Skaia, keeping off the main roads whenever they drew too close to civilization whenever possible. A few times they had to resort to keeping their hoods firmly down and their ears closed to the world around them, walking in a line from one side of a town to the other without so much as looking up save for stops at different places that seemed likely to have some feed for the horses. At least in Skaia Dave didn't stick out nearly as much as he did in Prospit, though they all still gained a few curious glances just for how mismatched they appeared, a single small figure between two larger ones in absolute silence within earshot of others.

    Nights were cold, bitterly cold even when Jake decided that it was safe enough to start using fire, and none of them wanted to even imagine how impossible their travels would have been without Kanaya's expert sewing of the bedding. It wasn't all bad, though. To pass time between when the fire was first struck and when sleep claimed them they traded stories, the brothers regaling Dave with varying versions of adventures and incidents of their youth while he in turn told them of parts of his own home as if wanting to prepare them for the castle ahead. The horses were displeased with the extended time away from home, the unknown directions, the deer trails or the snowy paths that lay untouched ahead of them in the more out of the way locales. With the stark, darkened mountains of Derse in the distance, hope and trepidation sprung up in their hearts.

    John's introduction to Dave's homeland wasn't the most pleasant one. The horses kept spooking, reacting with displeasure to all the sounds around them in the distance, crackling branches breaking like glass and stone in the distance under the collected weight of the season. It made it almost impossible to tell what was environment and what was a threat, made worse by Dave's warnings. Most creatures in Derse were excellent hunters, used to the lush needle treed woodlands and craggy mountains, most of them ghostly pale or black as pitch and all bearing far more eyes than anyone outside of Derse seemed to feel was appropriate. Sharp teeth and claws, gigantic sizes and extreme stealth were another common trend among many of the beasts, though even the prey animals slid into that category of monstrosity. Jake was torn between wanting to hunt some of the creatures to eat or to capture one alive to study it. John said he'd be content to see no animals beyond mice till they arrived at the Dersian capital.

    “We may need to leave the horses soon,” Dave said at camp that night as he rubbed his hands by the fire that put off sweet white smoke from burning pine needles and sap. The night had come early on them once more, skies darker the deeper in Derse they went and the heavier fatigue hung over them as it had become imperative to take turns at keeping watch to avoid attack by creatures of the night or those loyal to the Dersian crown recognizing rogue Prospitian's on their territory.

    “So soon? Surely they could go longer,” Jake said, glancing upwards towards the sky before focusing on the pot again. Melted snow to refill their water skins, heated water to wash their faces and hands with in small amounts, then more snow and the foods that would be going in to making a soup. Not super filling when most of it was water, but they were going through their food faster than anticipated thanks to the weather and hunting was limited due to the snow and need to keep moving. Who knew such temperatures made food more urgent a need? “Is it because of the snow depth?”

    “Well. Yes and no,” Dave admitted, turning to pull the map closer to the light, tapping at it. “I remember this pass. The path is steep and narrow, it's usually best for foot travel.”

    “How does anyone transport anything from Derse to Skaia for trade with such inaccessible roads,” grumbled John, huddled close to the fire with the top and bottom ends of his bedding wrapped around his shoulders, wanting to be as covered as possible without actually taking off his boots to get into bed just yet. He knew this was Dave's homeland and that's why he seemed fairly comfortable with the same amount of warmth as he'd been dealing with through their journey, but it still made him more than a little jealous. If there were a way to sap some of Dave's ability to keep toasty with just basic layering, John would do it in a heartbeat.

    “Easily: they use roads made and maintained for trade, which tend to go around higher mountains as opposed to cresting the hills directly,” said Dave with a straight face. “But yes, the snow will be a problem for them I think. It'd be easier to shuffle on foot and not drop off the edges of things than to drive horses through the worst of it and hope they can get over the rock and ice. ...It'd be better to leave them somewhere nearer to people too, so they could be found and maybe taken in.”

    Jake's eyes flicked to their horses and his chest ached, but if something like that was to happen then it made sense to give them a chance instead of leaving them to fend for themselves in such hellish weather.

    “I wonder if they'd head back towards home. We're terribly far now, but they know the way I bet.”

    “If not,” John offered, “maybe they'd run into someone who's trying to follow us and they'd get help that way.”

    “Or they'd turn up on a farm where someone needed horses and couldn't afford them,” Dave added somewhat hopefully. “They're fine steeds and have done well by us. They'd probably settle in to new surroundings just fine and be tended by people who care, if they were needed.”

    “We're fleeing for your life at this point and here you are making me sentimental about the horses, Dave, you're a monster,” Jake said with a soft chuckle and a shake of his head. “Are there any villages ahead of us? Between here and the point they'd be most at risk, I mean. Are there alternate paths we could take? Would it be worth it to take the longer path?”

    “The longer path is way more populated, it's a trade route after all. We'd be running into more people every step of the way and you two don't exactly blend in with Dersian's.”

    “Maybe we could just say we're Skaian's with Prospitian ancestry,” John said. “I'm not entirely sure I'm comfortable with the idea of trying to drag all three of us over a mountain on foot. Aside from supplies and the extreme weather.. Dave, your sight still isn't that great. One wrong step and down you'd go, and then this entire trip would have been for naught.”

    Dave shot him a look and frowned. He'd been working on dealing with his limitations this entire time and had been making significant progress, or at least he felt he was. To bring it up like that almost felt like the progress somehow was undone, or wasn't worth enough. Worse, it brought up doubt like a multi-headed serpent on how able Dave would be able to handle the journey once it got tough all over again. “I wouldn't slip over a mountain just because of my eye. Any of us could fall, if the snow gave way in a poor direction or we weren't actually on solid ground.”

    “The more you talk, the more I think the risk of going the longer route would be better than pressing forward for the short one,” John said. “If there was less snow up here, maybe.. but it's going to get even deeper. How are we going to walk through that? How are we going to keep our supplies?”

    “We'd have to turn back a ways to go around,” Dave contended. “If we can get over this one hurdle, we'd be able to reach a village on the other side and be far closer to my home than if we went around. There's risk, yes, but I think it'd be best to stick to the plan. It's not like the snow will be up to my neck of anything, it's just not safe on horseback”

    “There's a LOT of risk.”

    “There's a lot of risk if we get seen too much, too. There's a better chance of scouts finding us in more populated areas, and two guys who look like they could be enemies might get some hostile things aimed at them that we really don't need.”

    “...Dave you're their prince, couldn't you just. Y'know. Waltz into the nearest farm house and request supplies and assistance? Explain that we're friendly? We're in Derse now-”

    “John, does every single person in your kingdom know what you look like?”

    “...Probably not,” he sighed, already knowing where this was going. They'd been over this before, but some part of him hoped that there was a new option hiding somewhere for him to sample from instead of the snow and ice and harder decisions. If only things could just be easy.

    “And if you were to disappear for an extended amount of time, maybe long enough to be presumed dead or lost forever, and then sudden reappeared, would anyone believe it? Who would believe some random guy was royalty, especially a random guy who smells like sweat and horses and smoke?”

    “I get it, I get it,” John said. “You can cut the spiel. It was me being kind of hopeful that we'd have an easier time of things, but the shorter way has more merit.”

    “Sometimes the easiest route just isn't the best one,” Dave shrugged. “Let's focus on the end goal though, it's far more fun. Like when we finally reach the capital and I can get us to my home properly. I look forward to seeing your faces as we enter the mountain's halls.”

    “Derse was always described so differently in books,” Jake said, stretching. He'd started carrying some extra tension at some point and didn't know what to do with himself to get rid of it other than fidget. What he'd give for a bit of wood and a knife to work at it with to keep his hands busy. Maybe make some arrows with bright tails. “I'd no idea till you started telling more of it that it's just as vicious as we'd been lead to believe but that the people aren't the vicious ones.”

    “Actually, speaking of wildlife. We're not like.. at risk of trolls or something awful up in the snowy peaks, are we?” John interrupted, squinting at Dave cautiously. “Dersian wildlife is terrifying and damn near everywhere with multiple eyes and pale hides, right? Would that count for snowy mountaintops too?”

    Dave laughed somewhat uneasily and smiled, but failed to answer.

    “...You do realize you're not quelling any of my fears, right?”

    Another laugh, albeit more like a giggle now.

    “You're just doing it on purpose now!”

    “John, I don't know if we'd even run into anything for sure! There's a lot out there and most of it's blood thirsty, yes, but it's not like every time you look at butterflies they'd be a hoard of those queer little creatures trying to suffocate people.”

    “Suffocating butterflies?” Jake asked, eyes widening.

    “Focus, that's not the point I'm trying to make,” Dave insisted. “We'll be fine. Absolutely fine! I mean. Sure there are some big cats up there potentially, and some other beasts, but we're not alone and we're not going to be toting horses with us, and the weather's snowy so. Should be fine.”

    Dave flopped over backwards away from the fire when the brothers continued to stare at him, questions and exclamations on their lips, and rubbed his face with his palms.

    “Y'know what? Never mind. I should have said we'd be facing elements and little else. It's not as if Prospit or Skaia is without its own predators, we're lucky we didn't run into wolves or something as it is. We'll get up there and need to focus just on getting to the next points more than we'd be needing to worry about anything hunting us.”

    “Dave you're making it worse,” John said. “Let's maybe, just maybe, change the topic entirely.”

    “I'm introducing you all to the glow worms and the heated baths the second it's acceptable to,” Dave grunted. “The glow worms because they're a pride and joy of my home and beautiful to see aside from just the mushrooms, and the baths because by everything holy we need them.”

    “There, that's more like it,” Jake chuckled. “Good chap.”

    “I just hope Dirk's not going to be.. well. Too Dirk-ish about this sudden appearance with company,” murmured Dave as he uncovered his face to look up to the low hanging ceiling of the wintery sky above. “That's one thing I'm not entirely certain about....Maybe if I send a bird ahead of us? A bit of warning that I'm alive and well and coming? You'd just be a surprise.”

    “Anyone could pretend to be you, though?” John pointed out.

    “My handwriting is a mess and hard to copy,” he said. “I'd also be able to tuck in a few quips that he'd be able to recognize as entirely me and me alone. Convincing my brother is very different from convincing someone who's never seen the royal family and aside from paying tax to the people in charge of their towns have little care or interest in who is above them.”

    “If we don't get devoured by some dire beast in the mountain's upper recesses then we'll get you in position to send a bird one way or another,” Jake promised, grin widening to a bucktoothed smirk when Dave shot him a withering look. He couldn't help but laugh, John following in his wake as Dave began to complain in a language they could only pick out parcels from.

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

    The horses were left behind the next day. Jake had removed items from their backs with a solemn face, John helping with worry in his eyes. Dave stroked their noses gently and cooed to keep them distracted and hopefully lighten his own mood. The snow had begun to fall once more in thick fat flakes, and part of him worried that this was the wrong choice somehow. The short way was the quickest way to home, was safer in the long run, left less to the fates. Yet it wasn't enough of an assurance to soothe the upset pangs in his stomach that were crying out their failure.

    “Dave, here. Slip this one on,” John said as he approached, looping a bag onto the Dersian's back and cinching it comfortably into place before shuffling back to his brother. The larger were carrying more weighty bundles of supplies, but they'd divvied enough up to Dave as well so that it would at least be even as much as ability allowed. Strong as the Prospitian's were, they couldn't move mountains for long before burning out.

    When the horses were stripped down to the saddles, Jake turned them back towards home with his own fond words and soft thank yous. John was the one who reached forward to swat their hindquarters, startling them both into runs through the snow and out of sight down the road they'd come. If they stuck to the road, they'd reach humans after a while. If they wandered, they'd reach civilization of some form at least.

    They remained three figures in the dimming light, staring the way the horses had disappeared till long after they'd lost sight of them, tracing their feelings of connection till they were entirely broken. It felt far more remote all at once. Lonesome in the wilderness, the world around them hushed save for the soft tinkle of snowflakes hitting one another falling from on high. Slowly they turned around to stare at the mountains ahead, their last obstacle before the final leg of the journey that wound end with the kingdom beneath Dersian stone.

    John reached over and planted a hand on Dave's shoulder, gave it a squeeze, and flashed him a grin.

    “Let's get walking, we can get high as we can before we set up camp and you tell me I reek again. Real romance hours here on this honeymoon.”

    Dave snorted a laugh and started to walk, while Jake pulled up the opposite side laughing aloud.

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

    Camp had been hard won the first night, sleeping cold and painful after the exhausting movements through the snow, on edge at first from what they could have sworn was a scream from far away. They'd slept like the dead once the initial panic had given way to laughter and convincing they'd misheard, eaten an unsatisfying breakfast, and gone back to the grind of climbing elevation like ill placed mountain goats. The paths were narrow and fairly winding, zig zagging back and forth on themselves like serpents to make ascent and descent easier in clear weather. In poor weather like this it was important to eye the white on white of the edge of the fallen snow for the vaguely rounded out shapes or edges and drops in the paths, so as to not simply walk over a ledge and face first into a broken neck.

    Jake had slipped and fallen twice, once in a minor way and once more seriously over a ledge, sliding down and landing flat on his ass against stone hard enough his tail bone ached. John had misjudged a gap and fallen backwards to snow down his jacket, and a second time he fell on purpose to chase after a falling Dave who'd thought a turn was further away than it was and slid down at least three bends worth of path ass over teakettle before coming to a bewildered stop.

    The second camp was going to be at the crest, hard won as it was, but there had been second thoughts the second the trio realized just how fucking frigid the wind was up there even in the sleeping bags with their layers on. There was no protection but scraggly bits of trees that managed to grow at the elevation, and they didn't trust themselves to try working on the descent in the same day when the sun had fallen that far. Not if they wanted anywhere safe to bed down in the evening. Better to capture the peak at dawn, when they could be more certain of what lay ahead of them and beneath their feet. Now if only they could actually sleep..

    Jake opted for a fire when they'd set up, using some of the scraggly brush and pine to make a fire of white smoke and warm resin scent to warm up by. Both Prospitian's huddled close to the fireside, teeth chattering, hands held close to the flame as they could get away with without singeing their gloves. Dave, though better suited for this weather, was still quite some time away from the more extreme shades due to his time in Prospit and just as uncomfortable. Nobody had much appetite, though each did manage to force something down.

    “I'll stay up first,” Jake offered. “You two get as much sleep as you can, then we can trade.”

    “Why even stay up, I'm sure we'd be fine this high up,” John mumbled. “Just sleep with us and we'll all get going at first light.”

    “No can do, John. After all: we're using a fire at a high point with a lot of visibility,” he pointed out. “Even if it's a small one, it's still a point to draw attention with to man and beast alike. ...I'd feel better if someone was awake during this.”

    “Best keep away the mountain trolls that don't exist,” John said, pausing awkwardly at the end of his sentence before sneezing hard enough the fire briefly waved away from him before returning at full force with a resounding crackle and pop upright towards the night sky.

    “They exist, John. I just don't know quite where a predator would be hiding, it's not like I've spent my life up in the mountains traveling on foot to know their patterns, that's more a question to ask a huntsman.”

    “Bah.”

    “Don't bah me, you're not a damned sheep.”

    “Yes I am. I'm the baa baa black sheep, and I've plenty of wool. Only right now it's away in three bags in the market, because it sure as fuck isn't here keeping me warm.”

    Dave reached a tired leg over to poke him in the side with his boot, shoving him till he smirked.

    “We're nearly there, either way,” yawned Dave. “Just down this other side, and then we can find our way towards home far easier. Brief pause to write my brother first. But you get the idea.”

    “We've been 'nearly there' for so long I'm starting to forget what 'there' actually is,” Jake sighed. “I keep daydreaming about food, too.”

    “We still have supplies,” John said.

    “Supplies but I'd hardly call survival food real food, not like home,” he grumbled. “The kitchens were excellent at their presentation, and the servants always knew about the right time I'd start wanting a cup of something hot.”

    “I wonder what the weather is like at home right now,” John said. “..Do you think it's warmed up enough there yet for Jade to not be cooped up in her room in furs?”

    “We're far away but we're not changing the weather,” Jake reminded him, poking the fire with a stick to stir up more red hot sparks into the dark air above them. Dave shifted to his side and peeled his boots off, stuffing his legs down into the bedding. He kept his gloves on, using them to pillow his head as he watched the light with his strange eyes. “It's still early enough in the season she'd be in her room a little longer. ..Though, with our disappearing act I believe she's likely going to be stuck chasing after us for a time once the order's given.”

    “Even if she won't be finding us,” corrected John. “If Jade was going to find us by now, she'd have already gotten us.”

    “True to the word then, with that head start and delay. ...I hope we can repay her someday.”

    “We will. We'll get back to Prospit someday, once everything is better. Or at least get word to her,” John promised. “One step at a time, yeah?”

    One step at a time indeed. John shuffled to get into his sleeping bag as well, though only his lower half. His upper half flopped on top of Dave's sleeping bag, pestering him with his weight till the blonde gave way to squabbling and trying to squirm out from underneath his laughing form. Young lovers were idiots, but at least they were lovable Jake decided. Seeing them like this filled him with extra vigor that they'd indeed done the right thing. They never would have been able to keep this in Prospit.

    “Jane and Jade both deserve the world for what we've done,” Jake hummed. “Come now. Try to sleep, we can get up early and get off this damned mountain sooner. Down great height should go faster than up great height, yes?”

    “It should. Y'know, if we walk normally and don't slip and fall and roll down to our dooms,” Dave grunted. “It'd be faster in one sense, but we'd probably be dead at the bottom of pretty mangled. Not to mention being perfect food for the creatures lurking at the bottom. Tasty nuggets of morsels they'd normally need to work fo-”

    “I get the idea,” said John, wallowing on Dave a bit further to muffle his upper half. The barely there squawks were comical to hear, a bird beneath a sleeping blanket crying about the unfairness of it all before growing sleepy. It'd been a long climb in snow and chill wind, and short legs and less vision just made it all the harder with weight bearing down on his back all day. “Enough doom and gloom.”

    “It's not doom and gloom!” Dave insisted, trying to pop his head out from underneath John's mass to continue talking.

    “Then it's negative and I'm tired, and goodnight Dave,” John said instead. He rolled further, squashing Dave once more before rolling off him to settle around the fire. It was a bit of a triangle pattern tonight, as much body facing the fire as possible. He settled on his side so his face would be warmer beneath the covering and nestled down into the toasty cocoon to signal the end of his contributions.

    Dave grumbled at him and shuffled his hand over his own bedding a few times to rid it of snow, sending it over to the side where the stomped flat space of their campsite ended. Instead of curling up to sleep right away, he sat back up and watched the fire instead for the various pops and crackles. When Jake puffed against his gloves and made to move his hands close to the fire once more he finally looked up to make eye contact with his fellow traveler.

    “Are you sure you want first watch? I could manage it if you wanted some rest first. So long as I'm not moving much I can keep awake.”

    Jake shook his head and grinned.

    “No can do, Dave. It's my routine now, and I'm a creature of habit once my wild larks are accounted for and everything's lining up like genteel daisies. I'll wake you second if you'd like, though.”

    “Might as well. I really can't imagine there being much at the very peak for us to worry about. There's not much cover up here, and it's not like it's full of caves,” he said as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand and wrist. “But the few things that might be here..”

    “Wouldn't need to want for cover as it's the top of the list,” Jake chuckled. “I know. Don't worry, no need to repeat yourself Dave. I'm well armed and plenty awake.. and we've wonderful lights whenever the clouds clear up,” he added as he gestured upwards with a hand to where a break in the inconsistent fluffy masses let through eerily crisp moonlight and more stars than either of them had ever seen in one sitting despite seeing the same sky so many times before in their lives.

    “Wow.. I know we saw them lower down in little flashes, but there's so many up here..”

    “We're closer to the heavens up here, it's no wonder we're getting glimpses of the bright hope those of the past get to enjoy each day.”

    Dave smiled a bit and rubbed at his own elbows. That was kind of a poetic way to think of things, wasn't it?

    “If you're really sure you don't want me to stay up first,” Dave began, only to be quickly interrupted by a boisterous Jake.

    “Yes, I'm quite sure Dave. What's begun cannot end so suddenly and all that, I'll not be admitting defeat to sleep for a while yet. Try to have some good dreams before it's your turn, make the best of it.”

    “Can you two be quiet?? Some of us sensible people are trying to sleep,” grumbled John from his muffled den. The fire popped loudly on a bit of sap as if agreeing with him, echoing out over the mountain that otherwise sat silent in the occasional breeze.

    He rolled his eyes before glancing to Jake, who chuckled softly and shook his head as he gestured downwards. Somewhat obediently, Dave was soon curled up and positioned in his space around the fire, body curled up to create and conserve heat best he could while the remaining Prospitian held guard.

    It was a peaceful night, even if it was eerily quiet. Jake knew a bit better than to trust the surface, however. For every crackle and spurt of the fire there were sounds like breaking branches further out in the distance down the mountain's way they'd come from, or crunching snow and ice underfoot. Under paw? Under something heavy that didn't let his attention wander very far from his weapon or the sleepers for long no matter how beautiful it was in the sky. There was no need to risk joining those in the heavens just because of a slip up at a bad time. He closed his eyes after a time to listen, wanting to focus on the sounds more than seeing the fire, hoping his eyes would adjust quickly if he needed to turn and fire at something at an acceptable distance. A dangerous choice. The warmth on his face and chest was soothing and made his blood pump sweetly through the chill in his limbs, wanted to make his thoughts slow, but it was the quickest way to differentiate distance. A crackle in the fire, a pop further in the distance. A soft crunch as Dave shifted in his sleeper, a soft crunch far away.

    A bird? No, far too large to be a bird, and it was late. Deer? Potentially. But it sounded like a single source, not a group. Perhaps a lone deer or some other creature on all fours then, if such a thing were possible.

    Jake's head drooped to his chin for a half second before he jerked it up, adrenaline surging from the near mistake of falling asleep. No, stupid, fight it! Focus on the sounds! He cursed under his breath and clenched his fists a few times into tight balls, shifted his weight to wiggle his legs a bit in hopes the heated blood would course further through his body and disperse the sleepy feeling.

    Crunching. The sound of shifting rock, a breaking branch. It was possible this was all just the sounds of nature up here, that this was totally normal for a Dersian night on a snowy mountain and he was jumping at shadows of innocent beasts that were simply curious about the light, but at the same time it was possible this was the very real threats that lay in wait for weary travelers. His heart started to hammer when he heard more crunching coming closer, though the louder it hot.. indeed it seemed the more there was. Unable to resist any longer, Jake opened his eyes and jerked his head to the side to stare out into the darkness for the source, already prepared to draw his bowstring back.

    Deer, though not the white tailed variety he was used to seeing in Prospit. One large deer one was trailing ahead of the others, a buck with an impressive rack of tangled horns atop its thick looking head stood silvery white in the moonlight, blinking at him with four reflectively bright eyes. Its herd, similarly silvery white but not nearly as grand in appearance, hung back somewhat warily in their following steps. They listened to all directions same as he had been, cautious, wary, prepared to bolt at a moment's notice.

    Jake loosened his grip on the bow and exhaled a deep sigh of relief. Okay, deer he could handle. Easy there, this was merely a group passing through. It must be later than he realized, a few hours closer to dawn than anticipated.

    “Hello there, you handsome thing.. It's winter now, shouldn't I be seeing an owl instead..? Or is it different because we're in Derse,” he said in a soft whisper, not wanting to startle the creature or its herd. It really was a sight to behold, part of him wished that John and Dave were awake to show them as well, but the other part was satisfied to be having this private moment between himself and nature. A secret to hold close to his heart. The creature flicked an ear and moved its head a bit, staring towards the fire and his silhouetted form in front of it, but the members of its herd seemed too on edge to do much more than stand and wait on edge. This was a relatively exposed area compared to further down, perhaps the other side of the cliff would hold something tasty for them in the early dawn hours ahead of them.

    Jake barely heard it before seeing it, the large white mass that hurled itself up against the side of the buck before the snow was sprayed with red, the herd that had been waiting in the wings turning tail and scattering back the way they'd come in a thunder of snow and hooves as the buck let out a horrible noise of pain. Dave and John jolted awake but were still trapped in their bedding, trying to fight their way out while half awake. Jake could only stare wide eyed in shock for a moment, mouth open and expression horrified before he registered what his hands really needed to be doing. Right, yes, of course, weapon! The weapon! He notched the arrow and jumped to his feet, pulling the bowstring back towards his cheek as he took aim at the figure that now that crouched over the barely kicking body of the buck.

    The face that looked up towards him, painted red, multi-eyed and sharp teeth bared, could almost be called humanoid. The fact it had claws, horns, and shaggy fur hanging from its body quickly dismissed that concept but it was close enough to looking humanoid that it made his blood go chill. Was this the mountain troll then? Or was it something else that called the snowy peaks of Derse home? It was a standoff between Jake and the beast as John and Dave tried to orient themselves, panic in the jerky way they sought their weapons and turned to face the same way that Jake had frozen like a statue in. Waiting. Holding fire to conserve arrows, hoping it would just take the deer and leave them alone behind.

    No such luck. The beast stared and seemed to contemplate its options before slowly rising upwards to its feet, large size masked slightly by the curve of its back from a heavy slouch, long arms ending in sharp hands that curled into loose fists. It remained crouched, prepared, before letting out an awful shriek that sounded far too similar to the noise they'd been so sure of mishearing at the other camp. It hadn't been their imaginations or someone needing help: it had been this creature off in the distance of the mountainside, perhaps doing just as it was doing now as it fended off other creatures from its freshly killed supper.

    “Easy!” Jake said loudly, as if trying to measure up to its pitch as an intimidation tactic. As if he weren't more than a little shaky in his shoes. This wasn't just hunting a deer or some wild thing in Prospit, this was a fucking monster and it was hungry and oh, fuck, what if he hadn't fought Dave's offer and slept instead this thing would have crept up on all of them and-

    It shrieked again, a high icy wail before launching forwards, sinking its claws into the snow and propelling itself forward in a bounding run, closing ground with astounding speed given the condition of the terrain around them. Jake fired, whiffed the shot just over its bounding shoulder, and cursed as he bent to snatch his quiver up over his shoulder.

    “JOHN!” shouted Jake as he swerved backwards and away from the fire to notch another arrow, wanting distance to be more effective. If that creature wanted him specifically it would need to go through the wall of fire that now stood between them. Dave's stance had lowered, prepared to counter attack, and John's had gone aggressive as he charged forward with a shout of his own to swing his hammer down and upwards. He nailed the shoulder Jake had missed, making the beast wobble and veer before it tried to counteract it, kicking off the ground to lurch the direction of its stronger arm with its uninjured legs. It needed traction, it needed to change its running style if it couldn't work the way it was used to any longer. Dave remained nearer the fire, but continued to stand ready with his blade.

    “How the fuck did it get this close?! Jake did you fall asleep?” he cried.

    “No! There were deer and it just. It was just there suddenly, I swear on my life!” Jake said as he let fly another arrow, already notching another as he fell back a few paces further when he realized he'd hit it in the flank but it was still charging angrily. John readied another swing and then shied back in front of the fire when the beast took a swipe then veered away again to wheel back for him. It was trying to gain speed, perhaps to knock him to the flame itself since he wasn't running away or backing up like the others had been.

    “Dave! Go for the head! Don't let it get up easily if it can get up at all!”

    “Obviously, why would I want it to get up?!”

    All three were silently praying that if Dave took a swing, he'd be able to aim properly and the strike would hit home at the right angle instead of hitting off one of its curled horny protrusions or missing the neck for all the fur in the way.

    Another shriek, another shudder down their spines, and it charged for John as he lifted his arms and exposed his unguarded midsection like a sacrifice, knees bent in a crouch. He sprung back and rolled the swing to the side, catching the mountain troll directly in the abdomen, forcing it to stagger forwards to the fire itself. It caught itself on its uninjured arm just as the fire started to touch its fur in the center, blank eyed and furious, starting to lurch forward towards Dave trailing embers and ashes like falling red stars over the stomped snow of their campsite. The Dersite steadied, grit his teeth, and moved towards it instead of away to deliver the strike directly to the throat before it could rise too high to its feet. He failed to back away after the twisted body delivery, however, and wound up beneath the angry creature as it began to bleed out, jaws trying to clamp at him, both clawed hands scrabbling at the snow and the edges of his body as it tried to find precisely where he was beneath it.

    Jake's arrow caught it between the eyes before it could chomp him effectively, however, leaving the troll limp and heavy on top of his traveling partner. His brother had already dropped his hammer and gone to one of the troll's arms, digging his heels into snow while he yanked hard as he could manage in order to free Dave from its bulk. The blonde emerged in one piece, splashed with steaming blood in the chill air, and laughing. It was a high nervous laughter, rolling from his chest and shaking his shoulders as he held tight to his sword with a slick hand. The laughing continued even when John hugged him tight, almost frantic from adrenaline, before it finally wound down to a few chuckles. Finally however it was silent save for three humans breathing hard and the occasional movement of branches in the frigid breeze. Jake kept an arrow notched and at the ready, not able to trust that the monster had been alone nor that anything else wouldn't come now that there was death and fresh blood in the air. Free food ripe for the taking.

    “You did great,” John murmured against Dave's hair, rocking with him for a minute or so till Dave finally dropped his sword and hugged him tight around the middle.

    “I thought I was going to miss,” he admitted. “Then it was biting and.. Fuck. Fuck,” he said softer, voice barely there. That had been far too close for comfort, especially with the incident from the stairs being so fresh in his memory. “Are you two okay?”

    “Yeah, it didn't get me at all.”

    “I've been clear away the whole time,” Jake said, averting his eyes to look around in the darkness. “Though, I think it'd be in all our best interest to tidy up quick as we can and clear away from this entire site.”

    “No shit,” said John. “...Wait, did you even sleep Jake?”

    “Not yet, but I hope you'll understand me when I said I've no interest in snoozing just now, John,” he said, gesturing with his bow and chin. “Would you mind rolling my bedding up tight and tucking it into my pack? I'd prefer to keep watch right now.”

    “No. I mean, yeah. I mean no, I understand,” John assured him. Dave was already pulling away to grasp some snow, rubbing it against himself after wadding it up to wash some of the blood off his face. There was no saving the clothes from the stains he'd bear, but hopefully people would be understanding that coming down from the mountains on foot would be a sign of having run into trouble in some shape or form.

    The far side of the mountain was still and quiet, the air from their mouths hot and steaming to clouds of fog ahead of them, and their thoughts were full of fear. They didn't know enough about these creatures to safely assume anything. Were they pack hunters? Were they solo? Would anything out here take the left behind food as an offering, or would they track the fresh scent of blood they carried in their party now? The soft glimmer of light past of the foot of the mountain, far in the distance, should have been a sign of great comfort. Instead it was a grim reminder that despite having survived this long and this far, there was still quite some ground to cover till they reached other humans.. and longer yet till they reached the throne.

    Onward, exhausted and anxious, they walked.

[eleiszon-blog]

Extradimensional Chess (3/3)

The following is an analysis of the various players and moves made throughout Part 18, the final episode of The Return. It is the third entry in a trilogy, the prior entries covering Lodge-relevant events from Parts 1, 2 and 17. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- We open on Mr. C seated in the Waiting Room. His eyes have partially reverted to their earliest cloudy state. He is in flames. I believe this fire is the ultimate, primordial state of a doppelganger and, indeed, all negative energy. A long-troubled David Lynch script, Ronnie Rocket, has had many of its ideas recycled into The Return. One of these ideas makes no explicit appearance but I believe it exists within Twin Peaks. “The entire stage is filled with a wall of fire 200 feet high.  Within the fire are thousands of souls screaming out silently . . . only the roaring of the fire.” - The first line of the script of Ronnie Rocket. I believe this fire of voicelessly wailing souls is what Mr. C shall join. Windom is there too. Chet Desmond, I believe, is also there. And I believe that fire is the metaphysical core of JUDY, the purest formation of negative energy. 

Mr. C is gone. We see MIKE salvage his gold core and, with a spark of e-lec-tri-city, join it to a bit of Dale’s hair to forge a new Dougie tulpa. This was at Dale’s request to satisfy Janey. Nice guy.

We cut to Jackrabbit’s Palace. Dark, empty. Dale was escorting Laura. She vanished. He is alone now - but not for long.

The Waiting Room. MIKE and The Arm. “Is it the story of the little girl who lived down the lane?” -- Audrey said something similar to this earlier. This post isn’t about Audrey but I think that line has to do with her. Another entry, that. 

Dale moves into a hall and beckons a gateway open. He has grown powerful in the Waiting Room. And with the scheming doppelgangers and BOB gone, he finally can go out.

Here in Glastonbury Grove, he meets up with a relieved Diane. This is the ‘curtain call’ at which he promised to meet her. I also believe this moment echoes across time: The appearance of the curtains at this moment is what Hawk witnessed back in Part 2. “Someone is here.”, MIKE said. It was Hawk.

“Almost exactly 430 miles.” -- 430 miles out is where Dale will cross. The Fireman told him this in a dream back in Part 1.

Diane is uncertain and urges pause to consider their options. Everything could change. Dale knows this. He is resolute. They kiss. They continue onward.

At a hotel, Diane witnesses a duplicate of herself. At this point, I must diverge briefly into The Secret History of Twin Peaks and more particularly the life and Work of Jack Parsons. Per the text, I believe Jack Parsons was destroyed by the fires of JUDY via the Black Lodge. He is in the howling wall with Windom, Mr. C. and others. Now, Jack Parsons once initiated a ritual he believed would summon an ‘elemental’. Immediately afterward, he met a red-haired woman whom he regarded to be this entity. For Twin Peaks’ purposes, I believe Diane to be such an entity, her hair deliberately reminiscent of the Waiting Room’s red drapery. I do not believe that this was always the case but that she became ‘touched’ by otherworldly influences throughout her ordeal shelled up as Naido. I believe that while Diane herself remains human Diane -- is it future or is it past -- this duplicate is a ’yet-to-come’ entity, wholly of the Other Place. As Jack Parsons did, we may call her the Scarlet Woman.

Cooper invites Diane to join him in the motel. The door is marked 7. As I’ve noted previously in an entry about Jeffries’ path through FWWM and The Return, 7 symbolizes seeking, searching for truth...In that entry about Jeffries, I offer that the numbers associated with Jeffries increase as his ‘rank’ in Twin Peaks’ world increases. He is ever more enlightened and knowing. This same applies here: What Dale does in this room will elevate him to a higher space than where he was before.

Dale and Diane lay together. He lies largely still while she seems to be desperate to obscure his face. Some believe this to be residual trauma about Mr. C violating her. I think it is simply the ever-encroaching memory shift. Diane is beginning to forget the ‘unofficial version’ and so what was a consensual matter with a man she loves is slipping into a strange and much darker territory as those memories fall apart.

The distress plain on her face is her realization of this slipping remembrance, her desperation to try to remember despite it, her shaky determination to continue despite the mounting fear of this ‘stranger’ taking her and the fear itself. Yes, this is a bad scene for Diane. Why does it occur? As noted previously, she has been marked by the energies of Another Place.  What is the end result of intercourse, generally speaking? Sperm shot into a womb which births new life. Diane’s ‘marking’ by those energies occurred during her stay in the Generator, a negative-creative space which (at least at first) bordered the positive-creative space of the Eternal Ocean. Metaphorically and also metaphysically, Diane is a womb comprised of pure creative energies. Add DNA (courtesy of Dale) to that and you get one hell of a conception.  “When will the new universes be born?” “Soon...” - That’s the ending dialogue of Ronnie Rocket. I find that idea fits exactly well here. 

Dale awakes in a different bed. He is alone. He finds a letter addressed to ‘Richard’ from ‘Linda’. She does not recognize him anymore. He should not look for her. Indeed, Diane’s memory faltered fully in the end and she has no recognition of this man anymore nor even who she was -- she’s “Linda” now. Or is she? Truthfully, I believe as Diane’s memories of the ‘unofficial version’ gave out, she lost the names she knew for herself and Dale, merely writing whichever ones came to her mind instead. Hm? Yes, my interpretation of this sequence is kinda seriously dark, thanks for noticing. I didn’t go looking for it to be though!

Dale exits his room. The hotel at large has changed as well. It bears some slight similarity to the hotel area of The Dutchman’s but I checked. They are not alike. 

Dale goes for a drive. He passes a diner which invites ‘Eat at JUDY’S!’ Many view this as a sign that this is a pocket dimension devised by JUDY to trap Dale. I do not follow. However, it may well be a sign that this space is innately nearer to JUDY. (Remember, the Fireman-JUDY conflict is one of balance VS. lack thereof.)

In the diner, Cooper deals with some antagonistic fellows in a decidedly un-Zen manner. Much has been made of this. I consider it only a personality-shift of some degrees. I once equated this change to processes of alchemy, the final stage of which is a balancing of opposites. He is more aggressive as Mr. C yet he operates slowly and repetitively as Droolcoop. The balanced result is a no-nonsense character of highly deliberated method. He’s still a good guy but he has much less patience fucking around with the bad guys. THIS Dale would’ve slapped Albert in the face for his uppity attitude back in season one.

After taking care of business, he obtains the address of an absentee waitress and goes on his way. Also he fried a gun which is pretty cool.

He heads toward Odessa. Texas. Yes, apparently, his new motel was also wildly relocated because he’s not too far from Texas now. Outside the waitress’ house, a familiar pole. I’ve detailed the meaning of ‘6′ before as relating to base, Earthly affairs. Carnal, animal. Black Lodge. The other numbers - with the 6 included - also match coordinates to the former site of the Trinity test from Part 8.

Now we meet Carrie Page. She doesn’t know a Laura or a Leland but “Your mother’s name is Sarah” gives her pause. Dale wants to take her to her mother’s house and, hey, she needs a ride out of town anyway.

Many note a golden ball of some sort in Carrie’s lawn. Dale’s latest pin is a golden circle as well. Perhaps a clue, perhaps not. As I’ve said before, I believe Cooper is becoming “the magician” of MIKE’s poem but perhaps in time he’ll also become one of the Dreamers living up in the Theatre.

A man dead on the couch. Headshot. A mantel with an animal statuette. “Woe to the ones who behold the pale horse.”

“I tried to keep a clean house...” This line plus her frazzled state, the ‘pale horse’ symbolism, the dead man... It reeks of a domestic abuse scene. The dead man was her husband. He was another BOB too, I’d wager. Carrie copes with bullets instead of cocaine.

The ‘Palmer’ house. And here, I’d like to note the number on the house. 708. Let’s travel back to Part 1. For a moment.

The sound of this device is the sound of Laura vanishing from the woods. Once upon a time, a particular breed of these machines was built to operate at 78 revolutions per minute. They were even called 78s. 708...0 is often a mathematical placeholder. Drop it. 78. Put it back in. 708. The Fireman’s line planted this connection: If you hear that sound, “find Laura” (per not-Leland’s instruction), go to 7-8(708). He even had a contingency plan if Laura were to be snatched - which she was.

Alice Tremond lives at 708. Sarah Palmer who? She bought the place from a Chalfont. We know Tremond to be a name borrowed from humans, as per the actual Mrs. Tremond living in that trailer Donna visited in season one. ‘Chalfont’ though is purely referential to that grandma-grandson Lodge couple. JUDY sent them to stall up whatever the Fireman had Dale set to do here.

“What year is this?” - Dale’s own memory of the ‘unofficial version’ may be slipping a bit here, or he may just be getting...Fuzzy. To reference Ronnie Rocket again, if I may, the key conflict of that script is reaching the villain at the center of a great city. The closer one got, the more difficult it became and the more ‘bad electricity’ would disorient and deter them. I consider this exactly the nature of what is troubling Dale in this scene. His ‘current’ is picking up static. Interference because yes, he is closer to JUDY.

Carrie gazes up at the Chalfont house. An echo from within: ‘Laura?’, Sarah Palmer calls upstairs to her absent daughter, from a world which no longer is but is still taking its sweet time to fade entirely. Carrie screams.

The lights go out. Inside the house but also, it seems, in the very world. It resembles, to me, the state of The Dutchman’s in The Return. And indeed, it is exactly that. From the Chalfont presence, the temporal anomaly (’Laura?’, straight out of the pilot), the darkened visual...It all connects. Indeed, we see the Dutchman flee from the store as Dale goes to meet Jeffries. If the Dutchman has taken hold of Sarah, the old Palmer house would fit for a new domain. After all, Sarah was overseer there as the Dutchman oversaw the store.The monsters set up shop here now and they clutched the fading strings of the ‘previous’ world to flood the old horrors back into Carrie’s head. But...Is it a bad ending? Well. Not really. I believe that Dale successfully peeled back another layer of this world’s cosmology. He is one ‘universe’ closer to a true face-to-face with JUDY. I think I used an onion metaphor earlier? Still counts. One more layer done. In accomplishing that, he won a battle --- but JUDY and her servants made their own moves and kept the war ongoing. 

We end on a slowed repeat of the Blonde Girl whispering to Dale. I believe the whisper is different again. An unfortunately scrapped line from the store meeting in FWWM has the Little Man proclaim “Any everything will proceed cyclically”. That is what she whispers now because, yes, there must be more cycles -- but, eventually and with perseverance, he will locate JUDY. Every cycle will bring him closer -- Jeffries’ “This is where you’ll find JUDY” is accompanied by an 8, suggesting that Dale requires one more cycle (his hotel room was marked by a 7, being the place where he would transition to that level) to achieve the Blue Rose’s aim of locating JUDY -- and thus every cycle will meet fiercer and more desperate resistance and offense...But he has made progress and can continue to do so. And so, it is a “victorious” ending in a small, optimistic-for-the-future way. Yet he must continue to fight, to struggle, to endure until he finds JUDY at the center of all. Until then, as the Fireman tells him...

[leothelionsaysgrrrr]

7 and 9 (for swim upstream!) and 23 and 27 for the fanfic writer asks!

7) When is your preferred time to write?

I kind of have to write when I can get a minute.  It usually ends up being about this time of night or later, but I get distracted easily so it’s really just whenever I have some time to myself.

9) In your xxx fic, what’s your favourite scene that you wrote?

I really love the scene I’m working on for Chapter 4 right now, so here’s a (big) snippet:

Sparrow stood, finally, and adjusted a pouch at her hip.  “Then, we should go.”

Right.  That was quite enough of that.

“I am not-” he spat, and shoved himself quickly to his feet.  He covered the few steps to her quickly, perfectly ready to roar far worse until she abandoned this ridiculous request, or to grab the little witch and throw her off the balcony himself, should it come to that.  Anything, at this point, to ensure the slightest bit of peace.

Sneering down at her with a stiff finger pointed angrily in her face, that sharp black stare pointed right back at him, Rexus suddenly found his voice all but stalled.  His teeth ground into the words at every attempt to speak, and his hands unable to move but for a strained shake that, paired with the erratic twitches at the corners of his mouth, he knew for certain was anything but threatening.  Some part of him - some incredibly annoying part of him - wouldn’t allow it.  Rexus chose to believe it was the part that remembered the bodies in the alley on the day she arrived, their bloody knives stuck into the walls behind them, rather than admit any part of him would insist it was only right he do as she asked.  

He’d simply have to get rid of her some other way.

“Listen,” he began amidst a hard sigh, and, probably against his better judgment, placed his hands over her shoulders.  Thankfully, perhaps, she paid them no mind.  “I did say I would help you, and I will help you, understand?  I will.”  

His eyes never left hers, but she gave no indication of whether or not she believed him.  Why should she?  Rexus likely needed more convincing than she did.  

“You see, while I would love to march off to the archives with you this very moment, if I show my face there at this hour, it’ll only raise suspicion.”  

Not entirely a lie.  He could already hear her reply that she could wait until a more appropriate hour, though, and that would not do.  She’d overstayed her welcome quite long enough.  

“I do, however, know of...other means of obtaining information you may find useful.”

Sparrow’s eyebrows rose slightly off-kilter, which he might have interpreted to mean interest had she not also slowly folded her arms in front of her chest.  A challenge.  Prove it.  

Not a chance.  Quite long enough, indeed.

He leaned in until he could feel his breath off of her face.  “Considering our agreement was only that I take you to the archives, I’d say this is quite unnecessarily generous of me, and if I were you, I wouldn’t keep staring at me like that and testing exactly how generous I’m willing to be.”

A moment passed, and then another, and Rexus’ heart raced the entirety of it.

Just say yes, for the love of...just fucking say yes!

Finally, she broke eye contact, dropping her gaze to the floor and back again, and touched behind her ear.  Another moment passed, longer than the others, it seemed, until he felt a twitch in her shoulders that maybe, just maybe, was actually a nod.  Best to be absolutely sure.

“Is that a yes?”

Probably a bit more hopeful than he wanted to sound just then, but he couldn’t be bothered to give much of a shit any longer.  This had already grown into far more work than he’d wanted.

He felt the same twitch again.  “Very well.”

Oh, thank the fucking Maker.

“Excellent,” he chirped, and lifted his hands off of her shoulders, slinking away from her with carefully placed steps.  It would be quite a shame to have gone through all that only to make an ass of himself by falling over some clothes, or a boot or some such thing.  

Ah, shit.

Clothes.

He snatched his smalls and the nearest pair of breeches from the floor and, turning his attention to his most unwelcome guest once more, pointed towards the corner behind her.

“Now, just...look over there, or something.”

Sparrow glanced backwards, only to face him again the very second he lifted his foot to step into his smalls.

“There is nothing there,” she reported.  Of course she did.  Not a damn thing with this woman could ever just be easy.

“No, just...I need to get dressed, all right?” he pleaded, one hand holding the curls out of his face and every ounce of sanity he had left within his skull. “And I’d like to do at least one thing today without you watching me the entire time.”  

Rexus turned to balance himself on the side of the bed, only to nearly stumble in the leg of his smalls and flop over onto it when he noticed she was still fucking watching him. He thrust his finger toward the corner once more, and quite a bit more forcefully, and repeated his demand through clenched teeth.  

“Look.  Over.  There.”

23) Do you prefer listening to music when you’re writing or do you need silence?

I like listening to music, but I always fall into the trap of spending a hundred years trying to pick a song to listen to and just waste all my writing time with that.  9 times out of 10 I go back to this.

27) Do you make a general outline for your stories or do you just go with the flow?

I, uh...have a 7 page outline for The Swim Upstream.  I do add to it though, if in the course of writing things I get new ideas.  It was supposed to be only 20 chapters and it’s up to 25 now.  I need to plan out the entirety of what I need to write or I find it really difficult to keep up momentum to continue working on it.  If I’ve got a good plan, I’m less likely to get horribly stuck.  

Thank you!!

[craftedcoils-blog-blog]

A Room With A View

Not only is the floor hard but its covered in wires.  The empty cigarette packs make a nice cushion if they're in the right position.  Theres a vent high above me that almost touches the cement ceiling but stops short.  I like to look at it like it's some bond villain; more powerful than the wall but not quite as collected and austere as the ceiling.  Like it's waiting at the bus terminal with a bomb.  Waiting for a certain bus with a certain passenger but is to distracted by it's own motive and doesn't read the right sign and ends up missing the bus because he isn't sure which passenger is on which bus.  Always he misses the bus.  Will always miss the bus.  Theres no two ways about it.  

There are pipes.  One is in a perpendicular erection to the wall but straight forward like the penis had a muzzled dog nose.  Another pipe behind it, thicker and spray painted for some reason, was burrowed into a drywall box in one corner on one end and painted the same color as the drywall box in the opposite corner.  This is weird to me.  Fucking weird.  Like an ironic mistake.   It occurs to me that I have to think about these things if I ever want to fall asleep.  Especially in this place.   Unless I am comfortable, my mind will devour me and I will eat reality like I'm starving and it's a delicious hamburger, until the daydream becomes a nightmare and I become comfortable because I have picked certain things out to help occupy my brain with meaningless information.  It has to be this way.  Things have to bear absolutely no importance on my waking life, it has to be random, arbitrary, stupid…otherwise my mind will eat it up and I cannot handle the digestion because my metabolism is too quick.  And insatiable, never filled, always hungry.  Like there is a tunnel inside of the mind and at the end is a slight glimmer of something you can barely touch and despite how much you want it and how obsessed you become with it, it just becomes a part of your dream or twisted nightmare.  And then you fall asleep.  

I have been in this room for an indeterminable amount of time.  Its part of an experiment, I have agreed to.  I cannot leave, it is part of the experiment, and if I do, everything will fall apart somehow and I will loose what I have been trying to obtain and in one fell swoop become exposed again to the fucked up world outside and my mind, the frailest of organs, will once again become diluted by society.  It will give me information that I do not need or want and it will reduce me proper.  Like vermiculite to soil, like sand, like the croppings of beetle wings, sawdust and basil that, in some mad scientist's version of  an antidote to some disease I do not have, is somehow connected to the panacea that I need but can never bring myself to ask for.  

I have a friend that comes by and brings me things.  Survival elements;  Food, beer and cigarettes mostly.  The later two without question, the former can momentarily be substituted by meditation and further drinking.  The food is usually dim sum.  I didn't ask for it but I don't really care.  I'll eat shoelaces when Im drunk and the MSG makes me feel like i'm sparkles and helps me sleep so I go with it.  Sometimes he brings me trinkets which I usually throw into a corner somewhere but then rearrange them quickly if I know he's coming to establish a perception that maybe I am ministering these stupid items as if they mean something to me.  Maybe they should.  I just don't seem to care.  My friend's name is Fred.

Sometimes Fred comes by, and for reasons I can only explain to myself, I can tell he is afraid.  Maybe it's the awkward look on his face and the darting glances that shoot out like an estranged chrysalis atop an asparagus high on lightning and forcing itself into every conceived corner of non-space, but it frightens me back actually, seeing a human being so offensively perturbed by another.  Or maybe its not me he is afraid of and if its not then that scares me even more.  I guess it's a sort of symbiosis that we have.  A collaboration in fear.  

I hate to say it, perhaps because I rely on him so much and have known him for so long but, sometimes I sense something almost sinister in Fred.  A betrayal;  but not from him in particular.  He is a good person, I can sense it.  I wouldn't have begun this whole thing if he weren't.  But I feel as if he is some kind of a henchman, perhaps even for this whole situation, this weird experiment that we have agreed to.  In the beginning it was more jovial, I had it under control, or at least I thought I did and that was good enough to keep me happy or whatever.  But at this juncture I am no longer sure who is in control of what or if there is any control to be had at all.  Sometimes its like I have become not mine or Fred's but some other force's twisted experiment.  Like I am a prisoner.   I think I have to imagine these scenarios because I have no contact with the outside world.  In this scenario I have created I can imagine him driving away from this room in silence as some dark overlord pats him on the back, appearing out of nowhere in the backseat and congratulating him on a job well done.  He resists the accolades because he hates what he has do to but has no say in the matter regardless.  At least this is what I see in his eyes as he hands me the half rack and bags of dim sum and seems to be begging me to be the one to stop all this.  He handles it all like he's fucking poisoning it and I look at him.  I try to tell him that I've poisoned myself and that he has nothing to do with it, but my eyes are not so revealing, forgiving.  

Yesterday, I think it must have been, I wrote a a small bit about altruism on the wall next to a strange hole that only goes as deep as my longest finger will allow.  I think I love this hole.  I don't understand it, and it makes as little sense to me as a monkey on a tugboat, but I don't seem to want to know why or how this hole is here either.  I just want to love it as it is.  It is a beautiful thing when you can choose not to care about what you love because you know it just is and will always be what you think you love.  But I wrote this thing on the wall and I was thinking that it doesn't matter if you do nice things at all.  Assholes do nice things all the time.  I think you have to be afraid to be an asshole.  Fear is the overlooked cousin of empathy but balancing fear and empathy is too difficult for most of us to imagine.  Fear makes you sensitive and through the introspection that is created through your own knowledge of it you become empathetic.   False confidence does not breed sensitivity, that much I am sure of.  The gift shop is what we cant help but expose to the rest of the world.  The gallery is what we have inside that people are constantly trying to figure out.  I used to think that I was a nice person until I realized that having these kind of thoughts make me an asshole.  

Anyways, I have to let myself breath sometime and sometimes I miss people because, despite all their annoying faults and beautiful problems, they are at least interesting.  I miss being downtown and looking at some random guy 's head lesion after I establish eye contact and then they look away right before I do.  I miss catching a fearful glance from someone dressed in a halloween costume that is slightly more outgoing than their comfort can allow. I miss sitting awkwardly in a stairwell with a cigarette, watching the people go up and down wondering if it's normal or not.  I miss the mystery of whether or not  things are normal because right now I have no idea.  I guess I need that self proclaimed vindication.  I need some kind of reference point, I need something to see so that I can at least see through it.  In this room I cannot bring myself to see anything let alone see through anything.  The only faults I can identify are my own and they have no reference.  I guess the only thing you can actually see through is yourself and once you pass through that and into the other room all there is are one way mirrors.  

I miss little interactions with people that don't matter.  People that don't matter say the most interesting things because they don't care and they don't care because no one has ever cared about them.  Their thoughts are only their own.  I miss the homeless superheroes, riding that electric rainbow into foreverness.  I miss talking about things that I don"t give a shit about just for my own therapy.  I miss calculating the time it takes for grocery clerks to bag your groceries.  Some of them are really good, but i'll never tell them.  I guess I just miss slipping on the slime that coats the city.  It has a strange cushion when you fall.  It's like a lillypad, you might fall in but you can't expect anything.  In this room I have my shoes in a small duffle bag in the corner and all I use are flip-flops.

What I don't miss is the planing and strategy that comes along with interacting with society,  contorting my face and personality to match an assumed perception of some female, hobgoblin or whatnot that I see on the bus, looking off with squinted eyes and lips pursed like an asshole.  Im definitely an asshole, at this point i've relaxed to this fact.  I don't really miss sex all that much.  At least not as much as I miss talking to women and kissing their faces.  I masturbate about once every 4 hours but I don't have a clock in here.  There's also that thing that happens when your talking to people and you weigh their personality and react to them accordingly.  People will tell you they don't do this but they all definitely do, its just that some people are not very self aware or too much so, at this point i cant really tell.  I do miss friendship. ��And I miss being a brother.

I can tell my friend is here again because I can hear the estranged echo of footsteps and the rustling of plastic bags and him typing in the code onto the keypad on the door.  You have to press the buttons in very firmly otherwise it takes forever and it's no longer a secret.  I have given him the privilege of coming in unannounced because I feel it gives me a very small amount of spontaneity that i think is important.  I hear him keying in the code and my brain has to immediately shift from private to social in 3-5 seconds.  I think that humans need this shift to survive.  When you pull them out into the world it is overwhelming.  They are in a constant state of trying to understand the private recesses of their mind's while spontaneously interacting with others in the process.  Thats why society is schizophrenic.  Why do children learn to talk?  Because everyone else is doing it, and so I have arranged for the lowest possible amount of this.  Learn to react immediately.  

I have one bucket in the corner in which I pee and shit the massive amounts of MSG I consume.  I cover it with seran wrap.  It may not be the best system but I'm too lazy to think of anything else.  I'm not Alan fucking Turing.  I've told Fred not to give me any advice and to overlook any discrepancy that he may see in my behavior while i'm in here.  I have directed him to abandon any formula for this scenario that he may construct and I tell him to shut up and I am still learning to do the same:  Any mistakes I may make in this eternity are my own to live with and thats the way I've decided it should go.  

Sometimes I want to talk to Fred about the world.  This is not one of those times but sometimes I do.  I occasionally want to engage with him about the ticks and tocks of life out there.  But I have expressed very clearly that he is not to speak to me about anything other than what may be happening in this room.  There's something about this that I don't think he likes.  

The list of items I have in this room are as follows:  a tiny glockenspiel that I hammer out rhythms with, a recording interface, two microphones, two speakers, a children sized drum set, 37 books of empty college ruled paper piled up in the corner and 3 scattered about the room with diametric scribblings and esoteric remarks on random pages about divinity, 20 30 paged books of staff paper untouched, a USB keyboard, a Bob Hope marionette I bought from a Ukrainian gypsy on 4th ave in Olympia, 3 firewire cables, 7 xlr cables, a pair of colorful boots, an amplifier and 3 foot switches.  

I have acquired the habit of marking, with a ball point pen, all of the spots where I bruised, cut or hurt myself.  For example, I fell onto a cymbal stand the other day and now my shoulder is in considerable pain.  I think i'll keep re-marking it until it goes away.  At least I can reach it.  At least I can diagnose the problem.  I feel as if this calculated procedure will help in identifying things about myself that would otherwise go unnoticed.  At least the parts of myself that I can reach.  If I am not becoming a robot, than I am coming close to being one.  As if thought were just an amalgam of circumstance.  My environment is finite, like a local bar where you are a regular.  You keep thinking you are going to experience something different with each day, but nothing ever changes.  You go in, expecting to find that one thing that tells you that you are alive and not just a machine, but it never comes.  You are the same person you were yesterday, and the day before, and you can never expect anything different.  You can never expect life to be something that it isn't because then it never will.  You will always be seeing past life instead of through it.  Your frustration of what is not happening will shadow reality and make you a non-entity, a husk of what was once a human.  But then you wake up for some reason in the middle of the night and go outside, because this is where you think life happens.