#i made this months ago and since then have considered making an improved version since this one is so static

[loppiopio]

psychic damage.

[magmacavern]

Hero and Partner Week, Day 7: Free Day!

Last up for the free day today is a little drawing of my own team! After I made all this art of Neo and Skitty (now named Penelope) for this week, I decided that I should actually try to come up with unique designs for them. Now all of my previous illustrations of them are officially outdated. Oops.

I'd gotten attached to the depictions of them in my previous Hero and Partner Week drawings, so I didn't want to change them too much, but I still wanted them to be recognizable as original chararcters and not just general depictions of an eevee and a skitty. I'm pleased with Neo's redesign, but I would like to make Penelope a little more unique in the future. If you're interested, you can read more about them and their alternate universe under the cut!

This will be my last submission for Hero and Partner Week. I had a blast drawing and writing for this event over the past month, and I really enjoyed seeing what everyone else created as well. Thanks so much for hosting this amazing event! I'm already looking forward to participating again next year and seeing how much I've improved as an artist by then!

(Also, apologies if this posts twice. It disappeared from my queue sometime after I scheduled it, and I'm not sure if it's still going to post. I decided to just rewrite it in advance, and if the other version turns up, I'll delete it.)

@heropartnerweek

Neo

Neo is an odd-colored Eevee who woke up in the Tiny Woods one morning unable to remember who she was or how she got there. She occasionally dreams of a strange Pokemon atop a frozen mountain, and after learning about the legend of Nintales, she comes to the conclusion that she must be the human in the story who angered the deity and abandoned her partner Pokemon, Gardevoir. She feels obligated to help save the world because she's (allegedly) the one who brought about its destruction long ago, but secretly she feels she's not capable of it and is hoping for a way out. Neo can most easily be described as cowardly. She lacks courage and prefers to run and hide rather than fight and stand up for herself. She doesn't wish to hurt others and cares deeply for many Pokemon she knows, but when push comes to shove, her strong sense of self preservation takes control and she always puts herself first, even at the detriment of other Pokemon. She also lacks confidence, and this causes others to be distrusting of her and lack belief in her abilities. Neo tends to make promises she can't keep because she either doesn't think it through all the way or just wants to help and please others, which makes her seem more unreliable to those she lets down. Her hastiness also hurts her ability to think for herself. Neo can problem solve well when she is forced to slow down and reason out the situation, but when she rushes herself, she doesn't consider all the possibilities and can come to the wrong conclusion. Neo came to trust Penelope quickly because Penelope was there for her when she didn't have anyone else to turn to, but she also sometimes regrets forming a team with her and wonders if it was the right choice because of her struggle to show bravery and do the right thing like Penelope does.

Penelope

Penelope is a young Skitty who was raised in Littlegrove, a town on the sea northwest of Pokemon Square. Her parents, a Meganium and a Delcatty, tend to a pecha berry orchard and a small garden of other berry and herb plants, and her mother is a skilled weaver who makes scarves and other textiles using the plants grown in town. Penelope and her younger sibling Orion were often tasked with travelling to Pokemon Square to sell Delcatty's scarves to the Kecleon brothers and the many rescue teams that visit town, but since a mystery dungeon formed within the Tiny Woods, Penelope has been making the trip alone. When she learns that she and her partner must be the ones to save the world, she immediately rises to the task because the lives of her family are on the line and she's determined to save them, even at the cost of her own life. Penelope is courageous and quick-thinking with a strong sense of integrity. She's highly motivated by her commitment to and love for her family, especially her younger sibling Orion, and she'll never make a promise that she thinks she can't keep. Her strict moral code often makes it difficult for her to be understanding of those who act selfishly, and it also makes her prone to overworking herself or throwing herself into danger if she thinks it will help someone she loves. She is highly confident in her beliefs and her decision-making abilities, which allows her to act quickly on instinct. However, this also makes her stubborn and unlikely to follow in other Pokemon's footsteps or take their advice without good reason, and because she's still young, her beliefs and decisions aren't always backed up by experience or knowledge, leading her to make some poor choices. Her personality is often at odds with Neo's cowardice and self-interest, so they have a rocky start to their relationship.

One early spring day, Penelope was travelling through Tiny Woods with a new stock of her mother's pecha scarves when she came across an odd-looking eevee named Neo who said she had lost her memory. While she was distracted by the stranger, Gengar of Team Meanies snuck up on Penelope and attacked her. Because of her Normalize ability, Penelope was unable to fight back and Gengar stole most of the scarves she was carrying. Neo fled in the commotion, and Penelope chased after her, assuming she was working with Gengar to steal the scarves.

Penelope found Neo at the entrance to the Tiny Woods's mystery dungeon, which appeared as a deep chasm in the forest floor. She confronted her while Neo couldn't escape, but Neo claimed she didn't know anything about Gengar or his plans to attack Penelope. As they were arguing, they were approached by a Butterfree who needed help because her child, Caterpie, was lost in the dungeon. Penelope agreed to help and forced Neo to come with her because she didn't yet believe that Neo and Gengar weren't working together.

After finding Caterpie and reuniting him with his mother, Penelope took Neo to Pokemon Square where they decided to stay the night at Kangaskhan's inn because Neo didn't have anywhere else to go and Penelope didn't know how to fix the problem of the stolen scarves. While in Pokemon Square, she asked Neo to form a real rescue team with her in order to help earn back the lost money.

[magnusbae]

I do (ironically) love it when people make posts about how little fucks they give about tumblr changes, and making a point to ridicule the people who were, in fact, upset by those changes. Very cool. :)

And now seriously?

UI change is not the worst thing on earth, and often can actually improve the quality of life and make the place better.

While yes, the tumblr user base does not typically receives change happily (unless it's good, polls, am i right?) to say that this is all about the users being 'bitchy' or 'silly' is a gross understatement of what upsets people in reality and is pretty damn rude.

I will not go down to every single point of why it's bad, but I'll bring forth a few points nevertheless.

Releasing a massive UI change while there's still active and major bugs and issues in the main functionality of your platform is not only bad towards a loyal user base that is used to a certain way of things, it's also unprofessional, incompetent, and quote frankly—stupid.

Here is an example of main tumblr functionality, the post editor on web. As a website that is heavily reliant on text posts, and the ability of users to be able to write quality posts, the fact that as of today, the text editor is heavily bugged, is truly a thing to be astonished by.

Especially considering the fact that some users (namely me) made a point of sending them a proper documentation of the bug, along with full descriptions and even a screen recording for an easy recreation of the issue on their side.

Following image was submitted with my feedback months ago:

In case you were wondering what response did I get—well— TL:TR they say that there's an issue, and IF they find the issue, they will fix it :)

So now with this in mind, and many other bugs like this still present, since April they could not have fixed the post editor— but they could add numerous and absolutely pointless UI changes, right?

Now taking it a step further, let's address the UI changes, why not?

The changes they're rolling out are clearly unpolished, unfinished and untested. The audacity to force hardly-working versions onto people without any sort of consent as is customary in such an unpolished version of a product is something that I have no other words for other than absolutely shameless.

Even look at the Chat UI change, the text is smaller, the windows cover other parts of the dashboard, the Chat visually changes from section to section of the website (for instance it's new on main, it's old on support page) and again, endless amount of other bugs.

What's worse? And I will not go into depth about this particular topic as not so many people are from 10+ years ago still here, but just in short: The loss of identity that tumblr had prided itself for so long with. We are not like other social media, right? Or well, so we thought. As it seems like tumblr is adamant to change and curate for new users that will, frankly, leave the moment their social media gets fixed. Some will stay, and they are warmly welcome to, however most will leave just as they did last time twitter had a crisis.

P.S You have to appreciate the irony of tumblr making money out of making fun of twitter, and the user base supporting it because that's the sort of UI changes we do enjoy— only for tumblr to copy paste twitter some months after :)

But yes, why not, call everyone a crybaby, since siding with a staff that simply does not listen to its user base or cares about fixing current and relevant bugs—is the way to go!

P.S2 it's absolutely fine if you're unbothered by the change or simply don't care. Ain't nothing wrong with having some good proportion on things. However please don't embarrass yourself by making fun of the people who actively care and worry about how this place operates and what sort of platform we'll be engaging in the future.

[eggoatt]

Hi! I know I left a comment on my reblog, but I felt the need to send something a little more heartfelt. I'm going to try to be normal about this lol

That picture you drew was the first thing I saw this morning, and it has been sitting on one of my monitors ever since, just so I can glance at it any time I want—which quite honestly has been incredibly frequent.

It might seem like I'm a little too excited about this, but it's a huge deal to me. Before I started putting fics out (just south of a year ago now) I hadn't written anything in nearly a decade, so I didn't really have any expectations for what I put out. Of course, I thought about how cool it'd be if someone drew something directly inspired by something I wrote, but I always considered that a kind of a lofty thing? Would be nice if it happened, but I wasn't expecting it. And if it did happen, it'd probably happen much later on when I'm a little better at writing.

All of that to say this is the first time I've inspired anyone to make art from my material. That means so much to me and I am unbelievably grateful to you for that. Also, WOW, it's from someone who has also drawn one of my absolute most favorite SciSet pics ever too?? I adore the way you draw Sunset, so when I saw this was from you I actually gasped so loud my wife heard me from the other room lol.

I mentioned this briefly in my reblog, but I really love the way this picture is composed. When I write scenes, they tend to play out in my mind in full motion with great detail, so what I envision can be incredibly specific, yet I really feel like you managed to capture details I hadn't really put words to. The color scheme in particular—lots of blues and purples, but with just the right amount of saturation to match the pink. Visual arts are not my forte, so I apologize if that doesn't make the most sense.

Lastly, I would like to ask just a couple things:

Would you be alright with me posting a blog about this on fimfic? This might seem like kind of a weird question, but I always like to make sure I clear this kind of thing with someone first. Naturally your username and links to everything would be prominently featured.

May I put this in the author's note of Chapter 8(b)? Just like before, your username and links will be prominently featured alongside it (also, if you'd like to send me a watermarked version, I'd be alright with putting that up too). I just really love this picture and would love it to be the way people visualize that part of the chapter, but I want to make sure that's alright with you first, and I also want to make sure you get the credit you deserve.

Anyway, I won't ramble any longer than necessary. Sorry for throwing a book in your inbox, but thank you for the picture, and for ensuring that no matter what else happens today, I have something to be happy about 🥰

hi!!

we've actually been mutuals for a little while (you reblogged something of mine, and i liked your taste in horse content) but back in april by complete coincidence i stumbled across your fimfic account as well and kind of fell in love with your work. the way you write sunset, your inner voice for her, speaks to me on an insane level to the point where it's informed some of my personal projects (ocs) a bit. i also really enjoyed seeing how rapidly and drastically your writing had improved over the works you had up at the time-- it made me really excited to see what you would do in the future! i even made a new account and started using the site again just so i could keep up :3 if nothing else, you've touched this creature's heart very deeply

like i said in the original tags, i've been meaning to make fanart of this scene for MONTHS and finally releasing those brainworms felt a bit like an exorcism, lol. i'm so happy i hit the mark and brought you as much joy as you've brought me !!!!

to answer your questions!:

sure!! it is fanart For You after all

same as above, go for it :3 (it is actually watermarked already! i prefer making it difficult to see so it's not distracting. take a closer look at sunset's elbow)

silly bonus trivia about the drawing: i needed a visual reference to help me with the poses, and the best ref i found just so happened to be a picture with obama in it. it's not my fault they look so tender

[fmprojectleonardo]

Evaluation

This project will be a massive cutscene fight between two Roblox rigs with camera motion. The animation will have both hand-to-hand combat and air combat. I will mainly focus on the torso movement and the basic swinging and after making the full scene I will then add all the details within the animation. There will be a mix of easing styles throughout the fight to make it seem more creative. For ethical considerations i do not see where I would need to consider any ethical things. The only thing I can imagine is my carbon footprint amount to create the animations. Meaning the electricity that it took. 

The time I have used at home was to watch some fight scenes from films and some fight scenes in cartoons to get a better grasp on choreography. In college, I put these films onto my blog and described how the movies used choreography well and how the fight scenes played out. Then I used most of my time in college working on my animations since it is all saved here. I was over-ambitious in my project work because I thought I would have time to make a very large cutscene between two rigs to show choreography skills and smoothness in the animation, along with other animations like walking, running, and attack swings. But at the moment I have only done around 10 seconds of a cutscene with effects and a little bit of map building along with some side animations that I have already mentioned.

My primary observations on animations is the flow of them and how I would picture myself or someone else doing them to see if it is possible. This helped me understand choreography a lot better than just assuming that anything I posed was possible. When I wanted to do a more of a cartoony animation I would go to other people’s developed ideas such as the two roblox animators TBGlitch (Twitter) and blendergod99. These two animators have shown me how to make animations flow and how far back arms and torsos need to move to make certain movements more impactful. These techniques have helped me greatly when producing my fight scene as the swings seem much more impactful to how they would look without their inspiration.

The skills that I have developed in animating were from home. I have been animating for approximately 2 years now and only started blender animating 9 months ago. Before that, I was using Moon Animator (Which I occasionally use to put my blender animations together in Roblox if I want to add in-game effects, etc.). This was appropriate to my development of this project because now I know what the names of the things I need are which allowed me to make this animation pack for my FMP. I have been interested in posing and channel types because you can see how different channel types can completely change your animation from being smooth to snappy or linear. I have not yet mastered Blender animating as I have only been on it for 9 months now, however, I have made a dramatic improvement over the months which has gotten me into commissions for games! I have also used the skills I have learned myself to teach others to become animators like me by providing them with tips I had to work out myself and giving them my rigs.

On the animating side of things, I encountered a couple of issues, where my animations were not smooth in some areas and you could see it clearly when playing the animation regularly. To resolve this issue I remade the previous attack so that the idea for the unsmooth one would work. The other issue was the rig completely breaking and forcing me to reopen Blender to my backup save which was a lot of progress loss. On learning new things however, I kept encountering issues where tutorials to make effects would not work because it was slightly outdated meaning the ways they did it would not work on the current version I am using so I had to understand how nodes would work in Blender myself. Learning how to move the camera along with the animation was something new to me and to make it look decent with the impact was also relatively fun. Learning my own way to make things is more practical for me because then I actually remember how to do them whereas if I watch a tutorial and follow them step-by-step then I end up not learning a single thing.

The animation pack I have produced for my FMP was made with inspiration from some animations off of my pinterest mood board and different games. These games being Dead By Daylight and Street fighters. I gathered references off of these animations and manipulated them in my way so that I could make my own ideas. Whilst working on my animations I also gathered feedback on what to change, which on the cutscene after the first two successful hits there was a debate where after the character who has been hit recovers and lands a low attack as a surprise whilst the other was swinging expecting to land the punch. But after multiple attempts it didn’t work out, so I went with the other idea where both are given time to recover and continue the brawl. 

For presenting my animations I used Render Animation Which takes a picture of each frame and puts it together in a video, and depending on what fps settings you had on the animation will set  the speed of the animation. For the cutscene that I have made, it is 90 fps. The rest I believe are 60 fps. This strategy would be appropriate for professional practice because the animation would run smoothly and present the animation just as the animator would wish it to, compared to when it is in an animation player.

At first I was very ambitious, I believed that I would be able to make a very long fight scene between two characters. But in the end I spent 8 college days on a single cutscene animation because I was learning new things as I progressed. After finishing 10 seconds or so of a fighting scene I realised 2-3 weeks had passed and that I still had more animations to make so I left the cutscene at 10 seconds. I worked on multiple different animations, recorded and posted them to my blog. However I was not rendering the animations as I just stated above, so these could not be used for the final outcome as I wanted. Overall I have exceeded some of my targets which were learning effects in blender and learning interpolations. I may not have done a lot of animations but I certainly improved in animating.

[youmightfindyourself]

It’s Hard to Find a Good Lamp Donald Judd 1993

In the middle 1980s I wrote that in the middle 1960s someone asked me to design a coffee table. I thought that a work of mine which was essentially a rectangular volume with the upper surface recessed could be altered. This debased the work and produced a bad table, which I later threw away. The configuration and the scale of art cannot be transposed into furniture and architecture. The intent of art is different from that of the latter, which must be functional. If a chair or a building is not functional, if it appears to be only art, it is ridiculous. The art of a chair is not its resemblance to art, but is partly its reasonableness, usefulness, and scale as a chair. These are proportion, which is visible reasonableness. The art in art is partly the assertion of someone’s interest regardless of other considerations. A work of art exists as itself; a chair exists as a chair itself. And the idea of a chair isn’t a chair. Due to the inability of art to become furniture, I didn’t try again for several years. However, I’ve always been interested in architecture and continued to sketch ideas.

Of course if a person is at once making art and building furniture and architecture there will be similarities. The various interests in form will be consistent. If you like simple forms in art you will not make complicated ones in architecture. “Complicated,” incidentally, is the opposite of “simple,” not “complex,” which both may be. But the difference between art and architecture is fundamental. Furniture and architecture can only be approached as such. Art cannot be imposed upon them. If their nature is seriously considered the art will occur, even art close to art itself. The mistake I made with the table was to try to make something as unusual as I thought the work of art to be. Back of this was the assumption that a good chair was only a good chair, that a chair could only be improved or changed slightly, and that nothing new could be done without a great, strange effort. But the furniture slowly became new as I dealt easily with the reality. A good chair is a good chair. The particulars slowly created the general forms that could not be directly transferred. I can now make a chair or a building that is mine without trying to derive forms from my own works of art. After a few years I designed a pair of sinks for an old building that I bought in New York City and for which I’ve designed much subsequently. These were designed directly as sinks; they were not a conversion; I didn’t confuse them with art. The basin of the sink is an ellipse, which so far I’ve never used in art, instead of a circle, which I do use. I also designed a large table with chairs, somewhat like benches, to be made of folded one-eighth-inch stainless steel, brass, or copper. These were never made because the fourth floor of the building in which it was to be is very open, primarily two planes, floor and ceiling, while the table and chairs are very closed. The latter would ruin the space. I later made some bookshelves for the third floor.

I kept the building but moved to West Texas with my two children, where I rented a small house on the edge of town. The house was quartered into eleven-by-eleven-foot rooms. There was no furniture and none to be bought, either old, since the town had not shrunk or changed much since its beginning in 1883, or new, since the few stores sold only fake antiques or tubular kitchen furniture with plastic surfaces printed with inane geometric patterns and flowers. The two small children played and slept in one of the four rooms. In order to give them each an area of their own notwithstanding the one room, I designed a bed which was a closed platform of one-by-twelves with a central, free-standing wall, also of one-by-twelves. The bed was designed so that the lumberyard could cut the few different lengths to size and I could then nail them together in place. I liked the bed a great deal, and in fact the whole house, for which I made other furniture. Later, in a large place in town, I designed desks and chairs for the children using the same method of construction. More furniture developed from this beginning.

It’s impossible to go to the store and buy a chair. In North America since the “Mission” style became unfashionable in the 1920s and in England since the similar furniture derived from William Morris also became unfashionable, there has been no furniture which is pleasurable to look at, fairly available, and moderate in price. The only exception is the bentwood furniture developed by Thonet, which became less fashionable in the 1920s but has continued to be made until now by Thonet and others. This is still not expensive but it is not down the street in the store. The furniture designed in the 1920s by the well-known architects that continues to be made is expensive for most people, although not as expensive as the materials and the construction imply, and is hardly nearby to purchase. Neither is all of it agreeable. Mies van der Rohe’s is still the best and should not be considered as only a worn status symbol. As bad ideas should not be accepted because they are fashionable, good ideas should not be rejected because they are unfashionable. Conventions are not worth reacting to one way or another. Most of the other furniture in production, such as Breuer’s Wassily chair and Le Corbusier’s furniture, is an early civilized and almost forgivable sentimentalizing of the machine. The chairs of both architects are derived from the better camping and military chairs of the nineteenth century. Old good ideas made new and shiny are now a dismaying precedent. Sentimentalizing the machine is now a malignity of the century. This is present in most available furniture and in most buildings. It is extreme in Pompidou and Lloyd’s. In furniture this puerility is usually combined with the puerility of domesticity, the societal progress of the machine with personal progress in the society.

Almost all furniture made since the 1920s and much before in any of the “styles,” “modern” and “traditional,” has been junk for consumers. As I’ve written, the ornate and overstuffed furniture of the last half of the nineteenth century, crowded into corresponding rooms, was not supplanted by simple and functional modern furniture. Instead, this was turned into Victorian furniture, also crowded into matching rooms. Decoration isn’t just applied; a chair is decorated. Modern, progressive furniture has been corrupted into the opposite. Primarily, “traditional” furniture, Victorian furniture, continues. It’s ordinarily what’s in the store. This is what most people have to choose from, whether in Yellowknife or New York. As in politics, this furniture is not traditional and conservative but is an imitation of past furniture. The appearance of the past represents status by invoking a higher class in the past than the purchaser is in in the present. The imitation old furniture symbolizes up and the imitation modern symbolizes forward. Usually the first is in the home and the second is in the office, sometimes one or the other in both, and seldom the reverse. Good office furniture is also difficult to find. The bizarre and complicated “modern” office of the rich executive, who has photographs on his desk of his wife and children in their traditional setting, is a summation of the surrounding corporate headquarters. Since he or his wife is on the board of the museum, it must look progressive, like the headquarters, but with a touch of tradition, for her, for upward mobility to the past, for something better than business, such as learning, although there is nothing better, and, generally for the gentility of art, which symbolizes all of these. Then, also, he may be on the town council, or he builds shopping centers, or he builds apartment houses, giving the people what they want, to go with the furniture in which they had no choice. Upward and forward, and lower every year, not only in architecture and art, but economically and politically, since reality is equally absent. Anyway, what kind of a society is it when you can’t even buy a chair?

Architects, designers, businesspeople, even politicians, say that they are giving the people what they want. They are giving the people what they deserve, because of their negligence, but they are presumptuous to claim to know what they want. What they want is what they get. An exception to imposing upon the public what they want, or perhaps a rare good guess, is the design of Sony television sets and other equipment of some other Japanese companies and of some European companies. This has no relation to traditional Japanese architecture, which is fortunate, because if it did the new version of the old would be just as debased as it is in the United States. Department stores in Osaka are floor after floor of kitsch, as they are in New York. And always surprisingly, and always everywhere, new Japanese and Korean architecture show no fundamental lessons learned from their past architecture, the same as in Paris. In the United States the television machine began disguised and continues as at once the myth of the machine and the myth of the old home. The Americans gave the Americans what they wanted; they didn’t want it. Neither did anyone else. In addition to the success of Sony’s design, there is the smaller success of Braun, whose design must be the model, somewhat better, as earlier usually is, for Sony’s design. A few months ago there was a curious article in Lufthansa’s magazine justly praising Braun and its chief designer, Dieter Rams, praising “German” design of course, but explaining that “German” design was now second to “Italian” design (consumer products are not where nations differ in design) but that Germany would catch up. This means become worse. “Designer” Italian furniture is the world’s worst. The only things as bad are the plastic bottles for liquid soap. It is an exception and a possibility that you can go down the street and choose a TV and enjoy looking at it when it’s turned off. In Texas, when I made the first furniture, I wanted a television set. This wasn’t down the street, but almost so, twenty-five miles away. All the sets were American, all were made of plastic imitating wood, some like your Anglo grandmother’s sideboard, some like your Italian grandmother’s credenza, some like your Latino grandmother’s aparador. I chose an Anglo set by Zenith. Again as usual, the design and the technology were congruent. The color was that of the first colored comic strip, printed during an earthquake.

Most of the furniture that I have designed remains fairly expensive, because of its methods of construction, and it is not easily available. We have made a serious effort to lower the prices but the furniture is handmade, basically even the sheet-metal pieces made by Janssen, one by one. These would be cheaper made by hundreds but still there would be considerable handwork. The wooden furniture cannot change. Lower prices require great numbers, which require a large distribution. This usually leads to the department store. The distribution of furniture, and of books, probably of most things, are monopolies against diversity, which eliminate exceptions and complication, which have an invariable scheme for production and for costs, and of course for appearance, and, for books, subject matter. For both furniture and books the designer and the author absolutely receive very little. The production cost of furniture is not as fixed as the cost of the designer, but it is low. The cost of the designer must have developed from that of real modern furniture, since the architect was always dead. The producer, not the factory, and the retailer, or both as one, receive the most money, some as profit, some for the expenses of the distribution and the salesroom. This makes an impossible price. And of course it seems that the middleman should get less. The larger the distribution the more to the middleman. Therefore the best method is a small distribution, which is what we do. And, importantly, we are the producers, which combines that profit and my profit into one, leaving only the retailer as extra. Our furniture goes around the world, but only one by one. Most things could be made in the area in which they are consumed, eliminating the big distributor, often one company charging for three functions, instead of two for one as in our case, charging three times as the distributor, the producer, and the manufacturer, that is, profiting as corporations. Almost anything they can do anyone can do anywhere. And obviously even cars and TVs could be made by any large city or small country. I have always thought it strange that there are no cars built in Switzerland. I have heard that there was once a company. Why should Texas import cars and trucks from Michigan? The oligarchy of monopolies of distribution prevents innovation, invents only restrictions, and raises blank walls. The flat and boring society is a maze of blank walls just above eye level. This prevents new and real inventions, so obviously there is no chance for only a new chair or a little book. The purpose of big business is to maintain its oligarchy rather than to do anything else, for example, to fulfill two of its biggest claims, competition and innovation. Efficiency is another claim, part of progress, efficiency for profit, not necessarily for production, and not for the public. Only in the mythical “progress” is there a suggestion of benefiting society. Most businesspeople think that such slight altruism is part of their advertising. And “free enterprise” is a slogan of the Pentagon.

Noam Chomsky writes:

Free trade is fine for economics departments and newspaper editorials, but nobody in the corporate world or the government takes the doctrines seriously. The parts of the US economy that are able to compete internationally are primarily the state-subsidized ones: capital-intensive agriculture (agribusiness, as it’s called), high-tech industry, pharmaceuticals, biotechnology, etc.

The same is true of other industrial societies. The US government has the public pay for research and development and provides, largely through the military, a state-guaranteed market for waste production. If something is marketable, the private sector takes it over. That system of public subsidy and private profit is what is called free enterprise.

My experience is that both furniture distribution and book distribution are impossible. On the other hand the art business is such a one-horse business that something larger seems better. But this is perhaps because the context for art is so weak. The only possible way, perhaps, to make cheap mass-produced furniture is to start with a construction cost and to design accordingly. At present we would have to debase the construction of the existing furniture for mass production. Beginning from a fixed construction cost still leaves the questions of too little to the designer and too much to the producer-organizer-wholesaler and to the retailer.

The roughly made pine furniture made by me and others in Texas was made first, with a few exceptions. So far this has not been made for sale. Next, well-made furniture in fine solid wood was made for my building in New York and then in small numbers to sell, as it still is. The wood and the craftsmanship make this the most expensive. In 1984 I designed some chairs, benches, a table, and some beds in sheet metal, which were painted one color to a piece. There were also a couple of chairs and a table made of copper. This was for myself but also was the first furniture to begin as furniture to sell. Since this was sheet metal and the construction is common, I thought it would be cheap enough to be used outdoors in public, but there is still too much handwork. Until then, except for the first pine chairs, all of the furniture was somewhat heavy. Five years ago I designed some light chairs and two tables in solid wood. These are simply but well made in Yorkshire. Similar ones were made recently for outdoors in galvanized steel and of granite, again heavy, and also in Texas in painted steel and of slate. A few years ago, first for use, then for sale, desks, tables, and a bench were made in Cologne of clear plywood. The sheets of plywood are cut as little as possible and are slipped together, interlocking, like a children’s toy, an old idea. These also, sometimes with the plywood coated commercially with a color, as well as chairs like those in pine, are made in New York.

I am often asked if the furniture is art, since almost ten years ago some artists made art that was also furniture. The furniture is furniture and is only art in that architecture, ceramics, textiles, and many things are art. We try to keep the furniture out of art galleries to avoid this confusion, which is far from my thinking. And also to avoid the consequent inflation of the price. I am often told that the furniture is not comfortable, and in that not functional. The source of the question is in the overstuffed bourgeois Victorian furniture, which, as I said, never ceased. The furniture is comfortable to me. Rather than making a chair to sleep in or a machine to live in, it is better to make a bed. A straight chair is best for eating or writing. The third position is standing.

First published: Donald Judd Furniture: Retrospective, exh. cat. (Rotterdam: Museum Boymans-van Beuningen, 1993), 7–21.

Donald Judd Text © Judd Foundation

[cupcakemolotov]

Match My Heart to Yours

Okay, since the Exchange reveals have been pushed back until Thursday (for very, very good reasons) I have decided to post a tiny thing to hopefully tide people over. I do sort of intend to write more on this, but I have been stalled for a few months which means I need to change things up. So here is the first bit, hopefully you all like it!

You can also read it here on A03.

Synopsis: Enzo has an plan. Caroline has some serious doubts, because first all, werewolf, hot or not. Alpha, even. A political marriage to a man with his dimples seems like a terrible idea.

                                                            -

Caroline paused, chopsticks hovering over her container of fried rice. Across from her, Enzo looked relaxed, no real tension visible as he reached for another eggroll. “Excuse me?”

“Gorgeous…”

She narrowed her eyes at his placating tone. “I should have known your offer to pick up dinner two towns over was a bribe. You don’t even like Chinese food. You cannot be serious.”

Her witchy best friend would walk through fire for her, but perfect egg rolls an hour after they’d been picked up should have dinged as an obvious bribe. Though this was not nearly big enough. 

“Would I have made the drive if I wasn’t serious?” Enzo asked, sighing when her expression didn’t budge. “You know what I do. What I really do.”

Her gaze dropped to his wrist were a tattoo wound along the bones and tendons, the ink black and red, starkly visible against the olive of his skin. Usually he used the modern advances in makeup to hide what no magic could, because sometimes people were less understanding about this particular quirk of his magic than others. She’d never had a problem with it, but she was human and had no desire for his services. 

Caroline speared a piece of shrimp and narrowed her eyes in warning. “I am very aware of what you do with your magic when you aren’t perfecting fireballs and lightning strikes, Enzo. No need to be rude.”

“Care…”

She chewed carefully, giving herself a moment so she didn’t do something stupid like throw the food at him. The wood floors were brand new. “I’m human. No witchy bloodlines for ten generations or more, and definitely not a werewolf. São Paulo proved that. In spades. So, seriously, there is zero reason for your magic to like me for this.”

A faint grimace. São Paulo had not been a good time. Not for anyone. 

“You know it doesn’t always work like that,” he said patiently, dunking his egg roll repeatedly into the sweet and sour sauce, his expression wry. “Sometimes my magic has a mind of its own.”

She rolled her eyes. “Enzo, tell me something I don’t know.”

A small laugh escaped him. “True.”

“Have I ever done anything, absolutely anything, that would make you think I’d want to have a matchmaker stick their nosy magic in my life?” Caroline set her chopsticks down and started closing containers, her appetite gone. 

A sigh. “No.”

“Damn straight. Isn’t there some kind of ritual involved? Blood magic? The romance novels I read on this subject insisted consent was a factor and blood had to be given willingly, much to the displeasure of several southern mamas.”

He deliberately finished his eggroll, sauce-soggy rice paper and all, chewing methodically. “Normally. This isn’t a… usual situation.”

“Normally?” Sitting back, Caroline waved her hand. “The food buys you an explanation. So start talking.”

Enzo leaned back, chair creaking, and ran a hand through his dark hair. “Look, you’ve been in Europe the last, what? Six months?” 

“Eight, and should I be hurt you weren’t counting?”

He snorted. “You spent the last eight months chasing diamonds. Busy enough you even stopped answering texts in a timely manner, so I imagine you haven’t kept up with what’s been going on.”

“Excuse you? What text did I not respond to?”

“Emoji’s are not words, Caroline.”

Caroline pressed her chin to her palm, gaze narrowed. “Stop being old, Enzo. And let’s be clear. It’s not like I was chasing just any diamonds. These were expensive. The kind of expensive we peons can never actually afford to legally own.”

Enzo rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen your rate sheet. You do just fine.”

She grinned at him. “Thank you, I do very good work. But what does my previous job have to do with the completely ridiculous proposal you brought me?”

“Mason died.”

Caroline arched a brow. “Yeah, I saw. That was impossible to miss. International news, all those TV Pundits talking about who would take over as the US Alpha, blah blah politics. Since he had the bad taste to die outside of a challenge fight, I didn’t have time to worry about it.”

Enzo put the plastic lid back on the sweet and sour sauce, his expression unhappy. “That’s the problem. He did die in a challenge fight.”

“Huh?”

He sighed and pushed his chair back. “This is a bit of a complicated story. As nice as these chairs are, something a little more comfortable might not be adverse.”

“You’re not getting any of the beer in my fridge until I’m sure I’m not kicking you out.” She narrowed her eyes. “The odds are not in your favor.”

“Cruel, but I suppose well deserved.” His chin tipped towards his car, expression amused. “Is now a good time to mention the cheesecake in the trunk of my car?”

“Enzo!”

He laughed and sauntered into her living room, flopping his favorite squishy chair. Caroline picked the couch. She motioned for him to start talking, and he slouched a little further down.

“Look, a lot of this isn’t common knowledge, alright?” Enzo grimaced. “Though it should be and I’m not sure how much longer they are going to manage to keep a lid on how badly the Council screwed this up.”

“Cover up?”

“Among other problems.”

“Mason was their darling.” And, she knew, some factions had whispered, their pawn. She reached up and shoved her bangs back to hide her wince. “Losing a wolf so pro-witch would have been a blow. Losing the top Alpha who was also pro-witch is a political travesty.”

“Political travesty or not, Mason’s dead, and they’re going to have to deal with the new Alpha. He isn’t known for his tolerance.”

“Most werewolves are suspicious of magic,” Caroline pointed out, curling one leg underneath her. “Can’t really blame ‘em, with how they ended up as werewolves. Vengeance, magical curse. That sort of thing tends to sour peoples opinions, and then you know centuries later, they really improved things with their required silver legislation.”

“Yeah, you’re not wrong, but that’s not the kind of tolerance I am talking about.” He leaned back against the chair, and lifted his foot towards the coffee table, pausing, gaze darting towards her narrowed eyes. His foot thumped back against the floor. “The short version is that Mason was challenged, he lost, and the Witch’s Council, for lack of better words, bungled the announcement.”

“How do you bungle an announcement? Challengers have official channels they have to go through and everything.” She pointed at the TV. “They’ve even started wanting to televise the damn things, like it’s some kind of wrestling bout and not a fight to the death.”

Enzo rubbed a hand down his face. “From everything that I’ve been able to tell, Mason just… didn’t expect to lose.”

“That makes no sense. Mason wasn’t young, even by werewolf standards,” Caroline said slowly. “There have been rumors in Europe that he should have been disposed of as much as a century ago. They aren’t really sure why the packs here haven't risen up against him, particularly after the whole issue with his nephew abducting his bride after she’d been paired by the matchmakers to someone else.”

“Tyler Lockwood leads more with his dick than his brains,” Enzo agreed. “And that should have weakened Mason politically, spurring a few challenges. That it didn’t…”

“It’s only been ten years, and that isn’t that long for a werewolf,” Caroline pointed out. “It’s reasonable that the family of the disappointed groom would just now be in a position themselves to pick a fight. Hayley’s family is old blood but not particularly powerful.”

Enzo gave her a dry look. “When do werewolves ever wait to pick fights?”

“When they are going up against the top Alpha in the US and need public opinion behind them. The general public expects a dominance fight or a natural cause of death for all alphas,” she said dryly. 

He nodded in approval. “For someone so disparaging of politics earlier, you do have an excellent grasp of the situation.”

Caroline tossed a cushion at him, which he caught with a grin. “Please, my Mom was the Sheriff and Dad, well, you know Dad. Conspiracy theories and hatred of anything that so much whiffed of the unnatural. But none of that explains what actually happened?”

“We think Mason was using magic to win his challenge fights.”

Her lips parted. “But that’s… the packs would riot. Because something like that…”

“It’s something the Witch Council had to be involved in.”

She inhaled sharply. “That would be a disaster.”

“It is a disaster,” Enzo said bitterly. “There have already been two executions, and several investigations are still pending. We’ve managed to convince the new alpha to hold back the public announcement, but he’s losing patience. We need a solid infrastructure of a plan in place, because humans don’t do well with surprises of this kind, and right now we’re barely holding the alliances together.”

“And what?” Caroline asked exasperated. “The remaining Council has decided to hire a matchmaker? They think since the new Alpha is single, they must be in want of a partner? You’re going to announce the change of leadership, the challenge fight, and then announce he agreed to be matchmade?”

“Something like that.”

“Who is going to trust the Council after something like this?” She shoved her hair away from her face. “If I was the Alpha, I wouldn’t touch anything that they touch with a ten foot pole. That includes matchmaking.”

“I wasn’t hired by the Council, though a couple of my… co-workers have taken those contracts.” He seemed to consider his words and then shrugged. “I was hired by Bekah.”

“Rebekah Mikaelson?” She said, brows arching high. “Why is she involved in this? And I thought you two didn't get along. The last time you were in the same room, she lit your precious robes on fire.”

Enzo’s mouth curved into a slow smile full of male satisfaction. “She’s an odd one, but it’s not the worst way I’ve had someone flirt with me.”

“And the time she declared matchmaking the worst magical school in existence and she hoped you did the world a favor and never reproduced?”

“Charming, isn’t she? I don’t think she really likes children in general.” He looked unbothered. “The bit about my magic was just an attempt to be clever. Her insults have gotten better the more she gets to know me. I appreciate her dedication to getting my attention.”

“Yes, and that is what I am going to put on your gravestone. You finally got the attention you always wanted.” Caroline shook her head. “Insults and spells aside, why did she hire you?”

“Because the Witch Council is right, in a way. It’s going to come out that Mason lost a challenge fight and the witches tried to cover it up.” Enzo reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “A werewolf who is newly matched has more appeal than a single one, and it’s not a terrible way to divert the press.”

“Is he worried about appeal? Why are you worried about his appeal?” She threw up her hands. “He killed Mason. He is now unequivocally in charge. Why does appeal matter?”

“We need stability.” Enzo’s face went grave. “We can’t afford a year of dominance fights when we’re already struggling with sorting through Mason’s people for traitors. Announcing a match buys us time.”

Caroline froze. “You want the year truce.”

“We need that year, Gorgeous. I’m not sure we’ll survive without it. Pairing off the new alpha? It’s the only way we’re going to get it.”

“And you want me to marry him? Why?”

“Why not you? You’re smart, resourceful, and not bad on the eyes. That you're from a small town will add to your appeal. Small town girl meets werewolf Alpha, and it’s a match. People will love you.”

“I’m a Finder, Enzo. That’s not exactly the most politically correct of jobs.” Her gaze narrowed. “Am I even going to be able to keep working if I agree to this?”

“Once things stabilize, sure, why not?”

“You’re really selling this.”

Enzo shrugged. “You know that one of the true weaknesses of Mason’s was that he refused to find a mate or even attempt a match.”

There had seemingly been a good reason for that. Werewolves were blessed with supernatural strength, a lifespan that more than tripled a normal human’s, and were highly territorial. Most of the time, those instincts could be driven towards their pack and maintaining the careful balance that the world existed in. A werewolf in love was a dangerous creature. Werewolves fighting over their lovers more so.

It was why Enzo’s magic existed. 

“Uh huh,” Caroline drawled, unconvinced. “You're really going to tell an Alpha he can’t claim what’s his unless he agrees to a match, the very thing the last alpha decried as unnecessary. How’s that going? I bet not well.”

“The sooner you say yes, the better, then.”

She glowered at him, but he looked unrepentant.

“Seriously Enzo, matchmaking magic or not, this cannot be your best plan. I cannot be the absolute best idea you have for this.”

“Why not?” He leaned back. “From where I’m sitting, it’s a fantastic plan.”

Caroline’s jaw dropped and she stared at him. He was serious. She knew that set of his jaw, the glint behind his eyes. Matchmaking wasn’t a science, it was magic. A fail safe, a terrible and beautiful promise: that somewhere out there, somewhere, maybe, a soulmate existed. And if you were lucky enough, maybe magic would find them for you.

“Enzo, seriously this time. Why even ask me? You know I’ve never been interested in matchmaking with a werewolf or witch. I like my life.” She spread her arms to include the house. “What you're asking me to do, asking of me, it changes everything. Why?”

He was quiet for several moments, his gaze unfocused. When he spoke, his voice was strangely serious. “My magic likes the match.”

She considered that, shifting to hug her knees to her chest. She’d been friends with Enzo since she was seventeen years old and she’d dragged his half unconscious body out of a car wreck that should have killed him. In turn, he’d been there for her when her mom died and her dad disappeared. He’d helped her get established in her career of choice, even though he’d been disapproving of the reasons why she’d chosen to go into it. 

She trusted him. 

Enzo liked to hide what he could do because he was so good at what he did, and she’d seen him drunk more than once post-match. His magic was not… unkind, but it wasn’t easy, what it demanded of him. To put two people together, with the intention that they’d make a relationship work for possibly hundreds of years. The weight of success and the pain of failure were both so heavy. 

Enzo did not match lightly. 

His magic liked the match. 

Her stomach flipped as she really considered what that meant. No such thing as soul mates, Enzo always insisted, just the endless probabilities of human lives narrowed to a single red thread between two people. And here, he said, was her chance to see if this probability would work for her. 

She couldn’t decide what that made her feel.

“You swear this isn’t about Dad?”

A tip of his head. “While I have no compunction about putting a few hundred werewolves between you and whatever mess he left behind, it’s not about him. You were right. My magic should never have considered you for this. You’ve never wanted to find a match, and honestly, I’ve always liked that about you. And nothing about this is going to be easy. But when Rebekah brought me his blood, all my magic could see was you and the potential you two had together. I could no more deny you the chance to say yes than breathe.”

She groaned under her breath. “This could be a disaster. You know I hate politics, and I’m an only child. I’m terrible at sharing. He’s alpha. Nothing he does is his alone.”

“I know. The circumstances are unusual, so they’ve been willing to negotiate generous terms if things don’t work.” Enzo grinned. “No one wants to trap either of you, not when all parties know that magic isn’t infallible.”

She eyed him. “I don’t like it when you think you’ve got it all figured out.”

A laugh. “Come with me to New York. Give it two years. A year for the truce, a year to fortify whatever weaknesses his enemies attempt to manipulate. At the end, if you want out, no one will stop you. I’ll dissolve the marriage myself. No loopholes.”

Enzo never dissolved marriages. That, more than anything, told her how serious he was about giving her an out. How badly they needed to truce. 

“I guess you really do have this all figured out.” 

“I wish I did, but we both know that’s impossible with something like this. I can only read the magic, and tell you what I see. But I’ll do everything I can to help you.” He smiled ruefully. “We’ve gotten good at hiding bodies, what’s a few more?”

Caroline wasn’t sure she should have found that comforting, but she did. “And just who am I agreeing to consider marrying?”

Enzo suddenly coughed and stood, a familiar hint of devilment twisting his lips. “Klaus Mikaelson.”

She spluttered. “Klaus Mikaelson? You want me to marry Klaus? He killed Mason?”

His smile widened. “Yes.”

Caroline gawked at him. Before she’d gone to Europe, Klaus Mikaelson had been the third most powerful Alpha. Young, handsome, devastatingly charming, he made people forget just how terrifying he could be with a pair of dimples that raised the blood pressure of every woman past puberty. 

He was also Rebekah Mikaelson’s half brother. 

Enzo had been entertaining her for years about the Mikaelson sibling dynamic. Klaus had not been spared in those stories, and while she’d never met him, she knew two very important things: he was built on lines that had always, always snagged her attention, and the sharp temper of his wolf, the brutality of his temper, hid a clever, agile mind that made him dangerous to underestimate.

“Enzo!” She protested. “Klaus?”

Sliding his hands in his pockets, he spun towards her door. “Yup.”

“Just where do you think you are going?”

Enzo tossed her a grin over his shoulder. “To get your cheesecake. You didn’t think I lied about that, did you? And you might as well fetch me that beer. We both know I’m not going anywhere until tomorrow, at the earliest.”

Caroline stared at his back as the door clanged behind him, heart hammering in her throat for a hundred reasons she couldn’t explain.

[9layerdevilfoodcake]

Some Of A Kind

Chapter 1: Virgin in the Chapel

(Michael Langdon x reader)

Summary: When you accompany your friend to a black mass at the Church of Satan. You pick the wrong time and place to let him in on the fact that you’re a virgin, garnering the attention of the ‘chosen one’ himself.

Warnings: murder, mentions of drug use, poorly represented Satanism

Word count: 3,666 (that’s right)

//

It was a typical Wednesday night when you got a text from your friend Tyler.

‘So what do you say? Is tonight the night?’

He had been bugging you for weeks to come see a sacrifice at the satanic church. And since the first time he asked, the conversation always went the same way.

/

“I’m telling you, just one slice and then you can have whatever you want”

“You mean I can have powers beyond compare?”

“Yes” he answered back, in a hopeful tone. Clearly he hadn’t picked up on the sarcasm in your voice.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the excitement in his voice.

“I’m sorry, you do whatever you want over there with your edgelords but I’m perfectly happy in my boring powerless existence”

“First of all we aren’t edgelords, we're satanists. We just see the world for what it is. A dreadful place full of selfish people.”

“Well I can’t say I argue with that”

“Exactly, so give in to being selfish, and start doing what you want. You work so hard, and for what a one bedroom apartment you can barely afford and bags under your eyes that are only getting bigger by the day?”

“Hey” you interrupt, slightly offended. Which only earns a laugh on his end.

“I’m just saying, you put in so much effort for no pay off, when you could do this one thing and have everything you deserve”

“What a cable package and a ‘skip the line’ pass at Disneyland?”

“I also get unlimited snacks!”

“Oh sorry how could I forget, well if one soul is all it takes to get a free waffle cone then what are we still doing here?!” You ask back, your tone full of mockery.

“Have you ever wondered why I can snort as much coke as I want and have never OD’d? Or why every girl I bring home is a certified 10?”

Actually you had, the two of you had met the year prior in a religious studies class when you were partnered to write a paper on whether morality was dependent on a god. He could barely get through a sentence without tripping over his words or looking away in embarrassment. It was sweet really, and by the end of the class you two had basically become best friends.

But about 2 months ago things started to change. There was almost always a girl leaving his house when you would come over.

You swore at least two of them you recognized from Victoria Secret runways.

One night you even saw a man leaving whose resemblance to Ryan Reynolds was suspiciously uncanny.

He got a new car without any explanation as to where he got the money, and he had so much coke in his living room you assumed he started dealing, before he told you it was just his stash for the weekend.

At first he was vague about everything, but eventually he told you the truth, or at least what you assumed was a version of it.

For his final project he wrote a research paper on the church of Satan.

You went with him to a couple of services when he was writing it, him being too nervous to go alone.

You both thought they seemed a little kooky, but relatively harmless.

Yet what you didn’t know was that he kept going back after the class ended and had gotten himself sworn in, and eventually given the honor of participating in a black mass.

Where he had sacrificed a school teacher in order to get these new “gifts”.

Now you weren’t naive enough to think he actually killed someone!

You were sure his new lifestyle was a part of some religious Ponzi scheme, and one day the debt collector would come calling.

You’ve watched enough documentaries to know better than to get involved with this.

But he is still your friend so you take it upon yourself to be supportive and let him have his moment, while simultaneously letting him know you’ll be here for him if the day comes that he gets excommunicated.

“I love you and I am so happy for all you’ve gotten, especially when you share it with me, but I’m good, really. I’ll let you know if I ever change my mind”

That dropped the subject for a while.

 

That is until a few days ago when you lost your job.

Well actually when your job was stolen from underneath you by your boss's son.

All it took was one night of bitching to your best friend for the talks of satanism to start up again.

//

So here you were bored on a Wednesday night actually considering his offer to watch a black mass.

‘Well…’

He texted back after a few minutes of no response on your part

‘Fine’

It’s not like he’s ever going to let up, you might as well go see what all the hubbub was about.

After he picked you up, you made your way to the church.

More precisely the back alley with a hidden door. Not at all unsettling.

And the rain pelting down on the robe he gave you just adds a nice ominese touch to what you're sure is going to be a long night.

Now inside you sit in a pew in the back. While the choir above you sings as the others file in.

They actually sound pretty good if you’re being honest. Maybe on your way out you’ll pick up the album you saw for sale in the lobby (for $6.66 no less).

You haven’t been sitting more than 10 minutes before the mass begins.

And in that time Tyler roughly explained what you were about to see.

You weren’t paying too much attention though. More enamored with the atmosphere.

It was a sea of red cloaks and black pentagrams. And the thunder outside appeared to clap along in sync with the crescendo or the choir.

This place seems vastly different from the shabby collection of misfits you encountered when you visited the first time. Who spent most of the service complaining and handed you a stale donut on your way out the door.

“...Y/n are your listening?!”

“Hmm Yea”

“Really?”

“Yea the guy’s gonna sacrifice some ‘innocent soul’ say a few hail satans and voilà he gets his hair back and starts getting laid again” you answer back, waving him off. You’re more interested in watching two Satanists in the front of the room give each other the “sign of the cross” gesture in reverse order.

“This is serious, the things you see might shock you but you can not react! If they think you’re some sort of threat to our secrets or even just afraid of them, it won’t end well. I’m kind of taking a risk by bringing you here”

That brings your attention back to your friend.

“So you hound me for weeks to come with you, but I’m not even allowed to be here?” You ask back, starting to wonder why you actually said yes to this.

“Well yea, I just really want you to see what I’ve seen, I want what’s best for you”

That was actually really sweet of him.

Now you felt a little bad for making fun of this so much.

That is until you see a man in the next row pull out a flask with “unholy water” written on it and rub it on his chest like Vick’s.

But before you get the chance to ask Tyler where he keeps his flask(which you're certain he has). The choir stops singing and the Priestess has the room's attention.

Everything goes as Tyler explains at first.

The “sacrifices” are brought in in their underwear. (They couldn’t even keep their clothes on, what does the devil give them a level up if the victims are humiliated before they die?) and tonight's chosen one, Phil, is about to take his position, before you hear a voice behind you.

“Wait!”

You turn your head to see an older woman rushing in, but it’s not her that steals your focus it’s who walks in behind her.

He is quite possibly the most attractive person you have ever seen. With cheekbones that could slice butter and soft blonde hair falling around icy blue eyes.

She says his name is Michael and this honor belongs to him.

You look over to Tyler to see what’s going on. He didn’t explain what part of the performance this was, was this some sort of second act surprise?

You were expecting this night to follow like a church service, watching Phil take his vows and minimal audience participation. Now you wonder if this is all rehearsed, or if the Satanist’s are partial to improv?

But Tyler pays you no mind, he can’t take his eyes off the blonde either.

It’s not until the Priestess mentions the “mark of the beast” and that he is the chosen one, that you get why Tyler is looking at him like he’s some sort of god.

Because to him he is, this guy is supposed to be the Antichrist.

Tyler says nothing only glances in your direction when he sees you’re the only one still standing, before he pulls you down to your knee like everyone else.

The rest of the performance is really top notch.

The flickering of the lights was a nice touch, but you can’t help but feel a little uneasy wondering how they keep getting the thunder to time up with everything they do.

Plus the bodies of the sacrifices fell to the ground almost too well.

How did they manage to get their bodies to look that lifeless, and why did those cuts look so deep?

But you try not to focus too much on it as you walk to the ceremonial Wednesday night potluck.

/

After the Antichrist has dismissed his followers from fawning all over him, you sit with Tyler at the end of the table and dig into your lasagna.

“So does the antichrist part happen at every sacrifice or is this one special? Is it some Satanic holiday I wasn’t aware of?” You ask, breaking Tyler out of whatever trance he appears to be stuck in.

“What?”

“I gotta say the dramatics were very entertaining, but if you really wanted to get me here all you had to do was tell me the guy who plays the Antichrist is really hot” you snicker under your breath.

“Play? Y/n your don’t understand he IS the Antichrist” he explains in a hushed voice before continuing

“That doesn’t happen every time, he really has come. This is the moment we’ve all been waiting for! Don’t you see?! I think it was fate you came here on this night!”

“Ha, why do you need a virgin to sacrifice or something?” You laugh and take another bite before you look over and see Tyler staring at you with wide eyes.

“What?”

“You’re not serious are you?”

“Well yea, what’s the big deal, I didn’t realize you were so caught up on a social construct”

“I’m not, but you can’t say things like that around here” he looks around the room nervously and you follow his path of vision until your eyes land on Michael, who’s own gaze is locked on you.

There’s no way he heard you, you were across the room and you were whispering.

Still he continues to stare with eyes that speak only of intensity. No smile, no nod, no hint emotion whatsoever.

It’s only after you raise your brows and mouth a “What?” That he looks back down at his plate with a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Oh Satan, I think he heard you. You should go” Tyler’s tone becoming more erratic by the second.

“What?” You’re sure he's joking, but when he looks at you there is nothing but worry in his eyes.

Now you’re starting to get nervous, this is too far.

He actually thinks these people are going to do something?

He’s practically shaking with fear, and because of the man in the turtleneck? Who barely knows how to hold a spoon?

Okay you’ll play along for tonight, but tomorrow you are having a serious talk, he might need professional help.

“Alright let's go then” you huff out as you start to grab your belongings.

“I can’t just leave, especially since our savior is here, but I’ll make sure everything is good and you’re not followed or anything”

“Okay, is there some sort of satanic shuttle bus that can take me home? Or should I call an Uber? Does this place have an address or should I just send them an inverted cross?”

Still unamused by your inability to grasp the gravity of the situation, he just shakes his head and hands you his keys.

“Here just take my car, I’ll get a ride later, in fact stay at my house incase you’re followed”

He’s basically pushing you out of your seat and nodding to the door.

“Okay...bye I guess”

And with that you take off down the hall.

You know you’re supposed to go straight to the car. You’ve never seen Tyler look so serious in his life.

But when you walk past the chapel you can’t help but stop. You can still see the bodies up at the altar.

Why are they still there? Was there a trap door you missed and these were just doubles?

Or were these people so committed to the role and as crazy as your friend that they had to stay in the character of “dead sacrifice” all night?

Curiosity got the better of you, the car could wait, you had to see for yourself.

Closer inspection did nothing to stifle your suspicions.

It looked so real.

They weren’t breathing, so there was no way they were still the two actors, but you had never seen fake bodies look so real.

You're reminded of an anatomy class you took last semester.

Those cadavers looked suspiciously close to these.

Just colder and with less life left in their faces.

And there was so much blood, the iron was thick in the air.

But that couldn’t be true. Your friend wouldn’t kill someone would he?

He didn’t actually think they would kill you?

If you got a closer look, if you just swiped some of the “blood” with your pointer finger it would surely taste like corn syrup and not like…

“Are you afraid?”

You whip your head around, blood still staining your finger and beginning to drip onto the linoleum. To see Michael walking in the same way he had an hour earlier. Only this time without the cloak, but with some newly added confidence.

“They’re really dead aren’t they?” You know it’s true, but you still wait for his confirmation.

“Yes, that tends to happen when you slice someone’s throat” He acts as if this shouldn’t be a shock to you. It didn’t shock any of the other members of the congregation. Yet you know without him saying it, that he’s well aware you’re not like the others. That you don’t belong here.

“So you really sacrifice people, just to get stuff” you blurt out. Still trying to wrap your head around the fact that everything you witnessed tonight was real. Perhaps you shouldn’t have taken that last crescent roll you’d seen another satanist eyeing at dinner, you definitely have a curse coming your way. That is if you live through the night.

“Well not me” Michael says, pulling you out of your thoughts and back to the present.

“Oh of course, you’re the one they do it for”

“Well my father more specifically”

“Does that upset you?” You know you should be more careful about how you proceed with this conversation, but the words leave your mouth before your mind can stop them.

The question seems to catch him by surprise as he ruffles his brow, you’re not sure if it’s in anger or just shock at your brazenness. But he doesn’t answer. Just goes on to question you.

“Have you ever witnessed a murder before?”

“No”

“How did you feel watching it before your eyes?”

“Well I didn’t feel much, considering I thought it was all fake” That earns you a smile from him.

“And how do you feel now?”

“Curious”

“Really? Not scared?”

“No. Why should I be?” You’re really digging your own grave here. But your mouth seems to have a mind of its own.

“It seems your friend would say otherwise”

“Ah so you did hear.” You say, seeing his smile grow wider. “These aren't the days of the Old Testament, virginity doesn’t equally purity. Just ask sacrifice number one over there, with a body like that I doubt she was a virgin” you laugh, partially at your joke and partially out of sheer uncomfortableness. Michael doesn’t even spare the bodies a glance, eyes latched onto you, you go on to add

“I’m no saint. Despite my sexual history, or lack thereof”

“No, I’m sure you’re not” he emphasizes by swiping some of the liquid from your finger with his own, before taking it into his mouth. Making a show of it by closing his eyes as he releases it from his lips, slow as molasses. Smiling when he opens his eyes and sees you’re practically drooling.

Before his little show can go any further, you continue with your own questions.

“Have you killed people before?”

“Yes”

“How many?”

“You don’t have the time”

He’s looking at you waiting for your response. Waiting for the shock to subside and the shrieks of terror to take over.

Instead you just pause thinking everything over.

You should be scared, you know you should.

In one night you have watched two people die, found out your friend is a murderer, and that the Antichrist is not only NOT a myth, but is standing in front of you, conversing with you like he’s nothing more than your new neighbor.

Yet you search and search in your mind for any hint of fear and come up empty. All you feel is curiosity. You must be losing it too, you feel bad for judging Tyler so harshly. Maybe it’s his youthful face and the little outburst in the dining hall earlier, but Michael seems like more than simply the ‘incarnation of evil’. He seems so...human.

And more than anything he just seems confused and dare you say, lost.

“Do you like killing people? Or do you do it because it’s expected?”

“It depends”

“Would you like to kill me?”

Now it’s his turn to take pause, looking like he’s trying to decide if he’s “in the mood” to take your life.

“Not right now”

You can’t help but laugh at that (yea you’re definitely in shock). Soon enough he joins in too, and the mood feels lighter than it has all night. You might even say you feel comfortable.

That is until the laughter subsides and you meet his eyes. He’s now staring at you with the same intensity you’d met earlier at dinner.

It’s like he’s looking right through you, into your soul. You feel on display and more than anything afraid of what he might find.

“Stop that”

“Stop what?” He says with a playful tone and a tilt of his head.

“You’re..well..I don’t know what you’re doing but I don’t like it. You’re trying to get a read on me or something.”

He just smiles at that, because of course he does.

You know there is no avoiding playing into his hand. He wants to get a rise out of you, in one way or another.

“And what do yo-”

“Y/N!”

At the mention of your name you both turn to see Tyler standing in the doorway.

Antichrist or not, the look Michael gives him is enough to send a wave of fear up your spine.

He appears as though he’s about to snap his neck through just a look(and you're afraid to find out if he could).

Noticing his anger, Tyler stops and bows before Michael, apologizing incessantly for interrupting him.

You don’t miss the twitch of Michael’s lips. He’s clearly loving the effects he has on his followers.

You just roll your eyes at your friend.

“Calm down Tyler, get up”

He just let’s your words pass over him as if you hadn’t even spoken. If he hadn’t been the one to call your name a moment ago, you wouldn’t be sure he even knew you were in the room.

Every sense he had was aimed at Michael, and it was only when his precious dark lord gave him a nod that he got up and looked your way again.

“What are you doing? I thought you were going home?” He says through clenched teeth.

If he weren’t so worried about keeping you alive he would be pissed at you for not listening.

“I was. I am” you reassure him turning to Michael.

“It was a pleasure to meet you Michael, I’ll see myself out”

You are scurrying out of the room, grabbing a frozen Tyler and tugging him along with you, when Michael calls after you.

“No y/n, the pleasure was all mine.”

You’re at the end of the hall, and in the middle of Tyler’s scolding session, when you realize there is still blood on your finger.

It feels like it’s vibrating where Michael touched you, begging you to take notice.

Just wipe it on your jeans, you tell yourself.

Wait until you get to the car and find a napkin.

Do anything rational other than what you're thinking.

As you pass through the exit door, you cave and take a taste of the crimson on your finger.

Although you can’t see him, you know Michael is smiling. You can feel his smugness in the air around you and you're sure he knows what you just did.

This started out just as me wanting to make some jokes about Michael and the Satanists and has somehow turned into a multi-chapter fic. I still don’t really know where it’s going I’m just letting it take on a mind of it’s own. If it looks familiar it’s cuz it’s been on ao3 for a little bit now, so sorry it’s not a “new” new story! If you liked it that makes me very happy, and if not I hope it was at least entertaining! Either way thank you for reading!

(I wasn’t sure who wanted to be tagged just in my Xavier fic and who did in general so I didn’t add a tag list to this one)

[vtforpedro]

health update - long post

hi everyone! I think it's been a month and a half or so since my last update I saw a rheumatologist, had MRIs done, and got my results back from my hematologist SO cancer: still undetectable in my blood, check every 3 months and hope it doesn't show up for a long time lol \o/ I don't think I can say I'm in remission until a certain amount of time has passed but I hope I can say that one day MRIs: actually show some possible improvement with the chiari and spinal fluid flow? and if there IS improvement (like the radiologist who wrote the report had the MRI from a year ago as reference and his findings were all 'normal' compared to april 2020, but it was hard to get an answer out of my neurologist and neurosurgeon if there was solid evidence of physical improvement). but yeah IF there's improvement, that is highly indicative of IIH because my neurosurgeon told me when people with IIH lose weight, the chiari often corrects itself because there's less pressure and more room in the skull for the cerebellar tonsils to be in a normal position. regular chiari that you're born with doesn't do that lol so if there IS improvement with weight loss, then yeah, IIH. even if they don't wanna put in the diagnostic code for it without a lumbar puncture sigh lol I hate typing this because I'm so paranoid it'll all go to shit if I talk about it, but there have been improvements as I've lost weight. I seem to have a couple weeks where my head isn't so severe, mostly manageable with a few awful days. then I'll have a few weeks of it being Really Really bad with a few not-so-awful days. which IIH can do this sort of 'remission' thing but considering it was like 24/7 with no breaks for a year I'd say this is moving in the direction I want it to completely changed my diet a handful of months ago and adjusting it still to be even healthier/more fulfilling. I started using the Noom app (paid sub version) cause it's so focused on psychology instead of 'dieting' and building habits that are sustainable in the long, long-term. I really love it so far. the routine of doing it at the same time every day has already made me feel better mentally about my weight loss journey despite my struggles with losing weight, I am officially down 20lbs \o/ they say for improving/curing IIH, you need to lose 10-20% of your body weight. well, 10% down! time to lose another 20, but I don't find it intimidating and I'm not dreading it. it's hard to have hope, especially on really bad weeks, but I'm taking it one day at a time. definitely not cured but I'm aiming for 40lbs more (so 60 altogether) and by then, maybe, just maybe.... rheumatologist/autoimmune disorder results: so I went to a rheum cause I got that positive autoimmune disorder blood test with the possibility of lupus or scleroderma. she said that she gets so many hematology patients because leukemia and lymphoma have blood antibodies, so it will almost always show up as positive on this antibody test and most people actually won't have an additional autoimmune disorder. I don't have a lot of symptoms of lupus or scleroderma according to her, so she told me don't worry about autoimmune disorders for three months. don't think about them. we'll repeat labs then and see what they say. so that's good news so far and I hope it remains that way 15%+ of the population will test positive on the same test without having any health issues, which I found interesting. and I asked since I already have an autoimmune disorder, tho it's endocrine versus rheumatic, if that would also trigger a positive result and she said yes it would! so yeah... I hope by late July I can still say I don't have an additional autoimmune disorder I see a gastroenterologist tomorrow for the bloating/abdominal pain and other stuff I've been having. I have a feeling I'll be given some antacids (or w/e they're called when it's prescription strength) and that will improve. but jfc I'm up to eight specialists now lol NINE doctors are following my health god it's such a shitty feeling especially when I can barely trust any of them. at

least they all believe me now, but it cost me my quality of life and mental health to even get to this point so I'm still feeling pretty fucking bitter and angry about it all you know what's really hard about completely changing my diet + starting new medications/supplements? for some reason at the beginning of all of this when I was experiencing repeated trauma at the ER, my brain developed a phobia of allergic reactions, despite the fact that I've never had one for food/medicine (I'm talking anaphylactic reactions). so now every single new thing I eat, every new med or supplement, I go through panic attacks for days on end thinking I'm going to die before it starts easing. also, anxiety makes your throat feel like it's closing up and that it's harder to breathe already so lmao fun times. I literally never thought about this in all my life and I never even experienced an allergic reaction to develop this intense fear, so you know. fuck doctors for putting me through this when it was all so unnecessary sigh anyway. still can't watch videos, tv, movies, read, bend over, walk for longer than 5 minutes, and can't talk for long either because it'll trigger a head episode. I'm terrified I won't be able to do these things ever again, but I'm still aiming for my goal weight no matter what and I know I can get there bouncing between misery and hopelessness, and slightly less misery and some hope right now, but I guess that's better than it's been for a year, right? sorry for rambling. I feel like a lot has gone on but I've also had the biggest gaps between doc appts in a while which is a relief just because I can't stand being in medical buildings or around doctors anymore completely vaccinated too, so that's another relief, but I'm wearing masks until americans get their heads out of their asses and we start seeing little to no community spread cause I am still immunocompromised. wouldn't it be nice if people like, idk, cared about each other ok sorry! I hope you're all well and healthy and safe. I love you very much and I'm grateful for your support, forever and always! <3

[solalunar-eclipse]

SYCS - 1 Year Anniversary

Chapter title: Set In Stone

Word count: about 4000 words

Next

Author’s Note: On July 26, 2020, I posted the first chapter of Scars You Can’t See. One year later, I’ve written five stories of varying lengths and am currently working on a sixth (wow)! My writing’s come a long way since then, and a lot of my improvement is thanks to everyone who encourages me to continue said writing, whether it’s through likes, reblogs, or comments. Thank you all so much for your support so far! :)

This is a rewrite of the very first chapter of SYCS, since the original could use a little fixing. Some important notes: I’ve edited a few parts of the story to be more in character, Chapter 2 starts in a different place after this updated version, and I’ve also fixed up chapter 13 because apparently I forgot to finish the motif I started?? Somehow??? At least I remembered eventually...

Anyway, I hope you enjoy the (revised) story!

Before, Shadow had always been able to just ignore what it meant to work for G.U.N.

He’d managed somehow to convince himself to brush aside the fact that the soldiers he worked with (had been coerced into working with) wore the same uniforms as those who killed Maria, his dear sister and first friend. To push away any idea that he couldn’t deal with serving the same organization that had once wanted him dead. (It was the only way to stay with his friends, of course he could deal.)

The same thing went for using guns during the Black Arms invasion- even though he’d had amnesia, he remembered enough that he’d needed to rely on adrenaline near constantly just to make it through those times. Despite this, he had still taken the better part of a month to recover afterwards.

His memories of that day were particularly fresh for a while.

Once the invasion had been successfully repelled, G.U.N. had hired him to work for them very rapidly, as a matter of fact. During the process, some of the people along the way strongly suggested that if the organization wasn’t able to keep an eye on him, then…well, then they’d be very displeased. 

Shadow knew all too well that you did not want G.U.N. displeased with you.

The hybrid felt nothing but exhausted as these thoughts whirled through his head for the hundredth time. They’d only become a major problem recently, ever since the military organization had begun to require him to resume using guns on his missions. Every single time he touched one, the cold steel left his palms slick inside his gloves and made his head swim with flashes of memories too often repressed. Still, he had to use them- he’d be taken off missions entirely if he refused, and Shadow would never leave Rouge and Omega in the lurch like that.

However, his mental health had been growing ever worse these past few weeks as a result. He thought (hoped) he’d done a good job of hiding it from Rouge and Omega, but Shadow had been sparring with Sonic noticeably less. The hybrid had struggled with the idea of inflicting more violence on others in his spare time, and the hero had asked him about it several times, trying to figure out the reason for his sudden change in behavior.

Shadow shook his head, pushing his doubts and worries away just as he always had before. He couldn’t allow himself to become distracted by his thoughts- they might spill over into missions if he wasn’t careful. Forcing himself to focus on his schedule for the day and nothing else, he walked out of his room to take on whatever might come his way.

…

He was skating through the halls of an old, decrepit building (currently being used as a hideout by Eggman) on a mission. A robot stepped into his path.

Shadow hadn’t used his weapon yet on this assignment. He remembered the thinly veiled threat after his first refusal- we may have to remove you from missions if you cannot handle this responsibility- and felt a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck.

He shut his eyes, whipped out the firearm, and pulled the trigger. Flinching at the sound out of instinct, he refused to open his eyes until the gun was away, when he didn’t have to see it anymore. The robot lay on the ground, a smoking hole in its center. He tried to ignore the lingering sensation of the G.U.N. logo embossed on the handgrip in his palm.

Shadow felt the floor tilt for a moment under him before he regained his bearings.

He refused to look at the machine as he rushed by.

…

The exhausted hedgehog curled up in bed at night, unable to keep himself from hearing gunshots over and over and over. He fought against the memories of that day, refused to let them spill over into his thoughts.

Yet despite his best efforts, he knew he’d dream of it again tonight. He knew that he’d wake up screaming with her name in his mouth and the sight of blood still burned into his eyes. It had happened every night since he’d received the weapon.

Shadow swallowed down his fearful apprehension over what would come next. He forced himself to breathe deeply, to close his eyes, even though he wished to do the exact opposite. Dreams were not real. He could not let them hold power over him.

But still, he shivered as he tried to fall asleep.

…

He and Omega were standing in the center of a courtyard, broken badnik scrap lying all around them. This mission was supposed to be easy, just a simple in-and-out. Take out the bots, grab the intel, and go.

Rouge had asked them to cover for her as she searched for information in the abandoned computers alone. Shadow hadn’t liked the idea of leaving her alone but agreed grudgingly anyway.

He looked down at the firearm he held in his hands and tried his hardest not to cringe.

Flashes of memories threatened to surface again, of escape pods and gunshots and too much blood-

“Shadow.”

He jumped, not expecting Omega’s loud voice so suddenly.

“Yes, what is it?”

“You have been distracted for nearly ten minutes. Are you unwell?”

Shadow sighed, projecting a relaxed attitude. “Everything is fine. I was simply thinking.”

“About what?” Omega asked curiously.

“Nothing much.”

Silence descended upon the two again for a minute. 

“Shadow.” the E-series robot repeated.

“What.” he snapped, sounding more irritated than he’d intended.

“Tell me what you were thinking about. You looked distressed.”

“I’m fine, alright?” Shadow insisted. “Just- forget it, Omega.”

Omega stepped closer. “Past experience has informed me that you tend to hide important thoughts from others. Therefore, I will assume that this is essential knowledge until proven otherwise.”

“It’s not important.”

The robot placed his hand on Shadow’s shoulder. The latter wouldn’t admit it, but the weight was comforting, in a way.

“This is not adequate proof. Do you not trust me, Shadow?”

He sighed. “I do trust you, Omega. You know that.”

“Then talk.” Omega’s processors whirred for a moment, before adding, “Please.”

The hybrid’s shoulders slumped- he knew his friend wouldn’t stop until he told the truth. “I was thinking, how weird is it, that I work for the same organization that ki-...caused my sister’s-” He paused on the word, fighting not to trip over his sentences. “-death and...attempted to cause mine. Among other things. And how now...I must use weapons like the ones that took her from me...to harm others.” He sighed, nearly worn out just from the effort of discussing that event’s existence.

Omega jerked away from him, startling Shadow. “G.U.N. is the organization that killed your sister?” he asked, sounding- if it were possible- shocked.

“And the one that locked me away in cryostasis for 50 years, yes.” Shadow said, feigning calm.

Omega made a staticky noise that sounded like a sharp exhale. “Shadow. Why did nobody tell me this before? And why in the name of Chaos do you still work here?”

Shadow looked away, hiding the bitterness in his expression. “Multiple reasons. One, the organization has somewhat cleaned up its act, as far as I can tell. Two, it wants to keep me under surveillance, since I am still ‘potentially dangerous’ to them...and consequences would be severe if I did not obey.”

He tapped his heel on the ground. “Also, it was one of the main avenues for us to become heroes. Unlike Sonic and his friends, we don’t have the luxury of fighting someone who wants us to know where they are. And you know we didn’t exactly have the best record with law enforcement beforehand.”

“Still.” Omega replied. “I am highly opposed to the concept of fighting in the name of such an organization. Have they at least apologized to you? Or admitted their wrongdoing?”

Shadow frowned, thinking. “No, actually, they never did.”

Why did he have to bring this up? There’s no point in talking about what’s past. Let’s just get over it and move on.

Omega looked down, his eyes dimming slightly. “Processing.”

He was still processing by the time Rouge arrived, and remained mostly silent for their exit, post-mission briefing and the entire ride home.

Once the three had gotten inside, Rouge faced the E-series robot. “Alright, what’s up with you? You’re never quiet, but you’ve barely said a word since I got back.”

“I am considering an important decision.” Omega said.

“Oh? And what might that be?” she asked, folding her arms.

“My potential resignation from the government organization known as G.U.N..”

“Wait, what?” Rouge gasped. 

Shadow shouted out from the other room simultaneously. “Omega, what are you thinking?!”

“Current logic process is as follows: G.U.N. hurt one of the few decent people on this planet and my friend fifty years ago by murdering Maria Robotnik and many others aboard the ARK, as well as imprisoning him for said fifty years against his will. It has not apologized or shown remorse for those actions. Therefore, this organization clearly has no respect for Shadow, and therefore I refuse to aid them one moment longer.”

Shadow appeared at the robot’s side, placing a hand on his arm. “Thank you, Omega, but you don’t need to do that for me. I’m alright with this.”

(He was lying, of course.)

“Hold on a minute here, Omega’s got a point.” Rouge said pensively. “I started working here so I wouldn’t go to jail for stealing, but I’ve served my ‘sentence’ ages ago. Honestly, I kind of hate it there anyway? Like, nobody even respects us and it’s got way too much bureaucracy and too many outdated ideas. It’d be much better if it was just the three of us doing our own thing away from them, wouldn’t it?”

“Besides, hon, you’ve got to start standing up against those guys. I know you were going through a major existential crisis a while back when this all started, and that was the main thing you had to deal with. But now that you’ve started to figure everything out, it’s time to stop letting people treat you this way! We don’t have to give G.U.N. anything. They never helped you at all.”

“Agreed.” Omega said. “This organization does not deserve you- or any of us. They have wronged you, and though forgiveness is supposedly a ‘virtue’, it is likely so only when it is deserved.”

Shadow stared at the two of them. “That was...actually kind of philosophical for a minute. And convincing.” He huffed, frustrated, his hands curling into fists. “I just…how would I even go about dealing with my grievances with an entire military organization? I would need proof...and I don’t want to damage my standing with the government. G.U.N. can easily claim that I have gone rogue.” 

He swallowed, trying to ignore the various insecurities at the corners of his mind. “I’m just...should I really be digging all of this up again? I’ve finally started to get over it…”

“Okay, so first of all, hon, you’d better not let G.U.N. walk all over you just because they can make up fake blackmail.” the bat insisted. “And second, you’re clearly not over it. Shadow...I can hear you when you wake up from your nightmares, you know. You deserve some kind of closure to help you, and if G.U.N. won’t give it to you, then you have to take it.

“Also, here’s another thing- how much worse would you feel if G.U.N. hurt someone else, and we had never said anything to warn anyone?”

Shadow stiffened, feeling ill again. The very idea was abhorrent. That another person’s Maria could be lost due to his silence...“That...that would be unimaginable….” he breathed.

“Exactly.” Rouge replied. “So, consider it.”

Shadow frowned. “I...I’ll keep it in mind. But we should at least see if they’ll do something first before we try to attack them. We might be able to convince them to make amends, after all. I mean, if we fight, we’ll be completely out of a job, and I don’t know if the funds from Club Rouge will be enough to keep us afloat- if we succeed. It’s too risky, at least for now.”

“If that’s what you want to do, then we can definitely stick with that to start.” the bat said. “I don’t know if I could’ve taken any of their apologies if it were me, but it’s not my life, it’s yours. So I’ll be right with you no matter what you decide to do, okay?”

“As will I.” Omega added, placing a hand on Shadow’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Rouge. Thanks, Omega.” the hybrid said, finally allowing relief to show on his face as he looked at his friends.

He couldn’t help but feel that with them by his side, everything would be alright.

…

They talked through most of the night about how to bring it up, what they would say, and even where they would sit to keep Shadow feeling as safe as he could. The hybrid had final veto power over anything the other two suggested, and he tried to keep the wording of the speech he’d give as controlled and polite as possible. 

However, he tried not to bring up the “maybe G.U.N. still thinks I’m a weapon to be stored and used, not a person” topic during his proposal. Those insecurities could wait for another day.

They fell asleep late at night, all three in the same room- Shadow made a blanket nest on the floor, Omega plugged himself into the wall, and Rouge was on her bed.

Pleasantly enough, Shadow didn’t have any nightmares that night.

…

“You want us to do what?” 

The head of the public relations department stood behind his desk, cutting a slightly dominating figure in front of the team in his room. Omega could easily detect an increased heart rate in Shadow. He was not betraying any nervousness externally, however, and the robot was impressed by his friend’s willpower.

The PR head sat down, and he gestured for Team Dark to do the same. However, since there were only two chairs in the room (as they had known), Omega remained standing. Among other things, it would allow him to more easily defend his friends should the talk go awry.

“I’m afraid we just can’t do that kind of thing...Shadow.” He said the last word like it was distasteful, like it didn’t belong in his mouth. (Or, perhaps, like he wanted to add a “Project” or “Experiment” to the front of it, but didn’t for fear of a missile to the face delivered by Omega.)

“Why not?” The hybrid asked. “Sir,” he forced himself to add politely. “Don’t you agree that it was wrong? That G.U.N.’s soldiers shouldn’t have done...what they did?”

“I am incredibly saddened that Miss Robotnik’s death occurred in the search for you, and that the head of G.U.N. at the time considered you unworthy of any basic living rights.” the PR leader said, sounding more than anything like he was reading a script off a teleprompter. “However, I am not going to make a public statement digging up something that happened fifty years ago.”

Rouge leaned forward in her chair furiously. “So you’re just going to pretend it never happened? What about the trauma Shadow experienced? What about the fact that this kind of thing could happen again?”

The leader looked at her coldly. “I can assure you that this is an isolated incident, and that such an occurrence has not happened before or since.”

“But you can't just-! Can’t we speak with the commander?” Rouge gasped, outraged.

“I can, and I will. And you know very well that the commander is taking a well-deserved vacation, and we are not to disturb him for any reason except an emergency. Now then. Did you have anything else you needed?” he said smugly.

Omega was so, so close to just arming the missile launcher anyway.

Shadow looked up at him carefully, clearly going over the words in his head. “Sir. May I respectfully ask why G.U.N. considered it necessary to arm me? I can apply lethal force if necessary in other manners.”

The PR head frowned. “Close quarters are not necessarily a safe space for you, Shadow. We need you alive, and if that means you’re farther back, then so be it.”

“But- me? Destroying with impunity? In such a cold, distant manner? That’s not what G.U.N. wants to see from me, I thought. And with my experiences, I really don’t think-”

The human folded his arms. “Don’t worry about thinking, just worry about completing your missions on time. And what’s past is past, right? Now then, I expect no more complaints from you three. This meeting is concluded.”

Shadow stood up stiffly. “Yes, sir.”

Rouge froze. “Wait, Shadow, you’re not just going to-”

“We’re leaving, Rouge. Now.” Shadow said firmly, but the two other members of Team Dark could hear the unsteadiness in his voice. Omega remained silent, but internally was playing a very nice simulation in which he repeatedly punched the head of the PR department.

Once they had exited the office and walked through the facility for a while, Shadow leaned heavily against a wall. “He’s not sorry at all.” he muttered. The robot didn’t need his sensors to tell that he was experiencing far too many negative feelings at once. It wasn’t healthy for organics to deal with all that all the time…

“Agreed.” Omega said. “I would not be surprised in the least if he was lying throughout all of it.”

Rouge sighed, before pulling an unresisting Shadow into a hug. “Honey, I’m...” She paused for a second. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that. You shouldn’t have to cope with people like that, ever.”

Shadow closed his eyes quietly and stood like that for a long time. Eventually, though, he spoke up. “.....I know what we have to do. I...I know we need to fight, like you said last night. I don’t feel ready, but just…it has to happen.”

Omega looked down at them both. “You two go out to the car. I will go and get your sister’s files myself while you take a few minutes, Shadow. I am bulletproof and the most likely to make it out unscathed, and if I need help I can call.”

Rouge rolled her shoulders briefly, her wings flexing. “Alright. I’ll be ready to get out of here the second you get in. Sound good?”

“Alright.” Omega agreed. “Let’s go.”

The robot marched down the halls, on a mission. He stopped first to gather everything from their office- or at least all of their personal items. They might need them later, after all. He placed them into his empty chest compartment (he hadn’t refilled on weaponry in a while) and moved on. 

The lower levels of the G.U.N. facility were darker and less well-maintained. This was most likely on purpose, to keep people from wanting to go down there. Omega, however, did not fear the dark. He had a flashlight, and a hulking five-foot robot was usually enough to scare most creatures.

Thankfully, the guards stationed throughout these levels knew him, and simply stepped aside to let Omega pass. Quite a few of them were honestly nervous down there themselves, and barely even noticed him.

He noticed a small door marked ‘Records Room- Classified’ and knew he was in the right place. The door did not give him access, but that was alright. Rouge had hacked the system a while back and given herself the highest clearance possible...and now Omega had her spare card.

Once he was inside, he scanned the cabinets methodically until he found the file marked ‘Maria Robotnik’. Inside were papers detailing her death and her life. Everything one could have wanted to know about her was inside. 

The red stamp on the front reading ‘Terminated’ was pretty ominous, and Omega briefly wondered if he would be able to remove it. He considered the possibility that Shadow would not be quite so pained upon seeing it if the stamp were gone.

It was unlikely, and so he moved on.

Omega exited the room, hoping that the guards in the security monitor room were slacking off. They often were, so he calculated at least a 70% chance of exiting the facility without incident. He placed the file inside his compartment and continued on.

Being a robot meant that he could not act nervous. Therefore, nobody questioned him as he walked through the halls and outside, where he saw Rouge talking to Shadow inside their black-and-red car.

The hybrid appeared to be rather panicked about the whole plan, so as Omega slid into the backseat, he placed his hand on his friend’s head for a brief moment. “Everything is going to be alright, Shadow. I promise you that.”

Shadow sighed and slumped back against the seat. “Let’s get out of here before someone notices what we did.”

Rouge pulled out of the parking lot with a screech of the tires and didn’t let the speedometer dip below fifty until they got home.

“Right.” she said, once they were all inside. “We’ll probably have G.U.N. beating down our door by tomorrow morning, so let’s make sure they don’t catch us still here by then. Omega, refill your weapons and pack us some clothes and stuff. Shadow, you just try and chill. I’m going to look over this file.”

As Rouge flipped through the pages, Shadow decided that he needed to see these for himself and walked over to stand behind her. Before long, though, he recoiled in shock upon seeing that when G.U.N. discussed Maria’s death, they justified it. Made it seem like Shadow was the villain. A monster. A weapon.

“Shadow?” the bat asked.

“...yes?”

“You know we can’t use this by itself, right? We need more proof. Like, video proof.” she said, sounding resigned.

“I know.” he said quietly, disappointed that so little had changed despite the fact that half a century and some new management had taken place. 

Omega cursed out G.U.N. from the other room in response and came over to them, his eyes in their ‘angry’ shape. “We need to stop them now. This revolting organization does not deserve to spend another minute active anywhere on the planet.”

“Let’s get them, then.” Rouge hissed, clearly furious as well. 

Shadow felt terribly apprehensive, but despite that, he agreed as well. “Then they won’t be able to hurt anyone else in the future.” he said, sounding more determined than he had in a while.

“You ready, guys?” the bat asked, holding out her hand in the midst of their little group.

Omega allowed his giant metal hand to hover over hers. “Always.”

Rouge looked at the hybrid. “You sure you’re up for this, hon?”

“Not entirely…” Shadow admitted, but took a deep breath and held out his hand too, allowing Rouge to guide his hand to Omega’s, just like she had so long ago. “...but I need to do it, and so I will.”

“Then we’ll expose them, Shadow.” she said confidently. “And we’ve totally got this, because we’re doing it together.”

And as they all clasped hands for a moment, before breaking off to head to the garage, Shadow felt like they really had a chance to succeed.

[kangaroo-sniper-imagine]

Mercs who didn’t pay attention to their family trees

-I’m only doing a few mercs, cuz otherwise this would be huge-

Scout and Spy

When Miss Pauling introduced their newest recruit, The Thief, everyone was at least interested with the new blood. They were useful on the field; fast, silent, deadly, quickly able to steal the info case and dashing back to safety in record time. They were closed off at first, like many are in a new environment, but quickly opened up as soon as they were settled in.

The only person who didn’t quite connect with them was Spy (shocker). There was something about the new recruit that stuck him odd, something familiar about them that he couldn’t just put his finger on. The Frenchman’s son felt similarly.

“It’s like I already know ‘em; which is weird ‘cuz I’m dead certain we’ve never met before.”

It wasn’t until several weeks later, as the ten of you all were joined in the rec room, just enjoying each other’s company after a successful match. Jacque sat in the corner with Mick {not to derail but I totally think that they’re secret best friends who roast each other on the field}, both sipping at their drinks and idly talking as Jeremey sat with them, having a loud conversation with Jane from across the room.

Then they heard it. A deep, throaty chortle that was extremely unattractive, coming from across the room, coming from you

Both Jacque and Jeremy froze, the sound too familiar for it to be comfortable, eyes snapping to you, where you were wildly laughing with Travish. The Scotsman was sloshed and laughed along with your, his thundering laughter almost drowning out your own. Almost.

The sniper took a slow sip of his beer as he as well looked upon the commotion. He hummed in thought, and turned to the frozen spy. “Izzit jus’ me,” he drawled, gesturing with is beer can to you, “or do their laugh sound a lot like yours?”

Scout slowly turned to his father, rage in his eyes, but all Spy could do was watch you laugh that awful laugh. His brain slowly connected the evidence, memories of 20+ years ago invaded his mind, a dalliance with a woman who looks shockingly like you, the nose that you share with him and Jeremy, your strange obsession with your appearance, and most damning of all; the shitty laugh that you’ve seem to inherit from Jacque.

With a deep breath, the Frenchman stood up, determined to get out of the room and hide in his abode so he could scream in peace, but the sudden influx of the realization, rather, caused him to faint.

He awoke, what he assumed, several hours later, in a familiar camper bed. In his peripheral, Jacque could see Mick smoking a cigarette and reading a newspaper with one hand, a mug of coffee in the other. Without even looking up to confirm that the Frenchman was awake, the sniper spoke.

“Your kids are right pissed at you, mate.”

Jacque cursed.

Heavy and Soldier

Pauling was ecstatic to introduce more help, probably under the impression that this person to pick up the slack the other leaves so that her evenings won’t be filled with killing and covering up murders and thefts. Some young thing with a thick, almost indiscernible accent who spoke rarely and quietly. You were called the Electrician, for your… odd choice of weaponry.

Your gun was one of your own design, one you were very proud of, that rather than bullets shot out electrical charges, either stunning your opponent to help assist another teammate in a kill or give off a charge so intense it kills. You spent most of your free time in your assigned work shop improving your gun’s design and creating new weapons.

More than once, the team would hear a loud scream and the sound of a loud thud, only to come and find your door blown wide open and you stuck in the adjacent wall, hair shocked to stiffness and a new white streak added to your hair. Needless to say, you kept the team on their toes with your eccentricities. For some reason, your antics made Mikhail exceptionally worried. It was a weird knee jerk reaction he had, something that hadn’t flared up since he was younger, watching over his sisters.

About a month after your arrival, Jane caught you in his raccoon infantry pen, cooing over the animals that flocked to you. It was the first time he saw you smile since you’ve gotten there, and the first time he’s seen you out of your combat gear, now you wore a too large tee shirt and denim shorts, toes in the Arizona sand, scratching the chins of the furry animals. Deciding to try his luck, Jane approached you with a bellowing welcome, startling you, but you greeted him back regardless.

Jane noticed how much you liked watching the raccoons play with each other, but noticed you looked sad too.

“What’s the long face for, private?”

Your face pinched. When you spoke your words were slow, not used to English. “They have… family. I do not.” With a heavy sigh, you tried to elaborate. Jane didn’t mind waiting for you to collect your thoughts or your thick accent. Years of hanging out with Travish and Ludwig extremely sloshed had taught Jane patience in regards to others when they’re trying to speak an unfamiliar language.

“Mother was from… Russia? But father was from Norway, and mother went to there with him. When mother and father… died,” Jane’s heart twinged at the way your face fell, “I do not know how to find mother’s family in Russia, and father had no family in Norway. So I stay in Norway.” A beat of silence passed as you scratched the head of a curious baby raccoon that strayed closed to you. “I stay alone.”

Jane busted out crying, pulling you into a bear hug and vowing to be your surrogate family for as long as you want. He made it his mission to figure out who your family is. The first thing he did was write down the name of your parents, fully planning on hunting down your relatives after some good old fashioned American bonding.

Just as he was about to reunite with you after grabbing a baseball form his room, the American ran into Mikhail, who seemed pissed off

“You touch Sasha?” He accused, one large finger jabbing into the soldier’s chest. Jane couldn’t find it in himself to get mad at the accusation, he was a man on a mission to cheer up a sad kid and no angry Red was gonna stop him.

“No time,Sputnik! There’s a sad private who needs a moral boost and a good old game of catch!”

Rage quickly turned to confusion, then mild understanding. “Electrician is sad?”

Soldier gave a speedrun version of your sad backstory, even going as far to show the names of your parents to the Heavy. The Russian surveyed the sheet and he sighed. “That is not how name of mother is spelled.” He informed.

Jane scoffed. “And how would you know?”

Mikhail threw the American an unimpressed look. “Because family name is mother’s name before marriage.”

There was a second of realization.

“... is it a common last name?”

“... nyet.”

“... you might want to call your mother to confirm something.”

“... Heavy just might.”

—-

The next morning, Mikhail knocked on Jane’s door so early in the morning, the vet wasn’t even awake yet already doing his morning exercises.

The American looked up blearily to the Russian, one hand scratching his buzz cut head.

Mikhail looked grim. “Heavy call mother. Mother says that Electrician’s mother is cousin to her.”

Soldier mulled over the information. “So… your mama’s cousin is Private Zappy’s mama, so that makes us-

“Makes ME second cousin.” Mikhail insisted.

With an air of smugness, Jane flashed his left hand, displaying a wedding band. “Then I’m their second cousin in-law.”

Mikhail grumbled in annoyance and rolled his eyes, complaining in Russian. “Right. Sister Zhanna’s big mistake.”

With a sense of new found energy, Soldier stuck his chin up high and began marching towards your room, seemingly not aware that he was in only a pair of his tighty whiteys.

Mikhail sighed again but followed Jane regardless to tell you the news of your newfound family.

Medic (italics is German cuz lets be honest, who wants to translate all that)

After months of complaining to Pauling, asking for more on field medical help, upper management finally relented and hired a new mercenary, some bright young thing going by The Nurse.

You were studious, and compared to Ludwig you were very tamed. You saw this opportunity as a job to perform and not a way to finally experiment legally on people without getting arrested the way Ludwig does. You took your work seriously, dutifully dressing every wound, handing out pain medication, assisting Ludwig in his surgeries. You certainly helped lessen his work load during battle, helping with minor injuries so that the doctor could focus on his Ubercharge and on more serious injuries.

You two were professional to each other; despite showing you weren’t exactly sadistic you never chastised Ludwig for his somewhat cruel experiments, and you were always respectful to him and everyone else around you, which is something that impressed him (considering how noting the rest of the team is).

One day while experimenting on Heavy, you solemnly standing next to the doctor with your face covered like the good little health professional you were, the Medic fuzzed in German, adding, “I need a bone saw.”

Without him translating, you turned to your side and snatched the instrument off the tray, passing it to the doctor.

After a moment of thought, Ludwig spoke again. “You speak German?”

“Ja, I am from Germany after all.”

The russain’s rib finally took the blade and now was slicing easily. “What a coincidence. Which part?”

“Munich, but I left while I was very young when my family moved.” After another brief pause, you add, “I actually wanted to become a nurse because of Munich.

Ludwig didn’t mention that he, as well, came from the same city, rather, he decided to prod you and learn more. It was so rare to meet someone he could have a conversation in his mother tongue with.

“What in Munich made you want to become a nurse?” Reaching into Heavy’s chest with a scalpel, Ludwig began to sever the arteries attached to the heart.

“The University. My family lived nearby, and seeing the students come and go made me want to join them… actually a relative went there. My family was very proud of him and I wanted to go with him, but, ah, I was only a child.” Without being asked, you held out a silver pan that Ludwig deposited the heart.

The doctor started the timer, watching the mutilated chest cavity, waiting for the oregano to regrow due to his most recent experimental ‘medicine’. “Hmm, which relative?”

“Oh, my father’s brother’s wife’s…. something.” You replied idly, fetching a notebook and pencil to record the time. “Nephew or cousin’s nephew or something. It is a distant relation. Lost his license though.”

“Really? How?”

“He removed someone’s skeleton if you can believe it.”

Ludwig’s fist clenched so hard that the stopwatch broke. Dammit, now he has to start the experiment all over again.

[smol-nevi]

I don't generally make this kind of thing a habit, but I think if you happen to be on the Crystal RP Discord, aka @crystal-rp-ffxiv, you should probably be aware of this kind of behavior, so here goes.

If you're on Crystal RP and the admin team decides they don't like you, you're going to be living under a microscope while they wait for you to mess up, if not bait you, probably while making up conspiracies about you as well. As for how I know this, I was a moderator for about a week's duration and saw it first-hand.

Unapologetically lengthy post. Receipts in the link above, long version below the cut.

From the first time I looked in the mod chat I knew something was wrong. I read backwards in the channel, thinking I'd acclimate myself and see what kind of rules precedents had been set and that sort of thing. I mostly just found out that they had it out for a particular member (at the time using the name Jericho) for not much reason. They'd spent a troubling amount of time over the past few months watching him and another member like vultures, believing them to be the same person and waiting for them to make some kind of mistake that would justify banning both of them...despite keeping different schedules, having different personalities and typing habits, and visibly being two different people. The admin team had come to the conclusion that Jericho was a troll who wanted to make them look bad, and anything he said or did was scrutinized to a ridiculous degree for evidence that would corroborate their belief.

Except none of the things they believed at all were true: he'd had a minor argument via DM with the head admin Benjimir Thursby's wife, Tessariel Aerlinn, who had made an overly broad statement about anime and Asian culture. Jericho had told her that overgeneralization about 'Asian culture' is potentially racist, and she became extremely angry, saying that because she's Asian, she can't be racist against Asians. After that, it seemed that Jericho was considered fair game for whatever retaliatory actions the two of them could justify.

Even a cursory glance at actual racism in Asia pokes Tessariel's statement entirely full of holes, and having personally read the conversation I didn't see anything actually inaccurate in his statement even if she believed it didn't apply to her. I asked what he had done that would merit such a response, because it felt very disproportionate to anything I'd ever seen him do publicly, and that was what I was told. The exchange via DMs had been screencapped and kept in a channel for evidence, and while I didn't get a copy of it, I did read it, and I said that I thought it sounded awfully one-sided and punitive and would have been much better as an actual conversation. I also expressed that I was concerned how much of the channel had been solely devoted to what was basically a witch hunt, considering that some of the server members had over the course of the past couple of months commented that the admins' behavior towards Jericho seemed biased.

I basically got a pat on the head and told that my opinion was "valued" but wrong. This would happen a lot over the course of the week.

Shit continued to escalate. Their favorite punching bag, who was acutely aware of the grudge by now and probably trying to be nice and discuss something that he thought they could all talk about, brought up some articles that stated that LOTRO might be having a graphical overhaul. This actually ended in him being put into some kind of time-out mute, because "everyone knows those articles are debunked already" despite them still being hosted on reputable games news sites. Back-channel, the admin consensus was that he was in fact trying to bait Benjimir and Tessariel into somehow looking stupid in public, because [paraphrasing] 'he knows how important LOTRO is to them.'

Benjimir in fact went off publicly about how he knows the dev team and they sent him 'personalized swag' for 'being himself' and that everyone should just listen to him because he's right. Someone else made a reasonable request for sources on statements that Benjimir made about the LOTRO improvements not happening, and they immediately became the team's private #2 punching bag.

The whole time I reiterated that this was really uncomfortable and I had serious concerns about the way they were handling Jericho. And as always I received a pat on the head and was told to not worry about it, there were really good reasons for it, really. He was 'bringing down the quality of discourse' on the server somehow. Benjimir decided that the only way he would unmute Jericho is if Jericho talked directly to him, and that Jericho tried to talk to any of the more level-headed members of the team first was taken as obvious evidence that he wanted to evade rules and create problems. I asked when we planned to unmute him, and Tessariel immediately jumped to the conclusion that he had messaged me, which wasn't incorrect but the way she worded it felt highly accusatory and I was beginning to feel that I was also in trouble somehow for not agreeing with the rest of the team.

Things came to a head quickly when I woke up and looked at the mod chat and they were having an animated conversation that started with Benjimir asking if it was 'bad that he was laughing at Jericho' and most of the rest of the team talking about how he was stupid, uninformed, a troll, etc. for the sin of having some misgivings about cryptocurrency, of all the things. One of the mods self-described their behavior as bullying. I said that this was extremely unprofessional and that I thought they should keep conversation to actual moderation matters, and if they had a personal disagreement with a server member they should handle it in a personal venue, not via official server moderation channels.

I was, for the final time, patted on the head, and told that this was not something they would consider, because the moderation team 'needs to be able to vent for their mental health' (never mind that the job was not stressful except for the rest of the team committing worse behavior than the server members) and that maybe I was in fact too sensitive for the job. Benjimir heavily implied that I had become too close to Jericho and was being manipulated, managed to misgender me somehow despite my having used solely male or neutral pronouns the entire time I'd been on the server, and after relating a story in which a couple of years ago a well-liked moderator left after having the same complaints as I did (which he saw nothing at all troubling about), suggested that I should be demoted to babysitting the lore channel.

So I took some time to collect receipts, which are linked at the top of the post, and told him where to shove it.

Since that time, things have actually somehow gotten worse on Crystal RP. Benjimir posted an entire page screed vaguely talking about "rampant negativity" that stated anyone with questions should DM him.

Upon DMing him with questions, Jericho was banned, the only reason given being that he was a 'poor fit' for the server in some vague way. I was immediately banned afterwards for calling out this decision as being driven by a personal vendetta in the feedback channel and let him know afterwards via DMs in no uncertain terms that I had logged everything I needed and would be building my case (and that he is an asshole). Jericho was reinstated, though I'm not sure what the conditions of his return were as that was after my ban and I didn't ask since I didn't want to stress him out further. Benjimir also reprimanded someone for discussing asexuality, stating in a DM to them that the conversation was somehow ERP related. I called him out on this via DM as well. Tessariel was not much later caught posting my last DMs to Benjimir in an entirely unrelated server, though she didn't include the part after that where I brought up his aphobia (during Pride Month, in a server with a rainbow icon no less). Benjimir for some reason decided to suddenly start following my FC's Tumblr well after our falling-out.

And as of today (6/24), Crystal RP now has seven pages of draconian rules, because it wasn't micromanaged hard enough before or something. Notably, a lot of these rules describe behaviors that they wanted to punish Jericho for but couldn't at the time justify, or that they'd like to punish me for but have nothing they can do to me. Or they exist to justify their own behavior, as now seen in the very beginning of the channel:

"This approach also provides our volunteers with leeway to act in good faith without the burden befitting a professional occupation."

"So we afford them the means to speak openly, vent, lament, candidly and yes, sometimes crassly and raw about everything and one."

Not only did they behave unprofessionally and shit-talk before, they have now encoded in the rules that this is acceptable and even good moderator behavior, because they saw someone else do it so it's fine (a lot of this wording is very similar to what I was told when I protested it). So rather than address anything I ever said past or present, Benjimir is choosing to double down and giving himself and his team explicit permission to be shitty, right in the opening paragraphs where you'd have expected a mission statement or at least some sort of welcome.

Which is about all you need to know about that server and its owners, in my estimation. I'd considered not even posting to Tumblr about it, but given that it's only getting worse, I think it should be generally known that this is how you can expect to potentially be treated.

[famedroleplayarchive]

There won’t be an activity check today and you can count it as a free week because I have some big but hopefully not too big news. Famed is going to undergo a restructuring, and this is going to involve me asking everyone who would like to remain in the group to resubmit an application to keep their muse(s).

To be clear, this is not a complete revamp. Most of the major processes of how the roleplay work will not change and claims and development on muses will be able to be kept unless you put them in a majorly different position (in which case, claims that will no longer work can be refunded!), but the the size of the roleplay will be cut down over half from 135 spots to 65 spots. Many of the groups will be merged and all will be changed to some extent so that we have a total of thirteen groups, all with four to six members instead of the over twenty groups, many of which are rather large, we have now.

I want to disclaim that I know there will be members who connect less with the roleplay after the restructuring. I also want to apologize to anyone who is inconvenienced by the changes made, but please know I am only making these changes because I feel it is absolutely critical to the long-term life of the roleplay. A restructuring of some sort is something I’ve been thinking about for probably over a year or so now and I’ve been trying to avoid it for the sake of disrupting everyone as little as possible, but it’s become apparent to me that it’s necessary to keep the roleplay going, not because of member activity but because of my own ability to handle everything as an admin. I created Famed over four years ago when I was in a much different place in my life and had very little experience with idol roleplays and no experience at all running an idol roleplay, so I haven’t always been totally happy with how everything is set up. While I always did my best to make sure I was confident I could handle things before adding anything else onto my plate, naturally, several major life events have occurred over the past four years, especially the last one, that have altered the amount of time and energy I can commit to roleplaying, often making it draining and difficult to manage the group at its current scale.

Taking on another admin or mods would ultimately mean quite a bit more being required of me for at several months in order to evaluate any options presented to me and to help introduce a new person to all of the intricacies of the roleplay at a speed we’d both we comfortable with. It would also require me to be able to find someone I would be confident placing that responsibility on since I wouldn’t want to do it by half measures, which isn’t a guarantee. With all of that considered, I feel that this restructuring is the best course of action to keep the roleplay alive for the foreseeable future instead of risking my own discontent and stress leading to a fizzling out of the roleplay. The changes being made are all ultimately being made in hopes of making a more enjoyable and sustainable roleplaying experience in the long term for everyone involved, including me on the admin side and hopefully members as well!

Speaking of which, this will also be a chance for members to look at their own experience in the roleplay and muses and make their own changes to their muses as they find appropriate for improving their roleplay experience. I’ll be asking everyone to send in an updated application for the new changes since some details will probably have to change for every muse to some extent. Members are welcome to change what they feel necessary (or might be required by nature of the changes), from the muse’s group, to their position, faceclaim, age, background, etc. This means you’ll be able to pick new past claims made on your application too and a new past claims system is being put in place that will actually allow muses to have a more established career in their backstory! You’ll also be able to potentially refund points claims made that no longer fit changes you have to make to your muse, but that will be handled once the re-application process has been completed.

New main blogs have been created for the purpose of having a fresh start void of any old information that might still be lingering around blogs that will no longer be accurate. The new structure of the groups and companies can be found here on the new main (the URL will be changed to famedroleplay tomorrow!). On August 15 at noon EDT, exactly forty-eight hours after this post, I will be opening up for reserves to keep muses. You may only reserve spots for existing muses at this time, not for new muses, and muns will unfortunately now have to be limited to a maximum of three muses due to the decreased size of the roleplay.

Currently in-use faceclaims will be held for the muses they are used for unless the mun chooses to reserve a different faceclaim for the muse or until the period of accepting applications for keeping muses is up. Since groups, positions, and model groups have been moved around so much, I decided not to assume the assignment of positions to any muse, so it will be up to muns to reserve the spot they feel best suits their muse. Everyone will get a couple of days to look positions over before reserves are accepted to make the reserving of positions as fair as possible. I plan to do three acceptances on August 18, 22, and 25 that will be reserved solely for those applying to keep their muses, and the August 29 acceptances will be the first time we open for new muses again. Activity will start up as normal on August 22!

Members planning on keeping their muse may continue to write during this time if they’d like and work out that they’ll be keeping those plots, but points can’t be collected for anything that wasn’t already in progress since you might end up retconning it anyway.

Thank you all in advance for your understanding and I hope you’re able to find this exciting in some way! I know I’m hopeful for what I see as a fresh phase of Famed. Famed version 1.2, if you will. I’m aware this will likely be the end of the road for some who aren’t as interested in the new structure or can’t find muse within it or just don’t agree with my decisions, and to anyone who finds this to be your parting of ways with Famed, thank you for the time you did dedicate to the group! I do request to please avoid sending rude messages for the sake of being rude if the restructuring isn’t your cup of tea, but I will be sad to see anyone go who does leave. The alternative was me most likely, at best, having to put the roleplay on hiatus by the end of the year to take time to deal with real life, so this choice has been made so that I don’t have to do that and I can keep this home for so many wonderful muses running as long as possible!

A post with more information about the process of re-applying has already been posted to the new main by the time this post goes up. Check out the updated FAQ on that blog as well since it highlights a few of the more major changes already!

[saltyladynightmare]

Your Jiliu Au, you should totally start a fic on AO3 for it. Also, when does it take place? You mentioned it's Jedi critical. How critical are we talking and do the Jedi get better? Why do you consider the fic Jedi critical? You have me intrigued and I feel there are a lot of details in the two pieces you've shared that I'm not quite understanding. So feel free to splurge a little and hit me with an infodump on it.

This takes place in an Alternate Universe, about four an a half months into the Clone Wars. The Cannon Divergence began shortly after Anakin turned 13 years old (or so I'm claiming. I don't actually know very much about Anakin's apprenticeship...yeah. 13.) Why 13? It's very simple.

Anakin needs literal years of therapy for his literal years of mental, emotional, and physical abuse as a slave on Tatooine. 13 is about a year after Anakin apparently started getting to know Palpatine. I am going with the version of Cannon where Palpatine threatened Mace Windu if he didn't allow Palps access to kid! Anakin. At 12, I figure Anakin would be a ball of trauma, poorly bottled emotions, and several tangled knots of low self-esteem. A year gives Palps plenty of time to work. A year gives the Force enough time to get angry that it's literal child is being manipulated, and his guardians aren't even trying to help him. What do I mean by that?

Before I answer, I need to make somethings clear.

I like the Jedi. As individuals. I love a well written Mace Windu. Or even an okay written Windu. Yoda is a troll with a sense of humor I can get behind. Plo Koon. 'Nouph said. Obi-Wan Kenobi. Beautifully flawed human being that he is, he is, to a certain extent, very easy to write.

The Jedi culture has an unparalleled potential to be one of the most diverse, and wide spread found-family known to Science Fiction, if not The Most. What with how they accept members regardless of species, background, or talent. The only real requirement is that they must be Force Sensitive. Which just makes sense, really, given they are an order of Force Sensitives. I will not be trying to drag that through the mud, because a good chunk of it is...nice.

This fic is going to be exclusively through the perspective of Anakin, and his men. Anakin, in this fic, has spent the last decade getting all of the Jedi's worst traits dumped on top of him with very little help from within the Order. He has seen the good, but very rarely turned toward him...and that came from two people. Obi-Wan, whom I will be *hurting*, and Aayla, whom I love and who is much more observant and compassionate them she really has any right to be, given what I will be doing to her. The 501st, who will be having a rough four months in the War before meeting Anakin, and a rough...ten years or less before even that (Seriously, Rex's past will make you *feel* things if I have anything to say about it) are going to be insanely protective of Anakin. So all they are going to see is how they treat him, and hate it.

And, as the last thing for this list that I can think of for this moment, the point of this fic, is not to be Jedi Critical. I wanted a fic where Anakin was forced to be self sufficient, was forced to mature, had to be more then he was, or die. Only, I didn’t actually want that; I wanted to see what this new and improved Anakin would do. Forget the Growth, I wanted to see the results. A side effect of this is that it is Jedi Critical, because there is no way Anakin ‘I want to free all the slaves’ Skywalker was ever going to be truly happy as a Jedi ‘everything you do reflects on us, we are peace keepers’ Knight. Slave stealing is a very good way to make the Huts angry. Not exactly peaceful.

Will I be using things the Jedi messed up on to push Anakin more? Yes. Will I be doing it for the sole purpose of burning the Jedi at the stake? No. That is a waste of resources, and I am not in the business of such foolishness. Besides. People are rarely so simple.

Beyond that, I cannot get enough of the Overprotective Clones tag. Or the BAMF Clones tag. Except most of that seemed to focus on Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka, and the 212th, which, okay, but I want Anakin to be taken care of too. You can’t tell me that right there wouldn’t have helped...something. Clone piles, for the win. The closest one I could find was Soft Wars on ao3, but that was Anakin getting adopted as a kid, not as a brother, which is what I want. Also, I’ve been waiting for the fourth book in The Making of a Man for over a year now, and I’m salty. (by Project0506, Behold. a Gentle Man, excellent Kix & Anakin interaction, I strive to be so amazing, it is beautiful)

As for details that you may or may not be catching, well. You will have to be more specific because I know things that Kix and Anakin do not, and so it was written around. ;) All will become less foggy in due time.

Also I need questions, or I have no idea what you’re taking about, because I finished writing this stuff days and/or weeks ago, and have since moved on. On top of that, I have things I want to be a surprise (what is one thing that is a rarity for Anakin to do? This Anakin will be doing it.), or have made changes to my Universe so ‘long’ ago that it is now normal to the character and thus not something to spend more then a sentence on (tell me, do you know Anakin’s saber form? It’s good.)

Truly,

Salty Lady Nightmare

[rigelmejo]

march - just some thoughts

i have read more this month than any other month? and its not slowing down its only 3/12 so i have 2/3 of a month to go and i’ve read 26 chapters. even if these chapters are ‘short’ at 10 pages, if i wanna count by ‘20 page’ chunks i’ve still read 13 chunks so far. and i’ve still got more time in the month left. most other months i’ve managed to read ‘a lot’ i read 10-20 chapters. so i’m doing really good.

grammar is a weird thing? in reading i feel like its quite easy now to understand. when listening or watching - same. and yet if asked ‘why do i say/type X’ or ‘why is it written/spoken like X’ i have absolutely no explanation in my head. i could not explain the grammar if prompted. this puts me in a weird place and i feel like i SHOULD go over a grammar guide again just so i can WORD what i’m intuitively understanding.

this is a bit bizarre to me because within the first 6 months of study i DID read through an entire grammar guide just to get an idea of what i was about to look at, and it hardly made sense once actually reading/watching/listening. i understood the guide fine, but actually Seeing chinese i was still confused. i would reference AllSetLearning’s Chinese Wiki on some basic points, then after 6 months i just stopped. now its been what 1.5 years and - reading is so easy, listening is so easy, grammar wise. none of the grammar confuses me. but i no longer ‘explicitly’ have any idea what the fuck the grammar is. i used to. i studied it explicitly before trying to read/listen. and yet now that i can read/listen, i have no idea how to explain the grammar. i can listen to a podcast and i don’t think about what the grammar is i just get it. i read and just know what i’m looking at. its like english - i cannot fucking explain it. Which makes speaking/writing a bit hard. Because when i try to check if i’m right i have no fucking clue HOW anymore - i just say/write what comes to mind and HOPE it makes sense. i have no way to conciously check for errors except ‘does this feel right’? And that’s not good enough for me lol. So I definitely do need to eventually read a grammar guide for explicit explanations again.

Technically I think “English and Chinese Grammar Side By Side” grammar book would be an excellent one to use. Because i read the first 50 pages of it and it compared it to english (so it explained english too), and it was very easy to understand and started basic then got more involved. 

I’m probably gonna use my very old Chinese Grammar Self Taught by Thimm book instead. Just because I really like that book. Then I guess use another after (probably Basic Chinese Sentence Patterns since its modern and perfect for ‘catch your own mistakes’ study and much shorter than Eng+Chinese Grammar side by side). 

Anyway I’m in a very weird place right now lol. I know i’m understanding grammar that is stuff I never even studied initially in the grammar guide, but unable to explain what it is, and a lot of stuff i did explicitly study in a grammar guide i completely forgot the explanation for. My reading and listening is GREAT, because all my effort only has to go into learning new words lately! its relaxing! Its the only part i need to do! But my writing/speaking i am very concerned about because being able to check myself for mistakes is something i’d like the ability to do.

how grammar is presented really makes a difference in how well i get it. there is some serious benefit to ‘show simple first then build up what you know’ that text books tend to prefer. versus like grammar reference books that may start with some in depth stuff.

i tried to read a japanese grammar guide the other day and 1 it was great but 2 it covered some ADVANCED stuff i never learned in genki 1+2, and so it was Explicit grammar description of stuff i had literally years ago been immersing in japanese and Still not conciously known about. So i felt. Overwhelmed lol. I felt so confused. I feel like I might switch to Tae Kim’s grammar guide primarily just because its structured with basics covered first. and i feel like until the basics are again glued into my brain, seeing even more advanced stuff just confused me so much i had no idea how to remember it. which is funny because? my usual strategy with grammar guides is to just read it and let what sticks stick and what is confusing be moved on from, in the hope i will later see it again and understand it better. so like based on what i usually do i should’ve just been able to read through it (and i’m gonna try anyway lol). but truly japanese grammar just... my mind does not like wrapping around it and remembering it. (chinese grammar is so much easier for me... so much easier....;-; )

i have been tempted to just Restart Nukemarine’s LLJ (Lets Learn Japanese) memrise decks, because I KNOW they worked for me last time really really well. And they include Tae Kim grammar lessons. And I know if i did it then maybe i’d get back to where i was years ago pretty fast.

I tried Earthlingo app. Its a cool idea, I don’t think its worth it though unless you planned to get Rosetta Stone (since Earthlingo is FREE). Earthlingo features 1000 words per language, taught to you by exploring video game worlds as an alien. Its a cool concept, but since all words seem to be nouns then you aren’t even learning the most common verbs/adjectives. And 1000 words is not a lot. And you could learn 1000 quite fast if using srs flashcards like Memrise or Anki (think weeks if you push yourself, and a month or two months if going at a regular pace). Earthlingo you have to slowly explore the worlds so that eats time, you have to choose to test yourself (so you don’t review nearly as often as flashcard apps), and one test includes walking around the world clicking the object which you’re given the word for (takes time to find the right object). All this means a word that might take maybe 15 minutes to study over a few weeks, might instead take much longer to study and learn. I don’t use duolingo because it generally covers so few words (usually 2000-4000 i think which is good for a beginner resource but you have to do the WHOLE course to get to all those words and i take so long on duolingo that could take YEARS for me versus a month on a flashcard app or clozemaster). Duolingo I also don’t use because it very slowly paces learning material (it takes me months/years to get through 1000 words on duolingo - just personally i go so slow on it, i think faster people would find a use for it). Likewise Lingodeer takes me AGES to get through (and i think covers 2000 words nowadays? I’m shocked Duolingo has more words for the japanese course tbh). However, Lingodeer is by far the best ‘app’ for Japanese grammar lessons in app practice form. Even if basically all the apps feel pretty slow to me in how fast they give you new info. Earthlingo is cool that its free, and for learners 12 and under i think it would be super useful as a way to engage them and keep them studying (since what child likes flashcards? whereas as a child i would’ve loved this). But as an adult Earthlingo is sooooo slow on how fast you can learn words, and it does not even offer very many words (1000 is a nice bare minimum but without verbs/adjectives it can only be a supplementary learning tool for beginners at best).

Link about Lingodeer having 2000 words in a course. (Since its SO hard to lookup how much vocabulary lingodeer includes :c )

Nukemarine’s LLJ memrise decks (which I’m considering going through again but ToT agh flashcardssssss.... they sure do work though agh)

http://www.chinese-grammar.com/beginner/ - this is the site I read a chinese grammar guide on at like Month 3. I am rereading it now maybe it will help me remember wtf grammar explicitly is. ToT (A tip, read Beginner, Intermediate, Advanced sections). Last time I visited the site you just clicked a section, then saw each fully explained grammar point and clicked ‘next’ it was nice. Now its laid out a little less ideal for me, but its still got all the same nice info! (Also honestly if you are a beginner I really DO like this grammar guide... it introduces basic info first, gradually gets more complex, and i could follow its logic knowing like 200 hanzi and 100 words ToT. its very easy to understand even if it takes a while to apply that info).

im probably gonna read hanshe more today. i’m at the point where either i know enough vocab, or the writers style has just ‘clicked’ idk. but now i just am not getting bogged down by unknown words and am just. speeding through enjoying the plot. Also rip me this novel has 155 chapters and im only on chapter 30.

watching japanese lets plays is really fun! i feel like im 3 years old cause i just see nouns i can learn pretty easy in context cause i know the game well, and hear some vaguely familiar verbs, but its fun! also it helps i know kingdom hearts 2 like by heart so. a lot of it makes me instantly cheerful and nostalgic. roxas’s voice is so cute in the japanese version.

oh i almost forgot: I found a book recently for chinese that for it’s like 10 page grammar guide summary at the beginning ALONE i think is more than worth the 4 dollars it costs to get. It has a ton of compound words and its a reference book in mandarin and cantonese (it has pronunciation for both, all characters are in traditional). I got it initally because it as a bunch of compound words and I’d like to get better at knowing a lot of common ones. But the intro to the book has a page explaining sentence structures in chinese, then examples. Its so straightforward and to the point. I love it. The book is “Understanding Chinese: A Guide to the Usage of Chinese Characters” by Rita Mei-Wah Choy. (There is also a companion book for individual hanzi, which is nice but this book specifically I’m finding more useful).

what i really like about Listening-Reading method, and reading, as study activities: no matter how I do them it is only improvement. I have a tendency to ‘redo’ material i don’t feel i fully mastered, or refuse to move on. So when i have duolingo, flashcards (sometimes i can move on if i ignore reviews/make myself do new stuff), books, grammar guides, self guided classes - i have a tendency to redo the material. over and over. and not progress and challenge myself. whereas with reading - every time i look up a word its useful because its new or something i clearly Need to review (not something i’ve actually learned and can move past reviewing). so whether i reread material or read new stuff, as long as i run into things i find somewhat challenging (feel the desire to word look up), i know i am running into new material i can learn. Same with listening-reading method: whether i finish a book or just skip to random books, any new chapter i do will give me new words to learn/remember (until i’ve reached a point of perfect listening comprehension which is a WAYS away). There’s no way for me to mess it up. I can give up a book im bored with, i don’t have to stick to one resource to the end. 

someone tell me why professionally made chinese audio books almost NEVER line up to the chapters???? whyyyyy ;-;

Even More Notes lol:

So I read so much in Pleco, which auto pronounces, I have COMPLETELY forgot. 得 地 - for these two, when they’re attached after a description like 淡淡 慢慢 高兴 etc, when are they pronounced di versus de???? i’m pretty sure  得 is pronounced de when its an adjective like ‘-ly’. but for  地, i don’t remember if when part of a describer if its pronounced di or de????

[mollymauk-teafleak]

Heart and Liver

Stephen and Crane are getting ready to uproot their lives and move across the globe to Shangai. Which means Stephen needs to get his mouth around an entirely new language, something he clearly isn't very comfortable with.

But Crane has a way to get him to loosen up.

--------

I apologise for any mistranslations in this text, I've used online articles and am very aware it won't reflect the dialect used in Shangai in the Victorian Era. Sometimes you just hear the song Sunrise from In The Heights early in your adolescence and your taste for Person A teaching Person B their language fics is solidified.

---------

Please consider leaving a comment on Ao3 and reblogging! <3

----------

Stephen Day was a very good teacher.

Crane had seen the evidence himself multiple times. He’d seen him talk Miss Saint through the drills he gave her, the way he would correct her mistakes in ways that built her up rather than made her feel small, that steered her towards improvement rather than smacked her down, the way he would praise her effusively even after she’d just launched a gust of wind that had knocked him back on his arse. He’d seen the way that Saint looked at him after she’d mastered some new technique that was incomprehensible to Crane, after hours and hours of patience and encouragement from Stephen. Even through her street sharpened exterior, she would look at him like he’d hung the moon.

And he’d felt it himself, whenever the vast gulf between the worlds they knew would mean Stephen had to explain some magical phenomenon to him. His hands would twitch and turn as he spoke, like he was physically untangling the words themselves to make them understandable. Even if after he was done Crane could only smile and shake his head and shrug, expecting his lover to give up, Stephen would just launch into a slightly tweaked version of his explanation. He’d liken it to something Crane would grasp, analogise etheric currents to stocks and bonds or, in one memorable instance, translocation spells to this thing Crane would do to Stephen in bed whenever he’d either been very good or very bad. And then suddenly things would click in his mind and what, a few years ago, would have sounded like a fairy tale made sense to him.

He’d even seen him do it with Merrick a few times, the usually gruff manservant had taken one look at what Stephen could do with a pack of cards and began watching his hands very, very attentively whenever they’d all sit down to play of an evening. Even then, Stephen had recognised a different, slightly more hesitant student and adjusted his teaching style accordingly. He’d said nothing, he’d just made his movements slower, clearly telegraphed every twist of his slender wrists, casually dropped the names of the maneuvers he was making into conversation. He’d even deliberately flubbed the shuffles a few times, just so Merrick could see the mechanism more clearly as he righted it. It had worked as well as any of his other methods, Crane felt sorry for the boiler room lads on their boat to Shanghai, likely the first people his friend would approach with his new skills.

Stephen was indeed a brilliant teacher. He was patient, kindly when needed, firm when it was called for and always gave everything he had to helping his student achieve their goal. He cared, as simple as that.

So it was both a surprise and a shame that Stephen was such an appalling student.

Crane shifted on the bed, trying to fidget away his growing impatience, along with the growing cramps in his long legs, “Try again, you’re putting too much emphasis on the second syllable. Hunzhang.”

Stephen huffed, arms folding tighter, “I’m putting emphasis on the second syllable because you told me I was putting too much on the first!”

Crane stamped down an urge to laugh that would definitely get him kicked out of the bedroom. Stephen was just inexplicably adorable when he was irritated, it was like watching a puppy bare its teeth.

“Come on, listen to how I say it. Hunzhang.”

Stephen gave him a truly devastating eye roll but he sat up straighter against the bolsters and tried again, “Hunzhang.”

Crane grinned, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. Not something he’d ever dare do in one of his fine suits but the sun had long since gone down and he was in his shirtsleeves. Stephen was considerably less dressed, wearing nothing but an older shirt of Crane’s he tended to sleep in. Or get fucked in, more often, but that was having to wait for the language lesson.

“Hark at you! You’d fit right in, any trading floor in Shanghai,” Crane beamed appreciatively. He was being generous, Stephen’s pronunciation was dire but that shirt was riding up and he could see enough freckled thigh to earn some praise, “And what does it mean?”

His little witch pulled a face, “Bullshit. Because, for some reason, you think learning how to curse up one side of someone and down the other is going to help me in Shangai.”

“It’s how I learned,” Crane shrugged languidly, “And you’d be surprised how far a few well placed insults can get you.”

Stephen’s mouth tightened at the corners, his tone staying mildly irritated but that slightest pull of muscle betraying his anxiety, “I’m going to stick out enough on my own without accidentally calling someone a stupid egg of all things.”

Crane’s teasing smile softened. Their departure date was now less than a month away and he could tell Stephen’s nerves were growing by the day. As they prepared to pack up their lives and move to the other side of the world, he could see those lines around his tawny eyes deepening. Part of the reason for this language lesson was to get Stephen more comfortable with the idea, give him some sense of control over the situation so he didn’t feel so much like he was being thrown into deep, unfamiliar water.

Part of the reason why Crane wished it was going better.

“You’re not going to stick out,” he said firmly, reaching over and taking one of Stephen’s hands that had started to twitch and fidget nervously on the bed, “We’re going there so we can belong. You’ll see.”

Stephen nodded slowly, his anxious hands stilling as Crane’s slender fingers stroked the hills and valleys of their calluses and knuckles. Any attention to his hands and the younger man instantly melted, becoming pliant and gentle, receptive to even more language lessons.

“Let’s run through a few words that won’t get you punched in the teeth then?”

Stephen blinked warily, “God, how likely is that?”

Crane had to laugh, “Honestly, quite likely someone will swing for you. Impossible that any will actually land seeing as I’ll be knocking them into the dirt.”

That made him grin toothily, “Defending my honour?”

“The amount of time I spend defending you from people you piss off, might as well call it my profession,” Crane raised his eyebrows teasingly, “But you’re not changing the subject that easily, darling. Let’s see…”

Crane’s cool grey eyes wandered the room. They hadn’t started packing yet- that would be a job for the next few weeks- so the evidence of their secret shared life was still scattered all over the place. There were a few ties carefully hung on the back of the door from Crane choosing which one he wanted to wear that morning, draped next to Stephen’s ratty old coat. There were Stephen’s books on the occult stacked neatly alongside Crane’s stories of far flung places and grand adventures that he’d been reading since he was a little boy, for escape back then and for nostalgia now. There was the scuff marks on the carpet where Stephen would pace whenever some case had been bothering him or the twin marks running parallel to those where Crane would pace with ledgers in hand. Behind these walls, their lives could get hopelessly, wonderfully tangled like they were meant to be. And given that neither man was particularly good at keeping things neat, that left plenty of items and plenty of words.

Crane took a moment, considering before giving him an easy one, “Xié.”

Stephen sat up a little straighter, eyes brightening now he actually had an answer, “Shoes.”

Crane nodded, gesturing towards their shoes, standing side by side at the foot of the wardrobe. Crane’s significantly larger and better made, Stephen’s smaller and far more scuffed from running.

“Shūjià,” he chose next, smile turning challenging.

Stephen clearly stumbled at that, brow furrowing for a few minutes before answering hesitantly, “Book?”

“Close!” Crane said encouragingly, “Bookshelf. Book would be Shū but you can hear how the words sound similar.”

His tone didn’t seem to have done it’s job, Stephen’s face crashed, “Right. I only missed half the damn word.” He took his hands back, folding his arms tightly around his narrow chest again.

Crane knew if Stephen felt dejected, if he felt like he had failed even in the slightest respect, it was so hard to get him going again. For someone who could do impossible things, he didn’t have a lot of faith in himself.

“Come on, one more,” he said, quickly veering away from that word, “You’re on one and a half already! Try...um...Chuáng.”

Stephen opened his mouth, closed it again, cast his eyes around helplessly. After a few moments he groaned, shoulders dropping, “Lucien, I don’t know…”

“You do, you’re just tired,” Crane sighed, a little lost on how to sound encouraging but not patronising, that would absolutely bring this to an end if Stephen caught the slightest hint of pity in his voice, “Chuáng, it's right under your nose. Right under all of you, actually.”

His witch frowned at him, frustration clearly kindled and flaring behind his eyes, “What? Lucien, if you have to give me hints I clearly don’t know the word.”

Crane rather felt like somehow who’d realised that was in fact a waterfall his boat was about to topple over. He cleared his throat and learned back, reevaluating. He was starting to worry that maybe Stephen wasn’t such a bad student, maybe he was just a terrible teacher.

So he would go for something they were both good at instead.

“It was the word for bed,” he skipped lightly over it, his confident smile reignighting, “But I have a new game.”

Stephen exhaled, eyes closing in exasperation, “Lucien, I’m burned out on language learning, can’t we just go to sleep? It was hard enough for me to read and write English, let alone a completely different tongue.”

That very obvious, very heavy shift in the air between them, the kind that only happened when someone had let something slip, when some words had bolted and run loose when they really weren’t meant to. And if it wasn’t obvious already, Stephen’s face had turned roughly the same colour as his hair.

Crane proceeded carefully, so carefully, “What do you mean by that, love?”

His lover seemed to fold in on himself, like a nocturnal animal caught out in the daylight, “I...it’s a practitioner thing. They call it word blindness, I think. When I was a child, I...I struggled. Reading, writing, speaking, all of it. They just wouldn’t stay still on the page or stick in my head. Esther had the same thing when she was a girl and you know Saint’s never got the hang of it but she gets along fine. I...I thought I was just an imbecile for years, that's what all my teachers said, until I realised what I actually was. Until I realised I can manipulate metal and make things levitate easier than I can write my own name.”

Crane watched his love’s face carefully, making certain to keep his own free of any trace of pity even when his heart ached a little for the boy Stephen had been, “Just when I think I can't admire you any more, you go and surprise me.”

If Stephen was red in the face before, he was positively vermillion now, though the hope hesitantly creeping into his eyes offset it nicely, “You find it admirable that I was nearly illiterate until I turned twenty?”

“That you tried,” Crane said simply, warmly, “That you didn’t give up even when you were put through so much. That you’ve gotten through everything life threw at you with sheer determination and spit.”

Stephen didn’t have an answer for that, squirming in that adorable way he did when he was overwhelmed with praise, like it all went straight to his nerve endings, “I mean...it’s making learning Shangaiese a pain.”

“And if you want to take a break, of course we can,” Crane shifted forward, moving into a crouch not unlike a hunting animal about to pounce, close enough that he caught every millimeter as Stephen’s pupils widened, “But I think I have one more idea I’d like to try. If you’re willing?”

Stephen had stopped squirming, pinned under that gaze, swallowing hard, “One more?”

Crane felt that twinge in his chest, the spark of triumph whenever he got this little witch who could throw him across the room with a single thought to bow to his whims.

He deliberately lowered his voice until it was a rumble in his chest, leaning closer until he could graze Stephen’s earlobe with his teeth, “Why don’t you tell me what you’d like to say?”

Stephen’s exhale was shaky, the want rolling off of him, “How...how do you say ‘kiss me’?”

Crane chuckled roughly, “Wěn wǒ. Though I don’t think that’s really what you want, sweet boy. It’s a little...chaste?”

He heard his lover’s coy answering laugh echo through his through, “To start. Wěn wǒ.”

The pronunciation could still use a little work but that was the last thing on Crane’s mind as he answered the request eagerly, moving back and pressing his lips to Stephen’s. He felt his little witch moan and melt into it, arms coming up to wrap around his shoulders and anchor them together. The scrape of stubble against his chin as he deepened their kiss told of the hectic few days Stephen had been having, so much happening at the justiciary that he hadn’t even had time to shave. Crane knew how lucky he was to be getting a whole evening with him and didn’t intend to waste it.

He could feel Stephen’s hands pulling at his shirt, trying to undress him, so he moved away and took hold of those skinny wrists, “You need to ask me.”

Stephen moaned in frustration but Crane rather thought it was his cock talking, the gleam of competition was still shining in those eyes rapidly turning golden, “Fine. My lord, how do I ask you to take off your clothes so you can fuck me silly?”

Crane had to laugh at that, “Well, I’ll shorten it for brevity but...Tuō diào nǐ de yīfú.”

Stephen’s eyes widened for a moment but then his face set determinedly, “Say it again? Slower?”

A mix of relief and pride in his lover made him smile down at him before obeying. He saw that fight in Stephen, the one he’d always admired, the one that had saved their skins on multiple occasions. Granted, it was a little different given that he was clearly aroused and sprawled out on the pillows like a half unwrapped gift.

“Tuō diào nǐ de yīfú.”

Again, the pronunciation was a horror and he wobbled his way through the unfamiliar sounds but he would have been understood at least. Not that he’d be saying it to anyone but Crane, in China or England.

Crane didn’t try to hide his delighted grin as he swept his shirt grandly over his head, followed swiftly by his trousers and everything underneath. He folded it all neatly before returning to the bed, he was never going to understand his lover’s willingness to just toss his clothes all over the place.

The way Stephen’s eyes blew wide at the sight of him was enough for even Crane to plumb new depths of vanity, “God, Lucien…”

“You see me sans modesty most every day, love,” he pointed out, though he wasn’t complaining.

“And I use my magic every day,” Stephen tilted his head slightly so the lamplight caught in his hair and turned it to gold, “It doesn’t mean it’s any less like having a weight taken off my chest.”

Crane didn’t know how he did it, how Stephen somehow found the right strings to pull and send him reeling out of nowhere. How he pulled the ground out from under him without a thought, how he looked right under his skin to the very soul of him and, somehow, found reasons to love it.

How he left him with no answer but to rush forward and kiss him again, forgetting the rules of his own game. Stephen made a noise of happy surprise, moving to match him, hands beginning to wander eagerly, leaving tingling trails across his lover’s skin to mark their passage.

But apparently Crane had sparked some curiosity.

When Stephen took his cock in his clever champagne fingers, he gasped against Crane’s mouth, “And what would I call this?”

His words came out significantly breathier as that fizzing, popping sensation wrapped around him, “There’s a few terms. I’d say ​​jība…”

“Jība,” it was impossible to care about the shaky syllables when he rolled it around his mouth in that unbearably sensual way, when he stroked a calloused thumb across the underside of the thing in question as he said it, “But there’s other ways of saying it?”

“A few more colourful phrases,” Crane admitted, “As in every language I expect but- oh God, Stephen…”

“We can review a few of those later then,” the smile on his face was nothing short of cheeky and he was going to be paying for that very shortly, “And...what exactly are you planning on doing with it, my lord?”

Crane smirked, it’s wickedly sharp edge making it clear that he was very much in control of this lesson and Stephen could just take a step back and remember his place, “Xìngjiāo. Hard and fast and thoroughly until you can’t walk.”

The effect was immediate, his lover turning pliant and wide eyed as Crane put a hand on the small of his back and dragged him closer. The hand snapped away from his cock and instead hovered around his chest with the other like nervous birds waiting for commands.

“Shì de…” he whispered after a moment of thought, eyes sparking with pride in himself though his face stayed carefully obedient.

Well, that went and did it.

Stephen was on his back in an instant, Crane seizing his ankles. Stephen cried out as his knees were shoved to his chest, as the shirt he wore rucked up around his stomach, all of him exposed and ready to be taken. So beautiful, so fragile and given to him so willingly.

“Xīngān…” The word escaped him even without thinking, like it was his heart speaking instead of his head.

Stephen’s lips parted softly, his eyes liquid amber, “What does that mean?”

Lucien’s smile softened slightly, even as he parted his legs further, as he let his hunger flow to the surface.

“Why don’t I show you first?”

After, everything was hot and heavy and heaving, Stephen reclining in Lucien’s arms and waiting for the room to stop spinning around him.

There was so much he wanted to say, as ever, thousands of emotions he wanted to name in the wake of feeling so completely loved but he knew they’d come out muddy and less than what he felt inside him.

Instead he reached up a still trembling hand and traced the line of Lucien’s jaw with a fingertip, “So...what does it mean?”

His lover’s eyes had been closed but now one opened slightly, like a contented cat lying in the sun, “Hm? What’s that, darling?”

“That thing you called me as you took me. Xīngān. What does it mean?”

An uncharacteristic edge of coyness slipped into his voice, one that would only ever come out when it was just the two of them, “Ah. Well. Literally? It means ‘heart and liver’.”

Stephen barked out a raspy laugh, incredulous and delighted, “Excuse me? That was what you chose to call me?”

His laughter was clearly infectious, Lucien shook under him with helpless chuckles, “I know how it sounds but…”

There was a moment, one of those moments where Stephen felt his lover made a choice. They happened often when they were alone together and it would have been so easy to read them as hesitancy. Before, when Stephen had been new to this, when he’d been less sure of himself, that’s exactly what he’d thought it was. He’d taken it to mean Lucien’s heart was already wandering, already thinking of the next man in his bed, fixing a mask in place before every term of endearment.

But he knew better now. He knew that pause, that moment where Lucien chose, was the breath he needed to go against everything he’d been taught. The choice he made in those moments was to open himself up and soften when the world had always forced him to stay out of sight and harden against everything that hurt him.

He moved slightly, letting Stephen turn so they could look into each other’s eyes, “It means ‘heart and liver’ because those are organs you can’t live without. And your Xīngān is the person you can’t live without, the person who you aren’t whole without. And for me, well...that’s you, sweet boy.”

“Lucien…” Stephen murmured, pressing a hand to his chest, “You’ll never have to live without me. Not here, not in Shanghai, nowhere in this world. I’m yours.”

“My heart and liver,” Lucien chuckled softly, cradling Stephen’s face in the softest touch.

“Xīngān,” he breathed, in the moment before their lips came together.

Stephen Day was a terrible student. But he was learning.