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nikkoliferous · 4 years ago

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Phase One: Thor

Since I was looking up my past live-blog of the novel and realising how annoying and repetitive reading through it all is because of my having structured it as a bunch of reblogs, I’ve decided to organize it all into one long-ass post instead. In case anyone else wants to read it in the future. Or in case I decide to re-read it. Because I’m hilarious. 😅

SO WITHOUT FURTHER ADO

My Hilarious Yet Wrathful Overview Of Phase One: Thor, Redux

—

If your son who’s to become king requires a babysitter to not screw it all up and also the idea of him being king is stressful enough to put you into a coma, maybe, uh… reconsider doing that? Just a thought.

But you see here why Odin was so deadset on Thor becoming king, despite him being ill-suited for the role. It’s not about what’s best for Asgard; it’s about personal legacy. Thor is Odin’s mini me, and Loki is very much not. There are places within the text where Odin laments Thor “lacking his father’s wisdom” (he’s definitely inherited your humility, though, Odin!), but he hopes for Thor to grow into a “wise king” like himself. Whereas he holds no such illusions (lol, pun) that Loki will ever take after him.

now with tag commentary! #this scene is in the script and both novelizations #(though in reading this novel seems to just be a more complete version of the junior novel? #idk i'm confused because they're supposedly written by different authors but so far the text is identical) #and it drives me insane each time i read it

“Haha, I’m a warmongering piece of shit, isn’t it funny?”

I know, I know. I try to cut Asgard some slack for being such a militaristic culture because social changes happen slowly and when you live for thousands of years per generation, it makes sense that your views on things like war would be regressive. The text says Odin has ruled Asgard for tens of thousands of years (so much for taking Loki’s “give or take 5,000 years” line literally; sure, the Odinsleep would have extended Odin’s lifespan, but by that much? Idk).

Still, fuck Odin. Especially since he’ll eventually try to shame Loki for doing the same thing he’s fucking boasting about here. And on a much smaller scale too.

…is it, though?

I actually think Loki’s relationship with being the centre of attention is really interesting in its complexity and we don’t discuss it enough. I’ve said this before, but he strikes me as the sort of person who craves attention but also wouldn’t really know what to do with it if he had it. He craves it as a result of neglect, because he’s never been shown recognition or validation. This is why he seems to revel in it in Stuttgart, even in (or maybe especially in?) his brainwashed state. But he also frequently comes across as pretty introverted and has horrible self-esteem, so I think on another level, sustained, genuine attention would make him feel kind of uncomfortable. Loki seems to believe that in order to be loved or respected, he has to literally be Thor, though. And Thor has always been the centre of attention, so for Loki, attention is synonymous with respect.

I find Loki’s relationship with wanting attention especially fascinating because I too both crave and fear it. As a borderline, I need it. When no one is paying attention to me, I lose my sense of identity. I feel as though I literally cease to exist. It’s excruciatingly painful. And yet, I have no authentic sense of self; I’m just a chameleon, and the closer people get to me, the more likely it is they’ll see behind my mask. They’ll realise it’s all a show and that I’m actually no one. And then they’ll leave. I can’t help wondering if that’s how Loki feels sometimes too.

Wait, what? You mean goat. His horns are shaped like a goat’s. This is a ram:

This is a goat:

This is Loki:

Do you see now? They’re like a goat. Not a ram. Not a cow. A GOAT.

This book was written before Ragnarok was a thing, so it may be unfair to connect the two, but it still seems worth noting that it was Thor who reduced Loki to being no more than a trickster to begin with. “You could be more,” my ass. Loki’s problem has never been that he was one-dimensional; it was always that the people in his life, including Thor, refused to see any other dimensions to him. Which makes those words particularly cruel—as if they aren’t cruel enough already, what with the physical torture and all.

Always happy to have cause to point out that

Loki was on Thor clean-up duty their whole lives; he certainly was not trying to kill Thor.

People like to point to Loki’s attempted genocide of the Jötnar and attempted(-ish? lol) conquest of Earth as proof that he’s some kind of violent maniac. But in a little place I like to call reality, Loki was historically far less aggressive and bloodthirsty than his peers.

Question: why is one conqueror evil and the other is righteously entitled to ruling over the Nine Realms?

Asgardian exceptionalism FTW

I can’t even begin to imagine what would lead you to expect such a thing, Odin. 😂

Uh, ‘cause it is?? And also their planet is MELTING without it??

This is all only within the first two chapters, btw. Lmao

—

“Looking for answers,” my foot.

YOU WOULD THINK SO, WOULDN’T YOU??

#i mean unless you knew heimdall #he only commits treason on days that end in y

—

What’d I say? Thor clean-up dutyyyyy

Just wanna remind everyone that this

is why he’s smiling during this scene

because it makes me laugh every time. 😂

—

My heart breaks every time I remember that second excerpt because literally ALL OF IT happened to him when he survived falling through the wormhole. My poor boy. 😭

But also of note… Loki gets cold (and also does not like being cold). This interests me because 1) as many are aware, the prevalent headcanon that Loki has a low body temperature irritates me and 2) it possibly(?) lends weight to the theory that he may not be fully Jötun, whether by virtue of his birth or Odin’s spell.

Haha, look at this Feminist Icon™ trying to take credit for his female friend’s accomplishments! Truly inspiring.

#for some reason the ragnarok lovers have somehow decided that thor is both a feminist and lesbian icon #whatever that means 🤷‍♀️ #and i'm still trying very hard to figure out why #is it literally just because he *says* he respects women or whatever in that dumb rambly conversation with valkyrie?

Ooh… you were so close to getting the point, Volstagg. So close. Take your tongue off Odin’s boot for just a couple minutes longer.

Also, the author just forgot the name of the Casket. How did this book get published? 😂

JUST LOOKING FOR ANSWERS, HUH?

Because fuck Loki, amirite? He, uh… he’s a prince too, you know.

Also… Fandral, you dweeb 😂

…am I reading too much into this, or did Odin just literally forget that Loki exists?

On the other hand, the author also seemed to forget Loki existed for most of this chapter, so who knows. 🤷‍♀️

lmao @ Jane immediately trying to convince herself she’s too rational to be attracted to a stranger

Honestly, though, big mood.

Just your periodic reminder that Thor’s sycophantic friends KNEW Loki was right and decided to throw him under the bus anyway.

Just as I’ve always said: That was it. That was their ENTIRE rationale. That Loki *could* have done it, therefore he must have. Please tell me these people have nothing to do with Asgard’s justice system.

…lol, jk, Asgard has no justice system.

Ok, first of all, no.

Second: thank you, Fandral. You’re a self-absorbed cad, but also evidently Thor’s least stupid friend.

Thirdly, how…? First, it was, “Loki arranged all this because he’s jealous of Thor.” Now they’ve suddenly jumped all the way to, “All of Asgard is in danger.” What exactly does Sif think Loki is planning? He’s gonna, what… assassinate Odin and then sell Asgard to the Jötnar?

—

Please stop hurting me.

Just so there’s no confusion: this one sentence explains everything Loki did for the rest of the movie. It explains how a person who has been historically non-aggressive suddenly transforms into a warmonger. To prove himself a real Asgardian, like his brother and father and grandfather.

—

…why did Odin fall into the Odinsleep in two completely different scenes in this book? I’m super confused.

Also, we really need to talk about how cruel it is of Marvel to keep forcing Loki to prove his loyalty again and again and again when he’s been doing so almost literally since we met him. And by “we need to talk about it”, I mean I need to tie Kevin Feige and co. to a chair and spend a minimum of five hours lecturing them on how poorly they understand their own fucking character.

Let’s just be clear here: they’re talking about Loki. They’re saying Loki, their LEGITIMATE king, is an enemy of Asgard, based on evidence so paper-thin it’s practically invisible. Just… please, let that sink in. Take a moment to appreciate how utterly fucked up that is.

I’m sorry (not really), but Thor was so much funnier before Ragnarok.

This scene has always kind of bugged me. If Odin removed Thor’s powers, how come he can still control the weather? Confusing.

So what exactly was Thor’s plan anyway, before he realised he couldn’t lift Mjölnir? He was just gonna call on Heimdall to help him commit treason AGAIN, show up on Asgard against the expressed command of his king, and… Odin would just shrug and be like, “You got me, son! I guess I can’t keep you down. Welcome home!”?

…I mean, I guess that more or less is what happened in the end, but it’s hard to imagine it would have still gone down that way without all the stuff that happened with Loki. Idk.

#look what i'm saying is... thor is not exactly a thinking person #no one on asgard is a thinking person #except loki but he's crazy now so he's also thinking somewhat poorly lol

Cool, Thor. Now imagine feeling that way for ONE THOUSAND YEARS and develop a little fucking empathy for your brother.

But you won’t.

You’ll brush off his feelings of worthlessness as “imagined slights”. 😒

Nice that somebody knows how the royal line of succession works, I guess…

That sound you hear? Yeah, that’s just my heart breaking. NBD.

First, they mislabelled it the Casket of Eternal Winters. Now it’s the Cask of Ancient Winters. Author must have been thirsty when they wrote this. Lol

Look, not to nitpick, but this is not the recommended procedure when you see a storm that you don’t believe is of supernatural origin coming. I’m just saying. Lol

Uh… ‘cause he is?? And your pals are committing treason AGAIN, Thor, so it technically is responding to a threat to Asgard. Just FYI.

Anyways, this is an important point that doesn’t get made often enough. People want to act like Loki illegally usurped the throne somehow, but even without the deleted scene that explicitly shows Frigga passing rulership to him (a scene which is, for some reason, entirely skipped over in this book, but whatever), understand this: Loki could not have controlled the Destroyer unless he was legitimately King of Asgard. The fact that he’s able to do so is irrefutable proof that his rulership is valid.

lmao you little shit

So… here’s my issue with this scene (and with Thor as a character): He always assumes that Loki’s acting out specifically to hurt him. That Loki’s entire life and thought process revolves around Thor. He does it in this scene, he does it in The Avengers… it’s just a chronic thing with Thor. Everything is viewed through the lens of Loki inexplicably hating him.

But that’s… just not accurate. Yes, Loki harbours a lot of jealousy towards Thor. But that’s not what’s happening in this scene. Loki is not trying to kill Thor here because he wants him dead; he’s doing it because Thor (and his friends) are getting in the way of Loki completing his ultimate goal. Loki tried to solve this problem non-violently, by lying about Odin being dead. It’s Thor’s friends who all but forced his hand by going behind his back and trying to bring Thor back to Asgard against Loki’s (and Odin’s!) direct orders.

For all the humility he’s learned in the past few days, this entire speech is still really all about Thor. About assuming that Loki’s doing this for personal reasons, because he holds a grudge against Thor for some unknown reason. This is implicit in his request to “take [my life] and end this.” It never even occurs to him that his friends are traitors to the Crown and Loki, as King of Asgard, is perhaps justified in pursuing them.

It also needs to be acknowledged that Thor’s apology here is hollow, even if it’s ultimately coming from his heart, because he has no idea what he’s apologising for. “Whatever I have done to wrong you” is not an apology. An apology addresses specific hurtful actions taken and commits to not repeating those mistakes in the future. Thor cannot commit to not repeating the hurtful things he’s done, because he doesn’t know what he’s done. Despite his best intentions, what Thor is doing here is actually kind of manipulative. He’s not addressing any substantive issue between the two of them; he’s just trying to talk Loki down. And it ultimately fails not because Loki doesn’t care or because he wants Thor dead, but because it doesn’t actually change anything.

Finally and only semi-relatedly, we should maybe at some point talk about the fact that Loki, who is stated to be a master tactician, has displayed a weird pattern of hardly ever being as lethal as he could be. He freezes Heimdall in place instead of killing him outright; he backhands Thor with the Destroyer instead of incinerating him; he, well… *gestures vaguely at almost the entirety of the first Avengers movie* Anytime the violence is even a little bit personal, he seems to hedge. Odd behaviour for somebody who’s supposedly super evil.

I’m sorry, I know I’ve pointed it out at least a hundred times before, but I just can’t encounter this scene in any form without taking a moment to appreciate how underrated and hilarious it is.

I also genuinely wonder how many Ragnarok stans who have accused me of having no sense of humour, have failed to laugh at moments like this one. Kinda feel like if you need to have the comedy spoonfed to you in the form of ass jokes, maybe you’re the one whose sense of humour is lacking. 🤷‍♀️

Let’s be super clear: this is not what happened. Loki did not betray Odin; he was betrayed by Odin. He did not open Asgard to its enemies; he attempted, misguidedly, to destroy Asgard’s enemies. And he most certainly did not commit suicide out of a sense of guilt.

I’m not saying Loki did nothing wrong, nor am I saying he feels no regret for the lives he has taken. What I’m saying is there’s no indication that he believes he betrayed Odin or Asgard in the process. Which makes perfect sense, because he didn’t. Everything he tried to do was for Odin and Asgard. It was misguided and horrible, yes, but it can hardly be classified as a betrayal.

The insurmountable burden on Loki is not that he did terrible things, but that no matter what he does or how hard he tries, Odin will never look at him with anything but contempt. Consider once more these passages from the very beginning of the book, at Thor’s coronation:

—

Consider that this book goes to great pains to point out that Odin favours Thor because Thor is a warrior like him. And yet even when Loki embraces that, even when he acts more war-like than ever before, Odin rejects him— just as he always has.

There is a reason why this moment is the last time Loki will ever call Odin his father. Because he realises once and for all that, no, nothing he tries will ever be good enough; no, Odin won’t ever look at him with pride. That is Loki’s burden. That is why he lets go.

The epilogue is really just two pages of making me want to vomit.

There’s your party where Thor and a certain subset of the fandom insist that Loki was mourned. There’s barely an indication here that anyone even perceives his demise as a negative thing.

“[Sif] could see Frigga thought [Loki was dead] as well” also contradicts the tie-in comic for TDW, so I don’t know what the author is on about there. Unlike the majority of Marvel comics, the tie-in comics are canon to the MCU, so it’s a bizarre statement to make.

COULD YOU SMEAR THE DEAD* ABUSE VICTIM A LITTLE HARDER, PLEASE? Fucking hell.

No matter how many times I encounter this scene, in whatever format, I still fail to become desensitized to how disgusting it is. I realise there’s a good chance that whatever version of events Thor has been told was twisted at best; but how you can look at a man whose son has just committed suicide under any circumstances and say there will never be a better father than that guy, is utterly beyond my capacity to understand.

And Odin’s “you’ve already made me proud” line just feels like extra salt in the wound because, again, Loki let go because he realized Odin would never say those words to him. And yet they come so damn easily when it’s Thor.

Fuck this entire family so much. I think I hate them more than Loki does. Sometimes I wonder what he would think about that. How he would react to knowing that not only is he actually loved, but that he’s so loved that people are genuinely furious at the way he’s been mistreated. That there are people who regularly devolve into full-on rants because they just can’t contain how much anger they have towards the people who hurt him. I think he’d have a hard time wrapping his head around that concept, tbh.

Anyways, to end on a not-completely-depressing note, I’m still waiting for someone at Marvel to explain how Loki knew what Thor said in this scene after plummeting into a wormhole. ‘Cause he references this conversation as Fauxdin at the end of TDW. So like… ?? Did he steal Odin’s memories before he erased them? Because that would be… kind of neat, actually. And very clever. Not entirely ethical, of course, but it’s Odin, so fuck ethics.

WELP, THAT’S IT. Thanks for following along with my dumbassery, hope you enjoyed yourselves. Lol

#phase one: thor #loki meta #thor meta #odin's a+ parenting #frigga's b+ parenting #topic: thor and loki's broken relationship #loki #thor #heimdall #lady sif #the warriors 3 #jane foster #ragnarok cinematic universe #mcu #topic: asgardian hypocrisy #topic: asgardian militarism #topic: odin's family dynamic

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notapaladin · 3 years ago

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you just gotta let it go (redux)

What makes a sickfic better? More snarky bitching about being sick, of course! Poor, poor Acatl.

Also on AO3.

Original version here

The second day of an illness was the worst.

Granted, the first day had been no garden of roses either. Acatl had gone home at the end of his long working day (two vigils, several hours’ worth of investigations into a nasty murder near the markets, endless accounts to square away) to a hastily-put-together dinner and the comfort of his own mat, but he’d barely lain down for an hour before his guts had begun to cramp and the first swelling of nausea had begun to travel up his throat. He’d thought—hoped—that it would pass. He’d always had a reasonably strong constitution, after all. Perhaps it was merely the heat.

And then he’d started vomiting. Poison had been his first thought, and he’d wiped his mouth and tried to stagger to the door only to faint after a single step. Praise the gods for Ichtaca; the man had heard him groaning as he passed and had leapt into action, sending runners for a healing priest before he could even think about protesting. Not that he’d been doing much thinking by then, honestly—whatever he’d eaten had come back for revenge, and he’d been far too busy trying not to completely disgrace himself.

Or at least trying not to faint. Fatigue had dragged at every limb, threatening to pull him under entirely; he’d collapsed on the floor next to the basin Ichtaca had fetched for him, unable to rise even to his knees as bone-breaking chills had shuddered through him. He’d barely even had the strength to continue throwing up, though his stomach had left him little choice. Dull, twisting pain wormed its way through his guts, and each blink had lasted an eternity. He been so exhausted that he hadn’t wanted to open his eyes again. He might not have if fear hadn’t compelled him, if a cold spike of terror hadn’t whispered if you close your eyes you’ll never open them again, and then where will you be? Do you want so badly for Teomitl to weep for you when you leave him behind?

He’d thought of Teomitl’s smile, Teomitl’s warm words and steady hands, and forced himself to remain conscious. Ichtaca stayed by his side and that helped, but when the man had helped him wipe his mouth—and gods, how humiliating had that been—he’d been sick all over again at the question that hissed through his mind like an arrow. Am I going to die?

He served Mictlantecuhtli with all his heart, but he did not want to meet Him yet. Not with so much left unsaid. The thought that it might be entirely beyond his control had been terrifying; in a brief burst of energy he’d thought of asking Ichtaca to summon Teomitl, but fortunately he’d thrown up again before he could voice it, and that had erased such rank stupidity from his thoughts. It would only make things worse if he survived.

He’d still been retching when the priest of Patecatl had arrived.

At least it wasn’t poison, he’d thought bitterly when he’d gotten the diagnosis. But the sort of illness you got from food that had gone off was downright humiliating, and to make matters worse the only cure was rest and plain meals. Plain. No chili. No other spices. Barely even any salt. If he’d been able to contemplate food without feeling nauseous again, he would have been miserable; as it was, he was waking only to drink water and drag himself to the chamber pot.

Because apparently, even when whatever had been in his guts was now quite comprehensively out of them, it had left its mark behind. He was exhausted. Even his experience with the plague hadn’t left him feeling quite this flattened; each limb felt like the Great Temple had come down on top of it, and he could barely rouse himself from his mat. At least he wasn’t afraid of sleeping anymore. When he spoke, he slurred his words like a base drunkard.

And of course he was forced to speak, because he had visitors.

He was awoken shortly after dawn by the arrival of not one but two more priests of Patecatl. Their cloaks marked them as part of the upper echelons of their temple’s hierarchy, and so he managed not to actually snap at them when they entered. It felt like an achievement just to speak coherently. “Thank you, but I’m feeling much better—”

The older one gave him a stare so full of judgement that he shut his mouth with a pang; it reminded him too much of Ceyaxochitl. “We have to monitor your condition, Acatl-tzin. You are our High Priest for the Dead.”

There were times he truly took pride in being High Priest for the Dead at all hours, whether at a feast or standing by the side of a pyre. This was not one of them. I don’t stop being High Priest for the Dead, no matter how sick I am. He made a face, but grudgingly sat up a little straighter. Or how much I’d rather be left alone.

At least submitting himself to a full examination didn’t require him to do much except be manhandled, and the healing priests were coolly professional and not inclined to make small talk. It still tired him out, and when the younger priest—Cuetzpalli, apparently—began casting a spell to strengthen his stomach, he actually found himself dozing off. The cut-grass smell of Patecatl’s magic was remarkably soothing when you were more than semi-conscious for it.

“Acatl-tzin?”

He blinked awake. Cuetzpalli had stopped chanting and was eyeing him with mild concern as he offered a hand to help him sit up again. He ignored it; he was not so far gone that he couldn’t manage that, even if the motion made his muscles ache. “My apologies. What’s the verdict?”

Cuetzpalli didn’t seem fazed by his curtness. No doubt he’d seen much worse, though he was barely a few years older than Teomitl; healing priests saw people at their very lowest, after all, and an irritated High Priest probably wasn’t even worth noting. “No poison nor magic that we can detect. Your dinner seems to have simply...disagreed with you. You’ll feel...ah, reasonably terrible for a week or so, but you are in no danger.” His face twisted in singularly unhelpful sympathy.

Acatl’s fists clenched in his lap. A week? Duality, I cannot afford to be laid low for that long! Horrible visions of his temple in disarray and the boundaries crumbling like old paper flickered through his mind, and he fought a grimace. No. It would be fine. He would return to his duties tomorrow, suffer through bland food until his guts settled, and everything would be fine. “Hrm.”

“You’ll be alright, young man.” The older priest—Necalli—didn’t smile, but his eyes softened slightly as he looked him over. “Don’t push yourself too hard.”

He couldn’t make any promises, but he was spared from having to lie; their visit apparently being over, Cuetzpalli was packing up their supplies. Soon they had both left, bowing very politely, and he’d collapsed on his mat again. Some vague twinge in his belly suggested he should attempt food, but even fetching one of the bland flatbreads Ichtaca had left for him seemed like a monumental effort. No, he would just lay here for now until he felt...well, not better, but at least more alert. The angle of the sunlight shifted through his one window, and he watched it blankly.

He slept. He woke, found the ache in his stomach had progressed to actual pangs of hunger, and choked down a few mouthfuls of dry flatbread and a cup of water before his gorge rose in protest and he had to set the rest aside. His stomach had been emptier than this for longer. He’d be alright.

He slept again. Time ceased to have meaning. There was only the sunlight moving across his floor, the humid air laying on his skin like a blanket. He lay like a lizard on his back, gently baking in the heat.

And then the entry curtain jingled. “Acatl?”

Oh, gods. Mihmatini’s voice. Groaning, he heaved himself upright, muscles protesting. “Ngghhh...” At some point he’d closed his eyes, and once again it seemed to take real effort to keep them open. Duality, he hoped the healing priests had been right and it was only an ill-chosen meal, and not something more serious. Last night’s panic had faded, but it was far too easy to bring to mind just how very inevitable—how very immediate—his death had felt. Lord Death, he prayed, do not take me into Your arms yet.

She sounded concerned. He was sick of concern. “We brought soup.”

...We…? The thoughts floating through his head were slow to arrange themselves into a semblance of order, but finally he realized that she wasn’t alone and managed to wedge his eyes open properly. There was Mihmatini, brow furrowed, holding a clay jug in both hands. And beside her, face twisted in worry, was Teomitl. “...Oh.” Oh, no. Not you. He felt vaguely nauseous again, and not just from the effort of sitting up.

She didn’t wait for him to invite her in, or even to rise; he watched, still feeling three steps behind reality, as she set the jug down on his table and went looking for spoons. There was a degree of bustling involved that made him dizzy to think about. “I really can’t believe I had to hear from Ichtaca that you were ill, Acatl, really—do you know how worried I’ve been? Food poisoning is nothing to dismiss!”

“It’s passed.” It had. Mostly. He had decided against making any sudden movements.

“Nobody gets over food poisoning that fast.” That was Teomitl, leaning in the doorway and frowning down at him. “You need to take better care of yourself.”

He frowned back, even as some part of his heart felt unaccountably warmed; Teomitl’s concern might be touching, but by the Duality it wasn’t as though he’d tried to get sick. Besides, he was a grown man. He didn’t need to be fussed over, especially not when it might make him start hoping. “...I take care of myself just fine.”

Teomitl turned his face away, glowering at the wall as though it had insulted his honor. Acatl knew by the face he made that he was probably chewing on the inside of his lip plug again; he wondered, not for the first time, if Teomitl had ever realized he only did that when he was agitated. He hoped he didn’t. It was oddly endearing, and he’d miss the sight. “What did the healing priests say?”

He grimaced at the reminder. “Very plain fare. And sleep.”

Mihmatini uncovered the jug, and the odor of plain, hot, and—suddenly most important for his stomach, which growled loudly enough that he blushed—salty turkey broth met his nostrils. “Do you think you could keep this down?”

For his sister, he’d try. Slowly, he nodded. “...Thank you.”

He hadn’t expected them to linger, but—evidently realizing that he absolutely wouldn’t be able to finish all of the soup by himself—they took their own seats at his table. It was pleasant not to eat alone in his own house for once. Teomitl was uncharacteristically quiet and kept glancing at Acatl out of the corner of his eye; before he thought of commenting on it, Mihmatini spoke up. “How is it?”

He looked down at his bowl and realized with a start that he’d nearly finished it. Each lift of the spoon to his mouth had been like trying to move a boulder, but he’d clearly been hungrier than he thought. He briefly had to struggle to remember how to speak; even the muscles in his tongue felt tired. A blink lasted longer than he liked. “...It’s good. Did you make it?”

Mihmatini snorted, shaking her head. “From the palace kitchens. I’m not this good a cook.”

Teomitl huffed, “You’re a wonderful cook.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “And you are a shameless flatterer.”

“I am being perfectly truthful—tell her, Acatl!”

Acatl blinked again, discreetly pinching himself to stay awake. Passing out in his soup bowl wouldn’t convince his family he was hale. True, Mihmatini was a skilled cook—but it was equally true that no priest of Patecatl would prescribe her food for him. It had entirely too much flavor, and the way she made soup would put meat back on the bones of a corpse. “...He’s right. Unfortunately, I’m afraid I’m in no state to appreciate it at the moment.”

She looked supremely unimpressed. He could actually see the moment she swallowed a sharp retort and picked up her spoon again. “I can see that. You look awful.”

He had to admit she had a point; he felt awful. Eating had helped briefly, but as soon as it settled in his stomach he had to battle another spike of nausea. If he stopped leaning on the table, he had a feeling he’d fall over. “Thanks.”

Mihmatini sighed, pushing her now-empty bowl away. “I wish I could stay, but I have to get back to the Duality House.”

“Guardian lessons?”

She made a face. Acatl couldn’t blame her; she hadn’t told him much of what her unexpected ascension to Guardianship had entailed, but what little she’d let slip suggested it was unpleasant. If nothing else, she was having to learn in weeks what took most women years. He did not envy her. “Guardian lessons.”

Teomitl reached over and squeezed her hand. “I’ll see you later.”

Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him, and for a moment Acatl was concerned. Had they had a fight at some point? But then she smiled, warm as always. “You’d better. Remember what we were talking about earlier.”

Teomitl swallowed hard and nodded. “Mm.”

And then she rose gracefully, favoring Acatl with that same narrow-eyed assessing look. “And as for you, you’d better take it easy. Ichtaca told us you collapsed a few times last night.”

It wasn’t like he’d made a habit out of it. Besides, the floor had been comfortable even with that nagging, irrational concern that he might fail to wake up. On a full stomach and with something approximating sleep under his belt, that fear felt ridiculous now. He glared back at her. “I’m not that sick. I’ve no intention of fainting on anyone.”

“Don’t worry.” Teomitl smiled, and the brief flash of radiant warmth made Acatl’s face heat. “I won’t let you.”

She sniffed, unswayed. “Hm. I’ll be back later to check on you.”

And then Mihmatini left, and they were alone. Acatl found, suddenly, that he couldn’t quite manage to look Teomitl in the face. The gods knew Teomitl had seen him injured before—had taken care of him, even, and Acatl knew he’d never forget confident hands bandaging his wounds or strong arms helping him to safety—but battle wounds were an acceptable form of weakness, one that struck down even the greatest warriors. It was entirely different to be ill and run-down in front of Teomitl, who valued strength so highly; a man who thought limits were for the weak surely couldn’t still respect him when he could barely muster the energy to stand. In a moment. In a moment I’ll get up and clear the table. I don’t need a—a nursemaid, Tlaloc’s lightning strike me. He just needed to brace himself and move slowly.

Teomitl beat him to it. He was already on his feet and clearing away the remnants of their meal when Acatl set a hand on the table to heave himself up; when he caught sight of the movement, he shot him a savage glare. “Stay still. I’ll handle it.”

He could force himself to his feet; he’d worked in worse conditions and through much greater pain. Nothing would ever be as bad as the plague had been. But somehow, it didn’t really seem worth it to argue. So he stayed where he was and prayed for patience, staring at the knotted pine grain of the table. It needed a wash. “...So you’re to keep me company, then?”

Teomitl turned to look over his shoulder at him, eyes dark and serious. “Someone should.”

He took a slow breath. Even through his exhaustion, the reminder of his state—that Teomitl looked at him and thought he shouldn’t even be left alone—stung bitterly. Even though he could be weak, came the treacherous thought. Even though Teomitl would let him. Would help him lay down, put his arms around him...no. He shook his head firmly, banishing those thoughts before they could make him remember what had come to him in the dead of last night’s pain. It was still hopeless, and he would not plead his way into Teomitl’s heart. “I’m not an invalid, you know.”

“I know you aren’t.” And then Teomitl smiled, teasingly innocent, and Acatl’s heart skipped a beat even as he continued, “But isn’t it the job of the student to tend to his master’s needs?”

His eyes narrowed. Irritation was starting to revitalize him; in some small part of his mind, he suspected this was Teomitl’s plan. “...And you aren’t my student anymore.” He hasn’t been since...the courtyard? No, before that. It just took me too long to see it. He is my friend, my brother-in-law, and one day he’ll be my Revered Speaker. But he’s not my student, and he shouldn’t have to take care of me even if he was.

The table clean, Teomitl sat down by him within arm’s reach but not touching. Acatl found himself glad for that; he wasn’t sure if he was alert enough not to give in to the absurd urge to lean against him. His former student’s shoulders looked appealingly solid. “And we’re all glad for that. But that doesn’t change the fact that you could use some company, if only for a distraction. I’m good at that.” A smile still tugged at the corners of his lips, warm eyes looking Acatl over. “Please?”

Oh, no. Not the please. It struck him harder than a physical blow, and he had to look away. Duality preserve him, he’d been right. Teomitl would let him be weak. And he’d thought his feelings would fade? That he’d be able to bury them forever? Gods, he was such a fool. It was a terrible time to be proven wrong. I should be stronger than this. “...I won’t...” He yawned, suddenly almost too tired to make his tongue work. The soup had only been a temporary boost after all. “I’m sorry. I won’t be a very good host.”

“...That’s alright.” Teomitl was gazing at him with fond exasperation, and he couldn’t bear it. “Rest, Acatl. I’ll be here when you wake.”

He couldn’t let that pass without comment, no matter how much that same small, treacherous part of him was warmed by the thought of companionship. “You have a job. Your own duties...”

Now Teomitl did reach over, putting a hand gently on his shoulder. It warmed him to his bones. “Over for the day. Lay down.”

He couldn’t do anything but obey. Even the simple act of sitting up and eating had wrung him out like a damp rag; he could have passed out on a bed of obsidian shards. His thin mat was a miracle in comparison, and he managed to keep his eyes open just long enough to watch as Teomitl settled down on his haunches and swept him with a slow, considering look. The thought that slid through his mind like a snake—gods, you could kiss me if you wanted—still wasn’t a match for the tides of dreamless sleep pulling him under.

When he opened his eyes again, the first thing he saw was Teomitl’s back. It was, he thought idly, a very nice back; Teomitl had shed his cloak for the sake of the heat, and so Acatl had an excellent view of the line of his waist and the curve of his spine. There were no scars upon it, for he would never be one to willingly turn his back on a foe. The knowledge lifted his heart with a kind of soft pride. My fearless man. You who will lead Tenochtitlan to glory. I cannot wait to see what kind of Emperor you’ll make.

Then Teomitl stretched, back arching, and the affection curling gently through him sparked into something hotter and darker. Gods, he’d almost forgotten. He could go days now without thinking about the warmth of Teomitl’s voice or the strength of his hands, but here he was being viscerally reminded that they couldn’t be ignored forever. That the feelings which had sustained him through many long nights wouldn’t melt with the dawn. That not even what he’d thought with sharp terror would be his actual death could successfully smother them. Duality curse me.

He must have made a noise, because Teomitl turned to look at him. “Acatl? Ah, you’re awake. Do you need anything?”

His mouth had gone dry at some point. Swallowing didn’t help. “...Water.” If nothing else, it would be cold. He could use the cold.

Teomitl rose to fetch water, and he busied himself with trying to sit up. It took a few attempts as his heavy limbs fought his control, but by the time Teomitl returned he’d managed the disgustingly difficult task of rolling over. Teomitl’s hand between his shoulderblades steadied him as he heaved himself up the rest of the way, and for a long moment he drank in silence. His stomach felt better, but his heart didn’t.

It wasn’t until Teomitl took his hand away and sat down next to him that he found words. “I’m surprised you’re still here.”

Teomitl jerked away, glaring at him; for all that he’d only spoken the truth, Acatl still felt himself flush as he snapped, “Did you think I would leave you alone?!”

“It must be late.” It was. The afternoon sun had turned dim and gold, sinking into Teomitl’s skin and hair. Sunset couldn’t be far behind, and he would be well enough to properly offer blood to the gods again. There was no need for Teomitl to watch over him like a mother jaguar with cubs. But he wants to, because he cares about you, whispered his mind, and he took another sip of water to cool the heat of his skin.

“I don’t care.” Duality, and he growled like a jaguar, too. Though he huffily turned his face away, Acatl saw his hand twitch; it was all the warning he got before it came down to rest atop his own free one. “You stayed with me when I was ill, and that was contagious. Do you think I wouldn’t do the same for you?”

He couldn’t think. Teomitl’s hand was on his, callused and warm, and he was fairly sure all sensation in his body had been rerouted to that single point of contact. He was surprised he hadn’t dropped the cup, and managed to set it down before he could. “I...uh.” He was unconscious, deep in his delirium. I didn’t think he’d remember. Gods, I was so afraid he’d never even wake. But he did...and…

It seemed to take an eternity for him to dredge up a full sentence from the mire of his thoughts. “You don’t...have to...”

Teomitl’s voice held nothing but certainty. He might as well have been making a royal proclamation. “Yes. I do.”

“...Oh.” It seemed to be all he could say. There was more locked behind his teeth—you are the best of men, I don’t deserve you, you’re a reckless fool sometimes but that’s alright because you still hold my whole heart safe in your hands—but he didn’t dare open his mouth and let it fly out. If he started down that road, he’d never stop. And Lord Death had not seen fit to take him into His embrace last night, so a sudden and fatal relapse wouldn’t save him either.

For a long while, Teomitl was silent. Though he sat as still as a statue, the fingers covering Acatl’s own twitched as though he wanted to curl them around his hand. Finally, still without looking at him, he spoke. “Do you have any idea how I felt when I learned how sick you were?”

“I was not that sick—” he began.

Teomitl didn’t let him finish. “Yes. You were. Ichtaca was shaking when he told us you were finally keeping down liquids.”

He dropped his gaze to his lap. Mired as he’d been in his own terror, Ichtaca had felt like a rock beside him. He’d had no idea the man had been frightened too. “...Oh.”

“Oh,” Teomitl mimicked, a spark of nastiness in his voice that faded almost instantly to that tight, flat restraint. “You terrified us, Acatl. You terrified me.”

Storm Lord’s lightning blast him. He couldn’t even attempt a reassuring smile, for Teomitl’s words struck him to the core. Still, he mustered up the energy somewhere to make an effort. “I’ve felt worse than this and lived. You needn’t have worried.”

Teomitl swiveled around to glare at him, eyes hot and suspiciously bright. “Don’t say that! Don’t you know how important you are to me?”

“Ngkh.” He knew he was blushing again, but he couldn’t have torn his eyes from Teomitl’s face if his life had depended on it. It was one thing to be pretty sure Teomitl cared about him, but another thing entirely to hear it confirmed. “I...” I am High Priest for the Dead. His teacher. His friend. That’s all he means. “But...”

“No buts.” Teomitl shook his head, squeezing his hand tightly. There was a terrible tremor in his voice. “You have to take care of yourself, Acatl. Understand? I don’t...I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you. I can’t lose you.”

His heart stuttered in his chest, and for a dizzying moment he thought he was going to faint again. “I know how you feel.”

“..Do you?” The bite of skepticism couldn’t quite hide that moment of hopeful hesitation.

He inhaled. “...Last night...” He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t. But Teomitl wasn’t saying anything; he was giving him the space to find his words. That made the difference, in the end. “Last night...I thought I was going to die.” He still wondered idly at the possibility, but it no longer filled him with heart-clenching fear. There was only one thing he would have regretted, after all. Now Teomitl was staring at him in horror, but he made himself press on. “And I thought of you.”

Teomitl’s eyes were wide, his fingers trembling. Now Acatl knew the expression on his face, that stunned sort of hope that didn’t quite dare to step into the sunlight yet. “Me?”

He nodded. Yes, you. Always you. “I thought—if I died here, I would never get to tell you that I—” But courage failed him, and he swallowed with a dry click.

Teomitl was still staring at him. Unfortunately, this didn’t let him off the hook. “That you what?”

He squeezed his eyes shut. It was a coward’s move, but then he had always been one, hadn’t he? Or else it wouldn’t have taken the fear of death to force the words out. “I love you,” he blurted out, and when Teomitl didn’t immediately react in rage or disgust he added, “I wanted to be sure you knew.” Even if you don’t love me back in the same way. Even if you’re about to break my heart, I’m giving it to you to break.

He heard a slow, deep breath. A shaky whisper of “Acatl,” more shock than outrage.

And then Teomitl kissed him.

His mind went entirely blank. There was only the soft pressure of warm lips on his, slow and careful and gods, so gentle. He had no idea what he was doing, but Teomitl clearly did; he tilted his head just so, parted his lips just a fraction, and Acatl was lost. Gods, he thought dizzily, I love you so much. Teomitl slid strong arms around his waist, and for a moment he thought that hold was the only thing keeping him upright. He wondered if it was possible to swoon just from a single kiss. Well, he was still ill. It might be.

When Teomitl pulled away, his eyes were shining. “I can hardly believe...Duality, Acatl.” He gave a little shake of his head, as though to express the utter impossibility of their situation. A wry little disbelieving smile tugged at his lips. “I was halfway to convincing myself to give up.”

Acatl blinked at him as the words rearranged themselves into something that made sense. His brain clearly wasn’t up to its full capacity yet, because Teomitl couldn’t have said what he thought he said. “You what?!”

Now it was Teomitl’s turn to blush. “I have wanted you for—gods, for years. I knew it was hopeless, but when I thought I would lose you...”

Things clicked slowly into place in Acatl’s mind. Passing glances, lingering touches, a hitched breath. Years, he said. Years. “...Does Mihmatini know?” He remembered her hard-eyed stare, the way Teomitl had looked almost nervous at whatever she’d said, and ice gripped his heart again. He wouldn’t be the cause of strife between them, no matter how much Teomitl made his heart race. He wouldn’t do that to her.

Teomitl drew himself up, glaring at him. He was still flushed, but Acatl judged it more embarrassment than guilt. “She does. Do you think I’d go behind her back, especially after the last time?” He didn’t have to elaborate. Things between him and Mihmatini had been so frosty for a few weeks that she’d practically spat when mentioning his name. Acatl wasn’t sure how they’d reconciled, but he was starting to get a few, somewhat embarrassing, ideas.

The ice was starting to thaw. He took one deep breath, and then another. If she knows, then... “Then...what she mentioned, about you two having spoken earlier...”

“You know how she is. She...suggested I consider the possibility of mentioning my feelings a while ago.” Knowing Mihmatini, suggested was probably far too polite a word. Teomitl quirked up a smile and added, “But I wasn’t expecting you to beat me to it.”

He found it much easier to breathe when he knew he wasn’t ruining his sister’s marriage. “After last night...I had to let you know. In case fate saw fit to separate us. I didn’t want to die without telling you how I feel.”

Teomitl’s gaze had softened like melted wax, and it was just about as hot. “Maybe you should tell me again.”

His heart kicked within his chest. Feeling suddenly bold—he’d come this far, after all—he shot back, “Why don’t I just show you?” Even raising the possibility of what such a demonstration might entail made him blush all over again, but...well. Teomitl deserved to know the full truth of his feelings, and honesty had already brought him great rewards. I took vows of chastity, of celibacy. I would break them all for you if you asked. Gods, I would break them all if I thought you might ask.

For a moment, Teomitl simply stared at him—face flushed, lips slightly parted, eyes heated—and Acatl knew he was going to be kissed again. Knew it and welcomed it, lingering illness be damned. He would figure out a way to be kissed by Teomitl if he were dead.

And then he grinned teasingly and murmured, “Then you’d best focus your energies on getting well again, hadn’t you?” and Acatl had to stifle an urge to groan.

#obsidian and blood #acatl #teomitl #teocatl #mihmatini #paladin writes stuff

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alienjock · 4 years ago

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MY MUSIC

before i start this off id like to say that i fully acknowledge my music taste is not the end all be all of music taste, that being said i like to think that ive got a pretty decent music taste! none of these playlists are Finished. Ever. as my special interest, im constantly in the search for more music. its my lifeblood. its how i express myself. its my love language. i hope you enjoy!

(bolded are favorites, italics are potentially “outdated” or “unfinished”, meaning i need to clean them up.)

MISC:

bratpop - my BRAND. bratpop as a genre term was coined by holychild, and its this really good like front of the bleachers cymbal crashing pep rally LOUD noise pop that i LIVE for

bratrock - bratrock but make it cherry bomb by the runaways. gritty. little bit of riot girl.

SKATE OR DIE - songs i know by heart <3

a suitcase full of summertime - just a random grab bag of whatever!

songs i discovered through pokemon amvs - what it says on the tin.

psychic: what the fuck - sometimes u just have songs stuck in ur head constantly

candyland - songs with sugary titles.

dont forget the pack - songs about wolves

songs with people names - songs with people names

love is fun! - 100% uplifting happy positive love songs to remind you you shouldnt be suffering in love.

record wet summer - 2019 summer was SEXY.

i dont wanna be alone with me - an anxiety playlist that is uplifting or detrimental depending on ur mood.

this is my home - some of my favorite instrumentals.

post traumatic ennui - my favorite songs from izombie

shut up and (slow)dance - slow love songs i like

press ! to continue - chiptune!

CONCEPTS:

songs that hit different as a trans guy - yes there are two versions of girls just wanna have fun. yes it is a deeply personal playlist. love u all.

watching the ceiling fan spin - when youre filled with the emotion of What Can You Do But Lay In Bed For Hours. low energy but not like Slow.

the world’s gonna end. wanna hang out? - it's the end of the world and you go to spend the last few hours of your life with the person you love most.

where the sky meets the sea - oh you know. the ocean.

bury me in the ocean floor - see above, but darker.

girl of the future - one of my ocs but make her even more hatsune miku than she already is.

the divorced energy of it all - what it says on the tin.

mixtapes and landlines - when youre a gay high schooler in the 1980s and in love with your best friend

nose rings and cigarettes 2012 redux - when youre in love with the punk girl in your english class and its 2012

i’m an expert just like you - obligatory mad scientist playlist

MICHAEL AND HEATHER TAKE ON THE WORLD - my best friend drove me to college once and i made us a playlist to listen to during the ride

dc trip playlist - i met up with a bunch of my best friends at dc and these are all the songs we had stuck in our head that weekend (shout out to @taakitz @release-the-sheep @rearviewrosary)

high seas and childish dreams - my VIBES

ode to singing trees - concept playlist for my dnd campaign

FANMIXES:

and you are mine - symbrock babey. sometimes being possessed by an alien gets you an alien spouse.

LIMA VICTOR-426 - ONE OF MY FINEST CREATIONS. KAIJU!NEWTON. sometimes being possessed by an alien turns you into a rock star.

write you letters (in multicolor!) - newmann. its about the pen pals to lovers to enemies to lovers.

sharkflick! - my animal crossing island vibes! <3

SHARK PUPPY - i dont know who stephen king is. stream betty ripsoms torso

stray kittens - very gooey fanmix for kyo sohma and tohru honda.

🌻 🕷 - miles morales/itsv

dahlias and roses - jupeter from the penumbra podcast

tale as old as time - botw zelink. theyre complex

hero - botw link. hes out there in the woods.

justice, scorned by gods - lawful evil!keyleth of critical role

MADE BY OTHERS:

o.O - made by @realanimeboy, lu if youre not okay with me sharing this playlist let me know but it might be one of my favorite playlists someone else has ever made. if youre going to check out any playlist check out this one!

hozier’s influences - made by @fluoresensitive. VERY VERY good if you like hozier you HAVE to know his roots and inspirations

what if we kissed in the cold war - made by @viciousmaukery, a fanmix for curt mega and owen carvour

late night driving - made by @viciousmaukery. a secret fanmix. its about being in love with your best friend

monster mash (horny edition) - made by @crowlore. exactly what it sounds like.

ssc; chill cave - compiled by @crowlore. one time my server just like sat in vc for like five hours listening to the chillest music.

#music #save #about me #seashell collection #long post

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rwby-redux · 4 years ago

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Status update.

Well, I’ll be damned. The Redux just hit its 50th follower.

You’re supposed to celebrate stuff like this, right?

Truth be told, I didn’t think I would even get this far. I’m still kind of amazed that I managed to write 60K+ words in a year’s time (and that’s just for the deconstruction posts), let alone find like-minded people who were interested in my worldbuilding. And that’s in spite of my erratic update schedule, courtesy of the numerous, on-going nonsense I’ve had interfering with my personal life. To say that I was somewhat blindsided is an understatement.

What I’m basically getting at is that I didn’t plan anything special to celebrate.

So let’s change that.

I’m gonna leave it up to you guys to decide what you’d like to see. Currently, I’m working on Deconstruction: The Kingdoms in-between unpacking, but if y’all want, I could release a different deconstruction post ahead of schedule. Same goes for the amendment posts. Heck, I’d be happy to just answer questions. Whether it’s character information, or random trivia, or (non-spoiler) changes to the plot. Things like:

Changes to a character’s backstory.

Sample sentences from the languages being developed for the Redux. Currently, Old Valin-Vacuose is the most developed (as in, it can absolutely be spoken), but I can also talk about the other conlang families being written.

Anything related to the science of Grimm, Dust, and Aura (and by extension, Semblances).

New cities, towns, and villages added to the roster of places that exist in Remnant. I’ve currently got two maps made: a political one and a geographic one. They’re by no means the final versions, but I could certainly upload them to give you guys an idea of what’s to come.

Superstitions, taboos, or other cultural values that exist across Remnant.

And whatever else I didn’t think of. Whatever you’re the most curious about, I’m happy to answer any questions for.

Or, if there’s enough interest for it, I could post a fairy tale/folkstory? There are two in particular that wouldn’t be hard to write: The Nameless Blade and The Vagabond.

Feel free to shoot me a message via my inbox!

#notifications #i speak #blog milestone #follower count

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miamistax · 5 years ago

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For those of you still whining about Confederate statues, read the following.

A true daughter of the confederacy has written what should be the last words on the monuments:

By Caroline Randall Williams

June 26, 2020

I have rape-colored skin. My light-brown-blackness is a living testament to the rules, the practices, the causes of the Old South.

If there are those who want to remember the legacy of the Confederacy, if they want monuments, well, then, my body is a monument. My skin is a monument.

Dead Confederates are honored all over this country — with cartoonish private statues, solemn public monuments and even in the names of United States Army bases. It fortifies and heartens me to witness the protests against this practice and the growing clamor from serious, nonpartisan public servants to redress it. But there are still those — like President Trumpand the Senate majority leader,Mitch McConnell — who cannot understand the difference between rewriting and reframing the past. I say it is not a matter of “airbrushing” history, but of adding a new perspective.

I am a black, Southern woman, and of my immediate white male ancestors, all of them were rapists. My very existence is a relic of slavery and Jim Crow.

According to the rule of hypodescent (the social and legal practice of assigning a genetically mixed-race person to the race with less social power) I am the daughter of two black people, the granddaughter of four black people, the great-granddaughter of eight black people. Go back one more generation and it gets less straightforward, and more sinister. As far as family history has always told, and as modern DNA testing has allowed me to confirm, I am the descendant of black women who were domestic servants and white men who raped their help.

It is an extraordinary truth of my life that I am biologically more than half white, and yet I have no white people in my genealogy in living memory. No. Voluntary. Whiteness. I am more than half white, and none of it was consensual. White Southern men — my ancestors — took what they wanted from women they did not love, over whom they had extraordinary power, and then failed to claim their children.

What is a monument but a standing memory? An artifact to make tangible the truth of the past. My body and blood are a tangible truth of the South and its past. The black people I come from were owned by the white people I come from. The white people I come from fought and died for their Lost Cause. And I ask you now, who dares to tell me to celebrate them? Who dares to ask me to accept their mounted pedestals?

You cannot dismiss me as someone who doesn’t understand. You cannot say it wasn’t my family members who fought and died. My blackness does not put me on the other side of anything. It puts me squarely at the heart of the debate. I don’t just come from the South. I come from Confederates. I’ve got rebel-gray blue blood coursing my veins. My great-grandfather Will was raised with the knowledge that Edmund Pettus was his father. Pettus, the storied Confederate general, the grand dragon of the Ku Klux Klan, the man for whom Selma’s Bloody Sunday Bridge is named. So I am not an outsider who makes these demands. I am a great-great-granddaughter.

And here I’m called to say that there is much about the South that is precious to me. I do my best teaching and writing here. There is, however, a peculiar model of Southern pride that must now, at long last, be reckoned with.

This is not an ignorant pride but a defiant one. It is a pride that says, “Our history is rich, our causes are justified, our ancestors lie beyond reproach.” It is a pining for greatness, if you will, a wish again for a certain kind of American memory. A monument-worthy memory.

But here’s the thing: Our ancestors don’t deserve your unconditional pride. Yes, I am proud of every one of my black ancestors who survived slavery. They earned that pride, by any decent person’s reckoning. But I am not proud of the white ancestors whom I know, by virtue of my very existence, to be bad actors.

Among the apologists for the Southern cause and for its monuments, there are those who dismiss the hardships of the past. They imagine a world of benevolent masters, and speak with misty eyes of gentility and honor and the land. They deny plantation rape, or explain it away, or question the degree of frequency with which it occurred.

To those people it is my privilege to say, I am proof. I am proof that whatever else the South might have been, or might believe itself to be, it was and is a space whose prosperity and sense of romance and nostalgia were built upon the grievous exploitation of black life.

The dream version of the Old South never existed. Any manufactured monument to that time in that place tells half a truth at best. The ideas and ideals it purports to honor are not real. To those who have embraced these delusions: Now is the time to re-examine your position.

Either you have been blind to a truth that my body’s story forces you to see, or you really do mean to honor the oppressors at the expense of the oppressed, and you must at last acknowledge your emotional investment in a legacy of hate.

Either way, I say the monuments of stone and metal, the monuments of cloth and wood, all the man-made monuments, must come down. I defy any sentimental Southerner to defend our ancestors to me. I am quite literally made of the reasons to strip them of their laurels.

Caroline Randall Williams(@caroranwill) is the author of “Lucy Negro, Redux” and “Soul Food Love,” and a writer in residence at Vanderbilt University.

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completeoveranalysis · 6 years ago

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TRC Translation Notes Volume 17 (Chapters 125 - 132)

More lovely notes from the even lovelier @giniroangou!

Highlights include: more coherent wish conversations, lifespan clarifications, Kamui being even worse than before, it’s true, sweet lines from sweet people, Nick finally understanding why Sakura had to go into the Acid desert alone, clothing choices explained, touching moments all around, and Good Morning Kurogane Redux!

Chapter 125

p.5 - Yuuko says that if she were to save Fai herself, the price would be “too heavy.” This is why Kurogane looks so murderous - it sounds like she’s telling them she won’t do it. This also makes Subaru’s wish a few pages later feel less presumptuous. He’s not cutting in on the Tsubasa family; their turn is already over.

p.7 - As in the previous volume, this should be “Immediately after we came to this world” rather than “Soon after,” but I love the hilarity it’s caused.

p.12 - Subaru’s point is that the events that unfolded may have been inevitable, but they wouldn’t have happened within the reservoir if it weren’t for his presence there. It still doesn’t quite make sense, since it wasn’t his fault he got sucked in by the feathers in the first place, but it’s slightly more coherent than the translated version.

p.19 - It’s not that Fai must not receive vampire blood alone, but that if we were to receive just vampire blood he would end up drinking the blood of various people.

There’s also a subtle difference in wording about the wishes here that I feel changes the nuance slightly. Yuuko says: “Kurogane, keeping Fai from dying is your wish. Fai doesn’t want that.”

Chapter 126

p.30 - The sounds Fai is making in this scene are represented by a small tsu in Japanese (ッ), which indicates either a pause in speech or a glottal stop. To me, it gives the impression that Fai’s vocal chords are under pressure but there’s no real sound coming out, so it’s like silent/suppressed screaming. It’s up to interpretation, but if he is making any noise here it isn’t anything coherent enough to be the start of a given word.

p.32 - I would interpret Satsuki’s line as an apology for not being able to heal Fai earlier.

p.35 - Yuuko says that due to Fai’s enormous magical powers, he already had a long lifespan. For her line about his age vs Kurogane’s, “multiple times” could be an alternative translation to “many times.” In Japanese she says “nanbai mo,” which I’d say could be as few as four times (though it does have the potential to be much greater than that.)

As a side note, there is a fan translated version of this scene where Yuuko says that Kurogane’s lifespan will increase along with Fai’s. A large portion of the fandom was led to believe this and there are still people who are unaware of the proper translation, so if you see anything along those lines popping up in meta or fanfic, that’s where it comes from. It is based on a mistranslation, though.

p.36 - In the original text, Kurogane says that he saw the trust Mokona had in Yuuko when Mokona asked for her help. Since he trusts Mokona, he went along with the deal. (Just replace Mokona’s name with “that thing” lol.)

p.41 - Kamui’s “It was nothing” is ruder and more dismissive in Japanese. He says “...betsu ni,” which I think could best be represented in English as “...whatever.” It’s a total sulky teenager response.

Mokona is saying that things will be difficult for Fai from now on specifically because he’s a nice person.

p.43 - A little detail that I love: Yuuko refers to Fai as “that child” in this scene. It feels somewhat affectionate, but also gives the sense that Yuuko has been around for a very long time, especially in light of the recent revelation about Fai’s age.

Kurogane is actually setting his priorities here - he says there are still things he wants to ask, but the underground water comes first.

p.44 - Sadly, Subaru is not sharing the blame with Kamui in this scene - he’s still just saying it’s his fault.

Chapter 127

p.58 - Sakura’s first words to Lava Lamp are spoken in polite language vs the casual speech she used with Syaoran, creating an immediate distance between them that colors the silent exchange that follows.

Chapter 128

p.70 - Here, Yuuko is saying that the impurity of the water is its strength; because it hasn’t been sterilized it still has its natural power. (The antidote thing is a mistranslation.)

p.75 - Fuuma’s comment about having no means of communication is specifically in reference to Yuuko: “Since coming to this world I’ve had no way to communicate, so it’s been a while since we last spoke.”

p.76 - Fuuma refers to Subaru as “Subaru-san.” He also says Seishirou is in Subaru’s debt (“osewa ni narimashita”) - it’s a polite expression that may imply kindness, but the focus is more on Subaru doing him a favor/helping him rather than on Subaru’s attitude towards him.

p.84 - Sakura’s actual original line was, “Tell me everything that’s happened up until now,” so though she’s logically asking about everything that’s happened in Acid Tokyo, you can totally interpret this as her asking about all the things that have happened since the start of the manga. Follow your dreams!

p.87 - I’m not sure if this got lost in translation or just didn’t fully sink in, but Sakura is going out alone because that specifically is the price. If someone went with her, it wouldn’t be enough for the deal - the true value of what Sakura’s doing comes from the fact that she is undertaking something dangerous without anyone to help her.

p.89 - Kurogane doesn’t specifically tell Sakura to come back alive, but he does tell her to go and come back (“ittekoi”/行って来い) so the implication is there. Then he says, “We’ll be right here until you return.”

Chapter 129

p.93 - In Fuuma’s original line there was no implication that Sakura’s trip would be easy, just that the compass would confirm the route for her.

p.97 - Fuuma doesn’t say that the Tower will be victorious, but that they’ll have an advantage without Kamui there.

p.103 - Mokona’s speech style made this scene difficult to translate, but she’s not really asking for permission to call Lava Lamp “Syaoran” - she doesn’t actually use his name at all outside of that one question. She’s just confirming that he does indeed have the same name as their Syaoran: “You’re named Syaoran too, aren’t you?” (The official translation really committed to the fact that Mokona never uses personal pronouns, which is pretty cool in theory but unfortunately ends up forcing some of her sentences into very different configurations. As I’ve mentioned before, it’s far easier to get by in Japanese without pronouns than it is in English.)

Chapter 130

Cover page - This chapter title should be “The Crossed Line” (In the sense of someone crossing or stepping over a line.)

p.116 - To highlight how significant this moment is, the original line has quotation marks around Kurogane’s name. It also comes after a pause, so it becomes: “…. Good morning, ‘Kurogane.’”

p.125 - There are some major mistranslations here. There is no implication that Yuuko was lying about Fai’s potential to stop being a vampire. Fai calls her soft for leaving that path open - he sees it as a favor she did for the other members of the group (implied: this isn’t something he wants for himself.) Yuuko then says that it may be more cruel to give them this option than to have Fai unable to return to the way he was before, but that’s up to Fai. (Implied: the choices Fai makes regarding his options are going to determine whether it makes things more painful for his family or not.) Side note: The word that’s been translated as “traveler friends” is actually “Syaoran-kun-tachi” (Syaoran-kun and the others) so it’s not as distant as it sounds, but it’s definitely stepping around Kurogane’s direct role and investment in Fai’s well-being.

p.126 - The word Yuuko uses can be translated as “reply,” but I think “answer” would be more appropriate. She says, “... So that’s your answer?” referring not to Fai’s literal reply to Kurogane, but rather affirming that pushing Kurogane away is his answer to the entire situation he’s in.

p.127 - Fai doesn’t speculate that Kurogane had never been given a nickname - Fai says that he himself had never called anyone by a nickname before.

p.128 - Once again, the word that’s been translated as “unhappy” also means misfortune in a general sense. It’s the same word Himawari uses to talk about her effect on the people around her. Happiness may be the ideal, but I would assume Fai is worried about much more serious things than just that - if the people he cares about are unhappy but otherwise unharmed, that’s still better than a lot of alternatives.

p.129 - What’s been translated as “all the young ones in your group” was originally Yuuko saying “those children.” Given that she referred to even Fai as a child a few chapters ago, it can be assumed she’s including Kurogane in this group. She also describes their relationship as reciprocal: “To you, those children are no longer just a passing existence. And to those children too, you are someone precious. Your pain is their pain as well.”

Chapter 131

p.135 - The translation for Lava Lamp’s reply is accurate here but it might be the tone of Kurogane’s question that makes it feel off. He sees that Lava Lamp is self-conscious about wearing Fei Wang’s symbol and says, “It’s not like you wore that because you wanted to, right?” Though it invites confirmation, I would interpret this more as a reassurance than as an actual question. In starting his response with “though” (or alternatively “but”), Lava Lamp’s agreement is implied. Ie: “[I didn’t want to wear it] But I’m sure it’s not something you want to see.”

p.152 - Sakura says there will be more times when she will have to hurt people directly (not have people hurt themselves.)

p.153 - When Sakura says she wants to return Syaoran’s soul to him, she uses the verb “torimodosu,” one of the same words Syaoran used regarding her feathers. If the official translation were consistent, her line here would be, “I want to give it back.”

Chapter 132

p.157 - Fai uses the verb “ikaseru” (行かせる), which could be translated as either “make her go” or “let her go.” In this context, I would interpret this as Fai asking why they let Sakura go alone, rather than asking why they sent her alone.

None of your thoughts on Fai’s continued use of “Sakura-chan” are wrong, but I would say it’s not the “-chan” itself that indicates he’s laying claim to their relationship, but simply the fact that he hasn’t changed the name he calls her by. I wouldn’t necessarily view Fai’s consistent use of -chan and -kun with Sakura and Syaoran’s names as an inherent sign of familiarity. Note how in Fai’s discussion with Yuuko he distinguishes his nicknames for Kurogane from his more “proper” way of addressing the rest of the group. It’s normal for adults to add these suffixes to the names of children, even ones they don’t know that well, whereas many parents will drop suffixes on the names of their own children as a sign of intimacy. If Fai suddenly started saying “Sakura” instead of “Sakura-chan” it would likely have the opposite effect that saying “Kurogane” did. That being said, if he wanted to establish distance between them he could have switched to “Sakura-hime” or “The Princess” or something along those lines. Thankfully when changes of address do happen, the context usually helps make the meaning behind them fairly intuitive (as in the ��Hello Kurogane” scene.) It’s just good to keep in mind that there is no solid rulebook for this stuff - it all varies depending on relative status, relationship history, tone, personality, surrounding events, etc.

p.162 - Kurogane’s original line here was, “Are you planning to go to the Princess?”/“Do you intend to go to the Princess?” so it doesn’t sound quite as harsh as the translated version.

p.165 - Sakura not knowing where to go was merely implied in the Japanese text - she originally just says that there are no more footprints.

p.169 - Kurogane refers to Sakura saying she’d come back as a “promise.” Then he says he’ll wait even if waiting is more painful than going with her.

p.171 - It may not have been clear in the translation, but Lava Lamp deliberately switches the name he uses for Sakura here from “Sakura” to “The Princess.”

p.172 - Lava Lamp differentiates between pain of the body vs pain of the heart (incidentally using the same word for “heart” that is used to describe Syaoran’s heart/soul.) If Fai was injured, the pain in Sakura’s heart would be far worse than any physical pain. This then informs the scene that follows - I assume Sakura knows her physical injuries are worse than Fai’s, but her concern for him encompasses both physical and emotional damage.

#god I love these notes #Everything makes so much more sense all at once #Giniroangou #who is the actual best #Liveblogging the reservoir chronicle #tsubasa #Vol 125 #vol 126 #vol 127 #vol 128 #vol 129 #vol 130 #vol 131 #vol 132 #goodness Acid Tokyo actually has a coherent reasoning behind everything now #this is a blessing

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jennamoran · 6 years ago

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The Horizon Campaign (15)

Link to the Chuubo’s Marvelous Wish-Granting Engine RPG, on DriveThru

Link to Fortitude: the Glass-Maker’s Dragon, on DriveThru

Let’s talk some more about the Horizon campaign(s)!

Previously,

we built some connections between prospective Main Characters and Egyptian deities.

Then, we looked at what characters the campaign would have to have, pulled some out into a possible secondary campaign, and worked on assigning starting Arc colors.

Then, we explored some possible new characters for the secondary campaign, including the Mystery Typhon… but even after two different takes on her, we weren’t quite there.

Then, we finalized something like a concept there and looked at gender-balancing the default versions of our sets of eight characters.

Then, we assigned Arc colors and archetypes to the characters in the secondary campaign, and started talking about Rinley’s first story in that campaign.

Then we made a first stab at that story … and failed!

So we tried again!

and then did a couple more Rinley stories

and a couple more …

and took a brief break to sum up what we had.

Then, we sketched out the corresponding quest set.

Then, we figured out its metadata.

Then, we worked out the first quest!

Then, we started our work on the second, but, because I went into real detail on the design of the quest options, didn’t actually finish it.

Then, we just kept going!

Today, let’s finish this quest up!

Right, Where Were We? (Redux)

So the last few ideas I’d had for major goals or quest flavor items for this quest I’d loosely recorded as being about:

weird creatures

hunting

“don’t be there,” and

“here are some people to fit in with.”

What does that mean, exactly?

Well ...

Weird Creatures

I’m not sure if I was running out of ideas when I reached this point in the initial writeup, or if I was running out of steam when I was expanding on stuff ...

Regardless, much like “legacies” at the end of our last entry, this isn’t super-inspiring.

It’s not empty of inspiration:

I mean, there’s cryptid hunting, and weird Horizon stuff, and weird Outside stuff, and Hoop Snake, and all that.

But it’s not singing.

Maybe it’s just that “weird creatures” isn’t actually landing on the thematic heart of any of it, just the F/X.

Regardless, let’s toss in:

you encounter a strange creature—something that you’ve never seen before

The imagery in my head is sort of threatening and sort of caught-by-the-inspiration-of-it, so we’ll color it like so:

[[RED]][[SWORD]] you encounter a strange creature—something that you’ve never seen before

Hunting

Fortunately, even if I am losing steam here, there’s just three left, and we’ve already wound up covering this one IMO with “there’s a monster-hunting motif” and “the game’s afoot!”

So, more like two, really.

Don’t Be There

This one would be a major goal:

Something convincingly argues or pushes against your ability to fit in to the place that you’ve found in or for this quest.

Here are Some People to Fit With

The last common element I identified in the first brainstorming pass was the idea that you’ve found a group of people to fit in with. Or, more generally, a place.

You’ve found a situation you belong in, as I said in an earlier post.

One way is to make this a major goal, and that was almost what I did just now, but honestly, I don’t know if comfort works like that. I don’t know if you dramatically find a place you belong and 5 XP and then you go back to doing whatever else.

It’s more like:

[[MOON]][[CROOK]] you kind of feel like you belong

And We’re Done!

Let’s put it all together.

After going over all the initial ideas, and before doing any reconciliation or editing, we have three major goals:

Someone terrible invites you to join their group

Something convincingly argues or pushes against your ability to fit in to the place that you’ve found in or for this quest.

You discover a grand conspiracy or secret related to this Arc

And uh

sixteen

quest flavor options.

...

Well, OK Then!

The first thing I’m going to do after listing them is sort them. So, to avoid the pointless repetition, I’m going to skip past the first list and sort them a little before I repeat them below.

sort sort sort

OK, the 16 are:

[[MOON]][[BLUE]] you compose part of a letter, journal entry, or news article

[[MOON]][[BLUE]] there’s a monster-hunting motif.

[[MOON]][[BLUE]] you have a meal with a weird peer group in a weird but appropriate place.

[[MOON]][[RED]] you attend a remembrance or a festival focusing on the past

[[MOON]][[STAR]] you’re in a maze-like, shadow-filled, excessive place

[[MOON]] you feel the weight of history

[[MOON]][[CROOK]] You visit a lab, archive, or room full of books

[[MOON]][[CROOK]] you work on something for a recognized extracurricular activity or club

[[MOON]][[CROOK]] talking shop with a deviant scientist

[[MOON]][[CROOK]] you kind of feel like you belong

[[SWORD]][[CROOK]] You hang out with a student tied to the Arc’s setting or storyline

[[SWORD]][[RED]] you encounter a strange creature—something that you’ve never seen before

[[BLUE]][[RED]] socializing with ghosts, monsters, and things that go bump in the night

[[BLUE]][[GREEN]] the game’s afoot!

[[BLUE]][[GREEN]] you’re challenged by a monster in a position of power

[[MOON]][[GREEN]] you feel disjointed, dislocated, disconnected from what’s going on around you.

... these are all pretty good, TBH.

Trimming Things Down

I kind of want to keep them all. I don’t think I can do that. It’s not that I can’t bend my default rule of “1 quest flavor option per 5 XP;” I’ve done that before, and I can do it again.

... but I don’t think 16 flavor options will fit on a card and I don’t think players can easily process them.

That failing, I kind of want to keep as many as I can.

... but that means making this a 45-XP quest.

Which Raises the Question ...

How long should this quest be?

... it can be long, but it doesn’t really want to be super-long. I think.

Like, 40 is fine, 45 is OK, I will live with it if I have to, but 35-40 is probably better?

So, it’s serious pruning shears time!

Savagery

Let me start with some brutal trimming. Let me cut away everything that doesn’t leap out and yell at me that it’s both a good quest item and a really good fit for this particular quest.

Leaving:

[[MOON]][[BLUE]] you have a meal with a weird peer group in a weird but appropriate place.

[[MOON]][[RED]] you attend a remembrance or a festival focusing on the past

[[MOON]] you feel the weight of history

[[MOON]][[CROOK]] You visit a lab, archive, or room full of books

[[MOON]][[CROOK]] you work on something for a recognized extracurricular activity or club

[[MOON]][[CROOK]] talking shop with a deviant scientist

[[MOON]][[CROOK]] you kind of feel like you belong

[[SWORD]][[CROOK]] You hang out with a student tied to the Arc’s setting or storyline

[[BLUE]][[RED]] socializing with ghosts, monsters, and things that go bump in the night

[[BLUE]][[GREEN]] the game’s afoot!

[[BLUE]][[GREEN]] you’re challenged by a monster in a position of power

[[MOON]][[GREEN]] you feel disjointed, dislocated, disconnected from what’s going on around you.

Down to 12, which is an improvement.

Redundant Quest Items

I feel like we can drop at least one of “you visit a lab...,” “you work on something for a recognized extracurricular activity...,” and “talking shop.”

I think we can drop the lab/archive one, because it’s good but its content core is covered by the two items below it.

I feel like “socializing with ghosts, monsters...” and “you have a meal with a weird peer group” is redundant. Let’s ... drop the meal part.

That gives us:

[[MOON]][[RED]] you attend a remembrance or a festival focusing on the past

[[MOON]] you feel the weight of history

[[MOON]][[CROOK]] you work on something for a recognized extracurricular activity or club

[[MOON]][[CROOK]] talking shop with a deviant scientist

[[MOON]][[CROOK]] you kind of feel like you belong

[[SWORD]][[CROOK]] You hang out with a student tied to the Arc’s setting or storyline

[[BLUE]][[RED]] socializing with ghosts, monsters, and things that go bump in the night

[[BLUE]][[GREEN]] the game’s afoot!

[[BLUE]][[GREEN]] you’re challenged by a monster in a position of power

[[MOON]][[GREEN]] you feel disjointed, dislocated, disconnected from what’s going on around you.

... and we’re down to 10.

It’s getting a little harder to trim them. I don’t know if I can get all the way down to a 35-XP quest.

... but if one of those flavor items can become a major goal, then I only have to trim one of them or combine two of them to have a solid 40-XP quest.

Which One Becomes a Major Goal?

... probably the festival focusing on the past is the best candidate.

I also feel like that might want to be adapted somehow to work better with time travel, so the phrasing needs something.

Speaking of Time Travel

I think the only student you really have to be able to hang out with is Akino, so maybe just move “or time traveler” into the deviant scientist bit?

... wait, Akino is probably not a time traveler. They are probably native to their time. Just, like, aware of time stuff.

Or something.

So, like “talking shop with a deviant scientist or someone else outside of their time”?

I dunno, let’s not be cute. “or someone loosely anchored in time?”

That might get us there!

Major Goals

Blah blah 5 XP when

Someone terrible invites you to join their group;

Something convincingly argues or pushes against your ability to fit in to the place that you’ve found in or for this quest;

You discover a grand conspiracy or secret related to this Arc; or

You attend a ceremony, festival, or remembrance that connects you to the past.

Up to 20 XP.

Quest Flavor

Blah blah 1 XP when:

[[MOON]] you feel the weight of history

[[MOON]][[CROOK]] you work on something for a recognized extracurricular activity or club

[[MOON]][[CROOK]] talking shop with a deviant scientist or someone loosely anchored in time

[[MOON]][[CROOK]] you kind of feel like you belong

[[BLUE]][[RED]] socializing with ghosts, monsters, and things that go bump in the night

[[BLUE]][[GREEN]] the game’s afoot!

[[BLUE]][[GREEN]] you’re challenged by a monster in a position of power

[[MOON]][[GREEN]] you feel disjointed, dislocated, disconnected from what’s going on around you.

40 XP quest!

Let’s pick a color for it ...

I guess this should be orange. You’re in a situation, you’re trying to fit in, but ... it’s a struggle.

Is 40 XP Too Much?

I’ve just noticed that the last quest was 45 XP, and I’m a little worried. But ...

I may want to revisit that, but, well, “the main quests are just too long” is what simplified quests are for.

So for right now, I think it’ll be OK.

I think all I’ll do is tweak the punctuation slightly on the last entry and we’re good to go.

#cmwge #patreon-supported posts #the horizon campaign #rinley yatskaya

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landoftheway · 7 years ago

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GUESS WHO’S DOING A SUPER-PREEMPTIVE WRITEUP ON THE NEW STRANGE JOURNEY REDUX CHARACTER~

So yeah, fucking massive spoilers below the cut for Shin Megami Tensei: Strange Journey Redux, mostly but not exclusively related to the new character Alex:

Putting some space here for anyone on mobile who doesn’t want to see the details.

Okay, so assuming you’re reading this you either don’t care about spoilers or you’re already somewhat in the know, so let’s get some basic plot points out of the way:

Alex is from the future, though it appears to be the potential future of all 3 original endings to SJ.

Basically, humanity gets fucked in all 3: in Law they all get brainwashed into slaves, in Chaos they get brainwashed into barbaric animals, and in Neutral they fail to stop their destruction of the Earth and bring about another Schwarzwelt, which succeeds where the first one failed.

Alex manages to get enough future tech and resources to makeshift a time travel device, with the help of an AI partner she’s had since birth named George.

Said AI is very clearly a more advanced version of the same type as Arthur.

Her mission is to kill the protag and (depending on the route) Jimenez/Zelenin. This will give humanity a chance to actually get its shit together at the last minute and hopefully survive.

By completing the new dungeon in Redux and helping her out, you convince her that you can be trusted to help make a better future, thus the new endings.

However, these new endings retcon Alex out of existence since the future she was born in no longer exists. She’s pretty cool with it, though.

BIG REVEAL: Alex is Lucifer’s daughter. Specifically, the daughter of his Louisa form and an unknown human man.

Alex doesn’t appear to know most of the details about this: she has a hologram of Louisa that she knows is of her mother, but she makes no mention of her father and seems to believe that she is entirely human.

So what I wanted to go into was her being Lucifer’s daughter, since him having a kid is kind of a big deal. I’m willing to bet there’s a fair number of people who think this is a stupid plot-point, but I think it fits pretty well with his MO that’s been established since Nocturne: give power to someone with potential, present opportunities to make use of that power, and then let the cards fall where they may. It also fits with what Louisa says on the Chaos route: “Humans, born of God’s madness, belong to me. I have no love for them. But neither will I abandon them. That is freedom.” There’s also the fact that he had two kids in Devil Children, but whether we’re counting those as relevant to SMT canon is debatable.

Another question is how much present-Louisa is aware of her situation and what her thoughts on the matter are, but I think it’s safe to assume that she’s up to speed on everything since demons basically exist outside of normal time and space anyway. Plus, she does very briefly assist the protag with carrying out Alex’s mission once she’s gone, so she seems down for Alex’s plan even if it results in a world that isn’t Chaotic. My best guess based on Luci’s established attitude is that he sees any world that falls outside of what is desired by YHVH and his associates as acceptable, and even the new Law ending for Redux qualifies in that regard.

However, this brings up a more interesting question: Lucifer worked to make the original Chaos ending for SJ, but Alex comes back in time in order to work against that and Luci seems totally okay with Alex’s actions. So does that mean Luci was okay with the original Chaos plan but would prefer alternatives, is just prioritizing whatever Alex decides, or something else entirely? It’s a bit too early to say one way or another for sure since I haven’t found any versions of the new Law and Chaos endings in english yet, so I’mma wait for those to come out before weighing in more on Lucifer. Though I will say based on who you fight in each path and how the situations look in japanese that Luci is okay with the New Law world pissing off the Three Wise Men and Mastema, while she’s also okay with the New Chaos world still enabling mankind to live among demons.

For now, I do want to point out one interesting fact: when choosing to fight Alex on any of the new paths, she activates a plot device that amplifies the wielder’s latent powers (while also sharing that power with the wielder’s demons) and her appearance changes to this:

While it’s possible a similar effect might be noticed in a human, we don’t see anything of the sort when we see a post-New Neutral protag who’s been powered up by an exponentially stronger version of that item, so I’d like to think this transformation is due to her being half-demon.

Putting some space here for anyone on mobile who doesn’t want to see the details.

#megaten #shin megami tensei #strange journey #spoilers

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greekowl87 · 7 years ago

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Fic: False Flags Redux 11/13

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) | AO3

Almost coming towards the end. Thanks as always to @mulders-boyish-enthousiasm and @scully-loves-ruthie for putting up with me. Tagging @today-in-fic.

You forgot about me, didn’t you? Honestly now, no one forgets about me. Not really. I remembered reclaiming myself, the 19th-century version of myself. A sea captain. I also remember being a gangster in the roaring 1920s as an enforcer for the Italian mob. I got good at killing and I loved it. I got three lifetimes jiggling around up there and it does get overwhelming. Multiple personality disorder is what the prison doctors diagnosed me. But it’s all me. It’s all me.

But when I saw her and knew. And him. Those bastards.

That bitch.

. . . .

Yorktown, Virginia October 13, 1862

Scully pulled her shawl tightly around her as she walked nervously along the muddy main street to a small white building, the local tavern. She lowered her eyes as she passed a small group of drunk Union soldiers who whistled at her leeringly. She wrapped her arms around herself, hurrying her steps, wishing she had agreed to meet her baby brother with Mulder by her side. She would feel safer at the very least. She opened the door to the quaint establishment and noticed the soldiers and the few men she recognized from the town. The owner saw her enter and whistled. “You are expected upstairs,” the barkeeper told Scully.

Scully shivered, wishing even more than Mulder was with her. She felt so naked without him next to her. Quietly, she climbed up the wooden staircase to a room that was partially opened, the lamplight illuminating the otherwise dark hallway. She pushed the creaking door open without preamble and saw her baby brother Charlie, in full uniform, sitting at a table with two glasses and a bottle of whiskey between them. “Did you bring him?”

“No,” she said stiffly, “as per your request. I came alone.”

“Drop the act, Dana.”

Scully remained standing, her face cold and emotionless. Despite her short stature, his older sister’s pride poured forth with newfound confidence and authority that had not been there the last time he had seen her.“How did you find me?”

“You weren’t that hard to find,” he shrugged, nodding towards the empty seat. He poured them two healthy glasses. He collapsed in the antiqued wooden chair. “You look...good...given...despite everything.”

“Given everything? Despite everything?” Scully repeated slowly. She circled around the table and took the other glass of whiskey and knocked it back. She poured herself another glass with the recklessness of a man. “What a polite way of saying I fucked up and ruined the family honor.”

“You know the weight of your actions.” He watched her ominously. “You know what you did, Dana.”

“I’m happy,” she answered simply. She walked slowly to the opposite chair, took the glass and drained it in one gulp. “Isn’t that enough considering that I should be counted as a widow. I have not heard from Franklin before I fled Norfolk.”

“Well, you really did vanish. It was rather difficult for me to track you down.” Charlie raised an eyebrow. “Did your Lieutenant teach you that?”

She annoyed the barb and simply decided to be truthful. “He treats me like an equal and does not seem to mind that I can drink him under the table,” she said in reply. “Nor does he feel intimidated by my intellect. Unlike you.”

That was one of the things she loved about Mulder. Even though they acted as a traditional couple out in public and when in front of the Skinners, Mulder treated her every bit of his equal in private. They would read whatever books they could together and debate it over dinner. Mulder valued her intellect and opinion and was the only person who did, ever. Her family supported her studies but stopped when it came time for her time to marry at seventeen, they cast her aside to her new and awaiting husband, like tradition dictated... Scully doesn’t still know how she managed to put off her marriage to the Captain for so long but she did. But Mulder...Mulder was different. She sensed that about him the moment she met him at that dinner party. That’s why she took him to her bed that night, made her decision to take things into her own hands, and live happily with Mulder instead of in misery.

Charlie took his own glass and swished it around. “You were always the smartest of us, Dae. Bill the most loyal, Melissa the free spirit, me the clever one…”

Scully snorted. “Clever? Please. You could just talk your way out of trouble. How did I get stuck with the extra penmanship lessons and you didn’t? The exploding inkwell was all your doing if I recall.”

“No. That was Missy” he corrected with a smile, “I’m clever, but you, Dana, you were always the smartest.”

She snorted uncharacteristically. “You don’t like Mulder. You look just like father, Charlie.” She collapsed in the wooden chair, tucking her skirts under hair. “And stop looking at me like that.” She shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t appreciate you judging me.”

“You betrayed your marriage.”

“He makes me happy. Isn’t that enough? It was like pulling teeth with him to make him turn, but once he did...Charlie, I found a kindred spirit.” She sighed, downing the liquor. “I’m happy.”

“Who did the deed?”

Scully blushed. She remembered that fevered night the first time they tasted each others flesh. It had been unlike anything else that she had experienced. “It does not matter, but after Franklin left…” She sighed. “Franklin ordered Mulder to stay behind, to take care of me, to ensure I would be safe during his absence. That was when the invasion… then things happened. It was mutual, between us. He is a truly good man, Charles. I love him.” Scully took a deep breath and steadied herself. “He comes from a good family, Charlie. He’s honorable and just. He’s a good man.”

“Who are you trying to convince, Dae? Me or yourself?” Charlie poured another round between them, took his glass, and slouched in the chair. He looked at the cloudy amber liquid in his glass. “Despite our happiness,” he sighed, “you know how we were raised.”

“Duty before anything else,” she sighed bitterly. She sipped the whiskey. “Have you ever loved someone so much that it hurts?”

“Once. Maybe. I don’t know.” Her brother shook his head slowly. Scully was aware of both of her brothers’ marriages, how traditional they were and how Melissa disappointed their parents’ expectations, and how she was left bearing the torch. She followed it, for awhile, until Mulder. Scully took her brother’s silence as a ‘no.’ “Before Elizabeth, there was a girl from school but she...she was married before I could do anything.” He came aware of himself. “Stop changing the subject, Dana!”

“Charlie,” she began, “you asked me to spy. How many rules and traditions did you expect me to break without consequences? You lecture what I should do, who I should be.” Scully sighed. “You don’t understand. You’ll probably never understand.”

“Your husband’s alive, Dana.”

Like a bullet piercing it, Scully felt her heart skip a few beats. “What do you mean?”

“He’s in Alabama. Buchanan was promoted to an admiral,” Charlie spoke softly, watching his big sister’s stoic expressions. “Rumor has it that a new ironclad is to be built.”

“How does that concern me?” Scully focused her gaze suddenly on the opposite wall. God, she should have brought Mulder with her. Mulder. Just focus on Mulder and everything will be okay. “He left.”

“You need to go to Alabama to finish the mission.”

“I need to go?” Scully hissed. All of her emotions welled up inside her. “I will not go anywhere without Mulder. There is no mission without us!”

“You don’t know the man, Dana! How much do you trust him?”

Scully closed her eyes, unfamiliar fury working its way through her veins. When had she grown so bold? “I have always been the dutiful daughter, the good daughter. I have never once questioned my role in the scheme of things or done anything by myself. But for once, Charlies,” she spat, slamming her glass on the wood table, “I want to be happy. This is my life. My life. My choices. Franklin left me, abandoned me, and appointed Mulder as my guardian. But despite everything, Mulder is a better husband than Franklin ever was. Mulder...I love him, Charlie! More than you can ever imagine.”

“What about your country?” her brother pressed.

“Country?” she scoffed. “Which one? America or the fake Confederacy? Both sides are bloody. This war is nothing but a waste of human life.”

“Don’t go on sounding like one of the pacifists.”

“I’ve seen the destruction,” she continued, standing to her feet. “I’ve seen the fear. I’ve seen the suffering. All you have seen are the soldiers. What about the poor family who lost their father? What about the people who have lost everything?”

“What about the war effort, Dana? I thought that was what mattered to you?”

“What good is a war if there is nothing to believe in, Charlie?”

“You have a husband, not a lover. You are married, Dana. Even though your duty is to the country, it is also to your husband, and to God.”

“I am a widow. My husband is dead.” Scully swore. “Duty to my country, the United States of America, which is currently split in a bloody battle and my husband, my dead husband--” Scully laughed bitterly. “I married him because it was what our father desired, and I was Franklin’s second wife. He already had nine other children by his first wife. I was a social decoration. He doesn't love me, maybe once, but not anymore. He left Mulder to quote ‘take moral charge of me’ because I am a weak female. And he has not sent one word…”

“You ran, Dana,” her brother reminded her.

“I could see the light from across the river from the fires burning last year. I could only imagine what would happen.. We feared for our lives,” she began. “We were going to try for Richmond but we only got this far. We are waiting.”

“You need to continue our mission and go on without him.”

“What mission,” she hissed. “There is no mission without Mulder.”

“Your husband is alive, Dana! Rumor has it that they are laying a foundation for a new ironclad that we must know about.”

“I can care less!”

“What the hell, Dana?!?! Who cares about that traitor rebel?”

“What about Mulder,” she whispered, her voice become fragile. I care, she thought, I love him. “How would I explain him coming with me if I do? To continue the mission?”

“There is no Mulder. He does not a part of the plan, Dana.”

The words seemed to have finally sunk in. “So, what? You’re asking me to abandon him?” Scully asked incredulously. “After all he has done for us.” For me, she added mentally. He saved me.

“He was an asset and a deserter. A coward,” Charlie continued, grinding into her nerves. Charlie used to be the supportive one of her big sister, normally keeping his thoughts to himself while their big brother Bill had always been the hypercritical one. “And a rebel.”

“You don’t know him like I do.”

“Dana, he is an asset,” Charlie repeated. “I could care less about him. He is not my big sister, you are.”

Scully poured herself another glass and stared at it in thought. She could not imagine anything else with Mulder. In the short few months that they had been together, she was truly happy, a real happiness and love she had only read about in one of her books. Charlie shifted and sighed. “I am here until the end of November, Dana then I am heading home to Baltimore to mom for Christmas. Melissa will be there, and Bill and his new wife. It would be nice if you were to accompany me.”

“What of Mulder?” she asked in a quiet voice.

“Well, I guess the ultimately depends on your decision.”

She could tell her baby brother just gave her a veiled threat. She stood, dusting her skirts. “Thank you for the whiskey.”

She gathered her shaw and left coldly, out the door and into the muddy road. She felt stinging tears in her eyes as she hurried her steps to the small Skinner farmhouse, breezing passed Sharon Skinner and her husband and out back to the carriage house where she knew Mulder would be. He sat at the small table against the wall. There was a small fire going that he had made. He looked up with a warm smile but it slipped when he saw the heaviness in her blue eyes.

“Scully? Are you okay?”

She shook her head. She took off her shaw and hung it on a stray hook. “Mulder, do you love me?” she asked quietly.

“What sort of question is that?” he asked hesitantly. What was she doing? “Scully? Is there something wrong?

“Just answer me, Mulder! Do you love me?” she snapped. He took a deep breath and got up from the chair, stalking slowly towards her. She felt uncomfortable suddenly and backed against the door. He continued to stalk towards her until Mulder invaded her personal space and he rested both arms around her, encasing her against him. “Mulder,” she murmured warily.

“I would die,” he began, “before I let any harm come to you. You, Scully, are my guiding light. My guiding star.” She clenched her eyes closed and buried her face between them. “I love you, so much, it hurts, Scully. I would not through my life away from anyone else but you.”

The weight of the words hit Scully full force. Mulder was already an outcast and he had given up everything, literally, everything for her, including his honor and reputation and she knew that he would still bear the brunt of any accusations they faced to keep her honor intact. Charlie’s words echoed ominously, that she had to leave him, but her heart already knew the answer. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. “I will never abandon you,” she cried.

What had happened, Mulder thought sadly to cause this reaction. He hugged her tightly and she clung to him. “We’re okay, Scully.”

“I love you, Mulder,” she hiccupped in his ear.

“Why are you acting like this? What is wrong?”

“Not now,” she whispered, kissing his forehead. “Not tonight.”

“Scully, what did your brother say to you,” he continued to press. “Please tell me.”“Not tonight,” she whispered quietly, peppering his face with kisses. “Tonight, I want you to make me forget this war. Make me forget everything about it. I just want to feel you and pretend we were never married to anyone else before each other. I just want to feel like that we are the only two souls in existence.”

He nodded, understanding her request. If it was in his power to make her forget this war and everything hung over them if only for a brief few hours, he would do it. He would do anything for, including falling on his own sword in her name.

. . . .

Mulder spooned behind her and blanketed his body partially her own smaller body beneath the thick comforter and wool blankets. The fire in their small room was partially dying and Mulder was dreading getting up naked in the stark air to add more wood to the dying flames. Scully tugged his arm slightly and whispered, “Just a few seconds longer.”

“A few seconds longer and our toes will be ice later,” he murmured, kissing her unruly red hair. “A minute at most.”

Scully watched him wearily, his long back dancing in the shadows of the firelight. She could see her nail marks across his shoulder blades. He tossed a couple of logs onto the fire before shuffling back into the bed and swallowing her again. “Cold,” she huffed humorously.

“I could do that thing with my tongue again,” he murmured into her ear mischievously.

“Where on Earth did you learn that anyhow,” she breathed, writhing against him in memory.

“What do you think I was reading? It’s from a French author,” he nuzzled her neck. Scully sighed as he coiled tightly around her. “You wanna tell me what was wrong, Scully?”

“Franklin is alive, Mulder,” she confessed, barely audible. She felt him tense before pressing a possessive kiss into the back of her hair in response. “This doesn’t change anything?”

“No, not for me.”

She felt tears of relief in her eyes but her heart was still heavy. “Charlie told me this. But there is more, Mulder, he expects me to continue my original mission, spying and bringing intelligence to the Union army. Franklin was promoted to an Admiral and Charlie expects me to go to Alabama to be with him.”

“Where do I play into all of this?”

“You don’t, apparently,” she whispered.

She tensed against, waiting for the disappointment, as Mulder ran his large warm hand up and down her thigh. “You never once have said you are doing it yourself.”

“What?”

“Charlie is telling you what you need to do. You have not declared your own actions yet. That is what I love about you, Scully,” he said softly, kissing her. “You are capable of making your own decisions. I just hope that I factor into them somehow.”

“You do. You always do. There is no me without you. There is only us.” She heard his uncertainty. Slowly she turned to face him and caressed his cheek. “I just don’t know how yet, but there is no future without you. I’m not going back to Franklin. I just...I just don’t know what I can do.”

“We,” he murmured softly. “We’ll figure out something.”

. . . .

Norfolk City Morgue Norfolk, Virginia December 19, 1998

There was another body. Another murder. Another death that should have been prevented. She should have stopped him, not examining these deathly remains. Scully pulled the rubber apron over her blue scrubs and lowered the safety glasses and pulled on the medical mask. She stretched the latex gloves over her hands for the most secure fit. Glancing to the side of the medical bay, she saw Mulder hovering nearby, wearing a mask of wrought of concern, not for the case but for her. She arched an eyebrow sarcastically and he gave her a small smile. There was no future that did not include him. She remembered it saying it in the past. Her present self believed it.

“How bad,” Scully asked as she came to his side.

“Same M.O. My profile just more complicated. I can’t…” Mulder sighed and lowered his voice. “I can’t draw a complete profile with these specific actions. I need more.” More? As if reading her, he shook his head. “Not just then. And now. But in between. There has to be more. Did your research uncover anything else?”

“Maybe the prisoner of war camps,” she whispered, watching the ASAC and Diana Fowley enter. “I’ve read the thing but I can’t be certain.”

“We need to talk tonight,” he murmured in her hair discreetly. “I’m remembering more. By the way, you look adorable in the surgical mask.”

Scully felt herself smile. “Do you remember the French book you read?”

He licked his lips and smiled deviously. “That’s probably where I learned my, and I quote, ‘amazing tongue antics,’ and my love for sunflower seeds. I perfected it for you.” Mulder desperately wished he could comfort Scully. Instead, he squeezed her forearm. “Call me, if you need anything. I’ll be a few blocks away.”

“Are you going to try and finish the profile,” she murmured.

“Revise. The more I remember, the more he does, more connections and explanations are created. I need…” He took a deep breath. “I can’t find the answers.”

“You can,” Scully countered, glancing at Fowley. “I’ll call you. Okay?”

“I’d kiss you if I could.”

“I know. I would too. You just want to make all the other girls jealous.”

He smiled tightly. “Just call,” he reminded her. “I’ll be here.”

“I know you will.”

Mulder squeezed her forearm before leaving wordlessly out the back before Fowley and the ASAC could chase him. The past had cleared her head and made her feel more capable in the present. All the past months’ doubts about her and Mulder and the crone-bitch Fowley, she knew that Mulder was hers. Loyalty and love ran through time and souls. Fuck that bitch.

“Agent Scully,” ASAC Benson called. “We’re glad we caught you! Have you had a chance to perform the autopsy yet?”

“I haven’t had a chance to look at the body much less perform an autopsy.” She began. Thank God she was wearing a surgical mask to hide her facial features. “Agent Mulder is reworking his profile. Is there anything substantial you can tell me about this body?”

Diana was glaring at Scully (of course she was). “Same M.O. as the last body. Shot at the base of the skull, execution style.”

“Wonderful. How was the body identified?”

“Fingerprints. Buckley is not making an attempt to hide his work,” Diana continued, watching Scully was she readied her instruments.

“I would suspect not, after how he blatantly left his signature all over the last crime scene.”

“What does Agent Mulder think,” the ASAC asked.

“He’s unsure. He is going to revise his profile from a new angle.”

“Past lives. There has to be something with past lives,” Fowley interjected. Scully bit her tongue and readied her tape recorder. “Buckley wrote a journal which makes a mention of past lives, three exactly, which Agents Mulder and Scully make mention of in their report.”

“We mentioned he suggested such a notion. Agent Mulder and I concluded schizophrenia or some sort of mental illness. The report clearly shows that.” She knew the report. Fowley was not going to take that from her. “Agent Fowley is mistaken in her interpretation.”

“What is Buckley’s motivation then?”

Scully felt herself growing distant as she turned on the tape, refusing to answer the question. “This is Special Agent Dana Scully. The date is December 19, 1998, at…” She glanced at the wall clock. “9:37 a.m. I am about to perform the external examination of…” Scully paused, coughing slightly. She took a deep breath. “Katherine Buchanan, aged 31, white caucasian, red hair.” She opened the cadaver eyes. “Blue eyes.” . . . .

Mulder watched Scully from a distance before getting into their rental car. Scully would be safe here at the morgue with the other agents around her. Buckley would not be able to get to her. She would be safe. Mulder remembered the uncertainty and cloudiness that Scully described as the memories of her former past life, but the memories eventually settled and the secondary consciousness merged with his current one. The more he remembered, the more he loved Scully and the worried he became too.

In the car, Mulder withdrew a file with xeroxed portions of the journal, looking at mentions for times of being in Alabama and in a prisoner of war camp. After Scully called the other day, he did some research of his own, specifically about the prison camps. Personally, he had no recollection about such prisoner of war camps. He had been lucky. He and Scully eventually hid out the rest of the war as civilians or tried, so that when everything was said and done, they could have had a life together. Could have. They did. He remembered the look of terror in her eye as she confided remembering her own murder by Buckley (or was it Buchan?) over a century ago. Maybe he could have suffered something that caused him to mentally snap? Why about the anger? Was it directed towards him, Scully, or both of them? There had to be more. As he flipped through the copied pages, another name, Frankie Luciano, and mentions of speakeasies and prohibition. Mulder made a mental note to make a call to the FBI archives back in Washington.

He jumped when he saw Diana knocking on his driver’s side window. Reluctantly, he lowered it half way and raised an eyebrow. “What, Diana?” he asked her.

“You’re considering the past lives theory, aren’t you, Fox?”

Mulder set his jaw and looked at the road. “Again, Diana, profiling is not your job, it’s mine.”

“Why don’t you let me help? Agent Scully does not believe like you or I do. She is not open to the possibilities like we are,” Diana said. She held up a folder enticingly. Mulder eyed it like the snake offering the apple of knowledge. “This might be what you are looking for.”

He made no move to take it. Diana could not be more wrong. “Are you going to tell me what is in that file?”

“Mmm,” she smiled seductively and he frowned. “Come on, Fox. You know I have invaluable insight.”

“I’m certain you do,” he murmured, his mind flashing to Scully and the looks of revulsion she would no doubt give him if he did help. And now, with their trek into familiar, unknown territory and newly blossomed intimacy between them, he did not dare wreck that. “Excuse me.”

He rolled up the window, silently proud of himself in displaying a newfound willpower to ignore her siren calls. He shifted the car into gear and began the short drive back to the FBI field office, his mind dancing at all sorts of different possibilities

. . . .

Scully had performed a variety of autopsies. She had cut open old and young, men and women, adults and children. She had seen everything from alien viruses to heart attacks to the most violent ways possible. She had seen bodies tortured and mutilated. Hell, she had even examined an elephant that had been abducted by aliens. As a forensic pathologist and an FBI agent, she had to keep a cool exterior. There had been some that troubled her. Exhumations were never pleasant. Having to examine the polydactyl sisters and seeing her own daughter Emily on the table instead still haunted her. But this. This unsettled her just as much.

The victim, Katherine Buchanan, with red hair and blue eyes. The messages could not have been clearer. Obviously, he was trying to tell her something. A warning. Or simply that her time was coming. The victim’s body had been mutilated and desecrated, fortunately, Scully thought, she had died early on and did not suffer. But Buckley had continued, carving her body like a Christmas turkey. She had seen work similar to the mob, usually as a retaliation or to send a warning, when she had first been at Quantico. She had read how hitmen took pride in their work. Hell, she had even remembered seeing an article in one of her medical journals tracing the history of such violent killing tracing all the way back to Jack the Ripper.

But this...none of it made sense. Buckley was being careless. Or deliberate. Scully and the crime scene techs found his fingerprints all over the place. The technique of the killing, it was like Buckley had knowledge of the mob or of being a hitman, but none of it made sense. Scully cast one last glance at the covered body and peeled off her gloves and tossed them in the medical waste bend. She took off her safety glasses and gathered her tips and medical files wearily. She wanted nothing more than to take a hot bath and fall asleep in her bed, preferably with Mulder coiled about her.

“Agent Scully!”

She felt physically tense as she heard Fowley’s voice. She forced a smile. “Yes,” she sighed, “Agent Fowley,” force the smile, “what can I do for you?”

“Have you concluded your autopsy?”

“Yes, but the ASAC will have to wait. I still to write my findings down in a report.”

“Did you find anything noteworthy?”

“Aside from the violence post-death, then no. Agent Fowley, if you will excuse me, it’s been a long day for me. I would like to retire early. If you’ll excuse me.”

She turned to leave but Fowley held out a file. “Those wounds look like the work of someone in the mob, don’t they? And the victim, the victim looks an awfully like you, Agent Scully.”

“Coincidence,” she whispered dismissively. She was growing uncomfortable with Fowley’s presence. “What do you want?”

“I have information. I tried to give it to Mulder, but he dismissed it. I thought you would find more use for it.”

“I’m sure Agent Mulder had a good reason.”

“He mentions a past life as a mob strongman during the 1920s.”

Scully was quiet, measuring her words. “I suspect that might be more useful to Agent Mulder’s profile rather than my autopsy. If you will excuse, Agent Fowley, this report is not going to write itself.”

She gathered her notes and materials to her chest and walked quickly out of the door and down towards the locker room where her clothes and possessions were. Her mind was already trying to make sense of the new information and how it could impact everything. Quietly, she had begun formulating a theory and had yet to share it with Mulder. He obviously wanted revenge. He shot her, execution style in March 1865 in the back of her neck with a revolver while Mulder watched on. But the other victims...what was he trying to say? The first victim was shot like she had been. The second victim reminded her of her 19th-century doppelganger self, but the style of the killing and the mutilation post-mortem was worse. She shivered and opened the locker door, looking for her cell phone, and hit the speed dial number one.

“Mulder.”

“Mulder, it’s me,” she spoke quietly.

He was quiet on the other end of the line, likely noting the shift in her voice. “Scully, is everything alright?”

“I...I don’t know, Mulder. Where are you right now?”

“At the field office. Are you ready for me to pick you up?”

“Yeah.” She took a deep breath to steady herself. “Um, we need to talk about the profile. My findings today…”

“Scully, what is it?”

“That could have been me,” she whispered, looking over her shoulder to ensure she was alone in the room. “Mulder, he is trying to bait me.”

“Scully,” he called her name again. “You don’t know that. The second victim bore an uncanny resemblance but…”

“Her name, Mulder. Katherine Buchanan? That is no coincidence, it’s deliberate,” she pressed. “Remember William and Katherine? I’m surprised no one else has connected the dots.”

“Well, not everyone remembers their past life,” he soothed. “We do. Scully, I’ll be there in a half hour. Try and calm down. He isn’t making this personal.” Mulder paused, sounding utterly unconvinced of his own lie. “Just sit put.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she replied, glancing at the medical files. “I’m not going anywhere.”

. . . .

Yorktown, Virginia December 10, 1862

“I’m not going anywhere,” Scully said, drawing herself to her full, small height as her baby brother Charlie sighed heavily. “I’m not leaving, Mulder. I don’t want to go back to Franklin. I don’t want to go back to the war and spying. I am not leaving him”

“Dana, you are talking nonsense.”

“You gave me a choice, Charlie and I choose Mulder.”

“I didn’t actually think you would go through with it,” he scoffed.

In the same small room of the inn, brother and sister stood and opposite ends like chess pieces. Queen takes bishop. Check.

“It’s my life, Charlie,” she said. “Do you know how unhappy I was with my life during the past seven years? I was miserable. Mulder has saved me in more ways than I know!”

“You’re using personal motive to disregard the larger fight. We can make a difference!”

“I did it so I could in the beginning, but it’s just not worth it to me anymore,” she said simply. “I watched the ironclads battle in that river, I saw hysteria grip Norfolk at the impending invasion from the Union army. I have heard the stories of bloody battles. I do not want to be a part of that anymore. Can’t you see? There’s much much more to life than this bloody war! I have a life with him, with us, there is so much potential!”

“So, what would you do? Stay here and be a farmer? With Mulder?”

“If I must. I’ll do anything to stand by him.” Scully shook her head angrily. “These people need help right here! I see countless refugees, civilian and freed slaves and the like come through here looking for a new life. I could help! I could teach! Do something. I don’t want to be a part of this war anymore. I want to help people rebuild.”

“Is that deserter Mulder talking or you, Dana?”

“It’s my life. I’m not going to Alabama. I’m staying here.”

Charlie drew a deep breath and finally nodded in resignation. “I guess, I guess I’ll see you when the war’s over then,” he said softly.

“Have you figured out what to tell mother?”

“I’ll think of something. Just keep in touch.”

Scully knew what he was saying. This goodbye could be the last or maybe, with the war over, she might be able to return home and face her family with Mulder as her new husband. But likely, she would never see any of her family again. “I’ll write Missy if I can, send word if I’m okay,” she said softly.

“I’ll let her know. What name will you be using?”

“Healey. Katherine Healey.”

“Mom’s name.” He nodded and gave a sad, wistful smile. He hugged his big sister and dipped his head. “Merry Christmas, Dana.”

“Be safe, Charlie.”

“Before I leave tonight, I will leave instruction with the commander of the garrison how you desire to help teach the refugees and the freed slaves. That way, you can begin rebuilding in your own way.”

“Thank you.”

He smiled. “Goodbye, Dana.”

She watched him don his officers cap and button up his overcoat and go out the door, down the stairs, and out into the night. Scully suddenly felt smaller, more alone. No one told her being brave and standing her ground could be so lonely. She pulled on her cloak and gathered her gloves and headed down the stairs and out into the night.

The main street was still muddy. It was always muddy. The mood was always cold. Sad. She looked up the night sky, wishing to see the moon and stars, but she only saw black clouds. And then a single snowflake. And then another. And then another. She closed her eyes as the first cold flurry hit her face and melt in the tear tracks that slid silently down her eyes. As she trudged back to the carriage house on the Skinners’ farm, the snow had grown heavier and had begun sticking to the ground. By the time she arrived back at the carriage house and lumbered up the stairs, she saw Mulder lounging on their bed, reading a book in the candlelight while a warm fire crackled across the room. He heard the door close and he dropped the book and sat up in bed.

When he saw the tears streak down Scully’s red cheeks, he knew. She picked him over her family, duty, and honor. She had chosen him, the deserter and loner from a conflicted past. “Scully,” he managed, unable to utter anything else.

She took off her cloak and gloves, let lose her dress and stockings and pillaged one of her nightshirts. Wordless, he opened the covers beside him and got ready for bed himself. One of the things he admired between them was their ability to excel at wordless communication. Once beneath their heavy blankets, she coiled around him for dear life and let the tears come. He held her tightly, kissing her unruly red hair, silently vowing to take care of the only family he had left.

. . . .

FBI Field Office Norfolk, Virginia December 19, 1998

Everyone else had gone home for the night except the graveyard shift who continuously monitored for the activity for Buckley. In a small conference room, over cold coffee and candy bars stolen from the vending machine down the hall, the partners sat across from each other in silence. Mulder flipped through Scully’s autopsy findings, taking particular care to read over her descriptions of the mutilations to the poor victim’s body. He felt his stomach flip sickeningly as he looked at the multiple stab wounds and carving Buckley had done to her body.

“Was she alive during all this?” he asked quietly.

Scully pursued her lips and shook her head. “She bleed out through her femoral artery. One of the first strikes he did. Sadly and as cold as this sounds, she died quickly before she could suffer anymore.”

“Your opinion, Scully, does Buckley know what he is doing?”

“Yes and no.”

“What does that mean?”

“He knows how to inflict pain,” she whispered, “make people suffer. I’ve seen similar cases of mob deaths when I was working on my residency in pathology. But he does not have the finesse knowledge. I believe he knicked the femoral artery accidentally while trying to...uh, mark her thigh. The most I can speculate is that the blade is a standard chef’s knife, nothing special, and likely impossible to trace.”

“And this has to do with another past life as Frankie Luciano?”

She shrugged. “Fowley seemed convinced.”

“She came to me, right before I left, offering information.” He tented his fingers in front of his face. “I refused her of course. But it didn’t stop me from doing my research.”

“You refuse her? Why?”

He just gave her a small, reassuring smile. “Well, I went back and looked at his journal. He mentions a name: Frankie Luciano. There was a small time, very violent man, attached to to the Big Seven Group during 1929 prohibition up in New Jersey.” He passed her an old copy of a xeroxed book sheet with an ugly man with a face of a bulldog. She narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“It looks nothing like him, Franklin or Buckley, except maybe...his eyes. He has the same eyes.”

Mulder nodded. “His journal mentions strange dreams that later become memories. Ring a bell, Scully?” Her eyes rose and met his and he nodded, answering her wordless question. “Just like us. What I don’t get is how come we have our same names instead of different ones? Were we always ourselves?”

Scully dug into her briefcase and passed him the picture she had found earlier at the museum in Newport News. He took it reluctantly and broke out into a smile when he saw it. “It is real, Mulder. We lived in the 1860s. That picture could have been taken yesterday as far as I am concerned. It is us.”

Mulder examined the picture with some fondness. Taken in the style of the times, it showed an 1863 Scully sitting formally in a chair with him, with short hair and a beard, resting his hand on her shoulder with her hand resting on top of his. Neither one of them smiled but it was them. “What else doesn’t make sense is how we look the same,” he continued. “Don’t you think?”

“It’s like looking in a mirror.” Scully shifted uneasily in her seat. “Even though we’re an adorable couple.” They both chuckled. “What started as dreams are as clear, crystal clear, as a memory to me, Mulder and I can recall them as easily as my own. And I know they are mine but I’m still me. I’m still Dana Katherine Scully, medical doctor and FBI agent.” She looked down at the picture of the 1920s criminal and then back to Mulder. “Does that make sense or am I just crazy?”

“Must be because you’re making perfect sense to me,” he teased lightly coaxing out a small smile out of her. “But this, Scully we can’t ignore. We have to bring to the attention of the ASAC and the rest of the task force.”

“How do we do that without making us sound crazy or bringing up past lives?”

“We may have to bring up past lives,” Mulder said, “just not ours.”

“Diana suspects something.”

“I know she does,” he sighed. “You remember from the Apison case, you suggested multiple personality disorder? I think we might be able to suggest something similar: schizophrenia. He’d already been diagnosed before we caught him. Buckley does not claim to be any of these past lives actively but he has the knowledge. One of the symptoms is believing thoughts are being inserted into one’s mind and, depending on how you read the journal, we could argue that. Hopefully, we can remember enough to catch him in the meantime.”

“What about the victims? It doesn’t take a genius to make the connection to me. The last victim looked just like me.” She shuddered at the thought. “Somebody was going to suspect something. We were the ones who originally caught him.”

“Not everyone knows about our past. “He held out a hand coolly. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there, Scully. In the meantime, we can tie all this together and present it to the ASAC in the morning. I’m exhausted. You ready to head back?”

“I’ll drive us back to the hotel,” she volunteered softly, gathering their files.

. . . .

Holiday Inn at the Airport Norfolk, Virginia December 19, 1998

Scully did not know if it was her memories or the new thrill of being held by Mulder while she slept, but it felt right. It just felt right. It happened without discussion, almost automatically assumed as if they had been doing it for years. But deep down, Scully was glad she was not sleeping alone tonight. The autopsy from earlier that day still plagued the back of her mind, made her feel uneasy, and she knew, deep down, Buckley was hunting her again. Waiting. She felt Mulder unconsciously tighten his arms around her and snore slightly in his sleep. They would be all right. They had to be.

. . . .

You knew it was about revenge. I told you about it in the beginning.

It was transparently obvious. Blatantly so.

Mulder took my wife and he will pay. Again.

But there something thrilling about the hunt. It would be nothing to just shoot the man in the head and be done with it, but it takes real skill to lure your prey before making the final kill. I killed someone right away at the Oceanfront only because she knew who I was. She didn't count. The first woman was just meant to be a warning, but the second woman, mmm...it was just a matter of how creative I could get. And the crazy thing, I just loved it. The end is coming soon, don’t worry. But everything comes in threes before the big finale. This isn’t over yet. I will still have my day.

#false flags redux #xfiles #xf fic #case fic #msr #msr fic #txf #txf fic #mulder #scully #mulder and scully #historic au #fanfic #fanfiction

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mayhapitwasme · 7 years ago

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King’s Knight Service Termination + Content Map Up to End-Date

So as you may have heard, the spin-off game "King's Knight: Wrath of the Dark Dragon" or to most of us just "King's Knight" is being officially terminated by Square-Enix. This is saddening to hear as many of us really enjoyed the game, even if it did have a tendency to crash or straight up not work for some, it seemed that the development team behind it were genuinely passionate about the project and wanted everyone to enjoy the work they put out to its fullest. Below I've decided to put together a bit of write-up of relevant information alongside some personal thoughts in regards to this service termination.

Official Date & Time of Service Termination

All Prime Regalite (Premium Currency) sales have been removed from the game, and the official date and time of service termination will be 26th June 01:00 (GMT) and 25th June 18:00 (PST) respectively. As some of you may know, this was also the fate of another FFXV spin-off game "Justice Monsters V" which was released on 30th August 2016 and officially ended services on 27th March 2017 meaning it only lasted just shy of 7 months before termination (Although the app itself is still available to download on both iOS and Android, cannot say how the compatability with current OS versions is however). King's Knight was officially released 13th September 2017, and with the final day of service being 26th June 2018, it lasted a bit over 9 months.

Free stamps (basically the game's emotes) have been added to all player's stamp collections to farewell the game and its players. You do not have to do anything to actually obtain these, they've been automatically added to the list of stamps and all you have to do it equip them into your active stamps list (max of 5) to use them.

FFXV Collaboration Event Exchange Available Again!

If you played the game during the FFXV Collaboration Event, but forgot to exchange your points for your rewards before the deadline, then the exchange is back and will be up until the service for King's Knight officially ends! Note: This is only a return of the exchange and not the points being rewarded again, you can only use the exchange if you already had points you attained during the run of the event. Prizes have also not been reset, so that means if you already got all your codes then you won't be eligible for anymore. It's really only a noteworthy thing if you picked up the game for those particular prizes, but completely forgot to exchange them in the allotted time- you have 3 months to get your codes from now pretty much. If you completely missed the event and have no fellowship points, then it looks like you're out of luck unfortunately.

The wording in this particular sentence:

Furthermore, BBS updates will continue to be made for Event Accessory Exchanges

Might confuse some people, so just in case any of you were under the perception that this means we're getting more BBS banter, then let me inform you that: this is not the case. It just means that anyone who had not previously unlocked the banter will be able to unlock it if they trade their fellowship points in for any of the FFXV Collaboration Event accessories. There is no new banter or DMs from the bros (sad times) and there probably never will be, at least not in King's Knight.

Primer For Rest of This Post

They tended to do events in a pattern, 1 that started in the middle of the month which spanned a fortnight (14 days) that would reward players with 1 free 5-Star character (unique to the event) and a matching signature weapon which you could get from the relevant event exchange (also unique to the event) that both required event-specific drops to upgrade, there were always 3 tiers of these event-specific drops and they were essentially "Common, Uncommon, Rare" with each succeeding tier dropping in smaller amounts than the last. If you didn't farm all the drops to fully upgrade your free character and weapons before the event ended and the missions were removed, then you were basically stuck with a character that can't be fully upgraded, ever. These events also tended to come with time-limited characters and weapons which you could have a chance at obtaining via the "spin" feature using Regalite (basically gacha pulls).

The second event in the pattern was the end-of-month events which ran for a month (28 days), these events basically told the story of a batch of new characters that would be permanently added to the summoning pool, however you did not get a free character or weapon from participating in the event. These events had 1 event-specific drop, which could be traded in for accessories and resources to help you in other areas of the game.

Both types of events rewarded large amounts of free regalite (usually up to 300 regalite per event) and on top of that there were also event dailies you could run to get some extra regalite, as well as additional event-specific goals which you could also achieve for additional free regalite. For reference: 1 Character Summon Cost 25 Regalite, 10+1 Character Summons Costs 250 Regalite (You get 1 free if you do the 10 at once pull), 1 Weapon Summon Cost 15 Regalite, 10 Weapon Summons Cost 150 Regalite (Unlike with characters, you didn't get a free one from doing the 10 at once pull). There were also once-daily Prime Regalite (Regalite bought with real money) spins: 10 Prime Regalite for 1 Character, 100 Prime Regalite for 11 Characters (+1 for the 10 at a time pull once again), 5 Prime Regalite for 1 Weapon, 50 Prime Regalite for 10 Weapons (Again no extra for pulling 10) there were varying bonuses to Prime Regalite spins (it varied between events and particular pull banners), the bonuses inlcuded: 4-Star pulls guaranteed to be from newest batch or 4-Star guaranteed in 10-pulls, there may well be some other bonuses that I never saw (I didn't play the game for like a month) but those are the 2 I'm familiar with.

Each individual mission in an event gave at least 4 regalite each (if each respective goal was achieved) upon your first completion, the same applied to multiplayer variants of events (which came in 2 difficulties: Veteran and Master), the goals tended to be very easy stuff like "Open All Treasure Chests" or "Complete Mission with a [Character Class] in your Party"

Content Map - March

Labyrinth of Chaos

So, it looks like this will be the last character debut event before they start winding things down. Which saddens me, greatly, as I really liked the events where you got free characters, not only because "Hooray, free shit!" but because it gave me an actual goal in the game, and being really into grindy games, I really enjoyed grinding those events into the wee hours of the morning when I was totally meant to be asleep but was instead trying to farm enough resources to max out that new event weapon...

As mentioned previously, the 28-day long events came with new characters and weapons that were permanently added to the summoning pool

Final Boss Challenge

Boss Challenges (or "Weekend Boss Challenge") were boss-fight-only missions released every weekend to challenge the player-base to see who could get the best score, you could get rewards based on your overall rank on the scoreboards, you typically got some exchangeable items and some event-specific items from whatever event was running at the time.

It looks like the final one is going to be against Tolfidan himself (the infamous "Dark Dragon", who isn't really that dark considering he's fire-aspected...and bright red in colour.), which I'm quite sure is one they actually already did, but there isn't a whole lot of detail given here, so we'll see how different it actually is when it comes around

Aedin's Workshop

This was basically a place where you could got to exchange boss challenge rewards for better rewards...which were then used to exchange for weapons of your choice! Event accessories are also amongst the list of things you can exchange for, as well as experience tomes, and globus/crystals for character/weapon upgrading!

8-Bit Quest Redux

They've had this previously, but they removed it (I'm not sure if it was time limited or they just removed it for other reasons), not entirely sure if this is going to be a 1 mission type dealy or a series of missions, I think the original mission was only 1 really easy mission with classic sprites and chiptune music.

Past Event Redux

You know how I mentioned those even-specific and unique characters before, the ones that you could only upgrade via event-specific items otherwise you were stuck with a unupgradable character forever? Well, this is basically your last chance to remedy that before the service for the game ends, if you didn't finish farming and upgrading your event-unique characters, then you'll have one last chance at it before service ends!

Not sure if this also means you can get the characters again if you missed out on them, I'm going to guess you will be able to because they're also resetting the exchanges for the respective events so we'll be able to exchange for event-unique weapons and stuff again. Pretty much: get ALL THE THINGS before this shit shuts down.

The Story Finale

Not much to say about this, as not much is given, but it sounds like there will be a conclusions to the game's story!

Mega-Spins!

You know those time-limited characters/weapons I mentioned before? They're bringing them all back in the mega-spin!..at least that's what I'm kind of assuming, because otherwise it's just a regular spin with all characters that were permanently put into the pool...Either way: OBTAIN ALL THE THINGS.

Finale Bonus

Sweet jeebus, 125 regalite every day until service ends...that means you'll be able to do a 10+1 character pull every other day, that's a lot of regalite.

All Daily Quests Available

These were basically rotating quests (each tied to a specific day of the week) where you could farm for a specific aspect of drops that you needed to upgrade characters and weapons, there was also one of Zell (the in-game world's currency), all of the quests being available at once means you won't have to wait for the right day to farm that one resource you need!

In Conclusion

I said it at the start, and I'll say it again at the end here: This is sad news. I'm currently wondering whether or not anything can be done to save this game, mayhaps crowdfunding or something to help the devs buy all the games rights Hitman-style? That being said, King's Knight was a Square-Enix property much older than Hitman was, it was originally an NES title released in Japan in 1986 and North America in 1989 back when Square was still its own separate company. From what I've heard it was a decently popular title in Japan, but not so much in North America, so acquiring all the rights would not be quite the same as it was for the Hitman series. That all being said, I'm not even sure there would be enough interest, especially enough monetary interest to successfully crowdfund such a thing.

The studio who worked on the game "Fire Flame Hearts" (would help if I remembered the name properly) is not a company I've been able to find any further information on I take that back, if I'd actually looked for the ACTUAL company name then I would have found this: Flame Hearts is a Subsidiary of DIGITAL Hearts Co., Ltd., also their website (in Japanese) the only reason I even know that name is because it's in the pre-roll credits when you load up the game. By the sounds of it, they're a bit of an indie studio though, a pretty small team of developers who had been chosen for this project. They did some livestreams, although I never caught any of them, and they actual devs behind the game seem like genuinely passionate people who just want to make games and content for people to enjoy. I wonder what they'll do after the game officially closes down. Either way, it seems that they've taken this news of their game being cut as a signal to "GIVE EVERYONE ALL THE THINGS FOR FREEEEE!", which is exactly what they're doing with the 125 free regalite a day and all this other content before services end. They had plans for a "hardmode" for the campaign, but that never came to fruition, the last we heard of it was in the New Years "Update Map" they posted back in January.

Well...Whatever happens next, I wish the team at "Flame Hearts" and anyone else who were involved in the development and support of this game the best, and hope that they can move on to bigger and better things. I hope to hear of games from some of these people a few years down the line, because they seem like some pretty swell people.

I have no idea why I decided I needed to basically write an article for this bloody game...but I guess I just kinda realized how attached I actually am to it, it kinda became a small part of my life, and now I have to bid farewell to it...So childish part of me really hopes that we can possibly save it, but the fan-base it probably not nearly big enough for it.

If you've never heard of this game, or have heard of it but never got around to trying it then: DO IT NOW you have 3 months before you won't be able to play anymore because they'll take the servers down, at the very least pick it up to see what could have been (if it doesn't horribly crash for you, I've heard that happens with some people, I've been lucky) and maybe feel compelled enough by what you experience to go write to Square-Enix about it, or if you have a negative experience, then...idk maybe you can still write to Square-Enix about it, or make some kind of rant post like I would :P But in my opinion: The game is still worth checking out, even if services are going to be ending, don't you at least want to know what the gameplay was like for yourself?

Anywho, I'll finish off with some links to stuff: King's Knight has it's own Official Twitter Page that's separate from Square-Enix's and FFXV's, if you have or use Twitter then hop over there and send them your best wishes. On the flipside there's the Official FFXV Twitter where this news was first broken, and of course the Offical Square-Enix Twitter if you want to go and ask them "Y U DO DIS?!"

That about covers everything...If anyone has any kind of questions I guess I'll try my best to facilitate answers? I'm just a gamer who came to the realization that I was more attached to this game than I initially thought though, I'm not in anyway actually affiliated with King's Knight or anything, so...ye...Still hit me up if you have questions about the game (like if you're picking it up to give it a try, but are confused and stuck, then gimme a shout and I'll see if I can help), okay, cheers for reading, byeeee!

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