#i was doing a time stamp roulette and that's just how things happened

[angrybooklady]

Movies From My Letterboxd│The New Mutants (2020)

[absolutepokemontrash]

MC’s Half Demon and They Look Awfully Familiar

(Part 3! Starring Mini Mammon and Mini Asmo!)

Part 1 Part 2 Lessons 1-5 Underground Tomb special Group Retreat Lessons 10-12 Part 4

MC names:

Lucifer’s kid=L!MC | Mammon’s kid=M!MC | Asmo’s kid=A!MC

Why did bad things happen to good people? Well... Lucifer being a good person is up to interpretation. He hadn’t done anything too heinous recently, his instruments of torture were collecting dust for goodness sake! So why oh why was he staring down two half demon children who looked suspiciously like two of his brothers?

The first kid to step forward was Mammon’s without a doubt, but their general demeanour was very different from their father’s. Perhaps their other parent had done a good job-

“What the fuck was that?!”

Never mind. The kid had Mammon’s pottymouth.

The other child surveyed the scene with a nervousness that their suspected parent never possessed. The kid’s gaze fell on Lucifer, their eyes began to glow ever so slightly. “Uh-um...” the kid cleared their throat. “Someone explain what’s going on!”

Was this child seriously trying to use manipulation powers on Lucifer? He almost laughed at the mere idea of someone trying. The child didn’t even seem to be aware that they were doing it. When their question was met with blank stares, they instantly shrank back and practically hid behind the first half demon. Despite the severe self-esteem difference, this kid was Asmodeus’.

Lucifer’s own child cleared their throat and smiled. “Welcome to the Devildom!”

The Uncle That Looks Like he Has his Shit Together but he Leaves the Reunion Drunk off his Rocker (Lucifer)

Ah shit here we go again-

Okay- okay. Normally he’d scold L!MC for taking Diavolo’s line, but Dia had recovered from his shock and was now gushing over the new exchange students like an excited puppy.

“Okay... L!MC you’re going to need to share your room.”

“What?! Why?!”

“Unless Belphie is willing to give up the attic as a nap spot-”

“OVER MY DEAD BODY!”

“You’re sharing your room.”

RAD was buzzing with gossip for the entire first month of the second attempt at the exchange program. The threats of being eaten were once again stamped out very quickly.

(Special thanks to L!MC for being a good bodyguard)

Now, Lucifer didn’t exactly know what to expect when it came to the child of his favourite brother. Mammon was a dumbass, but this kid... this kid...

Was smart.

For the first time in Lucifer’s very long life he felt compelled to place someone in a higher echelon than himself.

Mammon’s child managed to successfully budget that dumpster fire of a house. On the first fucking day. Not only that. This kid managed to skim FIVE THOUSAND GRIMM OFF THE TOP AND THE BUDGET STILL WORKED! WHAT KIND OF BULLSHIT-

Lucifer and Mammon thanked whatever spirit was watching over them because they truly believed their financial woes were over.

Shame that M!MC also spent their money on dumb stuff they didn’t need. Like father like child.

It’s no secret that Lucifer does have a bit of a soft spot for Asmo, I mean, who doesn’t love Asmo? But A!MC was a blessing sent right from the Celestial Realm.

They were just... too sweet. Way too sweet. Lucifer was actively getting cavities just being near them.

Anyone who bothered A!MC and M!MC during the first month ended up getting... uh... suspended.

(We can assume the threat of suspension would have extended to those who bothered L!MC but all the lesser demons were already terrified of them.)

Normally when Lucifer called someone into his study it was to lecture them for at least four hours and then send them to their rooms, but he was having quite the difficult time actually being upset with M!MC and A!MC.

A!MC looked close to tears and M!MC just stared right back at Lucifer with little to no fear in their eyes.

“Starting a fight during the first week of school is not how I expected the exchange students to behave.” Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose, and prepared to continue the lecture, when he heard a sniffle. There wasn’t enough Demonus in the entire Devildom...

“I-I’m s—sorry...” A!MC sniffled, quickly wiping at their eyes. “Th-they were being r-really scary and we did-didn’t know what else to do...”

“So you threw them out of a window?”

“I threw them out of the window.” M!MC huffed. “They were bein’ a dick.”

“So you threw them out of a window?”

“That um...” A!MC mumbled. “That’s not all... I may have... told them to stick their head in a toilet first...”

“You made them stick their head in a toilet,” Lucifer turned to M!MC. “And then you threw them out of a window?”

“Yes.” M!MC and A!MC replied. Lucifer downed the rest of his glass of Demonus and debated whether or not it would be a show of weakness to slam his forehead into the desk in front of the children.

Lucifer looked between the two for a moment, then shook his head and sighed. “It’s my job to deal with threats to the exchange students, not yours.” Lucifer stood in front of the two, he rested his hands on their heads and gave them a quick pat, before knocking their heads together. “Next time someone bothers you, tell me. If I hear even a whisper of you two getting into another fight, I’m hanging you from the ceiling. Is that clear?”

A!MC and M!MC looked at each other, then back at Lucifer and nodded. “Yes sir!”

“Good.” Lucifer removed his hand from their heads. “Now shoo.”

Flying lessons for the two of them went way quicker than it did for L!MC, mainly because L!MC was a way better teacher.

As much as Lucifer loved his newly found niblings, he couldn’t show it too much. Outward softness was reserved for L!MC and L!MC only. M!MC and A!MC were stuck with silent acts of affection.

Every once and a while a little present or two would end up in M!MC or A!MC’s possession. Some ice cream money for M!MC when they blew their part of the budget on fancy sunglasses, a multiplayer video game that the three half-demons could play together, new shoes when A!MC accidentally ruined their’s...

He’s a good uncle. A scary uncle. But a good uncle. ^_^

(Don’t tell him I said that, I’m still in trouble for advertising Mammon’s escape Go Fund Me and I don’t want to have to write the rest of this HC hanging upside down.)

He’s Not Like the Other Dads, he’s a Cool Dad! (Mammon)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA (Fear)

He’s a dad?! HE’S TO YOUNG TO BE A DAD! Hang on- he’s over five thousand years old...

Oh would you look at that! His kid pulled out a calculator.

...his annual income? Uh... why do you- HEY! WHAT’S WITH THAT FACE?!

M!MC puffed out their cheek as they continued to add the ever growing list of numbers into the calculator. Mammon was trying to get a peak at what they were calculating. M!MC suddenly looked up and practically lit up the room with their smile. Aw, their fangs were growing in!

They had a devilishly charming smile, just like their pop! A real chip off the old block! It almost brought a tear to Mammon’s eye and he actually felt compelled to give this kid all the money he had on him. Maybe even his Rolex too!

“Mammon, Avatar of Greed,” M!MC said sweetly. “My... dad.”

“Yep! That’s uh... that’s me!” Mammon awkwardly ruffled his kid’s hair, the kid laughed good naturedly.

M!MC’s sweet as honey smile flipped from elated to malicious in a manner of nanoseconds. “You owe over thirteen years of child support. Dad.”

Everyone say thank you to Lucifer and Diavolo for getting M!MC to compromise and not try and sue their father.

If you thought Mammon spoiled L!MC you’ve got another thing coming. Mammon’s wallet never stood a chance against his kid.

Poor Goldie, press F to pay respects.

Mammon also tried to teach A!MC and M!MC to drive, M!MC has no regard for their safety, the safety of others, or the laws of the road, buuuuuuuut they manage to get the car back with no dents and no property damage bills are being delivered to the house sooooo...

A!MC can drive fine... it’s just that they adhere to literally every law known to demonkind, which means neither Mammon or Asmo are allowed to open up the sunroof and do that movie thing where they pop their heads out and yell something. ITS NOT SAFE!

Our beloved dummy also tried to teach his kid how to play poker, with... limited success.

“Aw, come on kiddo.” Mammon smirked, flicking his kid on the nose. “Your poker face is awful, I can also see your cards from here.”

M!MC growled and held their cards closer to their face. “My poker face is fine!” It was in fact, not fine.

Mammon scratched his head and thought for a moment. Was he sure that this kid was his? I mean, they weren’t good at poker, had terrible luck in blackjack and roulette, and could barely understand the rules of craps. Craps! While he was lamenting the loss of possible gambling winnings, an idea hit Mammon at a thousand miles an hour.

“Hey kid, you’re damn good at math like your great and amazin’ father, have you ever thought about learnin’ how to count cards?”

Fancy outfits on, hair done (sorta), car ready, the two were off to the casino after quite the intense training montage. It appeared that casinos in the Devildom allowed children inside... Diavolo should really fix that.

“Okay M!MC, you remember what to do, right?”

“Yes. Remember the signal, and if someone catches on, deny deny deny.”

Mammon gave his kid a slap on the back. “Damn straight! You got this, bud.”

As the night dragged on, M!MC and Mammon had made their weight in money, paper money, they had made a SHIT ton is what I’m saying. Tragically, neither the Avatar of Greed or his child had any sense to leave before their luck crashed like the Stock Market in 1929.

They were both Icarus, and they were playing chicken with the sun... and by 3 am they were also playing chicken with security.

“GO GO GO!” Mammon shouted as he and M!MC sprinted towards the car, the night’s winnings in hand.

“I think I lost a shoe!” M!MC gasped as they scrambled into the car, security on their heels.

“I’ll buy you new shoes JUST PUT ON YOUR SEATBELT!”

Re-enacting every Fast and the Furious movie in twenty minutes was how that lovely night of father/child bonding should have ended... until they got home and realized they were locked out.

“The window to my room!” M!MC whispered, pointing up at their window. “It’s usually unlocked, we can climb up to get to it.”

“Good idea!”

M!MC tucked the bag full of their precious money under their arm and began the climb to their window, their father close behind. They had almost made it, they were so close, M!MC could literally touch the window-

The window swung open and the smiling faces of L!MC and A!MC greeted them.

“Oh my, it looks like we have some delinquents breaking curfew~.” L!MC cooed, resting their head on their hand.

“You shouldn’t be gambling this late! A-and your accessories don’t match!” A!MC huffed.

“Oi! L!MC, A!MC! What are ya doin’ up this late! It’s not good for ya!” Mammon whisper-yelled.

“My sleep schedule should be the least of your concerns right now, right A!MC?” L!MC elbowed A!MC, who nodded enthusiastically.

“Yep! Those who break curfew are hung from the ceiling by their toes.” A!MC shuddered.

M!MC rolled their eyes and stuck out their hand. “Come on L!MC! Let us in! You should listen to your older cousin!”

Upon hearing M!MC pull the older cousin card L!MC smiled deviously, grabbing both of M!MC’s hands. “Of course, dear cousin.” They leaned in. “Long live the king!”

L!MC shoved M!MC downward, Mammon caught them, but lost his own grip and they both lost hold of the money, which fell out of the bag and onto the ground like snow. Paper snow...

Oh well, at least Mammon and M!MC landed in some of the bushes...

“Ya know,” Mammon said as the money fell around them. “I’ve had dreams where this has happened.”

“Wow,” M!MC smiled. “Me too!”

Yep. This was his kid alright.

Not all his father/kid time revolved around money, it also revolved around both of them trying to avoid horror movie night without making it look like they were chickening out.

“Okay, I’ll fake a medical emergency!”

“Kid, no! They’ll never believe that!”

Since A!MC had their father’s eye for fashion and none of the judgemental comments, the kid became Mammon’s unofficial style coach.

“U-um... I hate to say it but those shoes don’t match with the rest of the outfit, the silhouette is confusing...”

“What’re ya talkin’ about? I look fantastic!”

“Are you blind? You look like a thrift store threw up on you.”

“Who invited you, Asmo?!”

“I’m here to support A!MC! You’re doing great by the way, sweetie!”

He may have cried a little when M!MC was able to fly without help... sniffle... they grow up so fast...

Oh- oh fuck they both crashed into the tree-

Oh My God he Actually Showed Up?! (Levi)

That... that couldn’t be real life! A shut-in’s worst nightmare! More people he needed to talk to!

Considering Mammon and Asmo’s track record with taking care of his things, Levi was incredibly hesitant to invite the two to binge anime with him and L!MC.

It seemed that the two normies inherited their fathers’s level of respect for closed doors. What I’m saying is the two crashed anime night.

“I have never seen such bullshit before.”

M!MC’s hands were stuffed in about five pairs of socks each, effectively turning their hands into useless nubs.

“You be quiet! This is to make sure that you don’t take any of my things and try and sell them on Akuzon!” Levi hissed, turning back to make sure his figurines were safe from the mini Mammon. A!MC was standing awkwardly next to L!MC, who was sitting in Levi’s gaming chair reading manga.

“So what are we going to watch..?” A!MC piped up. “I haven’t really watched much anime but I did watch Digimon...”

“I was more of a Beyblade kid.” M!MC hit their sock-stumps together to make a thumping noise.

Levi looked like he was ready to have a stroke. “L-listen! Those are gateway anime! You two need to watch proper anime! Non-dubbed anime!”

A!MC let out a shriek and stared at their reflection in a very shiny looking gundam figurine. “Have I been wearing off colour lip gloss the entire day?! O-oh no... I’m a mess!”

Levi let out a strangled wail and snatched the gundam out of A!MC’s hands. “D-don’t touch that! It’s worth more than a house!”

“It is?!” M!MC perked up and tried to wrestle their way out of their sock-gloves.

“Don’t make me stick you in a straight jacket...” Levi growled. He turned to L!MC with a pleading look on his face. “Please make them stop...”

L!MC grinned deviously and closed their book. “Of course I’ll help you, if we watch season two of The Promised Neverland.”

Levi shrieked and nearly pulled out his hair then and there. “It’s manga divergent! MANGA DIVERGENT! THEY SKIPPED SO MANY ARCS!”

M!MC and A!MC continued to wreak both purposeful and accidental havoc on Levi’s room, he was just about ready to summon Lotan then and there when L!MC shrugged.

“The ball’s in your court, Levi.” L!MC leaned back in the chair and resumed reading their manga.

Levi’s willpower shattered the moment he heard something fall off one of his cabinets. “WE CAN WATCH WHATEVER YOU WANT JUST MAKE THEM STOOOOOP!”

Quick as a flash, L!MC was out of the chair and had both M!MC and A!MC by the ears.

“HEY!” L!MC growled. “STOP ACTING LIKE IDIOTS OR SO HELP ME GRANDFATHER YOU TWO WON’T LIVE TO SEE GRADUATION!”

M!MC and A!MC became the most well behaved children in the Devildom after that... and L!MC and Levi got to watch their anime in peace.

Okay, Levi wasn’t heartless, he loved his lame normie niblings. They were just very very loud...

Though, M!MC was very good at finding merch for way lower prices... and A!MC actually really liked some of the anime they watched... Maybe they weren’t so bad.

M!MC’s attempts to budget that financial dumpster fire of an otaku was not going well, at least until M!MC convinced Lucifer to dangle concert tickets in front of Levi like a carrot on a stick until he agreed to do his best to stay within the monthly budget.

Levi had learned his lesson from L!MC’s flying lessons and steered clear of them, but luck was not on his side. The ONE time he willingly stepped outside of the house...

Both M!MC and A!MC crashed right into him.

The Uncle With the Cat You Never See and Aren’t Really Allowed to Pet. (Satan)

Oh fuck him sideways the house was going to be so much louder... Say goodbye to his quiet reading time...

On the bright side, the look of pure disbelief and exhaustion on Lucifer’s face gave Satan the biggest rush of serotonin he’d ever had in his life.

To be honest, he got on well with Asmo, and he... well it’s Mammon.

Could have been worse.

Could have been ANOTHER child of Lucifer.

“So... who do you think did it?” M!MC asked as the opening to the fourth episode of the murder documentary they were watching began. “I think it was the sister.”

“On what evidence do you make that assumption?” Satan asked.

M!MC shrugged. “Chick’s shifty.”

“I um... I think they disappeared on their own accord.” A!MC murmured. “I mean, so far it seemed the two’s home lives sucked...”

“Good theory.” Satan nodded to himself. “But both of you are wrong, it was very clearly the mother and the neighbour.”

“On what evidence do you make that assumption?” L!MC asked, imitating Satan’s voice. Detective Toe Beans was sprawled out on their lap.

Satan glowered at L!MC and leaned over to scratch Bean behind the ears. “The step-mother and neighbour are backing up each other’s alibis and they have a motive, access to a possible murder weapon, and a way of disposing of the corpses.”

L!MC rolled their eyes. “That’s a load of crap. It was just the step-mother. The mother had the motive, she and the father were on the outs, she wanted the father’s inheritance all to herself so she got rid of his kids.”

“How many more episodes of this are there?” M!MC asked. “This seems like a really dragged out way of just saying: I don’t know.”

“Sh! They’re explaining possible corpse disposal methods!” Satan hissed.

The four of them traded theories until the documentary series eventually ended with an unsatisfying ‘we dunno’.

“This is such shit...” M!MC muttered. “How have they managed to fill eight episodes with all these leads and evidence and the case is still unsolved?!”

“It’s because everyone involved was incompetent and stupid.” Satan sighed.

“You know,” L!MC smirked. “With all the true crime stuff the four of us watch, we could create the perfect crime.”

“We really could.” M!MC nodded in agreement.

“Using A!MC’s powers no one would suspect us...” Satan rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“Uh...” A!MC shifted uncomfortably. “On an unrelated note... I’m going to go...”

As A!MC scampered out of the room, L!MC turned to Satan and M!MC.

“There’s always the one weak person in the group who’s not down with murder.”

“A sad truth.”

“Hang on I thought we were talking about theft or something-”

Satan and M!MC are surprising study buddies, hell, they even help Mammon study. Or... it’s more accurate to say that they try to help Mammon study.

A!MC is good company, they’re quiet when they read, unlike most people in the house who felt the need to provide commentary on every single event that occurs in the book.

After proving to be quite useless in L!MC’s flight lessons, he just reminded the two new half demons to wear protective padding.

The Hot Single Dad That’s In Every Romcom That Features a Child (Asmo)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA (excitement)

Oh... his... father... HE WAS A DILF NOW-

He practically vaulted out of his seat to coo and fuss over his new found hellspawn, they were just SO CUTE!

Their wings were just like his! So adorable! Oh and those little horns! They were so cute Asmo just might have combusted then and there.

Of course, he couldn’t combust without finding out which of his flings had made such an adorably shy mini-him.

“Ah! I remember that party!” Asmo squee-ed as he looked at a picture of A!MC’s parent. “They looked so hot in that outfit I swear I was completely-”

“Asmodeus.” Lucifer grumbled. “That’s a child in front of you.”

“Oh! Right! Mind if I call your ren, A!MC?” Asmo asked, ruffling their kid’s hair. “I want to see if they remember me fondly!”

As Asmo chattered with A!MC’s parent about just how adorable and perfect their kid turned out, Asmo leaned over to A!MC to ask a question.

“A!MC, I know this is sudden but how do you feel about getting a sib-”

“ASMODEUS IF YOU FINISH THAT SENTENCE I WILL FEED YOU TO CERBERUS!”

“Tsk. Rude.”

It’s safe to say Asmo adores his kid. I mean, they’re 50% him, how could he not.

He didn’t exactly have experience with the whole... being a big part of his kids’s life thing. Sure he held the unofficial record for most kids but that was because effective birth control hadn’t been invented at the time when he was allowed to run rampant in the human world, not because he was an A+ dad.

None of that mattered! He was going to be a 10/10 dad to A!MC!

They were so shy... so... mouse-like...

“Um... dad?” A!MC awkwardly twiddled there thumbs as they stood in the doorway to their father’s room. The sweet smell of whatever essential oil was being spread with the diffuser did next to nothing to calm the poor half-demon’s nerves.

Asmo popped his head out of his walk-in closet with a sparkling smile. “Yes, child of mine?”

“I um, just wanted to ask...” A!MC was desperately trying to stave off an oncoming stutter-spiral. “H-h-how- *ahem* how do- ugh...”

A!MC steeled their face and straightened their posture.

“How do I be confident like you?!” They blurted that out a little too loud for comfort, but Asmo’s near-immediate joy quashed any embarrassment A!MC was feeling.

“You want to be like little ol’ me?” Asmo gushed, clearly trying to hide just how flattered he was. “Well, of course you do! Your dad’s got your back. So first what we’re going to do-”

The Avatar of Lust had done the stereotypical early 2000s movie makeover many times before, but never with so much enthusiasm. His kid’s style was fine, it wasn’t a lack of pizazz either, it was the lack of confidence in the pizazz.

“Okay, now stand up straight.”

A!MC straightened their back as much as they could.

“Perfect! Chin up, shoulders back, and there you go!”

A!MC didn’t look too different on account that Asmo felt like their fashion sense was perfect, but dear not-old dad coached MC on a new walk, better posture, and Asmo filled their arms with about seven boxes of self-care supplies.

“What’s all this for?” A!MC asked, shifting the weight of the boxes slightly so they could actually see their dad.

“That, A!MC, is all the stuff you need to have confidence.” Asmo explained. “It’s not required of course, but it sure does help.”

“I’m not sure I follow...”

“Oh sweetie, it’s simple really. When you take care of yourself, you feel better, and when you feel better, you look better, and when you look better and feel better, your confidence skyrockets!” Asmo shifted some of the boxes A!MC was carrying around so they could stand up straighter and not be held down by the weight of the self-care arsenal. “Good posture stops your back from hurting, dressing decently helps you feel better about your appearance, as does taking care of your skin, aaaaaand all this will culminate in you being your best!”

A!MC still looked a bit skeptical, but they nodded anyway.

“Remember MC!” Asmo said as he led MC back to their room to help them sort their new stuff. “Confidence in yourself doesn’t happen overnight, so don’t let Mammon try and sell you a fix-all potion because it’s just boiled Gatorade.”

“O-okay- wait did you just say-”

“Yes, boiled Gatorade.” Asmo shuddered. “Let’s not talk about that.”

Dear uncle Asmo? A financial dumpster fire?! It’s more likely than you’d think.

Sure, Asmo’s got a job and makes his own money, but Geez Louise... one demon does not need that much hand cream! Or that many questionable Akuzon packages that everyone is too afraid to touch...

M!MC had their work cut out for them is what I’m trying to say.

Of course... once M!MC realized what a lost cause getting Asmo to stop with the obsessive bath bomb purchases was and a few too many insults were thrown at M!MC’s dear dad... some of Asmo’s things went uh... “missing”

But would you look at that! No one went over-budget!

Even though their dads have a fierce party related rivalry, A!MC and M!MC get along great. It’s very wholesome.

The Uncle That Helps You Pester Whoever is in Charge of the Food at the Family Reunion About Dessert (Beel)

Yay! More kids :)

Do you think any of them know how to cook? No? Okay... :(

Beel adores his new niblings with all his heart and soul, and Belphie’s out of the attic and is able to meet them with everyone else this time! Yay!

I didn’t mention this in the other parts- but Beel totally gave L!MC piggyback rides whenever they asked, but now that two more kids have arrived... it’s now a fight to be tall.

But yea- kids like uncle Beel. Strong contender for favourite uncle.

“Do you think this is right?” A!MC asked as they fiddled with the settings on the stovetop.

“No clue. Do we put the cheese on while the meat is cooking or do we wait until after?” M!MC asked, they flipped through multiple cheeseburger recipes on their DDD, their frustration growing. “Hang on- do we have a deep fryer?”

A!MC rummaged around the cupboards and shelves for a good fifteen minutes and came back empty handed. “No, but I’ve seen videos of people making fries without a deep fryer, I think we just need to heat up vegetable oil and drop the potatoes in.”

After setting up the make-shift deep fryer, the two cousins carefully dropped the first fry into the oil, then screamed like banshees when some oil splashed close to their hands.

“Did you get burned?!” M!MC asked, A!MC shook their head.

“No, you?”

“Nah...” M!MC eyed the oil warily. “We should do this one at a time to be safe...”

It was an awkward process, grab potato, place potato, scream, make sure no one is burned, repeat. As... decent as the process was, with both of them manning the deep fryer, no one was manning the patties that were now completely charred.

“What’s going on in here? It smells like Solomon’s cooking.” Beel poked his head into the kitchen and saw two very upset children and the world’s messiest kitchen.

“We’re failures. That’s all...” M!MC murmured.

“We wanted to make lunch for all of us and we ruined it...” A!MC added.

Beel’s heart was set to explode then and there- but his stomach growled. “You tried your best, don’t feel too bad. Let’s get cheeseburgers somewhere else with Belphie.”

M!MC and A!MC nodded enthusiastically as the three of them left the destroyed kitchen behind them.

After Beel had to sling a sleeping Belphie over his shoulder, the now four of them were halfway out the door before they heard L!MC scream bloody murder.

“YOU IDIOTS COME BACK HERE AND CLEAN THIS MESS UP RIGHT NOW!”

M!MC and A!MC made eye contact, then sprinted out the door. “CHEESEBURGERS FIRST!”

A!MC and M!MC probably go to all of Beel’s games like the little super fans they are. Beel is very grateful for the support! :D

Flying lessons? Nnnnnot again. He’s here for moral support and moral support only. And to catch the two babs when they inevitably fall.

The Uncle Who Was Like... Really Racist the Last Time You Saw Him But He’s Not Anymore (Belphie)

So he uh... he didn’t try and kill these two. That already gave the two newbies a better first impression than what he gave to L!MC.

The Anti Lucifer league ALSO grew, just by one member though. A!MC was very easily persuaded to snitch on whatever prank the group concocted.

The attic nap club gained two new members, but Belphie still had to deal with wings hitting him in the face and waking him up. He’d usually return the favour with a swat from his tail.

“M!MC I swear I will throw you out of the window if you kick me again.” Belphie murmured, mashing his face into his pillow.

“Mmmph.” M!MC threw a pillow in Belphie’s direction.

“Quit whining, Belphie.” L!MC huffed. “You’re doing better than me.”

A!MC had attached themselves to L!MC like a sloth to a tree and would not let go or stop drooling. Ah schadenfreude, the best feeling in the galaxy...

“Stop with that look.” L!MC hissed, Belphie snickered. “I’m telling you to quit it because you’ll wake up Beel, and Beel is solving your M!MC problem.”

Belphie turned to see Beel practically crush M!MC into a bone breaking hug in his sleep.

“Should we do something about that?” L!MC yawned.

Belphie smirked his little douchebag smirk. “Eh, let them stew for a few more minutes.”

“Help me...” M!MC rasped.

Out of the three, A!MC is probably the best nap buddy, they bring in their own pillows and don’t hog the blankets.

Belphie is once again at the forefront for taking videos of the flying lessons, at least till M!MC accidentally broke Belphie’s DDD.

Just a friendly reminder, the sleepy cow man would kill for these kids.

Look at them funny and no one will find your body.

Okay! That’s part 3 done! I had to cut Belphie’s and Satan’s short because of post limit stuff, but the stuff with the side characters is coming soon! Also, Mammon would like me to inform all those who donated to his Go Fund Me that you will NOT be getting your money back, he has a kid to deck out in full Gucci now, he needs the cash!

[tosikoarts]

SFW Alphabet | Tsurumi Tokushirou

Wow, this one seems to be the apogee of my writing.  You can check tosikowrites tag for more. Warning: there’s a lot under the cut.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Finally, a man who knows what he is doing. Tsurumi is a sly devil but he also got a taste of love, and those two points combined made him a danger to anyone he puts an eye on. The entire 7th division holds their breath watching how skillfully First Lieutenant pulls the unsuspecting victim into his snares.

Understandably, his main weapon would be the art of word. Tsurumi knows how to keep dialogue entertaining; moreover, he is well versed in complimenting his favorite person. He murmurs sweet nothings into their ear in public and in private, under the sergeant's condemning gaze and right under the nose of the jealous Second Lieutenant. Tsurumi does it wisely though, avoiding Usami’s uncontrollable obsession.

Gallantry is his middle name. As soon as they appear on the horizon with a bag or a stack of heavy books, Tsurumi miraculously finds himself next to them taking all of their stuff in his hands. Always accompanies them on the way home, from time to time pleases them with a small bouquet of lavender, moves the chair away from the table so that they sit down. At the same time, his gestures and moves, all looks natural like Tsurumi has been born with it.

Oh, also, he likes to spoil his loved one, pamper them without any limits. If they want to take a picture together, he will hire a western artist to paint a portrait of them. If they want a bar of chocolate, he will order to find the best dessert chef in Hokkaido. This is not his constant behavior, but Tsurumi quite often goes over the board with his affection.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Let’s be honest, to be best friends with Tsurumi you have to be at least no stupider than him and, better, even a little bit smarter. Otherwise, he will treat the person like another pawn in the game. Mind is a measure of strength, and those who are weaker than him do not deserve more than condescending attitude.

His best friend has to be patient and steadfast as a tin soldier: the hole in the head and lack of a brain piece deprived the First Lieutenant of poise so he is prone to outbursts of unwarranted violence. He may jokingly threaten to bite off their nose. Likewise, he may introduce them to the general madness of his division in the face of Usami or Nikaidou. They just have to deal with the crazy without going bonkers themself.  

In addition, they have to have a wide range of interests or be willing to learn new things. Tsurumi is the one to offer to go to horse race, win (or lose) some money, and, without delay, go to the nearest theater. His broad knowledge in various areas makes it possible to boast in every possible way on every possible topic and he expects his best friend to keep the conversation going. Of course, his favorite topic is war and weapons so they must be familiar with it.

The advantages of friendship with this remarkable individual are: respect in all circles he is in; initiation into his plans or most of them; life will seem a lot easier than before since obstacles become suspiciously fewer…

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

He has a weird desire for them to look into his face while cuddling. To be mentioned, Tsurumi takes off his enamel head plate in private and it works like a magic: his expression transforms into one of person who has been gone for too long, who was yet to see the horrors of Russo-Japanese war. So, Tsurumi likes to keep them on his lap, hands placed on their thighs or waist, and talk, talk, talk. For some reason avoids spooning: if they try to spoon him, he will slip away from their hands, turn around, and plant a gentle kiss on their forehead.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

It’s complicated. Considering his past with Fina, the whole idea of settling down evokes the unconscious resistance in Tsurumi. Grand plans for hidden gold are the one thing that interests him at the moment, or this is what he convinced himself in. Even in the case of having the most suitable partner, Tsurumi will choose treasure hunt over binding relationship. Same goes for children. His henchmen are his kids, his hellhounds, his creations that he nurtured with distorted version of love and adoration. It is unlikely that he has even a little healthy parental affection left. Great at making desserts, mediocre at cooking overall, doesn’t care about cleaning and leaves it to the partner.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Break-up can go different ways.

In the best case scenario, Tsurumi acts like a gentleman until the very end. On the designated day, he invites a partner to a quiet place and makes sure nobody disturbs their conversation. Even if it happens in the barracks, all soldiers are strictly ordered to stay away from the First Lieutenant's office. There are two cups of a soothing herbal tea on his table as well as dessert associated with them. In calm steady voice Tsurumi explains why they have to break up and how it would be inevitable in the future if they choose to stay together for little longer. In the end of his speech, they feel almost like they initiated this break-up and Tsurumi just conducted their thoughts like his own. It is harmless and easy break-up with no hard feelings after all.

Other options aren’t that innocuous. He can easily make up a kidnapping scheme to remove them from the sight. It may or may not be violent, may or may not leave them traumatized. In the worst case, Tsurumi with heavy heart will give the order to eliminate them and hide all signs of their existence. It is a pity that one cannot erase the marks left on him and his life.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

As mentioned in the previous paragraph, formalizing a relationship is far from the first thing on the Tsurumi’s To-Do list. His partner can try to hint at marriage but he will either completely ignore it or adroitly dissuade them from such stupid undertaking. In a relationship, he remains faithful despite the absence of some fictitiously important pieces of signed paper.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Well, even if he is gentle in any variation, this gentleness carries a sadistic undertone. Tsurumi’s physical affection borders on pain and it is impossible to tell if his vulnerable moments are a theatrical performance or not. He can laugh endlessly, kiss their fingertips and bare knuckles, purposely tickle their neck with his long eyelashes or handlebar moustache but the very next second a predatory grin distorts his face, sending thing in darker direction. Only God knows what is going on in his head, really.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

A truly romantic hug so often shown in films and described in books: his hand rests on their waist, pulling them closer, and other hand catches theirs as if in a slow dance. Each time the distance between him and his partner becomes less and less, but what remains constant, it is a subtle smile and piercing gaze of dark eyes. When in a cheery, exclusively friendly mood, Tsurumi likes to give the partner a tight bear hug or a short greetings-like hug with resting his chin either on their shoulder or on the top of their head.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

It takes years for Tsurumi to say “I love you” out loud. About 3-4 to be exact. Either because he cannot call his feelings real love, or because he does not want to let them ease off. Confession imposes the stamp of some kind of completeness on the relationship and it isn’t fun at all. In his speech, the magic three words are replaced by softer analogues like “I really like you” or “Aren’t you my sunshine” so his partner does not put much thought to why Tsurumi avoids confession. Oh, one hundred percent the day he finally chooses to confess will be an anniversary date. Expect a day dedicated solely to satisfaction of his partner’s desires.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Oh no no no, please, we don’t have that much space in the cemetery. Flirting with Tsurumi’s partner is like playing Russian roulette with five bullets in cylinder – highly lethal game of chance. After spotting unlucky admirer, Tsurumi tries to identify them and dig up as much information as possible. Their fate depends on it. If it's some kind of midge, a cockroach, First Lieutenant forgets about this situation pretty fast. He doesn’t want to deal with such squalor anyway. If this is a more serious figure, Tsurumi may want to teach them a lesson how rude it is to encroach on someone else's love. Probably pulls a couple of strings to get them into some kind of trouble. Get them fired, discharged, robbed, assaulted, whatever. At the same time, he doesn’t even mention them while talking to the loved one.  

Provoking Tsurumi to jealousy is just as dangerous. His actions are not as radical as in the first case but his partner will have to learn that this is not an acceptable behavior. It is hard to imagine how far he can go though, methods may vary from simple manipulation to straightforward psychological abuse. The latter is the last and the least appealing option, which Tsurumi won’t use unless he is forced to.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Sometimes you just wonder where he learned all these tricks with his tongue. Tsurumi is a playful skilled kisser with excellent flair to where and when to apply fine knowledge of French... technique. Bites are not uncommon either. He has a habit of marking his loved one so everybody around knows who they belong to, and at least one hickey has to flaunt on their neck to keep him satisfied. Tsurumi prefers to kiss his partner wherever they want to be kissed, especially if they ask nicely, and to where to be kissed… a straight line from razor-sharp cheekbones to the notch between the collarbones is a great start.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Stranger’s kids are terrified of Tsurumi. Little ones burst into tears as they notice his wide smile, and those who are a little older stare at him with confusion. Teens try to stay away from this man since he fits the stranger danger statement very well. Thus to say, Tsurumi isn’t fond of being near children and prefers to pass the buck to the subordinates. If we are talking about his own (highly hypothetical) kids that is another story: they get the best of the best, they are spoiled rotten just like his partner. Of course, as kids grow up, Tsurumi switches to the carrot and stick approach spoiling them only as a reward for good behavior. Not that bad around children, really. It's not his fault that he fits the description of Boogeyman.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

On rare days when Tsurumi decides to spend the day with a partner, he never rushes. Those mornings are complete opposite of his usual mornings: they are slow, lazy, maximally filled with intimacy. No one is in a hurry to get out from under the blanket and if his loved one tries to sneak out, Tsurumi deftly catches them by the waist and drags back. I think it is clear that he is immensely touchy in the morning hours. The rest of the time is spent in a kitchen over a cup of green tea, in lively conversation on a variety of topics. No, he is not going to leave the house until the late noon.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Get ready for experiments and new experiences. Have they ever tried horseback riding? No? Good, he will be their teacher. Calligraphy? He will help to put their hand on a brush correctly. Nyotaimori or nantaimori? He will ask either Koito or another twunk to serve as a model. Tsurumi presents every evening date as a surprise that will not leave one indifferent and still he somehow manages to not overstep the bounds of decency. When their mood doesn’t fit his own adventurous impulses, the choice falls on a more classic pastime like late night walk or dinner date but there is not much that can be said about it.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

His partner won’t hear a bit of personal information, a single bit, until Tsurumi is one hundred percent sure that they are here to stay. Until then, he will feed the partner common unremarkable phrases which cannot compromise him in any way. Even after this, a lot of uncertainties remain: Tsurumi seems to describe events only in positive or neutral light, avoiding situations that obviously carry a grim implications. For example, not a word will be said about Fina or Olga and even if partner witnesses him fiddling small bones in his fingers, Tsurumi will make some fable up. Revelations happen but it is not something they will have a chance to get used to.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Easily angered but pulls himself together in the blink of the eye. His malice usually spills out in a form of nervous thrill so it is rare to see Tsurumi screaming his lungs out or getting into a fight. In a relationship, he puts on a mask of an eternally patient partner so his loved one won’t even guess about his anger issues.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Liar is obligated to have a great memory, do you get where I’m coming from? Now only he remembers what his partner has to say but also somehow knows what they hide from him too. If the information seems to be of low priority, Tsurumi immediately forgets it. Like what is he supposed to do with the fact that theirs first dog was called Akira? Best of all he remembers theirs crucial ups and downs both to establish the emotional connection and have some control levers in the future.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Difficult question. Not any of “first experiences”, not anniversary. Probably, the first time he introduced them to the group of closer soldiers like Tsukishima and Co. For the first time Tsurumi decided to “show off” his partner in the headquarters just to establish a clear boundaries between himself and subordinates. Of course, he was well aware of the risks and consequences but chose to do it anyway. The reaction of some was quite expected: Koito's face expressed unpleasant surprise and qualm, he couldn’t switch back from Satsuma dialect and when it finally happened, there were more awkward pauses than comprehendible words; Usami screwed up his eyes as if he was evaluating a competitor simultaneously deciding on the best method to eliminate them. Nikaidou didn’t really cared. Kikuta did neither. Tsukishima’s reaction was the most adequate of all: he politely bowed, mumbled words of courtesy, and got back to his routine. However, on the way to the office he decided to warn them that lovely Tokushirou might differ from their expectations. At the end, Tsurumi was extremely pleased by the flaunting and gave them opportunity to choose how he will thank them for the shown patience.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Tell me, who in their right mind would want to provoke this man? Like, who? His very presence is enough to scare any foe away, not to mention how lethal his overprotectiveness can be. Tsurumi is great at managing resources to make sure his partner is okay: there is always an armed invisible observer in the city they are staying in, sometimes they are sent letters in which Tsurumi takes interest in how their days are going, etc. On the other hand, in moments of real danger, his subordinates are those who take care of his loved one: soldiers are obliged to protect them since Tsurumi usually holds a leading position rather than actively participates in the dirty work. Has no need to be protected, however, partner’s impulses to do it are always met with tender emotion and sincere drawling “aww”.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Tsurumi has an enviable ability of being seemingly the most caring and charming man in the world without even trying. He is natural in wooing, it feels like the whole world is on his side: if he forgets to buy a present for the anniversary (which never happens, may I assure you), a hurrying seller will be selling cute necklace at discount price. Whenever he decides to go to another city with his loved one, there will be a festival or celebration. To be fair, Tsurumi does put efforts in the relationship and keeping his partner happy. He just has it easier than most of your common men.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

His own motives and desires will always be prioritized over his partner’s. It is reality that they just have to deal with. If his partner feels confident in enough, they can try to fight Tsurumi with his own weapon - flattery, ruse, and equivalent exchange, - but success still entirely depends on his mood.

Military career implies long partings with the risk of never seeing the partner again. For the person who cannot live without their loved one’s physical presence, relationship like this will feel like living hell.  

To mention something more lighthearted, Tsurumi is constantly surrounded by subordinates that have questionable… adoration towards him. It asks for deep dive in military psychology, workplace psychology, and additional peek into sexual psychopathology but you get what I mean. Usami gets off talking about how First Lieutenant will be upset with him and, probably, will punish him, okay.

Tsurumi is shady man overall, damaged both physically and emotionally, he is missing a piece of the brain and it is already a long list of reason why one should think twice before getting in with him.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Tsurumi actually cares for his looks. He takes his time to shave the moustache and goatee just the way he wants it to be, thoroughly washes the hair twice a week, keeps the head plate clean by wiping it with wet cloth and disinfecting with alcohol. The main reason of his concerns is desire to look presentable and influential, not a banal narcissism. Does the face scar bother him? When there’s nothing to occupy his mind – yes. Tsurumi understands how drastically it changed his overall look and sometimes regrets what happened but what is the point of overthinking unalterable? Right, there is none.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Break-up is a huge deal in the sense that Tsurumi's reaction could be anything. Unpredictable. Up to monstrous consequences. The safest option would be drop everything and run away since he won’t chase them to the end of the world. Yes, he would feel betrayed and fueled with anger but whatever, it is not the most important thing on the agenda. Sooner or later their paths will cross again and it will be the chance for Tsurumi to show his disinterest. You know, this “I am a bad bitch, you can’t hurt me” style. Direct confrontation leads to a passionate interrogation on why they decided to leave. Is there anything he can do to prevent them from such imprudent step? Does their relationship lack anything? This conversation quickly escalates into preparation of feelings during which Tsurumi scrutinizes all their ins and outs. If they successfully survive this psychological torture mixed with all kinds of manipulation – congrats! – they are allowed to leave. Now he has left his mark on them, on their heart and soul, so they have to carry it wherever they choose to go.

In the case of their death, Tsurumi grieves. How does a man like him grieve? Through sublimation, of course. To stop thinking about the time spent together, he pays more attention to treasure hunt. Tsukishima unobtrusively plays the role of a First Lieutenant’s personal therapist, listening to his pensive monologues, but it doesn’t make any difference. Just like his Sergeant, Tsurumi has difficulties with experiencing repeated loss, and second time feels even worse than the first one.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Remember this clear liquid oozing from under his head plate? It is actually сerebrospinal fluid that provides mechanical and immunological protection to the brain. Constant leaking of CSF leads to a condition known as orthostatic headache: this type of headache intensifies while person is standing and eases when lying down. Tsurumi has extreme headaches after his excited leaks that are usually weakened by general thrill. Once agitation excitation wears off, he becomes incredibly irritable and searches for a quiet place to lie down. The one person who knows about such side effect is Tsukishima. He has saved a dozen of lives already by preventing fellow soldiers from talking to resting First Lieutenant.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He has specific requirements for his environment and a list of traits its members have to lack.

For example, curiosity did kill the cat. People by his side should not pry into his personal business unless they want to get bitten. It is dangerous for them, for Tsurumi, and for plans he has built, so his partner has to either be incurious or keep themself in check when it comes to bunch of stuff.

Freedom-loving and willfulness are the worst enemies of manipulator, no wonder that First Lieutenant looks for someone submissive. Guess, for those achieving high ranks, powerplay is an integral part of social interaction.

Ah, but at the same time, lack of personality makes Tsurumi yawn. Such people do not provide the kind of entertainment he is looking for and it is natural for him to overlook them in the crowd.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Sleeps suspiciously well for a person who bites people’s fingers off. Brain injury left him dreamless for the rest of the life so as soon as Tsurumi’s head touches the pillow he immediately goes into a deep sleep. His sleeping schedule is nothing special too. Obeying the laws of army life, First Lieutenant wakes up early at the same time very day and goes to bed no later than 10 pm. Lies on the belly with arms straight up along the body. Without the head plate, obviously.

With the advent of a permanent partner in his life, Tsurumi’s sleep became more restless. Now he feels way too energetic, tosses and turns in bed, and cannot find a comfortable position in the bed. Since most of the time they still sleep apart (he has a reputation to maintain, blah-blah-blah), Tsurumi has to take a walk to blow off steam and get rid of swarming thoughts. Sometimes it does not help at all so he rushes to their house hoping to find peace in their arms. And so it happens. Tsukishima has almost come to terms with the frequent absence of the First Lieutenant in the mornings. However, Koito is not that happy about it and keeps bothering sergeant with questions to which he has no answer. Poor young man.

[kikizoshi]

Dostoyevsky’s Proposal

Written in the style of War and Peace. In this AU, Fyodor’s position is pretty much like an unmarried woman in the 19th century, as are many men in his time.

@poppirocks - Congrats on 400, and here’s to many more :)

~2.5k

“How kind of you to join me, Nikolai Vasilievich. I trust you’ll stay long?”

          Dostoyevsky smiled, welcoming his guest into the drawing-room.

          “Not at all, not at all!” Gogol waved his arms in amiable protest. “That is, not at all of kindness, of course I’ll stay! If anything, I’m the one humbled by your kindness of honouring me with an invitation.”

          Dostoyevsky laughed softly. “You say that, and yet what if I should have invited you a week prior, when I sent out all of my other invitations? Surely you would have… taken ill. From the excitement, I mean.”

          “Of course, of course,” Gogol dismissed playfully, “From excitement, or some spring fever. I might’ve been pulled away but look--” he spread his arms wide, “here I am, a whole man, with no need for worry.”

          “And what a man you are,” Dostoyevsky smiled graciously. His comment, though perhaps a bit odd, was quite in-keeping with their relationship. Ten years had passed since either had seen the other, and though they sent frequent letters, meeting once more was a clean breath of fresh air.

          “Sit, please.” Dostoyevsky insisted. “No, not there, that chair is horribly uncomfortable. Here, on the chaise with me. Don’t worry, no one will talk. There’s no reason to.” The tan-and-gold chaise in question, situated as it was very near to a piano, rendered its occupants practically unhearable should the piano be occupied as well. For this event, Dostoyevsky’s trusted servant, Vanya, happened to be performing a string of popular and robust German compositions. 

          “Now, I’m sure you’ve wondered why I invited you here…” He paused politely, and Gogol nodded with evident interest. “Well, I’ll tell you. I have a proposition. Not a horrid one, please, don’t give me such a vile look. I know how you love games. And as you know, I have a love for you, extending to your games, but moreso my love is in myself, and I too have a fondness for certain types of games...”

          “And so your point?” Gogol laughed. “I should think we know each other enough to forgo the formalities by now.”

          “Very well then... I’ll tell you plainly.” Dostoyevsky turned, so as to be sure to be heard by Gogol. “I propose a roulette, only not in a casino, but with a gun, in my chambers. I have a revolver. American, I think.”

          Gogol smiled, amusement crinkling in his eyes, “Of course he wouldn’t know the maker of his own pistol.”

          “Do you mind?”

          “Oh, no, don’t mind me!” Gogol said merrily, “Please, continue.”

          “Yes, so as I was saying, I propose that sort of game.”

          “So what, you’d like me dead?” Gogol asked, though not without humour. “Or you want me to kill you? Why not just have a duel, then?”

          “I don’t want a /duel/,” Dostoyevsky spat the word out, as though even speaking it was beneath him, “And my aim isn’t for one of our deaths. No, what interests me is a certain… other thing, which will become clearer to you later in the night. For now, however, I ask you to humour me blindly, as your friend, and trust that I shan’t lead you astray.”

          “He speaks clearly and earnestly,” said Gogol, “and yet I wonder still at his intentions. If you truly don’t wish for my death--which you’ve stated implicitly enough--then, well, what else am I to make of it? Forgive my saying so, but is there any other conclusion I could draw?”

          “Perhaps not for the time being, which is why I beg you again for your trust. I’ll bow for it if you like, only not here. In fact, please follow me directly, as we’ve no reason to waste another moment.” And there he stood, gesturing for Gogol to do the same.

          “I say, you’ve surely gone mad.”

          “And what if I have,” Dostoyevsky replied with a smile, “There’s nothing awful about that, is there?”

          “Nothing awful? What an idea! But come, sit, for I will not follow you, not for anything. If you put a gun to my head I wouldn’t follow you now,” Gogol laughed as he said the last part, evidently taken with his own joke. “So here, your chaise is ever so comfortable, and why not enjoy it a while with an old friend, before getting down to business? No, don’t pull on my arm. It won’t do you any good and you’ll cause a scene. Sit, I say!”

          Indeed, Gogol wasn’t wrong in his assumption of a scene; the two of them had gathered a sort of crowd consisting of side-eyed stares and occasional whispers. Dostoyevsky, defeated, sat with as much decorum as he could muster next to Gogol, and began to tap his leg in agitation. Gogol smiled and lounged back.

          “Now,” he continued, “Surely you’ve other matters to discuss than only a gun-based roulette.”

          “What would you have me say?”

          “Hm, well, tell me of your engagement! There’s no end of gossip there. At least, the rumours I’ve heard are enough to fill a quarter of the River Styx.”

          Dostoyevsky further deflated. “But they’re just that: rumours. What’s more to say?”

          “Oh, but there’s more to it than that! Much more!” Gogol exclaimed. “For one, I heard that Princess K----- has her eye on you. Though not only one eye, from the way people talk, her vision is quite melonomic towards anyone else! And then there are the two princes, who for a long time now have fought mercilessly for your favour. They’ve even duelled, not once, but twice! Then there are the clerks, the merchants, some hussars…” (He named a considerable list which I will spare the reader.) “In fact, I’d say the whole of Petersburg has its eye on you! And you ask, ‘What’s more to say’.”

          “I see you’ve soaked up quite the bit of gossip, despite the short time since your arrival. It’s strange we’ve not met before. With how you talk, surely you’ve attended several of Anna Pavlovna’s soirees. Yet I’ve not seen a hint of you anywhere.”

          “Oh, well that was a purposeful slip,” Gogol laughed. “Yes, I did go, to her soirees and many other social gatherings, but my heart was not in it. I spoke dully about politics, gave only the blandest of smiles to those who approached me, half the time I felt horribly faint... And how could I let my dearest friend see me in such a state? No, even if I was presentable to most, well, ‘most’ see nothing but what’s put in front of them. Yes, we’re all ostriches with our heads in the sand. Stick us with a hot iron, even, and we’ll just bury deeper.”

          “Maybe so,” Dostoyevsky said, “but then, you’re still a bird in that way, so perhaps half of your goal is already realised.”

          Gogol stared blankly at Dostoyevsky for a time. “What use is there in being an ostrich?” He asked finally. “Ostriches cannot fly.”

          Dostoyevsky failed to hide a coy smirk. “They’re rather adept at running, however. You could easily run, run, run away from every pressing issue--you’d leave any cage shrouded in dust long before it thought of imprisoning you. You’d be quite tasty, too.”

          Gogol raised his eyes suggestively. “You wouldn’t need such a form to taste me. And in any case, if being an ostrich is all as you say it is, then am I not already one?”

          “Oh, no, you’re still quite a man, I’m afraid. Though that, too, is perhaps a good thing. If you are a man, then, naturally, you’ll have the capacity to rationalise emotionally and mentally through your vices. One day you may even find grace.”

          Gogol sighed wearily. “Why is it,” said he, “that it may only be one at a time between the two of us who is allowed to be happy?”

          Dostoyevsky gave him a pitying look. “A balance you seem to keep readily.”

          “You suppose?” Gogol sighed, leaning his head back, aggravated, against the mahogany of the chaise’s back, and closed his eyes.

          Silence passed several moments like that; the chatter of the guests and gliding piano notes created a white noise which transported both men into a meditational state. The underlying melancholy both easily felt, yet they passed through it in their own ways: Dostoyevsky letting it wash over him and Gogol stamping it under his boot, grinding it under his teeth for good measure. Eventually, as Dostoyevsky nearly felt himself be lost completely, he broke the spell.

          “If you wish to know the truth,” he said, “then I’ll speak it plainly: I’ve no suitable suitor. There have been rumours of such a thing, but they are mostly in jest. If some have been taken by them, and took such things seriously, it still means nothing--there isn’t one man or woman in our town who wishes to make me their betrothed. For who would?” He smiled a self-deprecating smile. “An invalid doesn’t make for a good match.”

          “Ah yes! Who would want an idiot of a betrothed--but a rich idiot is another case entirely--but for your money. Last you wrote, you explained that your dowry had been raised, so that it now lands something over seventy-thousand. I know thirty men alone who would marry for that--ten of a higher class than you, for your family is held in quite high esteem.”

          Dostoyevsky grimaced. “Yes, and in fact, you are quite right about that. And in fact, I’ve met with several good men who I’ll be happy to accept should one give an offer…”

          “So what is the matter with you?”

          “Yes, indeed, what is the matter…” Dostoyevsky trailed off once more, bringing up a finger to his teeth and gnawing, first gently but soon quite viciously, at it. It wasn’t until his reddened finger appeared just about to split that he forced it from his mouth to continue. “What is the matter, is that… I don’t wish to marry for such a… Which isn’t to say that I don’t wish to marry for my family, or that I wish to marry for love. I know the ridiculity of both ideas, and neither are particularly accurate. Only… I cannot shake the idea that in marrying, I’ll be losing something… Something that I can’t define will be lost, or perhaps it won’t… The whole matter gives off a horrible feeling, as though nothing can be done and, no matter what, something awful can and will come of it.” Again, he paused. Looking to Gogol, he hoped the other would say something, but as the look on his face was merely passively attentive, Dostoyevsky sighed and continued.

          “There was another time,” Dostoyevsky said, “when I considered marrying, although marriage wasn’t a possibility for that man, and I’m quite sure--as I was at the time--that such a union would only have ended in tragedy. Still… That man, from some country far southward of ours and across an ocean, he was the only one I’ve met who could challenge me at chess. We went on for hours at a time, and each second felt simultaneously as a blink and as an era. Rarely had I been so excited. And at that time, genuinely, I considered making /him/ an offer, as unconventional as it might have been… Of course, I fiercely hated him too. He was an incorrigible man, a flirt and with so much bravado I feared his chest couldn’t bear the weight, and above all he was barely a noble. There was no hope in it but still… I dreamed...

          “But now I am twenty-two, and in not four years I shall be twenty-six. I should have married years ago, but I’ve never had the heart for it, and I fear my reasons are nothing but selfish. It’s my vice, but… I’m afraid. I’m afraid to change my mind, for what if the awful does happen… Though even then it should not matter. I should trust in my husband, and if all does not come to be exactly as I wish it, then God has sent the trial for my own sake.” Dostoyevsky’s tone was convincing, as though he himself did not believe his words but was desperately trying to rectify the fact.

          Gogol, after a moment, laughed. “If beating you over chess is the only prerequisite, even Vanya could become your groom. Why be so pessimistic, in that case?”

          “You think Vanya would beat me?” Dostoyevsky shook his head seriously. “No--he wouldn’t do it. No one here would, for they are too full of virtue. You alone are the only man here who would think of such a thing.”

          “Heh, well,” Gogol tapped his temple with a chuckle, “perhaps I should never have been invited at all, if I lack such virtue… And yet you speak of it not as something terrible, but rather as a curious state which you’re happy to welcome into not only your drawing room, but your private chambers! Be careful now--I fear the Devil is whispering in your ear.”

          “Well now,” Dostoyevsky laughed, “And what of Turgenev? He has far worse problems than I, in that regard.”

          “Oh? Poor, poor Turgenev, we mustn’t speak of him.” Gogol’s eyes practically glittered, a twist of amusement swirling down his face and throughout his being. He was evidently vastly excited to speak about Turgenev.

          “Maybe so, but please, explain to a poor invalid.”

          “Oh, if I must! I see there is no getting round you.” Gogol threw his hands up, feigning coercion, and readily continued. “You see, there was this new woman--I know not her name--who took him quite quickly and even more thoroughly. She not only agreed to take him in as her slave (a notion, if you’ll remember, that his dear Victoria--lover of a distant past and oh! how he’ll miss her--blanched at in the beginning), but this new she, how shall I say…” Gogol looked around, as though noticing their company for the first time, and met with several curious (and several accusing) stares. “She… gave to him a… new, and hitherto unfathomed ‘pastry’ to which, I fear, he was quite addicted from the first lick. Now, there’s no saving him. Bless his poor soul.”

          “You speak as though from experience.”

          “Oh! Can you imagine? Heh-heh, no no, I can’t--it simply couldn’t happen. Now, with someone else, in a different place, I’m sure my feelings would be quite different,” Again, a suggestive look was sent towards Dostoyevsky, “but as for him? No. I could never.”

          Dostoyevsky huffed softly, a gentle, amused sheen shone in his eyes. “I’d love to hear more, if you’d be so kind, although I fear such conversation is rather intense for settings such as this…”

          “Oh, anything is too much for everyone nowadays! Bless our Russia… But, won’t your appearance be missed? Everyone is here by your invitation, and what would they think if their dear leader were to leave them so suddenly?”

          “They’ll think nothing of it--I won’t be missed. Come.” Again, Dostoyevsky rose, and again, he extended his hand to Gogol, which this time was accepted, and the two men left the drawing-room. One of the men’s thoughts rested in a dark cabinet beside a small, silver revolver.

[lilacmiracle]

The Mysterious Wharfstache Disappearances

Fandoms: Markiplier, Buzzfeed Unsolved

Note: Quotation marks are Ryan narrating, bold is Shane speaking, italics are Ryan speaking

(AO3) Words: 2066

The video opens on the visual of a lone light bulb swinging into frame, illuminating the word “UNSOLVED,” which is stylized in a way that makes it appear to be stamped on. Almost immediately after the light bulb becomes still, the word “BuzzFeed” appears over the “UNSOLVED,” and beneath both of these is the caption “True Crime,” and neither of these new additions are written in any kind of stylized font. An animated piece of tape appears in the corner of the screen, with the words “WHARFSTACHE DISAPPEARANCES” written on it in the same sort of aesthetic as the “UNSOLVED.”

“This week on BuzzFeed Unsolved we are investigating the now-infamous mystery of the Wharfstache Disappearances.”

The screen had shifted from the title card to show the co-hosts at their desk, with Ryan on the right of the screen and Shane on the left. 

“Named after the sole survivor of the events that led up to these disappearances, this enigmatic case has puzzled investigators for nearly a century.”

Quite the doozy, this one is. An enigma, you say?

There are so many weird things in this case that I nearly put it in “Supernatural.”

Wow. Really?

Really.

“On the evening of October 10, 1920, four guests were invited to the Iplier Manor for an informal poker night. Those present at the party at the time included the Colonel, William Barnum, and the host, Mark Iplier. The enigmatic identities of the second, third and fourth guests is only the first of many bizarre mysteries surrounding this case.”

We are wasting no time. Getting right into the weird.

“We know that the second guest at this ‘poker night’ was, in fact, the District Attorney. However, all official records that mentioned the DA had their name completely redacted, as well as any photographs containing their face had that part destroyed. All information that could lead to their identity has been obliterated.”

Just...gone?

Gone.

Poof.

(laughter)

“Something similar affected the identities of the third and fourth guests, though not nearly as severely. The third guest, a Detective, had his last name redacted, though we know that he went by 'Abe.' The fourth guest, the Mayor, also had his last name completely redacted. We know his first name, Damien, and that he had a twin sister, Celine.”

All of these names will become important later.

“On October 11, witness testimonies state that Celine, Damien’s sister, entered the Manor."

Why?

We’ll come back to that in theories.

“On October 13, the Colonel, now calling himself Wilford Wharfstache, reported to a local police station to 'find where Damien was hiding.' He led police back to the Manor, where they found no evidence of anyone living there, instead finding what appeared to be a crime scene, along with suspicious blood-like stains in some areas of the house.”

Crime scene? Caution tape, everything?

Yes. There was an outline of a body on the floor, and the area was surrounded by caution tape.

What????

“After the police had searched the house, finding no one, they further questioned the Colonel. They arrested him after he had stated, ‘I thought I killed Mark, but it was all a joke! Did you find Damien yet? He must have been behind this...’ along with other ‘suspicious comments.’“

Just a prank, bro.

(wheeze)

“Now let’s get into the theories.”

“The first and most widely accepted theory, put up by police, is that the Colonel killed the other four members of the party, and Celine.”

I feel like we’re gonna get some stuff saying “Oh yeah, here’s ten reasons why it was definitely him.”

He makes a compelling case.

“When he was interviewed prior to his arrest, he told police that he shot and mortally wounded Iplier, the Detective, and the DA. Allegedly, Damien and Celine ‘disappeared,’ into a room that was described as ‘dressed up for a  séance.’ No such room was found.”

He admits to killing three people, but not these other two people that he definitely murdered? Like, “I killed all these people, but I don’t want these guys’ blood on my hands.”

“I know! I’ll say they disappeared into a spooky room.”

“The police’ll never see it coming!”

(both laughing)

“However, the Colonel was not charged with the quintuple murder. Instead, he was placed in an asylum, due to many police officers and psychologists stating that he was insane.”

He killed five people! Of course he’s crazy!

Yeah, but...

“When asked why he believed that the events had been a joke, he stated that he had shot the DA, but they came back to life and walked away.”

Yeah, that’s insanity. I can see that. Why was he even there hours later?

The police asked him that too. He actually said, and I quote, “to make sure they didn’t disappear.”

That’s definitely crazy right there.

“He also had motive for the murders. Iplier, his first victim, had long been one of his best friends, but they didn’t speak for years after Iplier had caught his wife, Celine, cheating with the Colonel.”

A murderer and a homewrecker.

Not good. 

Not good.

“They hadn’t even been civil to each other at the party, according to reports from the butler, Benjamin.”

Wait, wait, wait. Now there’s a butler?

He wasn’t really important, all he did was watch the events. He refused to talk about it.

But he was a witness!

He refused to give any reports on what happened, only a few details.

Unbelievable.

“All of this culminated in a game of Russian Roulette. The gun reportedly used was the Colonel’s own revolver, which, when investigated, showed signs of tampering.”

So it wasn’t an accident.

Nope.

Definitely murder.

“He also had a motive for killing the Detective and the DA. A room was found in the house that was likely used by the Detective to investigate who had committed the murder, with a piece of paper found within the typewriter, with the words 'The Colonel did it' typed repeatedly over the entire sheet.”

Sounds like this Detective had a few screws loose himself.

He was known for being a bit...eccentric, but he was one of the best detectives of the time.

“Additionally, the DA was the Detective’s partner in the investigation, as told by the butler and the chef -”

Are there any more people you haven’t told me about?

Just the gardener, and he doesn’t do anything.

“And a photograph of the Detective and who can be assumed to be the DA was found in the Detective’s wallet, along with other photos of himself with known partners of his.”

I’m guessing the DA’s face was gone?

Yup.

Also -- just wondering -- is “Damien’s sister” Celine the same as “Mark’s wife” Celine?

Yes.

So he killed her out of jealousy.

Let me read the theory before you spoil it, jerk!

“His motive for killing Celine was that she had married Mark, knowing full well that he loved her.”

She’s allowed to love other people! Not everything’s about you, Mr. Wharfstache.

I mean...this motive is the one that grasps at the most straws. He never acted this sexist previously, and it has been said that he had more respect for women than most other men of the time.

“There has not been any proposed motive for killing Damien, however, many proponents of this theory state that by this point he was too far gone to need a motive.”

That’s fair. 

That’s fair.

“The issue with this theory is that no bodies have been found on or near the property. The most evidence of there being any bodies was the makeshift crime scene, which was claimed to be that of Iplier’s.”

No bodies.

Nope.

Nowhere that he could have hid the bodies.

Nope.

They just went “poof.”

Yep.

Everything’s going “poof” in this case...

(wheeze)

“It also doesn’t cover why, exactly, Celine went to the Manor. She was a self-proclaimed psychic, so some speculate that she sensed a disturbance at the death of her ex-husband.”

There’s a lot to unpack there. First of all -- ex-husband?

She did cheat. 

Yeah, but why would she be keeping psychic tabs on him?

Beats me.

And second of all -- she died, right?

Yes. Don’t you dare -

Guess she didn’t see that coming.

God damn it, Shane.

“The second theory is that the Colonel, with the aid of Celine, murdered four people at the party.”

No.

Wow. Just -- no?

No. She’d kill her twin brother? I’ve met twins, man. No way.

“This theory states that when the Colonel received the invitation to the party, he and Celine planned out how to kill Mark and cover it up - her arrival would keep focus off of the Colonel long enough to cover his tracks, and if people got too suspicious, then she or the Colonel killed them. This theory also explains her disappearance -- she managed to evade police custody and the now-insane Wharfstache.”

Didn’t her brother disappear with her?

Yeah, but he and the Colonel didn’t get along.

Still no reason to kill your brother.

“This theory still doesn’t address where the bodies of Iplier, the Detective, the DA, and the Mayor are.”

This is...a theory. Not a great theory, and not one I agree with, but...

It’s a theory.

It’s a theory.

“The third theory is that it was, in fact, a joke on the Colonel. Damien was known for his practical jokes, especially the kind that required a lot of planning.”

They let this guy rot in an asylum?

We’ll get to that.

“This theory explains the lack of bodies, due to the fact that nobody died, but it opens up a new question: why would everyone disappear?”

I can see why the Mayor would. He was probably tired of his job -

He had actually just been elected, along with the DA. They had both recently gotten their jobs.

Then it doesn’t make sense?

“Some speculate that Mark and Celine both wanted to start their lives over, as both of them had been described as ‘reclusive’ and ‘lonely.’“

Still doesn’t explain the Mayor and the DA.

I know.

“It also explains why the Colonel saw the DA get up after being shot.”

Not just the ramblings of a crazy murderer?

Actually, there was evidence to suggest that he was telling the truth.

You’re kidding.

Nope.

“This is supported by footprints that match the DA’s shoes that led from the spot that Wharfstache claims to have placed the body, all the way out to the grounds, stopping just before the end of the property.”

That’s weird. Something isn’t right.

There’s a reason that this might belong in “Supernatural.”

Zombies?

(wheeze)

“This also explains the subsequent escape of Wharfstache from the asylum.”

He escaped?

Yeah, a few days after he was committed. He’s like a ghost story now, with sightings all over the world, spanning even into the modern day. According to a bunch of these, he hasn’t aged a day and is now even crazier than ever.

I don’t think most of those are him. I think he’s either an old man in a nursing home, or dead.

That’s very morbid of you.

It was a hundred years ago!

“The fourth and final theory is that there was a demon in the house, killing all of the inhabitants and driving Wharfstache to insanity. Some say that it possessed the body of the DA, which is why they walked off. Some also say that its activity alerted Celine, who went to investigate and was killed along with everyone else. It also explains why Iplier was described as reclusive, even though he was very much a people person before purchasing the Manor; he had been greatly influenced by the demon, who preyed on his young and vulnerable mind. It also explains how and why those names were erased.”

You seem quiet.

This feels like a cop-out. It feels like aliens.

Can you definitively say that a demon was not involved?

No. And I hate that.

“Whatever events transpired in that Manor, wherever these people disappeared to, is a mystery that will remain...Unsolved.”

The screen shifts to an image of the UNSOLVED logo over a black background. A few moments later, it shifts back to Shane and Ryan.

The Manor’s a tourist attraction now. The guy who got it in the Iplier’s will, he didn’t want it.

If that’s gonna be your demonic sacrifice for the season, I’ll go.

...okay.

[speaknowslut13]

A Relative Lyrical Analysis- Cruel Summer

Cruel Summer is stuck on replay in my head.  Its catchy, it’s daring, and its brilliant.  I wanted to start doing lyrical analysis on Taylor Swift’s songs because I’m 100% that nerd.  I started thinking though, that sometimes its not important exactly how Taylor Swift’s experience is coming through but how we take the art she’s given us and have interpreted it through our life lenses.  So, without further ado, I give you my first Relative Lyrical Analysis. 

The Lyrics:  “Cruel Summer” by Taylor Swift, 2019 Lover

     (Verse 1:)

Fever dream high in the quiet of the night

You know that I caught it

The syntax she chooses to use is so interesting here. She’s flipping the sentence a bit (very Object/Subject/Verb or “Yoda” syntax).  If you want to really understand what she’s saying, read it like a proper sentence.  This is a technique she uses throughout the song.  I love it.

Let’s break this down:  She’s caught the “Fever Dream High”.  What is a Fever Dream High?  Without looking it up, I would say think of a high fever.  If you’ve ever had one, time seems to move by at its own pace.  It’s a weird world that seems dream like.  Sometimes you think hours have passed but its been seconds.  Other times it moves so fast much like dream logic.  It is surreal.  

So, she’s caught it.  The imagery here is a disease.  Which makes sense with her metaphor of a Fever Dream High.  

The part that is pretty fascinating is the quiet of the night.  Not only does this conjure up an image, it captures the feeling that goes along with that.  She’s alone suffering through this fever.   But there is something so delicious about this fantasy that she sits alone at night combing it over.

bad bad boy

Shiny toy, with a price

You know that I bought it

Let’s start off with “bad, bad boy”.  It mirrors MAATHBP “bad, bad girl” which is fantastic.  Maybe she did it on purpose, maybe it’s a coincidence; either way I love it.  

This part makes me think that she went into this relationship (whatever type it is) believing she was in control.  Taylor is aware that the subject is known to be ‘bad’. Taylor knows that the subject is ‘bad’ for her.  

He’s a “shiny toy with a price”.  Boy toys are boys whom one uses for an intended purpose. Often its for fun (hence ‘toy’).  When something comes with a price, it has a risk versus benefit analysis.  In other words, do the risks of the option outweigh the benefit or vice versa?  Because Taylor goes on to say that she “bought it” it implies that she determined the benefit was greater than the risk.  

killing me slow

Out the window

I’m always waiting for you to be waiting below

So, not going to lie, I struggled for a bit with this one.  The feeling is tangible but putting it into words was difficult.  Initially I was reminded of a song that I love, Killing Me Softly.  However, I eventually decided that the feeling I was picking up was being teased. I imagine it’s a scenario where a game is being played with her emotions.  Once I was able to put it into words I felt better.  He’s playing a cat and mouse game.  The control she has (probably imagined) is slipping.  She’s now waiting for him every night.  She is used to him being below her window.  It’s like a distorted fairy tale.  

 Devils roll the dice

Angels roll their eyes

The continued game imagery.  As well as control imagery.  Clearly this is not up to her but the fates playing with her life. The control of how this is going to go is out of her hands.  

What doesn’t kill me

Makes me want you more

This ties in the rest of the first verse imagery. A Fever Dream High, dangerous and is Killing her Slowly.  She decided that risking this disease was worth the benefit she’d find with him.  A beautiful metaphor for deciding to jump into a relationship.  She comes back and says this isn’t going to kill me, but it is making me want you more. She’s losing control over the situation. The emotions she’s receiving are too powerful to walk away.  She just wants more.  Like a drug.

     (Chorus: )

And it’s new

The shape of your body

It’s blue

The feeling I got and it’s

Ooh

It’s a cruel summer

The shape of his body is new.  Literally it points to his newness.  He’s a new partner.  However, this can be taken figuratively.  The feelings are different to Taylor.  Somehow the subject elicits a different and new response in her heart.

The feeling she has is blue.  This is making her sad to feel this love.  Interestingly, the new/blue references can be linked to a recurring theme through the album and that is the wedding rhyme.  Something borrowed, something blue, something old, and something new.  She’s using the same syntax as before here too.  I’m living for Yoda Taylor.  

It’s cool

That’s what I tell ‘em

No rules in breakable heaven but

Ooh

These seem self-explanatory.  Noteworthy, however is the contrast in word choice between “Summer” (which is hot) and “cool”.  This is a beautiful unsaid connection to Cornelia Street’s lyrics “when we were card sharks”.  This screams poker.  Its clearly a bluff.  It becomes abundantly clear with the bridge.  

Breakable Heaven is such a vivid metaphor for a tentative relationship.  It describes this relationship as a poorly built construct.  The slightest change in pressure, temperature, wind could bring it crumbling down.  And yet it is just so beautiful and seems so pure.  

It’s a cruel summer

With you

Let’s talk about Summer.  I am living in a place called Phoenix, Arizona.  So, I know a LOT about summer.  Its basically one of two seasons that we have.  Let me tell you that this line conjures up so much pain its ridiculous.  I have literally branded myself on a metal seat buckle.  It was painful.  It’s hot. Dehydration is just a thing that happens.  There is sweat, dirt, and no reprieve.  Except for maybe the Costco dairy rooms.  Other than that, it’s miserable.  However, there are some benefits to Summer.  You can bake cookies in your car while you’re at work.  I’m kidding.  A little bit. However, there is so much sunlight. The nights are warm.  Swimming.  I have many good memories attached to summers.  So, hear me out when I say that “Cruel Summer” is more figurative than a literal time stamp.  Granted, the story behind this song could have been set in literal summer.  But saying that it’s a “cruel summer with you” seems to be more of a description than anything else.  I feel that this hearkens back to the beginning of the song where Taylor mentions a “Fever Dream High”.  Summers are long and hot.  Time has its own pace it seems.  This seems to be a theme so far.  He could be the refreshing Costco refrigeration.  Or the large iced water with lemon in it.  But it is gone too quickly.  Eventually the water is gone and you’re thirsty again or you’re kicked out of Costco.  This being left high and dry after such a refreshing moment is cruel.  

      (Verse 2: )

Hang your head low

In the glow of the vending machine

I’m not dying

This is one of the few times in this song that I will say that this is a snapshot memory.  The detail in this is precise in such few words.  It is Taylor’s forte.  We will never know what memory it is that she’s sharing here.  So, I’m going to attach the feeling I get from that last line “I’m not dying”.  

This sounds like a mantra you tell yourself. The feeling I get here is one of grasping for control in an out of control situation.  In fact, it reminds me of myself.  There was one summer that I tried and failed to convince myself that the guy I liked was not the guy I liked.  I then tried to convince myself months later that I just wasn’t in love with him.  It didn’t work.  So this “I’m not dying” business just feels like a person trying to convince themselves that the perfect nature of this image has no affect on them.  She’s ‘melting’ as she’s watching their profile. Maybe they don’t see her moment of control loss.  Maybe they do.

Lyrically it also ties in the “killing me slowly” motif from verse one.  

We say that we’ll just screw

it up in these trying times

We’re not trying

When you’ve been burned one too many times, eventually you start saying you’re just not going to try anymore.  Things are out of control and you just don’t want to live through more heartache.  Everybody’s threshold is different so maybe one person’s never been in a relationship but has seen so many fails so they don’t try.  On the other hand, maybe, someone has been in many heartbreaking relationships, so they’ve stopped trying.  It happens no matter how sad it sounds.  This is also an image that reminds me of summer flings.  It’s a fling, not meant to be taken farther than companionship for a few weeks.  Anything further and it might be too hard to get through.  Its playing it cool in a non-commitment because there is just too much outside pressure.

So cut the headlights

Summer’s a knife

I’m always waiting for you just to cut to the bone

So, here we have this knife imagery.  In a way it reminds me of a sadistic game of Russian roulette.  With a knife. It’s a cynical way of saying I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.  All of this is figurative to explain how they’re both playing hot potato with their feelings.  Once again, he’s teasing her and she’s engaged but she’s expecting the worst from this exchange.  

Devils roll the dice

Angels roll their eyes

And if I bleed you’ll be the last to know

She’ll never let him see if her deck was good or not. Taylor will not be letting him know her true emotions.  It seems to be one last grab at control.  She desperately wants to control how this is going to end. Even if she’s bleeding and hurting, her poker face will stay in place.  

        (Chorus Repeat)

        (Bridge: )

ALL THE ROM COM CLIMAX FEELS

I’m drunk in the back of the car

And I cried like a baby coming home from the bar

The alcohol imagery in her lyrics are just *chef’s kiss*. This is the other snapshot memory but oh so much more loaded.  I think she’s literally drunk, but I also relate to this as a lack of emotional inhibition. She’s done and she’s lost control.

Said ‘I’m fine’ but it wasn’t true

This is how I imagine it.  The subject is at a party or bar with her and he takes the opportunity to make her jealous.  He’s trying to get a rise out of her.  And in order to keep control, she’s pulling the “I’m fine” card.  LADIES.  Oldest trick in the book.  A decent detective can see that you are clearly NOT fine.  

I don’t want to keep secrets

Just to keep you

This is the moment he runs after her in a rom com. The big confrontation.  She’s done trying to keep her feelings to herself. She may also be done sneaking around with him.  She’s in love and she can’t hide it.  

 And I snuck in through the garden gate every night that summer

Just to seal my fate

I have this image of Taylor Swift creeping into a dark garden like a cartoon criminal.  It cracks me up.  

I don’t know—I’m weird.  

However, here she says that this snapshot series of memories have solidified her fate.  She’s finally admitting to him that she was never in control.  

And I scream ‘For whatever it’s worth,

I love you, ain’t that the worst thing you ever heard?’

Clearly this is a loaded moment.  For starters, if we’re talking specific to Taylor, anybody she loves will be drug through the media mud with her.  That can be terrifying.  

In general, it’s a self-conscious nature.  Her love is a terrible fate.  It also means that if this is a casual situation, its now over. Screaming it is just her fighting at him.  I’m not going to say with.  Its more of an ‘at’ action.  

He looks up grinning like a devil

THIS LINE.  He’s known this. He has been angling for her to finally admit it.  Its been a long con. He’s been teasing her, goading her, so she’ll let him in.  The cheeky devil is clearly pleased with himself.  He’s put her through all this so that she’ll finally let go of controlling this narrative.  He definitely has her number and he most definitely loves her back.  Its frustrating but its sweet.  

         (Chorus/Bridge repeat)

In conclusion. WOW.  What a song.  Taylor Swift has returned to her story telling roots with style.  I feel like I’ve watched a really good rom com.  One where I am playing back my own memories as the plot line.  I get a strong sense of Friends with Benefits vibe, or summer fling but I also can see this applied to the time old ‘are we/aren’t we’ story.  I feel like both life and art melded into each other to create such a beautiful bop.  I really drew from my own memories to create the feeling attached to this.  And I think that’s art.  Its subjective.  Her experience has been made universal by purely being relative to the listener.  

 If you enjoyed this, go ahead and leave me a comment.  You can also message me with requests.  I’ll give them my best shot.  I’ll answer any questions too.  Share your opinions and just be lovely to each other!

 Love,

Lauren

[idolish7rabbitchats]

Yotsuba Tamaki: Wonderful Octave Rabbit Chat Part 2

Tsumugi: Everyone, thank you for gathering even though you’re busy! I will gather requests for Tamaki-san’s “RADIO STATION “Twelve Hits!”” in this group chat.

T: To manage the chat and check the contents, us managers will also participate.  Please take care of it!

10000: From me too, please take care of Tamaki-kun’s requests.

4: Please!!!

4: [Bowing Kinako Stamp]

100: Tamaki’s lucky~!! Ban-san really felt like MEZZO’’s manager just now!!! (_ノД<)/・゜

4: Well yeah. Cuz he’s our manager.

4: [Sunglasses Pudding Stamp]

5: Ta-Tamaki-kun! You already talking to them too casually... Even though we practiced earlier....

100: Jealouuuuuuuuuuuuus. ・゜・。(x ω x)・゜・。

1000: Momo, Okarin’s crying.

Okazaki: Maybe I should grow out my hair too...

Anesagi: You’d go that far?!

100: Waaah! Okarin I love you! Okarin’s the best manager! ( *´艸｀)

1000: Lol. If Okarin’s grows it out too we’ll become the 3 long-haired brothers huh. ^ ^

10000: What is that uncool name

4: Then I’ll grow it out too! 

1: Yotsuba-san, why are you competing with them…?

8: Shall the three of us try growing it out too?

9: Please don’t compete too Gaku. Also stop involving us.

10: Long hair huh… Would it suit me?

9: Ryuu, we’re not doing it.

7: Tamaki, it seems it would suit you! Nagi too, I want to try seeing you with long hair!

6: Even if I grow my hair, I couldn’t hide my beauty.

3: Long hair Nagi would flip his hair every time, I don’t want that...

2: Like a golden retriever. 

Anesagi: Probably wouldn’t be bad.

10000: I don’t have any characteristic other than long hair…?

Okazaki: S-Sorry! Because Oogami-san’s hair is smooth, so.

T: Um, I’m curious about everyone’s hairstyle too but, would it be alright for me to ask for Tamaki-san’s requests?

T: It will start from youngest, so we’ll start from Tamaki-san!  Please take care of it!

4: Ye! I hesitated a lot tho, but I’ll choose this!

4:  “Talk about the most interesting thing to happen recently”

4: is what it is!

7: Heeh! It might be a little unexpected?!

2: You didn’t go with eating as much pudding as you want huh.

4: That, I thought about it soooooo hard till the last minute but, if I’m eating pudding, you can’t see right?

4: So I went with something that would be fun to hear.

3: Great, Tamaki!! You thought about the audience huh!

4: You can praise me more.

5: You are wonderful, Tamaki-kun. I’m deeply impressed...

5: Specially for your birthday, you can eat a lot of Osama Pudding.

4: [Confetti Pudding Stamp]

4: Seriously?! Stingy So-chan being generous huh

4: I’ll talk about something that everyone on the radio will love. Like, about green algae.

1: Green algae…?

6: I wonder what is the subject about green algae that everyone will love... I’m curious. ;-P

T: Tamaki-san, thank you for the wonderful request the listeners can enjoy!

T: So then, Next is Iori-san please!

1: From me, “I want you to introduce the inside of your bag.”

1: Seems like not only our fans, but lots of people are curious about idol’s stuff. For the time my request gets chosen, please refrain from adding in something weird.

4: What’s something weird?

1: You had once kept expired bread in your bag!

4: Eeh. If I organized my bag for radio, it would sound fake.

1: Why would idols have to introduce expired bread?!

4: Lol

1: It’s not funny. (Mad) (Mad)

4: But, Iorin thought about a lot of things huh. Thx.

1: Not really… It’s for all the listeners.

3: Iori, you’re not honest at all!

4: What? Tsundere?

7: I knew that he was writing a bunch of ideas in his notebook!

1: Wait, Nanase-san?!

8: That’s nice. Aren’t high school boys youthful huh?

4: [Smiling Kinako Stamp]

1: We’re members in the same group so naturally! Please be careful to not find snack crumbs huh. (Mad)

4: Leave it to me.

T: That was a heartwarming episode! Next is Nanase-san please. 

7: Yes! From me is “Osama Pudding Russian Roulette”!

4: Osama Pudding?!

4: [Confetti Pudding Stamp]

4: [Confetti Pudding Stamp]

4: [Confetti Pudding Stamp]

7: is what I was thinking but you said earlier that people can’t see you eating huh.

4: It’s fine. Because I’ll explain that it’s super delicious with words.

1000: You can tell us your reaction with voices. Seems fun.

10: Right! If I imagine Tamaki-kun eating pudding happily, I can be happy here too! But you might pick the bad one too.

4: So that I deeeefinitely don’t pick the wrong one, Rikkun and Ryuu-aniki pray for me. 

7: Okay! Hope you don’t pick the bad one!

10: Don’t pick the bad one!

9: You’re praying now?

7: Eheheh! I really like Tamaki’s variety reactions. Being surprised, being happy -- your reactions are honest and fun!

4: I also like Rikkun’s reactions.

7: [Sparkling Kinako Stamp]

T: Riku-san, thank you for this fun request!

T: So then, how about Kujou-san next?

9: My request is “Please say the line that makes fans’ hearts pound”.

9: Yotsuba Tamaki is chosen as a desirable man. Maybe the fans will be happy.

100: Kyaaah! I would feel naughty if I heard that…! ( *´艸｀)

4: Heart pounding huuh

4: What should it be? Something like, “I’ll give you pudding so c’mere”?

5: Tamaki-kun, that’s just a dangerous person.

8: “Let’s eat some good soba. Follow me.” Isn’t that how he should say it?

2: You, is that serious...?

4: Using food is not good? Someone please show me an example

9: I made the request so somebody else.

100: Then, Yuki! Please make everyone’s heart pound~!

1000: Me? Okay.

Anesagi: Can respond to a hard request, as expected of Re:vale...

1000: I’ll give you pudding so, come here. 

4: So it is that!!!!

5: I-If Yuki-san says it, I start to feel like that’s the best answer...

10000: Please wake up, Sougo-kun.

Okazaki: Please, Sougo-kun.

4: Is there anyone whose heart doesn’t pound with that?

3: Hmmm… Saying “C’mere” sounds manly so it might be nice! It’s a little different from the usual Tamaki.

6: There was a character similar to that in the game I was playing earlier.

2: Tama being manly huh. Please be pure forever...

4: Yama-san, you sound old.

T: The staff and I will also think about what line would make them happy! Kujou-san, thank you for the request!

T: Next is Nagi-san please!

6: OK! From me, “What is inside the box?!” :-)

3: A reaction-type like Riku’s huh!

6: Even for the radio, it’ll surely become a fun corner. I feel like I can here Tamaki’s voice going “Waaah!” and “Gyaaaah!” already.

4: S-Something painful is a no...

6: Fufu. Please look forward to finding out what’s inside on that day. Tsumugi, let’s have a meeting later.

T: Got it!

3: Nagi, don’t put in anything weird?

6: OH! Weird as in what?

4: Scary and painful are totally bad! Prohibited from the agency!

5: If you take away scary and painful things, choosing is hard huh… How about surprising things?

4: No of No!!!

T: Nagi-san, thank you for the request. To make sure it’s nothing Tamaki-san would dislike, we would choose it carefully!

T: Next is Sougo-san please!

5: Okay. From me it’s, “Tamaki-kun introducing his recommended activity.”

5: Tamaki-kun is good at using his free time well and coming up with new activities. I think it would be interesting for the listeners to be able to know that too.

100: Eeeh! That’s super good! I would hear MEZZO”s inside story too huh☆

4: I was praised by So-chan!

10000: Aaah, I think I get it. Recently, he doesn’t take naps much.

8: Heeh. He was sleeping when I saw him before, but it seems like he’s started to change huh.

10: I want to know the activity too! Something that seems like us three as TRIGGER could do.

4: Okay! I’ll think of something that would be interesting if TRIGGER did it.

1000: And something two people can do.

4: A waiting list was made!

9: Wait, Ryuu. What is something that we could seemingly play?

10: Because we are living together as three, it would be fun if there are activities we can enjoy even if we don’t have video games!

8: I won’t lose, Tenn, Ryuu!

9: Why are you assuming it has to be win or lose?

100: Momo-chan is already knocked out by Yuki’s handsomeness...!

T: I’m curious about playing too!

*T: Please let me hear what you until now play as a reference!

4: An easy one is gesture shiritori! It’s quite hyped up

4: There’s a lot so I’ll teach everyone next time!

T: Sougo-san, thank you for the wonderful request! I’m looking forward to being able to hear what kind of play it will be! Next, how about a request from Mitsuki-san?

3: Got it!

3: Is what I thought but, let me request a break! I want to dry the laundry!

1: I’ll help, Nii-san.

6: Me too!

3: THANK YOU, Iori, Nagi!

Okazaki: The log became long too so let’s have a break.

T: Right, let’s take a break for 30 minutes! I’ll contact everyone later!

V2:

T: I’m curious about playing too!

T: Is there a game where Tamaki-san and Sougo-san compete?

4: Battle-kind huh. I’ll say this just between us but, So-chan is really strong at thumb wrestling...

4: There’s a lot so I’ll teach everyone next time!

V3:

T: I’m curious about playing too!

T: Please have something that 7 people could play!

4: When there are many people, we could do more things! Manager should join too.

4: There’s a lot so I’ll teach everyone next time!

[toplesstaylor]

Sweet like Honey (Roger Taylor x OC) - Part 1.

Author’s note: Hey!!! so, this the first part of my new series Sweet Like Honey! I’m dedicating this to @angrylizardjacket , without their kind words i wouldn’t have posted this, i hope this Will bring some joy!! I also want to thank @rhapso-kei, first of all ilysm, also this will never be as good as your fics, but i tried!! Ok, now some more technical things. You can Imagine this with either Borhap!Roger or 70s Roger, i don’t really care. I’m really self conscious about this, I don’t really know how I feel about it, but I hope you can still enjoy this? I’d like you to know some things before reading this, i’ll give you the link or otherwise this note is going to be way too long. So, have fun i guess!!

Words: 2185

Warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol, sex. (??? I’m not so good with that)

Tag List: none yet I suppose…

Things i’d like for you to know:

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Honey wanted nothing more than to go home and fall face-first onto her bed, but she promised Lane she’d come to the bar, and she wouldn’t feel her tired body after a few drinks anyway.

Lane’s bar, The Red Rover, was stamped. People were crammed into every corner and every possible place, it wasn’t unusual, Friday night’s there were notorious for its music-roulette. Bands, usually from the universities in the neighbourhood, would play a gig, and if the public liked them, they could come back a few more times. Students seemed to enjoy the wide range of music, and that meant a lot of people and a lot of alcohol. Lane’s boss, Alfred Daniels, though everybody called him Jack, didn’t have enough full-time or part-time staff to cover the Friday night crowd, so he paid Honey in drinks and tips if she’d help out a bit. Honey had no intention of ever buying her own drinks anyway, but she liked the buzz of music, alcohol and people combined. It was nice, and if she was lucky, she could even get a ride home.

Walking over to the place Lane was serving beers to a group of kids that could only be law students, seeing they still had their bags full of papers with them, Honey peered over to the stage in hopes of seeing who was playing tonight. There were four guys, around her age, maybe a little older, performing a song she didn’t know. She couldn’t hear what the frontman was singing, seeing, or perhaps hearing The Red Rover’s sound system definitely wasn’t the best and she was quite far away from the stage. They were pretty good, but she could tell they hadn't practised enough. The boys were struggling their way through the song, but the drummer kept his tempo, the guitarist was original and the singer certainly had... charm. The public seemed to like it, which meant Honey was going to see a lot more of them.

‘’Honey! thank god, I could really use a hand right now.’’ Lane half-laughed, handing more beers over to some very eager students. Her strawberry blond, slightly pinkish hair was in a ponytail, bangs and loose strands perfectly surrounding her face. Money was stashed into her bra, some of it peeking out above her top. She looked good, in an effortless way, but so she often did. Honey knew she looked effortlessly good too, she didn’t spend so many hours in her bathroom that morning for nothing. Though she did look a bit more frantic now, after such a long day of classes, and serving tables at Harrison’s.

‘’You got it, Lane. Anything going on at the moment?’’ Honey asked as she scanned the crowd for any customers. ‘’The band’s pretty good” Lane was done with the guys asking for shots, and Honey caught her looking at the guitarist, a tall man with huge curly hair. He looked nice, but he wasn’t what she thought Lane’s type would be. They were all quite attractive in their own way, honey thought, though she couldn’t see the drummer from where she was standing. The public seemed to like them too, there were even some slightly drunk girls yelling “Roger!!” from where they were standing in the back.

Honey stepped behind the bar, turning toward the liquor cabinet so she could take her sweater off. She was wearing a simple ribbed tank top underneath, since it was way too hot in the bar to wear anything else. she could feel the eyes of several guys pining into her back, though she didn’t mind, the low-cut top would only give her more tips, and that was exactly why she came to The Red Rover in the first place.

The band started a new song, and it went much smoother now they were a little used to the bar’s horrible technology. She could even hear some of what the cheerful man prancing around the stage was singing. He had a really nice voice, though it was a bit untrained. It didn’t matter, the song didn’t need anything fancy. The crowd was busy headbanging to the music, which gave Honey and Lane some time to catch their breath and really listen to the music.

They really got into it now, the bass player seemed to have found his groove, and all of them were actively singing along. Honey was surprised by the drummer’s voice, as it was not something you heard every day. It sounded almost smokey, opposed to the lead singer’s lively vocals. She could see Lane looking amazed at the guitarist, Honey couldn’t blame her, he was good, but she was pretty sure there was something else going on that made her gaze at him like that.

‘’I like them. You should tell Jack to hire them again.’’ Honey said, raising her voice so Lane could hear her. ‘’Oh yeah, they’re coming back.’’ Lane couldn’t keep her eyes off the guitarist, who himself was making serious sex eyes at Lane in return. She could guess who was getting free beer that night.

“You like him?” Honey asked. Lane would get a crush now and then, and it was kind of funny to see her oblivious reactions when she got called out on it.

“Huh? Who?” Lane’s eyes went wide, pretending to not know what she was talking about, though the blush on her cheeks betrayed her. Honey wiggled her eyebrows in the curly guitarist’s direction.

“Oh! Well, he’s certainly cute, we’ll have to see, don’t we?” Lane chuckled. It was funny to see her already deeply in love with someone she hardly knew. Lane sometimes complained she was lonely, even though she and Honey shared their unusual ways with men. Honey didn’t care so much for boyfriends, they took up time and effort, and you could get sex anywhere. Just wear the right dress, and men will fall to their knees, mama always said. It was really the only reason Honey existed, and it was true. But she wasn’t in the mood for that, her body was tired and all she really wanted was drink. And a strong one, at that. Grabbing the bottle of expensive tequila/wodka behind her, she looked around the room for Jack, then poured a shot glass for herself. She would’ve just drunk it from the bottle, but with ‘hygiene laws’ and those stupid alcohol quantity regulators, it wasn’t going to happen.

The band had finished their last song at this point, and one of the other bartenders had switched the music to the jukebox. Something a bit more ‘popular’ played, and though the melody was honestly horrible, it did have a nice rythm. The guys on stage were moving their equipment back to their van, and Honey was expecting them to come back for beers anytime now.

“Hello! Is Jack around, dears?” The singer jumped towards them, his voice surprisingly powerful after such intense singing.

“He’s in his office, I think. Can we help you with anything?” Lane said, though she wasn’t really paying attention to him. Far to busy scanning the crowd for his tall friend.

“Well, I just want to know how we did! We’d like to perform here again you know, the crowd’s very nice.” He sat himself down on one of the stools in front of the bar Honey and Lane were tending. Lane didn’t respond to him, still awfully fixated on finding the guitarist, so Honey replied instead.

“I think you were good.” She said, already grabbing a glass to pour beer in, even though the singer didn’t ask for it.

“Good enough to stay?” He almost sounded like a puppy, Honey thought. There was something slightly naughty about him however that she couldn’t quite explain. He certainly was intriguing.

“I’ll put in a good word with Jack,” Honey said. ‘’Not a lot of the bands we have playing here get the crowd going like that, so you kids definitely deserve it.’’ A giant, goofy grin spread across the singers face, so uplifting Honey couldn't help but grin as well.

‘’Well, that’s quite good to hear, as this was only our third show.’’

Honey smiled, shoving the beer into the singer’s hands. ‘’ From the house,’’ she said, sneakily glancing around for jack. ‘’And since I’m sure you’ll be coming around again, that’s Lane and I’m Honey.’’

Lane looked at her in confusion as to why her name was being said, but continued watching the crowd after Honey only gave her an expression that kind of looked like ‘’If you wanted to know you should have listened.’’. The singer chuckled at the interaction, before giving Honey a hand to shake. ‘’I’m Freddie. Nice to meet you.’’ Honey shook his hand. He had such a warm smile, she thought. she’d never seen anything like that.

‘’Is Honey your real name?’’ Freddie asked.

‘’No, darling.’’

‘’Then why do they call you that?’’ Freddie gazed at her with wonder, creativity as to why already flowing around behind his eyes.

‘’I’ve been told I taste like it.’’ she grinned, leaning on the bar for support. She liked the way the shock dripped into his eyes, just like it did with all the others she said that too. It wasn’t necessarily civil, saying something like that… but it sure was fun.

Freddie’s gawking ended when his guitarist, the curly one, came stepping towards them. He made ‘’subtle’’ eye-contact with Lane, which, to his annoyment, Freddie snorted at. ‘’Hey, Fred, already getting us beer, I see?’’ He said, slapping Fred maybe a bit too hard on his shoulder.

‘’C’mon Brian, I’m sure you can get it yourself, seeing you already have your favourite bartender?’’ A smaller figure appeared from behind Brian, and Honey assumed it was their bassist. He looked strangely comfortable surrounded by all these people, which Honey found surprising considering seemed like such a quiet person on stage. He introduced himself as John, but Freddie told her she could call him Deaky if she was nice to him.

They got on pretty well, when she introduced herself, John smiled, and his eyebrows raised in shock as well when she told him her name and the story that came with it. Brian had started flirting with Lane, and though Honey couldn’t hear their conversation, she could guess.

‘’Rog’s still out back? I thought he’d be done by now.’’ Freddie turned towards John, or Deaky, as Honey was hopefully allowed to call him.

‘’’There were some girls, but there are always some. I'm sure he’ll come back to get some fuel soon.’’ He huffed, sipping the beer given to him by none other than Honey herself.

‘’He’s your drummer, right?’’ Honey asked.

‘’Yeah… why?’’ Fred returned, a little mischievous.

‘’He must be pretty if he gets that much attention.’’

‘’Oh, He certainly likes to think so.’’ Deaky grumbled, which made Fred chuckle. Honey laughed, drummers were notorious for their ego, and this one didn’t seem any different.

‘’Why so interested?’’ Freddie continued. He was still interested in Honey’s intentions, she could tell, though to be honest, she wasn’t quite sure where the conversation was headed.

‘’Maybe I need a ride home.’’ She smiled, and Deaky nearly choked in his drink, not even because of what she’d said, really because of the cheeky grin on her face. Freddie only looked at her with admiration, which fueled her questionable confidence even more.

It was perfectly timed, because right at that moment, Roger Taylor himself stepped into the bar with two very drunk girls in his arms. She didn’t understand who he was instantly, she really couldn’t see him from where she was standing during the gig, but when she did, Deaky and Freddie practically jumped to face Honey, desperate for her reaction to his… appearance.

All she did was give him a quick glance-over while he stood there with an expression that could only mean ‘’what the hell is happening?’’, the girls on either of his sides giggling drunkenly.

‘’He’ll do.’’

[xsoldier]

Neural Repository: Consciousness Stream on Self Pain

You always see the faves of the depressed people who've killed themselves, and they're smiling and happy. That's likely because tendencies of hyperaltruistic behaviour get exacerbated when there's an extreme lack of dopamine. People become disproportionately more likely to take more harm upon themselves than inflict it upon others. But they're not always that way. Some people are just genuinely cheerful and love putting out happiness into the world.

I know I was.

What most of you don't know is that it's the one year anniversary of the first time in my life that I can remember deeply and wholly wanting with my entire being to not exist. To be done & gone. To will myself into nothingness. To disconnect my conscious self, and just let my body be a stand-in until I could return. To freeze myself in stasis and come back to life later. Or just die since none of those other things are actually options. It wasn't for months still that I'd actually experience the helplessness that lead me to knowing exactly how I'd terminate my life, or experience the emotional roulette rollercoaster of not doing so (about 6 separate times now) purely through the luck of circumstance of brain chemistry in the moment.

Suicide is very much a crime of passion against self. Opting out, and unsubscribing from the flow of the every day that you just can't handle anymore. It's harder when you've very carefully thought through everything and still come to the same answer. I wasn't surprised when Dana killed herself. She was about the only human whose absolute desperation and inability to escape the moments of self were like a reflection of my every day. She dealt with depression and I didn't, and I learned a lot from her. I was so annoyed when she died, because it filled me with an imperative purpose that I had to fill, and it meant that that option wasn't available for me. I talked everyone through it that I could, I spoke about her death, and I never even received a farewell or details about why. The reason that I always spoke so definitively despite that is that just about my only skillset is recognizing patterns of human emotion, and it was like staring in a mirror.

I've probably aged a decade in the last year. You can be around people all the time, but that doesn't overcome the pervasive sense of exclusion and loneliness that becomes all-consuming from where we need it most. We work long hours, because taking time off makes things worse, as the only sense of belonging and purpose is the small refreshing breath of being useful when you're drowning in an ocean of complete despair. Drowning people don't LOOK like they're drowning. They don't yell, or splash, or cry out for help. They just struggle a little differently, and then sink.

I don't remember what happiness is. That's not to say that I haven't BEEN happy and had wonderful experiences over the last year, it's just that every moment sense, instead of experiencing bad moments, life has become a series of the good moments merely being momentary distractions from the deep and inextricable sensation of the endless chasm of the complete and utter abyssal void that is what remains of me. The deepest, most delicate, sensitive, and vulnerable part of myself was utterly disintegrated and my happiest and most confident self is obliterated as being less than worthless. The start of my descent was the limb-shattering drop to rock bottom, followed my months of clawing through bedrock with shattered fingernails splitting to the bone. The only constant sensation of being buried in the scalding frozen blackness, slowly suffocating within the claustrophobic emptiness of being absolutely abandoned.

I know people cared about me. I know people care about me. None of that even scratched the surface of this place. They were a glowing distraction that faded, just making every moment more and more desperate. It's like sleep paralysis, where even as soon as you know what's happening, and every moment just gets worse. It doesn't matter that you understand it, or that you know what it is and how it works. It gets worse. Loneliness is the health equivalent to smoking 15 cigarettes A DAY. Our brain experiences the social pain of abandonment the same way that we process the physical pain of being HIT. You want to escape it and what's worse — you don't want help. You don't want pity. That hyperaltruistic trigger means that even causing someone a fraction of the inconvenience that the every day pain causes you actually makes you feel WORSE not better. You are a constant net negative on literally every. single. interaction. for yourself, but it's smaller when you just let it happen. Once you start talking about it, it ends up echoing like a scream that shreds your vocal chords to pieces in seconds and adrenaline and desperation are literally the only things you have in your veins.

Each day, you recognize yourself less. You end up yearning for the worst days you can remember, because it feels like a comforting familiarity. You don't yearn for good times, because you literally can't remember what they feel like. They're a distraction, not root cause analysis. Anything that isn't digging at the core of the issue is extraneous and worthless, and nothing else consumes your thoughts. It latches on to your basic survival instincts for food & shelter, it encompasses the entirety of your need for social inclusion. The idea of self-growth and healthy focus without meeting those other two things first literally doesn't exist, because your brain is CERTAIN that you are moments from death during every agonizingly hour-long second that you experience that state.

As serotonin drops your general harm aversion for others and self drops at the same rate. It doesn't make a dent in the hyperaltruistic behaviour meant to secure you a tribal in-group to help ensure your survival. Eventually you're a net negative on ANY given scenario, and you don't want to try with another group. You enter a state of apathy and learned helplessness. Every response to attempts at improving elicits a dysfunctional response, so there's no telling what actions or behaviours net a known outcome. The momentary improvements are eclipsed by the shattering insecurities and inability to do anything positive. I'd been sleeping with a weighted blanket for months to prevent the crippling anxiety, and my medication hyper expresses my need to take action on things met with an insurmountable apathy as a roadblock to all basic needs. I start to experience panic attacks to positive stimuli because I'm so used to dysfunctional response that I'm ACTUALLY afraid of feeling good, because the drop I experience afterwards is so far down. Every one of the brightest and most positive moments I've felt has been suffocated, and the darkest moments I've felt were the brightest. My friend murdering herself kept me alive, because it gave me a purpose. My friend who I saw 5 days a week for the last 5 years being DEAD was the moment that made me feel the most hopeful about myself in the last year. Knowing that I feel that makes me feel even worse. I've almost murdered myself 6 times this year — I didn't though. That's just circumstantial luck and brain chemistry because I'm existentially horrified of injury, hospitalization, or being in a mental ward. Deep down, I can't do it without a guarantee that I won't be certain that I'm gone and experience as little pain as possible in doing so… and that just hasn't happened yet.

It's part of why I left America and all of the resources I had behind. It's infinitely harder for me to kill myself here. I knew that the moment that suicidal thoughts were replaced with panic about my extant plans for self termination being derailed in my new surroundings. Again — it's a crime of passion against self. It has a lot to override to put you there, but I felt it was necessary to call out that I've spent a year with this as my constant daily "normal" and being very used to overwhelming thoughts of suicide and being well-beyond the most utter insignificance as my day-to-day, and it was necessary to time-stamp those thoughts.

Don't ever feel bad if you did or didn't reach out to a friend you lost to suicide. It's a very weird beast, and there's no telling how it's going to manifest. If we all had an "off" button on our arms, every person would have used it at some point, and the things that hold us back or let us make one vary greatly from person to person. I don't want to be remembered as someone who was happy to combat and offset all this pain and sadness. I just want people to know that I was that kind of person when I WAS actually full of joy and happiness, too. I used to be really great, and I'm still trying my damnedest to make the world a brighter place inspire of myself, and inspire of the fact that you're not in it anymore either. I miss you @acrid Every fuckin' day. Even when I hate myself. I really try to remember the best of both of us, and put it up on display for everyone to see, because maybe somehow I'll find myself again some day, too.

[coolcrusadeland-blog1]

Spread Betting - How To Get Poor Quickly?

As I write this, I'm nursing a bit of a sore head and an empty wallet. In the last four weeks I've lost almost £30,000 spread betting for about an hour a day five days a week. So I managed to blow around £1,500 an hour. That's really quite a chunk of cash. Actually, it's not quite as bad as it looks. Fortunately, I was betting using a few spread-betting companies' demo sites. These are simulations of their live betting sites that allow you to practice before you start betting with real money. I realise that I am no financial genius otherwise I would have been rich long ago. However, the fact that I managed to squander so much money so quickly does pose the question - if spread betting seems so easy, why do so many people get completely wiped out extremely quickly?

We're increasingly seeing advertising for spread betting in investing and money management publications. In the one I subscribe to, four or five different spread betting companies take full-page colour ads each week, outnumbering any other type of advertising. Spread betting ads are already common in the business sections of many weekend newspapers and will probably soon start to appear in the personal finance sections. Spread betting could appear deceptively attractive to many savers. After all, money in a bank, shares or unit trusts will at best give us about a miserable five per cent a year before tax. Yet a reasonable run on spread betting can easily let you pocket ten per cent a week - five hundred per cent a year - completely and gloriously tax-free. So spread betting can let you earn in just one year what it would take a hundred years or more to achieve with most other investments.

Spread betters gamble on price movements of anything from individual shares, currencies and commodities to whole markets like the FTSE, Dax or S&P. It is called spread betting because the company providing the service makes most of their money by putting an additional spread around the price at which something is being bought or sold.

Spread betting appears to have many advantages compared to traditional investing:

You don't have to buy anything - It allows you to bet on price movements without having to buy the underlying assets - shares, commodities or foreign exchange.

It's tax-free - When you buy or sell shares, get paid dividends or receive interest from a bank you will have to pay taxes like stamp duty, capital gains and income tax. Unless spread betting is your full-time job and only source of income, there are no taxes to be paid as it's considered to be gambling.

You can go long or short - When you spread bet you can gain just as much whether prices rise or fall, providing you guess the direction correctly. With most other investments, you need the price to go up before you make a profit.

You can bet on a rise or fall at the same time - If the FTSE, for example, is trading at 5551-5552, you can place two bets, one that it will rise and one that it will fall. These only get triggered when the FTSE actually moves. So if it starts going up, your bet that it will rise gets triggered. Similarly if it drops, only your bet that it will fall is triggered. So it can seem that, come rain or shine, you'll probably win.

Huge leverage - If you bet say £50 a pip (a pip is usually the minimum price movement you can bet on), you can easily win four or five times your original bet if the price moves in the right direction. On a really good bet, you can win much much more.

You can wait for the breakout - Prices on many shares, currencies, commodities and other things people bet on tend to experience periods of stability followed by bursts of movement up or down, what spread-betters call 'the breakout'. You can place a bet that is only activated when the breakout comes.

Loss limits - You can put conditions in your bet that prevent your losses exceeding your chosen level should your bet happen to be wrong.

You can adjust mid-flight - With most bets, such as with horse racing or on roulette, once the race has started or the croupier has called 'no more bets' you have to wait helplessly for the result to see if you've won or not. With spread betting you can choose to close your bet at any time. So if you're ahead, you can take your winnings; if you're behind you can either cut your losses or wait in the hope that things will change and you'll be up again. Given all these properties of spread betting, it should be pretty easy to make a fair bit of money without too much effort. If only.

Industry estimates suggest that around ninety per cent of spread-betters lose most or all of their money and close their accounts within three months of starting. There seem to be another eight per cent or so who make reasonable amounts of money on a regular basis and there are around two per cent of spread-betters who make fortunes. I've been to a few presentations run by spread betting companies and at one of these the salesman let slip that over eighty per cent of his customers lost money. Even many professionals lose on about six bets out of every ten. But by controlling their losses and maximising their returns when they win, they can increase their wealth.

Why it can go horribly wrong

There seem to be several reasons why spread betting is so effective at dramatically demolishing most practitioners' wealth:

The companies want you to lose - When you first open a demo or real account, you will get several phone calls from extremely friendly and helpful young men and women at the spread-betting company asking if there's anything they can do to assist you to get going. This is customer service at its very best. Most of the people contacting you will parrot the line that they just want to help and that they're happy if you're successful as their company only makes money from the spread. Some will reassure you that they want you to win as the more you win, the more you're likely to bet and the more the spread-betting company will earn. This may make you feel good, convince you that the company is open, honest, trustworthy and supportive and encourage you to use them for your betting. But it's also a lie. It's true that the company might make a lot of its money from the spread. However, with many of your bets, you're betting against the company and so they hope you lose, big time. In fact, during the last month I've seen several companies change the conditions on their sites to make it more likely that people using them will lose. So, lesson one - spread betting companies are not your friends. The more you lose the more they win. It's that simple.

It's difficult to break even - If you bet say £50 a pip and the price does go the way you want, the spread betting company takes the first £50 you win. So the price has to move two pips in the right direction for you to win your £50 back and three pips for you to emerge with £100, doubling your money. But if the price moves three pips in the wrong direction, you lose your original bet plus £50 a pip, giving a total loss of £200, a loss of four times your original bet.

Losses can be massive - With most gambling, you can only lose what you put down on a horse, blackjack or roulette. With spread betting you can quickly say goodbye to much more than you wager. I forgot to put a stop loss on one bet and managed to lose over £800 with just one £50 bet. Because your bet is leveraged, you can make both fabulous gains and excruciatingly painful losses. Too often it's the latter. The small size of many bets, often £5 or £10 a pip can lull betters into a false sense of security. It's only when the losses go five to ten times the original bet that they realise the risk they have taken. "The spread betting leverage means that you can get rich which is a wonderfully appealing idea, but it also means you can get poor which most people ignore."

You can waste thousands on courses and systems - At one free spread-betting seminar I attended we were more than strongly encouraged to sign up for a two-day weekend course teaching us how to spread bet successfully. This would normally cost (we were told) £6,995, but there was a special offer for the first five people to sign up of only £1,997. There are many such courses and also gurus offering to sell you their special spread-betting systems, guides, webinars and all sorts of other advice. With so many supposed experts apparently making a living teaching others how to spread bet, there must be a lot of takers. But I've found that all you need to know and more is available free on the Internet. As one specialist said, 'Don't bother wasting your money on 'Guru' books written by so-called experts. Those books are crap and not worth the paper they are printed on. Nobody sells a secret trading methodology if they are really successful. The only reason these guys are writing books is because they didn't make it as traders'.

It's the bobbing about that beats you - We often hear on the news that the price of gold has risen by a few dollars an ounce or the FTSE has fallen by a hundred and thirty points or that the pound has risen by two cents against the dollar. These reports make price changes on financial instruments sound like smooth movements either up or down. However, the prices of shares, stock markets, commodities and currencies seldom move in straight lines. They jump about every few seconds. So, if the FTSE is at 5540 and you correctly bet £50 a pip that it will go up to 5545 you might not necessarily win £200. In between going from 5540 to 5545, it might drop down a couple of times to say 5535 or lower. If you have a stop loss on at 5536 or 5535 to avoid losing too much money, your stop loss will kick in and you'll lose £250 or £300 even if the index did subsequently move upwards as you predicted. I've placed over a hundred bets to test whether I won when my bets were right. On about eighty per cent I lost in spite of being right because the fluctuations triggered the stop losses even though the index did actually move from where it was to where I predicted it would go. This creates a rather odd situation where stop losses can unfortunately make you lose even when you should be winning. Yet if you don't put stop losses on and things go in the wrong direction, your losses can annihilate you.

It attracts losers - At the spread betting seminars I've attended, I've been shocked by the number of low-paid workers - waiters, porters, kitchen staff, healthcare assistants and impoverished, would-be writers like myself - who decide to have a go at spread betting as they believe that, apart from winning the Lottery, it may be the only realistic way they have of making any money. These people will be betting with their meagre life savings against extremely sophisticated financial services insiders with vast knowledge, many years experience and extraordinarily deep pockets. It's not difficult to guess who is going to win.

Sucker or smartie?

Spread betting is a 'zero sum game'. Unlike depositing our money in a bank so it can be lent to businesses or house-buyers, spread betting doesn't create wealth. It just redistributes money from the suckers to the smart. When contemplating whether to try your hand at spread betting, you need to work out whether you are likely to be in the ninety per cent who end up as suckers or the ten per cent who make money by being smart. I found it interesting that not a single one of the amiable young men and women from spread-betting companies that I spoke to actually did any spread betting themselves. By the way, when I did eventually open a live spread betting account and managed to win about £100 a day for ten days, the spread betting company started preventing me getting out of losing bets because they claimed I was "betting unfairly". However, if you do manage to spread bet successfully, please drop me an email, I'd love to find out how to do it sakong online.

[mnemememory]

blown out glass

Calianna has trouble sleeping.

Calianna closes her eyes and lets her hand fall limp to her side, spent.

Around her, everywhere, is a cacophony of noise; screams and shouts and crying, so much crying. Calianna tries so hard to block it out, but she can’t. There’s blood seeping into the fabric of her cloak, into the ends of her hair, into the corners of her eyes. There are no wounds on her body, but she’s bleeding all the same.

And there’s fire. So, so much fire.

“I won’t,” Calianna says, trying to keep her voice steady. It echoes around the room, warping with every repeat: “I won’t, I won’t, I won’t –” until it doubles back around on itself (“I will, I will, I will”). The twice voices battle against themselves, mingling and disappearing underneath the roar of the fire. There is so much fire.

Calianna’s blood thickens, and boils, and bursts from her veins in a fountain of black sludge. She can’t breathe. Seris is here, somewhere, just a little ways off. Calianna can hear her, can smell her, can almost taste the way Seris’ would bleed under her teeth.

“You will,” Seris whispers, and Calianna can’t breathe. She’s so tired. There’s nothing left in her body. Everything is gone, wasted away from her bones until she’s nothing left but blood and scales. They consume her, locking across her throat and severing her vocal chords. I won’t, Calianna thinks, and there’s a desperate kind of admission to it.

There’s another scream, this time – younger, smaller, and –

And –

And –

And –

Calianna opens her eyes.

There is no burning field. There is no blood. There is no Seris.

Someone is standing next to her fire, poking at the burning embers hard enough to set the fresh wood ablaze. The night is as still as Calianna has ever seen it, the world holding its breath.

“Hi,” the figure says, shifting forward.

Calianna blinks slowly.

Yasha stands with her back to the fire, at once intimidating and striking. Her form is backlit, eyes glowing hot, skin reflectively pale. She looks less real and most ghostly, insubstantial, transparent. Calianna wants to reach out and make sure she isn’t an illusion.

Then Yasha glances back to the fire, shoulders hunching all the way up to her ears. Her sword keeps her spine straight, but only just.

“You were sleeping,” Yasha says, and a brief look of frustration flickers across her face. “I didn’t want to wake you up, but. It’s dangerous. Camping alone.”

“Thank you,” Calianna says. She looks around, but there’s too much middle-hanging plant-growth around, obscuring her vision more than ten feet out of her chosen camping ground. (Easy to burn, Seris whispers). “Is the rest of…?”

Calianna trails away, and Yasha shakes her head. They stare at each other for a long minute, and then Calianna whacks herself on the head and jumps to her feet, grabbing for her bag.

“it’s so lovely to see you!” she says. “Here, take a seat, let me get something to eat. It’s been so long. How have you been? Sit down, sit down!”

Yasha pulls back a little at the sudden burst of enthusiasm, and then gingerly gets onto the ground. There isn’t much by way of seating prospects – the trees around here are a little low on comfortable root systems and a little high on mulchy loan – which makes sitting (even in her clearing) a game of low-stakes roulette. Calianna can already feel some of the moisture seeping into her clothing, the texture reminiscent of cold –

Calianna pulls open her bag with a wide smile, shaking out what little food she’s managed to prepare. There isn’t a lot – less, now that there are two people instead of one – but she wants to share this with Yasha. Even now, she’s a little at a loss with how to repay the barbarian for the destroyed Bowl.

“It is very, uh, nice. Seeing you again. I wasn’t expecting it,” Yasha says. She takes the good that Calianna offers her, but doesn’t start eating it straight away. Her clothing is partially torn in places, and there’s a long wound running along the side of her shoulders and dipping below her collarbone. Calianna wants to ask, but that would be very rude. (No questions, Seris whispers).

“Neither was I!” Calianna says. “It’s such a pleasant surprise. What brings you this way? How are the rest of the Mighty Nein?”

“They are well, I think. I haven’t seen them for. A while.”

“Are you heading back their way?”

Yasha smiles, briefly. It lights up her whole face into something less terrifying and more transient, the distinction softened by the dim light of the fire.

“I’m trying to,” Yasha says. “They’re a little hard to, uh, follow.”

“Yes, I keep hearing things,” Calianna says. “I keep an ear out for your exploits, you know. The Mighty Nein!”

Yasha rolls her eyes, a gratifyingly human gesture. “Making a name for themselves.”

“And you,” Calianna says. “Making a name for all of you.”

Yasha shrugs.

They drift into a kind of awkward, but comfortable, silence. The fire pops as a deposit of sap catches alight, but Calianna only jumps a little, and Yasha doesn’t move at all. It’s strangely liberating, not having anything to say.

And simultaneously deeply unsettling.

(Be still, be sweet, be good, Seris whispers).

Dear Jester [Calianna’s letter reads]

I am doing very well! Thank you so much for writing back to me. I’ve been waiting to hear about your exploits all month. It’s unfortunate that our positions keep changing, because the mail system here isn’t very good. Thankfully, there were enough stamps on that last envelope on yours to catch up with me, but I’m not sure if this will get to you in any sort of timely fashion!

I’ve certainly missed your company, through perhaps not that of the troll. You mentioned in your last letter that it had been killed – that’s so incredible! I’m really impressed with you all, you know. Your pictures were equal parts amusing and instructional. Kiri looked very intimidating, though I’m afraid she’s just too cute for me to be scared by her. I can’t believe she was the one who made the final blow!

Speaking of unbelievable things, you’ll never guess who I stumbled on just last week –

“I can, uh, travel with you. To the next city. If you want. I don’t know where the rest of them have gone, at the moment. so I’m just. Trying to gather information. At the moment.”

It’s the longest string of sentences (if they can be called that) that Calianna has ever heard Yasha say. She’s very impressed. Yasha seems less so, if the constant catches and awkward pauses are anything to go by.

“I would love that!” Calianna says. (I love you, Seris whispers). “I’m trying to track down another of my artefacts, but there aren’t many leads I can follow at the moment. Company would be very nice!”

Yasha starts to smile, but doesn’t really seem to know what to do with the rest of her face. It hangs awkwardly there for a few seconds, and then drops back to neutral. Calianna beams.

“Jester would never forgive me if, uh, something happened to you,” Yasha says. “While I’m here. She gets very. Excited. Whenever one of your letters catches us.”

“I’m very glad that she gets them,” Calianna says, falling into step. “Sometimes it’s hard to know if they’re going through. I have to plaster the envelope with stamps – the first time I saw her letter, why, I could barely read her name! But it’s very useful. I try to send as many as I can, just in case.”

“It really makes her day,” Yasha says.

Dear Calianna [Jester’s letter reads]

It is so wonderful to hear from you. Thank you very much for the book you sent along with your last letter – it is very useful when it comes to keeping track of money. I’ve learned a lot about “accounting” from it. Fjord and Caleb are both really impressed, which they should be, because “accounting” is hard. I have been working at keeping better track of my money. I think I’m getting better at it.

Ooh, Yasha! I’m so glad you ran into her! Things have been, like, crazy hectic these last few weeks, and we haven’t had much of a chance to stay in one place. I think we keep missing her, which is making Molly really antsy. If she’s still with you, tell her that we’re heading back to Zadash, and that she needs to buy Beau some more throwing stars (but Beau doesn’t know I’m asking her to), and that she needs to keep an eye out for any more diamonds –

I love you, Seris whispers, dragging her fingers through Calianna’s hair.

Calianna makes a small noise of contentment, stretching out so that her small head is positioned better on Seris’ lap. The sun is warm along her bared scales, flooding across the sky and shading everything pale. A small rumble builds in her chest as Seris continues the slow, rhythmic stroking.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Something hot drips onto Calianna’s cheek, like wax. The purr breaks, deep and satisfied. Another drip, this time along Calianna’s right eye. Along her chin. Her lips. Her forehead.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Calianna opens her mouth, and she tasted blood. It’s everywhere, coating her tongue and her teeth and the inside of her throat. She’s choking in blood, drowning in it. Seris continues to pull at Calianna’s hair, only she’s not being gentle, she’s digging it out by the roots. Calianna tries to cry out, but she can’t, because she’s dying.

I love you. I love you. I love –

Something gentle presses onto Calianna’s wrist, just below her pulse. Calianna bolts upright with a sickening lurch, trembling.

Yasha is crouching next to her, expression eerily neutral as her eyes skitter over Calianna’s face.

“You were being loud,” she says, when Calianna gets her breathing under control. It’s not a complaint, but Calianna’s face burns.

“Oh!” Calianna says, modulating her voice so it comes out high. “I’m so sorry, I can’t believe – I mean, I’m so sorry for waking you up!”

“I wasn’t sleeping,” Yasha says, mismatched eyes piercing as she begins to back away. Calianna wants to reach out and grab onto her wrist, but she can’t, because she knows exactly what happens to the people she draws close. It’s bad enough that Yasha has already destroyed the Bowl – anything more, and Seris will – Seris will do something extremely unpleasant. Calianna has seen enough of Seris’ unpleasantness for the rest of her life. If she had her way, Calianna will never have to see it firsthand ever again.

(That’s what worries her, what leaves her sick to the stomach, because second-hand is almost as bad. Cleaning up the mess, dragging things back to their proper places, staring into the creatures that had remained afterwards – it’s almost worse than seeing it done.

The first time, Calianna hadn’t known any better. She hadn’t. She had looked at the pitiful, broken remains and then tied up as best she could. Seris had patted her on the head and said, I love you, I love you, I love you, and that had almost been enough to stop Calianna from thinking, I feel sick.

Almost).

“You weren’t? You should be! Yasha, sleep is one of the most important parts of the day – after breakfast, of course –”

“Someone needed to keep watch,” Yasha says.

“I could have done that,” Calianna says, trying to keep from sounding stung. She doesn’t quite manage it, but considering how tired she feels, Calianna feels it’s a good effort all around. (You work so hard, Seris whispers, I’m so proud of you).

“I know,” Yasha says.

They stare at the fire in silence, Calianna dragging herself back together, Yasha silently watching. When it doesn’t hurt to breathe, Calianna settles her lungs into place with a long sigh, glancing up to meet Yasha’s eyes.

“Thank you,” Calianna says.

Yasha doesn’t reply, but she doesn’t really need to.

Dear Jester [Calianna’s letter reads]

Don’t worry, if I see Yasha again, I’ll tell her where you’re heading. Of course, that’s assuming she hasn’t already caught up with you! She left quite a while ago in search of your ground, but I wouldn’t worry about her. I get the feeling she’ll stumble onto the Mighty Nein’s trail sooner than later – you’re very good at being conspicuous, you know! I just went through Hupperdook, and let me tell you –

[aenramsden]

See, the interesting thing here would be how this interacted with stuff like the spread of ideologies and warring cultures based on how geographically diverse reincarnations are, and how clear the memories and sense of self is.

Like, for instance, my last life was a Frenchman during the Hundred Years War; I am born in England, am I happy about this? I am a European settler considering whether or not to use biological warfare against the natives of this New World: when I die here, how likely is it that I will wind up on the other side of the conflict with no smallpox resistance? Does Ancient Greece know about the existence of the Maori down in New Zealand thousands of years before ocean trade progresses to the point where the two geographical areas make regular contact by dint of people who've lived in both places, or do you only reincarnate fairly near where you die?

Hell, rather more to the point, I'm a capitalist fat cat paying vast sums of money (that are a pittance compared to my net wealth) to widen the class gap and legally enforce wealth inequality: how stupid do I feel when I'm born to a single mother working two jobs to scrape just barely above the poverty line? If you know that this life isn't your only go and it's effectively a random roulette as to where you end up next time around, you're going to put a lot more thought into the long-term consequences of your actions on the next generation, because the next generation is going to include you.

Can I, Rich Asshole Bob, leave all my money to my reincarnation regardless of whether I’m born above or below the poverty line? Or indeed whether I’m born a true-and-blue American or to an undocumented Mexican immigrant? To what extent is a reincarnatee even the “same person"? Is it "I died and woke up in a squalling infant", or "I watched a movie of someone else's life when I was a kid; man that guy was an asshole"? The former means the world population is essentially set; it’s the same people cycling round over and over again, and they’re going to be treated as the same people if they’re anyone of note, potentially with “okay, That One Asshole’s been born again, find him and lock him up before he does anything else” shenanigans going on - genuine “48 consecutive life sentences” stuff.

Are you only born geographically close to where you died, or is it literally random-rolled roulette across the entire world? The latter is going to have  things like philosophy and religion spread very quickly and uncontrollably - in real life, the number one single biggest influence on a kid's religion is geographical; you're Buddist rather than Sikh because you grew up in a place where everyone was Buddhist and Buddhism was your main and clearest option. And you can persecute and wipe out ideas like that in a similar way, albeit it's difficult to stamp them out entirely. But if Christianity can just bungee-hop two continents away with no way to track or stop it, it’s essentially impossible to quash. If kids from traditional Shinto families can be born with heads full of Muslim philosophy, that's going to lead to far less geographically cohesive blocs.

(This is leaving aside the fact that religion is going to look totally different in this setting anyway because we know what comes after death and it's the same as what came before it, just with the year counter incremented.)

Basically, depending on how much geographical drift happens, you might well have truly global culture right from the get-go - and that means it's very hard to weaponise ignorance the way the American Right have. You can't keep people ignorant by just making sure they never learn about how things could be better, because they've probably seen stuff before. I mean, they probably don't remember everything from every life (and incidentally, historians are a totally different field here too; lots more first-person accounts and trying to find someone who remembers a bit more about the Bronze Age Collapse, etc). But you can't isolate a population from knowledge by constraining their education and media. You don't have that kind of ideological control.

Y'all imagine if past lives were something commonly acknowledged, and something you could actually remember - but the thing is, high infant mortality thorough the course of most human history would mean that most of those lives would be so brief that your mother in this particular life wouldn't even give you a name before you die of diarrhea.

So your memories of past lives would be like toddler death, toddler death, toddler death, hey cool I was a blacksmith, toddler death, toddler death, toddler death, I was a carpenter, toddler death, toddler death, toddler death, the infamous town whore who once sucked off a bishop, toddler death, polio, lead poisoning, present day.

People don't fear death because they don't know what's happening, they just hate having to go back into the stupid loop of Shit Yourself And Die speedrun until they manage to survive to adulthood again.

[yummyyume]

SI-OC Fanfic Recs

So, it’s been a long time coming, but I finally got the time and energy to do this. What better way to start, but with one of my favorite guilty pleasures. 

I listed them in the order that I read them. 

This is a post in progress, though, so I’ll update it when I have a new one. 

Naruto

Déjà vu no Jutsu by Vixen Tail. AO3 // FF.net

Take one dead, thirty year old career soldier, stick in the body of a child during the Second Great Shinobi War. Add a mini-Namikaze Minato, ninjas, chakra, tailed beasts, and shake well. Is it any wonder she thought she was insane?

It’s so good. I love everything about this fanfic. The characters, the world-building, the way emotions and trauma are treated. There are just no words strong enough to explain how much I love this one. I particularly enjoy the fact that the main character doesn’t accept reincarnation as perfectly normal and thinks she’s losing her mind. Also, there is an explanation about what exactly happened for her to be here and that’s awesome. 

Clearing Mist by shadownumera. FF.net

I have the worst luck ever. First off, I die. Then I get reborn into the Naruto universe. Yay right? WRONG. Nobody ever said you get to be reborn into Konoha. Which makes finding out where I am in the story line that much harder. I don't know if I can change anything, or if the bloodbath is far behind me. One thing's official though. I'm screwed.

This one is more lighthearted, but still pretty amazing. It also diverges from most SI fanfic by the fact that the main character is reborn in Kiri. 

108 Earthly Temptations by Vixen Tail. AO3 // FF.net

A character study into why the older generations of shinobi are harsher and less inclined to compromise. SI/OC Pre-Konoha, Warring States Period, Post-Founding. Currently up to the middle-end of the Second Great Shinobi World War.

I found this one slightly confusing at times, particularly in the beginning. Still a really good read. 

The Yondaime's Assistant by DianaMoth. FF.net

When I reincarnated in the world of Naruto, I was lucky enough to live in Konoha but not lucky enough to get all the superpowers you could hope for. I failed my jounin-sensei test and ended up in the Genin Corps. Bye bye jounin rank but, considering it also meant avoiding the battlefield, that's fine with me. Now I just had to get a position allowing me to change History...

I love this one! It’s different from others because we mostly met the main character when she’s already an adult. There’s not long chapters dedicated to how much it sucks to be dead or to be stuck in a baby’s body. It’s refreshing. Also, the author didn’t shy away from Polyamory and it makes me really, really happy. 

Guardian Angel of Trouble Twins by DianaMoth. FF.net

Reincarnating as a crow was nicer than you would think... until the Trouble Twins found the summoning scroll for the Karasu. Then they grew on her and she had to save their lives. How annoying. They better gave her lots of almonds or she'll elope with the ninken summoner!

It’s crack, honestly, and I can’t have enough! This one takes a completely different turn from regular SI fanfic and it’s so, so good. 

Stamping on Butterflies by kjate95. FF.net

I had a feeling in the back of my mind as if something had changed that day. Had I looked around I would have noticed a shadow lurking in the trees and something change in said persons eyes with interest. I might have regretted revealing so much. But I didn't notice, and so I remained blissfully ignorant.

This one is about the Hyuuga and they are so mess up. 

What Doesn't Kill You by Zbluez. FF.net

...Oh wait, it did.

That’s actually a perfect summary for this one and I love it. Also, more moral ambiguity and some sciency aspects that went over my head. 

Dragonfly by peccolia. FF.net

Being reborn into the Uchiha clan in the same generation as Itachi promises nothing but a short-lived second life. But, hey—if I'm going to die with certainty, I might as well go out with a bang, right?

It’s not a happy ending and it makes me really sad, but at the same time I wouldn’t have it any other way. Before it goes to that though, it’s completely crackish. 

True to Myself by flitterflutterfly. AO3 // FF.net

I never expected to die young, but if I had I would have probably thought something normal like a car accident. I wasn’t given a peaceful death though. Maybe the trauma I went through on that night, the same night as the Uchiha massacre, is the reason I found myself in the Naruto world. I was far from happy about any of it, but I’d always been a determined person and I learned to make the best of the situation.

This one is unfortunately abandoned, but it’s still awesome. I still recommend it, because it's a really good work with a character who didn’t have a peaceful death, some reflexion about identity, how the character deals with trauma... 

Someday We'll Leave the Light On by petrichor. AO3

It is not a question of whether or not we pass the genin exam; it is a question of, Who will be on the team?

This one is almost a character study in some aspects. The author is playing with the writing style and it makes for a really flowing reading. Once you start, you just never want to stop, almost like you’re in a hurry and running with the characters. 

Hear the Silence by EmptySurface. FF.net

"When did you start to remember?" He asked next, relaxing further in his seat, which Kyo found calming. In which another lease on life is a bit more complicated than Kyo had at first anticipated.

This one is really interesting. The world-building alone is wonderful. All the characters are well fleshed-out and it handles very well the reality of child soldiers, trauma and all those other nasty things that aren’t elaborated in Naruto, but we all know are there. 

Katekyō Hitman Reborn!

Russian Roulette by Vixen Tail. AO3 // FF.net

No one ever said an SI gets a place in canon events, or that they would be ideally placed at all. How much would you recall if you had decades to go before anything in a long forgotten story comes to be?

At this point, you can just assume that Vixen Tail is awesome and all her works are worth a read. 

Seiryū by petrichor. AO3

Reincarnation is not always a blessing. A butterfly beats its wings, and a hurricane forms halfway around the world. (Or, What would happen if Sawada Tsunayoshi had an older sibling figure to look up to and be tutored by years before a certain Sun Arcobaleno showed up in Namimori?)

The second half of the story is almost entirely in Reborn’s point of view (for now) and it’s a really amazing perspective. 

Bolt from the Blue by Umei no Mai FF.net

Xanxus picks up his first Guardian very early; his father rather wishes he hadn't. Things change accordingly.

Umei no Mai is mainly known for her crossover HP-KHR Black Sky, but Bolt from the Blue is definitely my favorite. 

Harry Potter

Triumphant, the Dreamer by Shadowblayze. AO3 // FF.net

Heather's not exactly sure how she got here, but if these people thought that they would be able to manipulate her little brother without a her raising hell about it, they were about to be unpleasantly surprised.

There aren’t a lot of SI-OC in the HP fandom. Or at least, I haven’t found a lot of them, but this one is worth everything. And the world-building is truly magical. 

Percy Jackson 

Eye of the Hurricane by Hanane EL Mokkadem. FF.net

Life as a demigod is short and brutal. Here's to hoping I don't die before I'm at least old enough to get laid.

This one is the first PJO SIOC I read and I still love it.

The Ocean’s Radiance by Madrigal-in-training. FF.net

She had idly daydreamed about being reincarnated into her favorite books before but Hikari Kurosawa, Daughter of Apollo, was never supposed to be a character there, was she? 

Madrigal-in-training has really great ideas and I love reading her works. Ocean’s Radiance is one of my favorite. She stays in the PJO’s main universe with the Greek gods, but by making her OC half-Japanese, she also develops her headcanon about Japanese demigods and it’s really interesting. The fic is also humoristic and fluffy while staying serious. Hikari is full of resources and determined to stay alive and it’s just a really good read. 

Dreamer by Dante Kreisler. FF.net

Ignoring the rebirth, I had a peaceful life. School, dyslexia, step-family, ADHD, and camp. Even when Percy Jackson entered Camp Half-Blood, nothing particularly exciting came into my life, but of course, I probably jinxed myself.

I loved fic that develops minor characters, or in this case minor gods. Like with Apollo’s gift of prophecies, a child of Hypnos can learn a lot through dreams and it’s wonderful. 

[casino123aft]

Spread Betting - How To Get Poor Quickly?

As I write this, I'm nursing a bit of a sore head and an empty wallet. In the last four weeks I've lost almost £30,000 spread betting for about an hour a day five days a week. So I managed to blow around £1,500 an hour. That's really quite a chunk of cash. Actually, it's not quite as bad as it looks. Fortunately, I was betting using a few spread-betting companies' demo sites. These are simulations of their live betting sites that allow you to practice before you start betting with real money. I realise that I am no financial genius otherwise I would have been rich long ago. However, the fact that I managed to unibet casino svenska squander so much money so quickly does pose the question - if spread betting seems so easy, why do so many people get completely wiped out extremely quickly?

We're increasingly seeing advertising for spread betting in investing and money management publications. In the one I subscribe to, four or five different spread betting companies take full-page colour ads each week, outnumbering any other type of advertising. Spread betting ads are already common in the business sections of many weekend newspapers and will probably soon start to appear in the personal finance sections. Spread betting could appear deceptively attractive to many savers. After all, money in a bank, shares or unit trusts will at best give us about a miserable five per cent a year before tax. Yet a reasonable run on spread betting can easily let you pocket ten per cent a week - five hundred per cent a year - completely and gloriously tax-free. So spread betting can let you earn in just one year what it would take a hundred years or more to achieve with most other investments.

Spread betters gamble on price movements of anything from individual shares, currencies and commodities to whole markets like the FTSE, Dax or S&P. It is called spread betting because the company providing the service makes most of their money by putting an additional spread around the price at which something is being bought or sold.

Spread betting appears to have many advantages compared to traditional investing:

You don't have to buy anything - It allows you to bet on price movements without having to buy the underlying assets - shares, commodities or foreign exchange.

It's tax-free - When you buy or sell shares, get paid dividends or receive interest from a bank you will have to pay taxes like stamp duty, capital gains and income tax. Unless spread betting is your full-time job and only source of income, there are no taxes to be paid as it's considered to be gambling.

You can go long or short - When you spread bet you can gain just as much whether prices rise or fall, providing you guess the direction correctly. With most other investments, you need the price to go up before you make a profit.

You can bet on a rise or fall at the same time - If the FTSE, for example, is trading at 5551-5552, you can place two bets, one that it will rise and one that it will fall. These only get triggered when the FTSE actually moves. So if it starts going up, your bet that it will rise gets triggered. Similarly if it drops, only your bet that it will fall is triggered. So it can seem that, come rain or shine, you'll probably win.

Huge leverage - If you bet say £50 a pip (a pip is usually the minimum price movement you can bet on), you can easily win four or five times your original bet if the price moves in the right direction. On a really good bet, you can win much much more.

You can wait for the breakout - Prices on many shares, currencies, commodities and other things people bet on tend to experience periods of stability followed by bursts of movement up or down, what spread-betters call 'the breakout'. You can place a bet that is only activated when the breakout comes.

Loss limits - You can put conditions in your bet that prevent your losses exceeding your chosen level should your bet happen to be wrong.

You can adjust mid-flight - With most bets, such as with horse racing or on roulette, once the race has started or the croupier has called 'no more bets' you have to wait helplessly for the result to see if you've won or not. With spread betting you can choose to close your bet at any time. So if you're ahead, you can take your winnings; if you're behind you can either cut your losses or wait in the hope that things will change and you'll be up again. Given all these properties of spread betting, it should be pretty easy to make a fair bit of money without too much effort. If only.

Industry estimates suggest that around ninety per cent of spread-betters lose most or all of their money and close their accounts within three months of starting. There seem to be another eight per cent or so who make reasonable amounts of money on a regular basis and there are around two per cent of spread-betters who make fortunes. I've been to a few presentations run by spread betting companies and at one of these the salesman let slip that over eighty per cent of his customers lost money. Even many professionals lose on about six bets out of every ten. But by controlling their losses and maximising their returns when they win, they can increase their wealth.

Why it can go horribly wrong

There seem to be several reasons why spread betting is so effective at dramatically demolishing most practitioners' wealth:

The companies want you to lose - When you first open a demo or real account, you will get several phone calls from extremely friendly and helpful young men and women at the spread-betting company asking if there's anything they can do to assist you to get going. This is customer service at its very best. Most of the people contacting you will parrot the line that they just want to help and that they're happy if you're successful as their company only makes money from the spread. Some will reassure you that they want you to win as the more you win, the more you're likely to bet and the more the spread-betting company will earn. This may make you feel good, convince you that the company is open, honest, trustworthy and supportive and encourage you to use them for your betting. But it's also a lie. It's true that the company might make a lot of its money from the spread. However, with many of your bets, you're betting against the company and so they hope you lose, big time. In fact, during the last month I've seen several companies change the conditions on their sites to make it more likely that people using them will lose. So, lesson one - spread betting companies are not your friends. The more you lose the more they win. It's that simple.

It's difficult to break even - If you bet say £50 a pip and the price does go the way you want, the spread betting company takes the first £50 you win. So the price has to move two pips in the right direction for you to win your £50 back and three pips for you to emerge with £100, doubling your money. But if the price moves three pips in the wrong direction, you lose your original bet plus £50 a pip, giving a total loss of £200, a loss of four times your original bet.

Losses can be massive - With most gambling, you can only lose what you put down on a horse, blackjack or roulette. With spread betting you can quickly say goodbye to much more than you wager. I forgot to put a stop loss on one bet and managed to lose over £800 with just one £50 bet. Because your bet is leveraged, you can make both fabulous gains and excruciatingly painful losses. Too often it's the latter. The small size of many bets, often £5 or £10 a pip can lull betters into a false sense of security. It's only when the losses go five to ten times the original bet that they realise the risk they have taken. "The spread betting leverage means that you can get rich which is a wonderfully appealing idea, but it also means you can get poor which most people ignore."

You can waste thousands on courses and systems - At one free spread-betting seminar I attended we were more than strongly encouraged to sign up for a two-day weekend course teaching us how to spread bet successfully. This would normally cost (we were told) £6,995, but there was a special offer for the first five people to sign up of only £1,997. There are many such courses and also gurus offering to sell you their special spread-betting systems, guides, webinars and all sorts of other advice. With so many supposed experts apparently making a living teaching others how to spread bet, there must be a lot of takers. But I've found that all you need to know and more is available free on the Internet. As one specialist said, 'Don't bother wasting your money on 'Guru' books written by so-called experts. Those books are crap and not worth the paper they are printed on. Nobody sells a secret trading methodology if they are really successful. The only reason these guys are writing books is because they didn't make it as traders'.

It's the bobbing about that beats you - We often hear on the news that the price of gold has risen by a few dollars an ounce or the FTSE has fallen by a hundred and thirty points or that the pound has risen by two cents against the dollar. These reports make price changes on financial instruments sound like smooth movements either up or down. However, the prices of shares, stock markets, commodities and currencies seldom move in straight lines. They jump about every few seconds. So, if the FTSE is at 5540 and you correctly bet £50 a pip that it will go up to 5545 you might not necessarily win £200. In between going from 5540 to 5545, it might drop down a couple of times to say 5535 or lower. If you have a stop loss on at 5536 or 5535 to avoid losing too much money, your stop loss will kick in and you'll lose £250 or £300 even if the index did subsequently move upwards as you predicted. I've placed over a hundred bets to test whether I won when my bets were right. On about eighty per cent I lost in spite of being right because the fluctuations triggered the stop losses even though the index did actually move from where it was to where I predicted it would go. This creates a rather odd situation where stop losses can unfortunately make you lose even when you should be winning. Yet if you don't put stop losses on and things go in the wrong direction, your losses can annihilate you.

It attracts losers - At the spread betting seminars I've attended, I've been shocked by the number of low-paid workers - waiters, porters, kitchen staff, healthcare assistants and impoverished, would-be writers like myself - who decide to have a go at spread betting as they believe that, apart from winning the Lottery, it may be the only realistic way they have of making any money. These people will be betting with their meagre life savings against extremely sophisticated financial services insiders with vast knowledge, many years experience and extraordinarily deep pockets. It's not difficult to guess who is going to win.

[d-s-winchester]

Me & You

(gif credit to the creator)

Part Two

Master List

Pairing: Matt x Reader Word Count: 1,111 Song: I’m Like A Lawyer With The Way I’m Always Trying To Get You Off (Me & You) - Fall Out Boy Warnings: drinking, language (probably), gambling A/N: Part two is here my loves!! I’m really loving this series and I hope you are too! Also, this series is completely inspired by the song above. Hope you guys like it! Anyway, feedback for this is awesome! :)

Tired was an understatement for how you were feeling when you got home that day. Work had kicked your ass and you were more than ready to eat the leftover takeout in your fridge, have a drink and relax. When you walked up to your front door you grabbed the mail from the mailbox before unlocking the door and walking inside. Once the door was locked behind you, you kicked off your shoes and set your purse and keys down on the small table next to the front door.

 You sorted through the mail as you walked into the kitchen and once you reached the counter reached an envelope that caught your eye. You set the rest of the mail down on the counter and ripped open the envelope. As soon as you looked at the invitation inside you knew what it was for. You couldn’t believe it had been ten years already but the heavy card stock in your hand proved it -- it had indeed been ten years since you’d graduated high school.

 You were sure not much had changed for anyone. You still lived in your hometown and spent time with some of your high school friends, but that didn’t mean you weren’t curious about what the people you hadn’t seen were up to. Sticking the invitation to the fridge with a magnet, you looked for a pen and filled out the RSVP card -- stating that you would be in attendance -- and went to place the pre-stamped envelope back in your mailbox.

 Suddenly not feeling like you wanted to hang out at home you called your best friend, Samantha, and asked her if she wanted to go out for drinks. She agreed that she would meet you in an hour and you rushed upstairs to change out of your work clothes. You were walking into the bar an hour later and saw Samantha sitting at the bar ordering a drink. You made your way toward her and sat down on the empty barstool next to her. You said your hellos and ordered yourself a drink.

 “So what brought this spur of the moment girls night on?” Sam asked as the bartender went to get your drinks.

 “Got the ten year reunion invitation today,” you chuckled.

 Sam let out a chuckle as well and nodded as the bartender brought your drinks. “I did too. Crazy that it’s been ten years.”

 “I know, but then again what’s ten years to us?”

 “Nothing, we’ve been friends for what? Twenty years now?”

 “Something like that,” you laughed, taking a sip of your drink.

 You sat there reminiscing for a while and wondering what your former classmates were up to before you mentioned what was weighing on your mind since you’d gotten the invitation.

 “You don’t think he’ll be there do you?”

 Sam let out a sigh, “Honestly, Y/N/N, I’m not sure. His acting has been keeping him busy from what I’ve heard. Doubt he’ll have time for something as silly as a high school reunion.”

 You nodded and took a sip of your beer. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

 “Don’t let it bother you, I know you’re overthinking it now but you can’t let him ruin your weekend. I mean, it’s gonna be in Vegas we need to have fun!”

 “You’re so right about that!” you agreed.

 You clinked your glasses together and finished off your drinks before ordering another round. You spent another few hours at the bar before deciding to head home and go to bed. The entire night had you tossing and turning, however, thoughts of being reunited with Matt clouding your mind.

 The reunion was rapidly approaching and that meant you were running out of time to find something to wear to the actual event. Samantha was in need of something as well so a few days before your flight left you headed to the mall to find something to wear.

 “Stop thinking about it,” Sam demanded as she looked through the racks in Nordstrom.

 “I didn’t say anything!”

 “I can tell by the look on your face that you’re still wondering about Matt,” she replied, “don’t. Let’s just find some nice outfits and worry about it if it actually happens, ok? Cause I love you but I want to enjoy this weekend and not spend it worrying about you and your mental state. Fair?”

 “Fair.” you nodded, knowing she was right.

 You spent some more time perusing the racks before finding something to wear along with a few other things. Once you left the mall you and Sam made plans to meet at the airport a few days later and you made your way home.

 The next few days seemed to fly by and before you knew it you were meeting Sam at the airport. Getting through security was a pain, as always, but once you made it on the plane the flight was breeze. You landed in Vegas a few hours later, and after marvelling at the fact that there were slot machines in the airport, headed toward the hotel.

 The hotel that was booked for the reunion guests was gorgeous, nothing like anything you’d ever stayed in before, and you were excited to be there. Both you and Sam got settled in your shared room before deciding to wander around the casino in the hotel you were staying in. The following evening was the reunion but that night was basically a free for all. If you ran into former classmates then so be it.

 Both you and Samantha decided that the night was best spent gambling and just having a good time. As you were repeatedly winning on the roulette table Matt didn’t cross your mind once, but that didn’t mean you hadn’t crossed his. While you were focused on the roulette table you didn’t notice that he was just a few feet away playing the slots, his eyes on you the entire time.

 Matt wasn’t sure how he felt about watching you from afar but he knew it was the best course of action at that moment. He hadn’t talked to you in going on ten years but that didn’t mean he hadn’t thought about you. In fact he thought about you every single day. Over the last ten years he wondered how he could have fixed things between you and he’d come up with hundreds of reasons, but when you stopped calling he knew he needed to give you space. Deciding not to worry about it until the reunion two nights later he placed another coin in the slot machine and started to think of ways that he could get you back.

[laneybug926]

I wrote this blog a while ago on my wordpress site. However, considering our period of quarantine, I figured this would be fun to share here. Please do not take offense if you happen to disagree with my thoughts for they are only my opinion and what do I know🤷🏼‍♀️.

The Sims Evolution

Disclaimer: Originally I was planning on sharing my thoughts on worthiness and some pretty emotional things. However, I chose to write about something kind of silly this week and share my thoughts on the evolution of my most favorite game. I hope you enjoy! Also I do not own the Sims franchise or any of these pictures/characters/names of games. All copyright goes to The Sims©.

It happened one day while out shopping with my family. Before the days of product keys, instant downloads, and torrents, many stores had rows and rows of computer games. Stuffed into boxes with colorful graphics of game play, they usually contained a disk(or several) and a lengthy user manual on how to install/play the game. As little me browsed the different titles, my eyes fell upon a very unique looking game. A game where you more or less played God creating families, houses, and controlled how they went about their lives. As a young aspiring storyteller, I knew this would be the perfect game for me and thus my obsession with The Sims began.

The Sims 1: The beginning of a new era.

The Sims 1 has a very special place in my heart. Not only was it the catalyst to some of the best and sometimes worst decisions of my life, it was unique and had a lot of charm to it. I remember the days when it was like roulette trying to get it to work on my old desktop 'games' computer. Due to all of the space it took to work, very often it'd load and then freeze. Occasionally when it did decide to work, you felt like we cheated the Gods of gaming and played very carefully.

Looking back, perhaps the graphics aren't great, but for the time it was amazing. Where else could you customize people and build houses? Where else could you 'try for baby' just by kissing? Where else did you miss the carpool to work and ended up getting fired? Where else could Mort Goth be a secret agent and be living with his assassin of a wife Bella? And this all happened before expansion packs came out and added more dimension to it. I used to love taking my couples to town using 'Hot Date' and being able to creepily micromanage their date by going into the restaurant with them. I used to love turning my ex into a frog via 'Makin Magic'. And who could forget when Drew Carey would crash super epic parties via 'House Party'. Sims 1 was very new to it's kind and while basic, it laid the foundation for the next 20 years to come.

Sims 2- My sister's favorite

I feel horrible saying this, but of the four games, I remember playing this one the least. I do remember playing it occasionally, but far less than my little sister. By the time we bought it, my little sister was old enough to start playing and take up precious computer time. Even though I didn't play it much, I do remember that it was far superior compared to it's predecessor. The overall graphics and customization of sims and lots was awe-aspiring. The sims actually had personalities, turn ons/turn offs, and could actually age. This set the scene for some legendary Dynasties. In addition, we received expansion pack after expansion pack and occasionally stuff packs to flesh out our game playing. I do remember having University, Seasons, and Pets, but that's about it. It was a lot of fun to play with cars, jobs, hobbies, pets, survival items and changing weather. Some faithful Simmers even insist that this was the best version of Sims of all time. Would you agree? Let me know.

Sims 3- Bigger could be better

As a writer and 'simmer', the one thing I didn't like about Sims 2 was the lack of hair customization. I'd often like to make likenesses of my story characters and sadly I was stuck with the five(or six) 'normal' hair colors. I guess the Gods of Games listened to my prayers, because Sims 3 fixed all of that. You want to make a character with pink and purple hair? Go ahead. You want a character who only wears leopard print EVERYTHING? It's done. One would think that having a big brother like Sims 2 would be kind of intimidating. Nope. Sims 3, in my opinion, was the best in it's ability to customize literally everything using a color wheel, patterns, and even stamps on dogs(if you're into that). You could micromanage and customize everything. This was not only the case with the sims creation, but the whole world opened up and you could creepily follow your sims everywhere. This game robbed me of my hard earned teenage/early adulthood money due to all of it's great expansions and exciting game play. Want to make a faerie witch who turns the world into zombies? Want to take it easy and ride a house boat around the sim world? Want to climb the celebrity ladder and play for millions? Want to exchange a kiss under the mistletoe with your next door neighbor crush? You can do all of that in the Sims 3 and far more. Most of, if not all, some of my great story ideas and characters came from this game right here. I have some of the best memories playing this game such as my Greyer dynasty that literally took over the neighborhood and/or telling stories via the capture the moment feature. Yes it had it's glitches and at times it would take 20 minutes to load a saved game, but it was worth it. I wasted so much time living vicariously through the lives of little digital people that I woke up and I'm suddenly 30 years old. Just kidding, as easy as it was to get hooked, I'd like to think I had a healthy work/life/play balance. You'd think they'd keep making expansions or even stop after the success of Sims 3. Nope, within a blink of an eye the sims team announced that they were creating Sims 4. What more could they possibly bring?

Sims 4-

I’m sure you've heard the saying 'quit while you're ahead'. Unfortunately the sim team didn't and we were given the Sims 4. With promises of multi-tasking and emotions, fans of the game, such as myself, had high expectations and sadly we were very disappointed. I do remember when the demo came out that I installed it, played around, and uninstalled it with a disappointed groan. In retrospect, I might have been a bit too harsh and have since given it a chance. Maybe it's due to me being older and not having as much time to waste, but it's nice to play in low doses. Unlike Sims 3, it's frustratingly difficult to create dynasties, you cannot create at least a family by family picture story, no open worlds to explore, and there is no more color wheel/customization. The good things...well there are less 'rabbit hole' locations, with mods I can make it more exciting, I do like the sims interactions with each other, and I guess multitasking. Seriously, the best thing about Sims 4 is all of the mods and custom content that has corrupted my game in the greatest way. I do like to play this game for silliness purposes and usually don't expect to have meaningful game play. On a side note Sims Discover University expansion just came out and it's been proclaimed by sims experts that it's by far the best Sims 4 expansion. Perhaps they will continue moving in that direction and learn from their successes.

In conclusion, the Sims franchise acted as a intricate part of my childhood and has lasted far into my adulthood to inspire new characters and stories. Seriously folks, at least 60% of my story ideas have started out with just a simple PC game. Moral of the story; not all video and computer games are harmful and useless. Everything in moderation, drink lots of water, remember self care, and you'll be just fine kids.