#i was just reacting to how it's a demonstration that she's losing her filter. she's exercising less restraint than she should/used to.

[pocketgalaxies]

LAUDNA GIRL WHY DID YOU DO THAT?

[sugargliderowl]

Thoughts About Remus' Playlist

So as usual, this is my first reaction/rant/analysis about the playlist! This time, it’s Remus’ Playlist. I think it’s going to be cursed. But a... good cursed, if that’s a thing. As usual, feel free to add on to this! It’s good to share thoughts and talk about meanings, even making predictions about the future! 

General Overview Before Listening: I love Yugen_sama ‘s artwork; her style makes me happy! Also, Remus doing that? TOTALLY HIM. Just looking at the choice of songs does mirror Roman’s playlist in a way with their own anthems, Tenacious D, maybe an etc. We’ll have to see on that. His explanation with all the emojis is definitely him, and I think that’s all I can say. Just look at it.

Reminder: Before we go on, a little reminder for your safety. The songs can be quite... a handful. If you know about Remus’ personality and interests but still wanna read the overall analysis, go to the TL:DR at the way bottom without reading the specific song analysis. If you remember the TW from the video, that really applies here. Stay safe. 

Song Analysis:

This Devil’s Workday: Genius told me that this is about a criminal going mad. Yeah. The blazing trumpets and the really radio-like voice in the song is kinda creepy, but that goes with Remus as intrusive thoughts! He’s very obtrusive, and he’s everywhere without any filter. It’s a good intro to his character. The poor sack of puppies in this song goes back to his theme’s lyric, “your pet dog stuffed into a sausage” Also, the repetition of “All the people that you know / Floating on the river are logs” is like what he does to Thomas (repetitively reminding him about the bad things). The  “Oh I am my own da[ng] God” goes along with all the biblical references he makes in his theme (and just the dark sides in general). All in all, this song/introduction just is him screeching, “HI, I’M YOUR INTRUSIVE THOUGHT WITHOUT THE UGH.” 

Forbidden Fruit (the Duke’s Theme): If you are a Fander, you definitely are singing/screaming this on top of your lungs as you listen to this. I did that, and I love that. This song itself has a lot of good analysis online, so check them out! It was the intro song of the Duke with all his motives, thoughts, and everything beyond that, so it’s definitely on here. Also, it mirrors A Gay Disney Prince from Roman’s playlist by both being their own “I want” songs as well as their character role songs. The Creativitwins strike here once.

Double Team: Tenacious D! The Creativitwins strike here again! Wonderboy was on Roman’s playlist, which is also a Tenacious D song, so you can definitely say there are some mirroring going on here (also! YES the artist choice seems like a definite factor in choosing these songs). So this song is about having sex. Okay. And having a threesome. Okay, Remus. This song, even though it’s from the same artist as Roman, has a really different theme. If the Tenacious D selection is about the twins, would this mean that Roman wants them to be a really good team who, even though are opposites, can get along, while Remus wants them both to lose the filter and have fun? Overall, it could mean that the twins both want to get along, just in different ways which contradict one another. I’m not going into the lyric details because oof.

Man: I just noticed that Yeah Yeah Yeahs was on Patton’s and Virgil’s playlists. On Remus? I didn’t really expect that, but that’s a pleasant surprise. This song is really interesting because it’s not like the other two. This song, for me, is about someone who is obsessed with a man who would make her do anything, and she’s just hooking up with him or something. Also, the whole, “You're all gonna burn in hell / I said we're all gonna burn in hell” goes back to the biblical references that the Dark Sides make as well as the lyric of “Cause your head's not in the gutter, pal / It's in Hell.” Who is the man? Thomas, probably. This probably directs back to Remus convincing Thomas to drop the filter.

Freeee: “When man becomes possessor of the knowledge of himself, he becomes the master of his environment“ in the beginning of the song is Remus telling Thomas to learn about himself by possibly accepting Remus. The lyrics “One day they hate you / Next day they love you / I'm still yellin' "F[*]ck 'em" / I could never trust—” show how Remus doesn’t trust the society like Janus, and that’s just one of the main core of the dark sides. They don’t trust people that much. This does include Virgil since he is anxiety, so he can’t trust everything immediately. They all have different ways of showing the distrust. For Remus, it’s the layback, “frick it” attitude. “I don’t feel pain anymore” and “nothin’ hurts me anymore” seems to be a potential for Remus angst of being rejected from all the sides and being the “Evil Twin”. Does he care or not care? No one knows yet.

In The Room Where You Sleep: Sleep from the shorts and Virgil will both react really strongly to this song. Why? “There's something in the shadows / In the corner of your room / A dark heart is beating / And waiting for you” (Telltale Heart reference-). Yeah. Remus listening to this would go back to that end card of Remus being creepy (and eating deodorant). Also, it possibly demonstrates Virgil and Remus’ relationship; Remus scared Virgil because of his thoughts and conjectures. The repetition of “You better run / You better hide” would also contribute to this thought, definitely. But then again, that melancholy keyboard... Why that montage at the end?

No Reason Boner: The song is very catchy and funny. But ASDKLFAJSD. This is definitely Remus’ type of song. That means that the sexual information is given control to Remus, and he probably uses the information for his jokes and intrusive thoughts. This song is what Remus' personality is: goofy yet NSFW. This intrusive thought without the ugh is probably lovable in this fandom because of that. Also, I don’t know why, but he can have that naivete even though he’s the one in charge of stuff like that. A nice juxtaposition right there.

I Told You I Was Freaky: This playlist is a RIDE. VERY MUCH A RIDE. Just all the sexual references in this song are just 1000% Remus. The song itself is quite whispery, and I guess that goes with Remus because he whispers the dirty stuff into Thomas’ ears. Well, whisper is very much an understatement. But I have to admit, if you listen to the lyrics, there are some very creative ways that people don’t think of. It’s usually a bed, a car, or in a club or party, but the lyrics are more than that. Then, we can assume how capable and skilled Remus is as the Dark Creativity; he’s as good as Roman, just in a different category. 

Queef: If you don’t know what a queef is, I didn’t too. I just looked it up while I was typing this. Wait, isn’t Awkwafina in like a movie? This, like that last song, is basically him going off on his creativity and wordplay. In future episodes, I would love to see how Remus can go off with his wordplay because if Roman’s good at all the nicknames, and if Remus is basically him but darker, that means he’s good. Like really good. This song is also very, very catchy, and I kinda jammed through it because of the beat.

Manners: According to genius, this song is a "sexually-charged bad b[*]tch anthem on which Ashnikko displays her “IDGAF”-attitude.” Basically, the vine, “I’M A BAD B*TCH YOU CAN’T KILL ME” would equate to Remus as well as the meme, “Aren’t you tired of being nice? Don’t you want to go APESH*T-.” This might connect with his facade in a way because he seems to be naive and goofy at times (although NSFW), but when he drops it, he drops it fast, and he drops it hard. For example, his facade drops when he threatened Logan in DWIT, and his facade can be picked back up quickly, too. This song also has the element of “Frick this world” attitude, which Remus showed in the previous songs, and I stan him. As the fandom did an edit once, he would definitely wear acrylic nails if he wants to. A thing that I did notice though is the lyric “Fight or flight, I’m fighting for my life.” HI VIRGIL!

Ben Bernanke: I don’t know who Spencer is, but a big OOF for him. This song’s structure is really unique because I have no clue where it’s going, and it’s going with Remus’ personality of just randomness and intrusivity (is that a word?). ALSO, the continuing snakes in these songs. So is Spencer Janus in our context? If so, Remus is quite mad at Janus. I do see why though, after that last video implying that he’s the Evil Twin. “Do you think you can mock me, Spencer? / Do you think you can capture my essence / And throw it back at me with / Humor and rhetorical devices?” Gosh, Janus and Remus could have beef with one another. Also, that “Avada Kedavra” and “I’m... a furious magician” could definitely foreshadow something in the future. Additionally, “You're the architect of my dreams, Spencer / You plan them, and build them on blue paper / And hand them to me / And then I dream them, Spencer.” 

Worldwide Torture: “I never come second place / Always been a big disgrace Smell the fear, I know you see / High achiever (Yeah, that's me!)” Welcome to Remus’ angst that we do not know much about yet. It’s great. It’s just like Roman, but in a more “I’m a disappointment” way! However, what’s quite different is that Remus is pissed. Beyond pissed about it, so he acts up unlike Roman who tries to mask it. Because he knows that he’s not regarded nicely with any of the sides, he wants to molest them and destroy the world, shown by the lyrics “A pure violation of God's great creation / It’s an infestation, it’s world domination.” I think this issue might pop up more frequently as more episodes come out, but for now, this is my assumption. Out of context, “The highest score” goes with that last episode, since Remus was present as the 80085. 

Na Na Na (Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na): I DIDN’T EXPECT THIS TO BE HERE, BUT I LOVE IT. THANK YOU. WOOOOOO YASSSS. This is actually one of the “pump me up” songs. First, “Eight legs to the wall, hit the gas, kill them all” is, obviously, a spider in the song, but in our context, we can also call it an octopus because Remus’ animal is an octopus, which has 8 tentacles (6 legs and 2 arms). Second, Remus is PISSED. He definitely has a punk aesthetic, shown by all the songs about flipping the world. The lyrics “I’d rather to to Hell / Than be in purgatory” definitely shows his determination of doing so since he’s saying that he won’t sit back. Somehow, for me it’s a growth from the beginning of “I don’t care” to “I actually care, and I’m fighting for that sh*t”. Pissed off Remus is scary Remus.

Trash People: Trash rat boiiiii. But this song is more than that. It’s showing that trash people aren’t really... trash people. “ Art is love and love is sloppy / Nothing is all pure / Nothing is all dirty” really shows the whole duality aspect in the entire series. Everything is gray. And that’s what Roman and Remus need to work on since they were divided by the black and white mentality. If Remus is okay with the gray morality, then who would be the one that he’s directing this song to? Roman. “Wearing a smile and a heart on my sleeve” though. I don’t get this lyric, but then again, tell me what you guys think! Does this mean that Remus is actually trying to be like this, or is he mocking Roman... The “no time to start over” also sounds really ominous.

Tranz: Gorillaz! Same album as Roma-OKAY THIS IS GETTING REAL. The last one with this artist had the lyrics, “I’m the lonely twin, the left hand... I don’t want this isolation.” People were screaming about this because, of course, this refers to Remus, but who knew that this was going to pop up again! That’s why I loved the artist connections during these analysis. Anyways, this goes back to the twin duality, but more of an angry tune. Take a look at this: “Do you look like me? Do you feel like me? / Do you turn into your effigy? / Do you dance like this forever?” Remember Roman’s whole monologue about Remus as someone he sees in the mirror with all the things he doesn’t want to be? This song is Remus asking Roman about that statement. Keep in mind that effigy is a sculpture that is usually used to mock or burn and is used as a negative connotation (thank you my English teacher). Remus doesn’t like that comparison at all, and I’m more concerned for him now than I was ever before after Janus saying that too. 

Death as a Fetish: Wow, this is sad. “And I will never be good enough, quietly / And you will never be good enough, just like me.” If the twins have the time to reconcile, this is probably the first thing they need to help out on each other. Remus knows more about his twin than we all thought, and he knows that both of them have problems about that. On the other hand, this song, when I looked at some of the annotations on genius, has a sad connotation. Life is so short, and it ends, and you know for sure that death is there at all times with that repetition of “death as a fetish” after everything we find positive. For Remus, I guess he knows about this. He’s a deeper character than we credit him as.

Don’t Stop Me Now: TONIIIIGHT IM GONNA HAVE MYSEEEELF A GOOD TIIME- okay. This song is something I scream my lyrics to. I also didn’t expect this, but in a calmer manner (because I wasn’t calm when this was on), yes please. Basically, DON’T STOP ME NOWWW! I don’t know how to explain this in a deeper way. Yeah. I LOVE THIS SONG THOUGH!

Things I Don’t Remember: “Things I don't remember / How the hell'd we get here? / How the hell did we get here?” This can be interpreted in a lot of ways. It could either be how all the sides came to be, how Roman and Remus came to be by both having the role of creativity, or just where Thomas is mentally since they are all Thomas. I think that’s depending on how you want to go about it. The last point is the strongest for me because of this one phrase of  “There were endless conversations / No one's mouths were really moving” maybe referring to the sides’ conversations around Thomas’ dilemmas. They sometimes only make it worse until someone has to kick in to change the viewpoint around, and that’s the reason why it feels like nobody’s mouths were really moving. Also, dressed up alligators? Okay, Remus.

F*ck It!: (Censored by yours truly with her notecard of “note your language”) The album name of taxidermy... fitting. Back to the song. “Why abstain? Why jump in line?” and “They say don't take the risk you're sure to fail... But what's the worst that could happen, end up in a coffin? / Isn't that where we're all headed anyway?” really highlights Remus’ spontaneity, which is a big factor in intrusive thoughts. This is back to the “frick this”, but more a “frick it I’m doing that sh*t, and I don’t care about the consequences” (going back to Na Na Na on that). Also, “'Cause it's easier to lie to yourself than to face reality” reminded me of Janus, but does this also apply to Remus in a way? Or does this apply to all the sides who are lying to themselves, especially Roman? Anyways, Remus’ spontaneity is something to kinda look up to at times. Not... not all the time. 

fReAkY 4 Life: Dorian Electra... the one behind Flamboyant from ROMAN’S PLAYLIST! The Creativitwins music solidarity number I-forgot-to-count. To the lyrics! “They just don't understand me / I'm not like them, I'm freaky” does go to all the other sides and Thomas because Remus really stands out from all the other sides. Silly yet NSFW, weird, and very new. Also, he seems to want some attention from all the sides with “ I like to be in the spotlight / Step on the scene ’cause it feels right / I freakin' scream, baby, all night / I do it, I do it, do it all the time,” but is it a distraction or legitimate attention? I love how this song is the finale because this song is the fireworks that says Remus. All the lyrics really match him, and especially with the “I hear what they call me / I hear what they say / I'm not very cool, yeah / But I'll never change,” it cements how Remus thinks. 

TL:DR: 

Remus is a character deeper than we already know him as. There are a lot of him that hasn’t been introduced to us since he’s pretty new. He has been on for about 2-3 episodes (only 1 with his full participation), and he never really interacted with Roman nor Janus, both who has a history with our little gremlin. Yes, Remus is the Duke of Dark Creativity and intrusive thoughts; there are so many references that are R-rated in this playlist, but in the end, he is another side. He more than the trash boi who gleefully talks about sensitive topics. 

He still has a connection with Roman with all the overlaps in their insecurities and artists, and he’s probably the one who’s more knowledgeable about their relationship as a twin. He could even want to reconcile with his twin, but in a way that Roman would not approve. That doesn’t mean that Remus is kinda mad at Roman. A fun house mirror.

Next, He doesn’t want to change himself in the sake of others although he knows that the others hate him for being him, and he’s actively going against it, not caring about the consequences. That’s what drives him to be really good at his job. He’s as good as Roman on doing his job. Along with that, he wants Thomas to embrace him as one of the sides and come over to the dark side of creativity. It’s one of Remus’ biggest dreams: acceptance. I want to see how this plays out with him and especially him.

Finally, he’s pissed. Very pissed. After all the berating at his back from all the other sides, including Janus, he’s PISSED. He’s ready to throw hands and wreck the world. I’m starting to be worried for how his character would develop. If he goes apesh*t, I’m getting popcorn and coke. Maybe drink every time we see him go feral. Eat a popcorn every time someone is disgusted by Remus. 

Overall, I love him more than I ever did because of this playlist since music is the window to the soul. It’s like knowing a person and learning about them. Also, by doing this, it really develops the character and lets the people look inside the character’s deepest thoughts and desires. I don’t know if there will be any additions to these, but if not, I really want to thank the entire group who made this happen! I found some songs that I really love now, and it’s such a good way for the fanders to have fun! (also, the content inspired from this is going to be very interesting)(the ANGST) 

Thanks for reading if you came til here, and feel free to add on to this! I would love to see how you guys think about this playlist!

[kneipho]

Submission: @mantrabay​

--

A Little Known Shortcut.

Wandering the roads. It has me under a spell.

Even when prickly brambles

scrape my eyelids or those bony ankles are being twisted by tooth like stones. The angular sort clustered mischievously among the green shoots that litter every footpath.

They lie in wait, in ambush.

It goes with the territory for this seasoned footman.

Meandering landscapes are house and home to the spiral lanes and clover clad hills that are rife in my area.

Their rustic heritage sometimes sacrificed to the orphanage of malleable motives.

Crop farmers obsessed with bountiful harvest.

A restless developer pushing the limits of an urban jungle.

Fellow traveller in league with fugitives from the cockpit.

The pressure cooker of modern life.

The town dweller with split loyalties who clings to the tumult of the city but hankers after some rural idyll.

Culprits one and all.

A lair from the hubbub.

Dwellings of the quaintest kind huddle together like dots in a matrix separated only by a minuscule space.

The more alluring aspects of tradition have been preserved.

Among these are shortcuts or bypasses.

Those sequestered passages that shave miles off for the perennial rambler or clueless hitchhiker.

The eye becomes a lense to all these

things hidden or supposedly hidden.

Human vision as sensor to magic trails.

Those tucked away secret spots beloved of local wiseacres.

They festoon the sprawling countryside at random.

My name is Eric Spring.

Anthea, my partner a transcendental meditation teacher retired early at an early age.

Her withdrawal from work was never meant to be permanent.

A final decision hinged on Anthea’s ability to purge that fiendish veil of sadness that had been shadowing her.

There were several obstacles in her path but they weren’t insurmountable.

Thoughts of Anthea in her halcyon days haunted me.

Mental pictures of a vibrant woman imbued with passion.

Poignant evocative heart-tugging images.

Bar excursions into town my station is that of Anthea’s carer.

This eternally stoic woman is mindful of her mental boundaries and the abyss concealed by each of them.

But she is not prone to self-hate or abuse. The more lethal plagues of the psyche hadn’t yet impacted on her.

Anthea was groping for exits but hadn’t found the signs.

She remains housebound as I embark on those age defying treks into town.

We keep in touch by mobile phone.

A very angelic sensitive looking person is she.

Reminiscent of a Sunday Times editor.

The accent filters every noun and stresses every nuance.

Like the sounds from an early morning orchard.

Anthea’s job became monotonous and her other pursuits painting and writing fled without trace.

A budding artist’s most dreaded syndromes struck.

Writer’s block. Artistic vacuum.

The wellspring of her imagination now devoid of those inspiring flashes that sustain creative impulse.

She had few outlets bar my care and a lady called Fidelma who had the edge on me with regard to local knowledge. I longed to hear Anthea’s voice on my device.

Her hypnotic voice bridges gaps.

You feel close even when speaking to her from a distance.

I love the walks and savouring all those pivot points of folklore.

I pride myself on my intimate knowledge of every branch strewn rivulet, stream and layered rock formation.

My links to the environment are almost erotic as I crave it’s sensual touch.

At times I enter a tranquil zone where the shutters are drawn.

Just myself and all those habitats.

“Hello Eric? Lost in thought again.

How is anthea these days?

I spoke to her over the phone a few days ago.

I sometimes drop in on her when you are out.”

Fidelma speaking with that chirping red robin voice of hers.

She had this penchant for suddenly appearing like an archaeological site.

And she vanished just as quickly leaving the person she spoke to scrambling to process her asides and insights before they disappeared.

Neighbour, friend, root and branch archivist whose grasp of detail was legendary.

“She seems to be coping.” I said.

“Glad to hear that. Maybe I can pay a flying visit some time soon.

But aren’t you a foolish man to be imposing all those Olympic Marathons on yourself?”

Fidelma about to share one of her treasured nuggets.

“I love walking but any tips?”

Spring enquired naively as events soon demonstrated.

“There’s a shortcut…..a little known shortcut.

People in the know recommend it though I have never actually used it myself.

Maybe I will one day.

See, it’s on the right hand side up the road there.

Think it might be useful when you want to get home in a hurry.” She concluded.

Fidelma in advanced middle age was still sprightly and youthful in her ways.

I missed a text from anthea and Fidelma noticed.

“Yes. I have one of those gadgets too.

Keeps me connected.

Took me awhile to master it.

Wish there was a shortcut for that.

But I’ll best be on my way.

Take good care whatever the route.”

As always having spoken to Fidelma I wondered about in a trance.

Another colourful aspect of Fidelma’s personality was her “Banana Skin Syndrome.”

She could lose her balance betimes when enthusing about a topic or when she stumbled on an area that fascinated her.

The feet were a little wobbly.

All this against her philosophy about how interconnected everything is.

The mind is an antenna sending out signals to others was a frequent broadside of hers.

Even when Fidelma said very little she always had this magnetic effect on others.

Those terse one liners could trigger an avalanche in the mind.

Her thin phrases were always shrouded in a well crafted poetic meter.

It was in the tone, gestures and body language.

Those beady yet expressive eyes scanning her environment like a radar screen.

A cascade of images and sound bytes ensued when she left.

Several hours passed as my mind was in overdrive like a central processing unit.

I heard this inner voice telling me to explore this “shortcut.”

Having texted Anthea I then proceeded to this offshoot of a lane.

It was going to lighten the journey of this slope and pavement plodder.

Off I went down this quaint country shortcut.

Nothing out of the ordinary to begin with until Anthea rang.

“Gnawing feeling of sadness.

My mind is a dark blue canvass at the moment.”

Her lilting twang mingling with the song birds at the start of my downward journey.

I sensed this was urgent and started to walk quickly.

That’s when problems arose.

Just a plain country passage with a primarily flat surface at this point.

There were houses on each side and some weeds strewn and partially mangled, turned to mulch by wild and indiscriminate boots.

Strange feelings welled up within me as I felt like a geyser at yellowstone.

The puff and splutter of tractors in nearby fields as furrows, the epicenter of future yields were turned.

Scarecrows were strategically perched in the meadow behind the right hand hedge to ward off some menace or other.

Something told me to relate my surroundings to Anthea.

If only to divert attention from an impending gloom.

Those barely audible inner prompts again.

“Eric, I don’t want to pressurise you but at the moment I feel this dark cloud.”

Eric paused.

It then occurred to me that I was engulfed by dark foreboding clouds in tandem with a rising rainbow like haze.

As Anthea continued her disorders seemed to be complemented by external threats of rain intermingled with sunshine.

“I feel, Eric there is a radiance trying to break through.

Just to see you … your presence is a light which I could focus on.”

Then I realised that speed was of the essence.

That’s when I could have panicked.

Anthea’s voice seemed louder, but also more lyrical as I realised this obscure

overlooked route could have done with some restoration!

Tufts of grass oozing slime.

Mounds of mud with pockets of oil stained water.

The briars were a shock team that endangered every part of the human body.

I was conveying all this to anthea as I was trying to dash at my normal pace.

Oddly Anthea’s tone of desperation started to dip.

But she did appear less tense as I told her this story over the phone.

“Someone told me this is a shortcut.”

Eric said gingerly.

“Who was that ? Anthea asked.

“Fidelma. We met on the main road just a short while ago.” I responded.

“You know her a bit better than I do.”

Anthea observed. “She’s going to call over one of these days I’m sure.”

By now Anthea, initially nervous was mellowing as I continued with my frantic running … and staggering commentary!

She didn’t have had much to excite her over the last five years.

But I had to be careful lest those dark brooding phases returned.

Like a roving reporter I regaled her with lurid descriptions of limp green shrubs, tea brown leaves shredded on fissured rocks, juice dripping blackberry bushes with foraging earwigs seeking shelter from the sun.

But here I was almost knee deep in tangled foliage while keeping the love of my life up to speed!

The labyrinthine outcrops and mock craters were all included.

Suddenly misfortune struck without warning.

I nearly sprained my leg as I fell face down on a grassy patch.

Sprawled awkwardly across this surface my phone went flying but I managed to catch it.

“Eric, are you ok?

I don’t mean to be a burden.

Will I get someone to meet you at the end of this lane or short cut.”

Anthea again.

“I’m fine, Anthea.”

Eric said before slowly rising.

I kept detailing my observations and Anthea was reacting positively.

But I made it eventually with the sounds of the road as guide.

The temperatures continued to rise causing perspiration.

Peering thru the maze of entwined growths I saw … Fidelma.

“Where did you spring from?” Eric punning his own name.

“Fidelma …you fell too.” A question that might have appeared tactless.

She was getting up, having fallen when taking her bearings it seems.

“Fidelma …. thanks but no thanks.

The shortcut.” I said.

“You are shivering.” She observed.

“I am. Spring responded.

“Got to get to Anthea because she might be in need of help.” Spring continued.

We both headed for my house as quickly as possible.

But it wasn’t far.

I texted Anthea and she answered by saying she had every reason to speak to me.

One wondered what that might be.

My face whitened.

Fidelma and I soon reached the house where I lived.

Eric pressed the doorbell as his heart pounded.

The door opened suddenly and we couldn’t believe what we saw.

“Anthea, is that you?

I haven’t seen you smile like that in years.”

I said.

Fidelma and I were perplexed to say the least.

“It’s early days yet but those locusts of darkness hopping around in my head maybe dwindling.

Those creative juices returned when I sensed your anxiety down the lane because I didn’t want two sick people in this house.

But you brought splashes of vivid colour into my drawing room.

I could almost smell the rustic fragrance of every wilting petal and the creaking of every twig.

You set a whole cycle in train.”

Anthea then showed me two items she was working on.

“I have started a rough sketch of the lane you detailed and a short story.

There’s been a sea change.” She said.

“Oh I wonder what I’ll call this sketch and that short story?

Any ideas?” Anthea enquired.

Fidelma and I looked at each other and spoke almost in unison.

“I think we both have a fair idea what they both might be called.

Your story included.”

A little known shortcut indeed!

Photograph and short story mantrabay copyright protected

[mantrabay]

A Little Known Shortcut.

Wandering the roads. It has me under a spell.

Even when prickly brambles

scrape my eyelids or those bony ankles are being twisted by tooth like stones. The angular sort clustered mischievously among the green shoots that litter every footpath.

They lie in wait, in ambush.

It goes with the territory for this seasoned footman.

Meandering landscapes are house and home to the spiral lanes and clover clad hills that are rife in my area.

Their rustic heritage sometimes sacrificed to the orphanage of malleable motives.

Crop farmers obsessed with bountiful harvest.

A restless developer pushing the limits of an urban jungle.

Fellow traveller in league with fugitives from the cockpit.

The pressure cooker of modern life.

The town dweller with split loyalties who clings to the tumult of the city but hankers after some rural idyll.

Culprits one and all.

A lair from the hubbub.

Dwellings of the quaintest kind huddle together like dots in a matrix separated only by a minuscule space.

The more alluring aspects of tradition have been preserved.

Among these are shortcuts or bypasses.

Those sequestered passages that shave miles off for the perennial rambler or clueless hitchhiker.

The eye becomes a lense to all these

things hidden or supposedly hidden.

Human vision as sensor to magic trails.

Those tucked away secret spots beloved of local wiseacres.

They festoon the sprawling countryside at random.

My name is Eric Spring.

Anthea, my partner a transcendental meditation teacher retired early at an early age.

Her withdrawal from work was never meant to be permanent.

A final decision hinged on Anthea's ability to purge that fiendish veil of sadness that had been shadowing her.

There were several obstacles in her path but they weren’t insurmountable.

Thoughts of Anthea in her halcyon days haunted me.

Mental pictures of a vibrant woman imbued with passion.

Poignant evocative heart-tugging images.

Bar excursions into town my station is that of Anthea’s carer.

This eternally stoic woman is mindful of her mental boundaries and the abyss concealed by each of them.

But she is not prone to self-hate or abuse. The more lethal plagues of the psyche hadn't yet impacted on her.

Anthea was groping for exits but hadn’t found the signs.

She remains housebound as I embark on those age defying treks into town.

We keep in touch by mobile phone.

A very angelic sensitive looking person is she.

Reminiscent of a Sunday Times editor.

The accent filters every noun and stresses every nuance.

Like the sounds from an early morning orchard.

Anthea's job became monotonous and her other pursuits painting and writing fled without trace.

A budding artist’s most dreaded syndromes struck.

Writer's block. Artistic vacuum.

The wellspring of her imagination now devoid of those inspiring flashes that sustain creative impulse.

She had few outlets bar my care and a lady called Fidelma who had the edge on me with regard to local knowledge. I longed to hear Anthea's voice on my device.

Her hypnotic voice bridges gaps.

You feel close even when speaking to her from a distance.

I love the walks and savouring all those pivot points of folklore.

I pride myself on my intimate knowledge of every branch strewn rivulet, stream and layered rock formation.

My links to the environment are almost erotic as I crave it's sensual touch.

At times I enter a tranquil zone where the shutters are drawn.

Just myself and all those habitats.

“Hello Eric? Lost in thought again.

How is anthea these days?

I spoke to her over the phone a few days ago.

I sometimes drop in on her when you are out.”

Fidelma speaking with that chirping red robin voice of hers.

She had this penchant for suddenly appearing like an archaeological site.

And she vanished just as quickly leaving the person she spoke to scrambling to process her asides and insights before they disappeared.

Neighbour, friend, root and branch archivist whose grasp of detail was legendary.

“She seems to be coping.” I said.

“Glad to hear that. Maybe I can pay a flying visit some time soon.

But aren't you a foolish man to be imposing all those Olympic Marathons on yourself?”

Fidelma about to share one of her treasured nuggets.

“I love walking but any tips?”

Spring enquired naively as events soon demonstrated.

“There’s a shortcut…..a little known shortcut.

People in the know recommend it though I have never actually used it myself.

Maybe I will one day.

See, it's on the right hand side up the road there.

Think it might be useful when you want to get home in a hurry.” She concluded.

Fidelma in advanced middle age was still sprightly and youthful in her ways.

I missed a text from anthea and Fidelma noticed.

“Yes. I have one of those gadgets too.

Keeps me connected.

Took me awhile to master it.

Wish there was a shortcut for that.

But I'll best be on my way.

Take good care whatever the route.”

As always having spoken to Fidelma I wondered about in a trance.

Another colourful aspect of Fidelma’s personality was her “Banana Skin Syndrome.”

She could lose her balance betimes when enthusing about a topic or when she stumbled on an area that fascinated her.

The feet were a little wobbly.

All this against her philosophy about how interconnected everything is.

The mind is an antenna sending out signals to others was a frequent broadside of hers.

Even when Fidelma said very little she always had this magnetic effect on others.

Those terse one liners could trigger an avalanche in the mind.

Her thin phrases were always shrouded in a well crafted poetic meter.

It was in the tone, gestures and body language.

Those beady yet expressive eyes scanning her environment like a radar screen.

A cascade of images and sound bytes ensued when she left.

Several hours passed as my mind was in overdrive like a central processing unit.

I heard this inner voice telling me to explore this “shortcut.”

Having texted Anthea I then proceeded to this offshoot of a lane.

It was going to lighten the journey of this slope and pavement plodder.

Off I went down this quaint country shortcut.

Nothing out of the ordinary to begin with until Anthea rang.

“Gnawing feeling of sadness.

My mind is a dark blue canvass at the moment.”

Her lilting twang mingling with the song birds at the start of my downward journey.

I sensed this was urgent and started to walk quickly.

That's when problems arose.

Just a plain country passage with a primarily flat surface at this point.

There were houses on each side and some weeds strewn and partially mangled, turned to mulch by wild and indiscriminate boots.

Strange feelings welled up within me as I felt like a geyser at yellowstone.

The puff and splutter of tractors in nearby fields as furrows, the epicenter of future yields were turned.

Scarecrows were strategically perched in the meadow behind the right hand hedge to ward off some menace or other.

Something told me to relate my surroundings to Anthea.

If only to divert attention from an impending gloom.

Those barely audible inner prompts again.

“Eric, I don't want to pressurise you but at the moment I feel this dark cloud.”

Eric paused.

It then occurred to me that I was engulfed by dark foreboding clouds in tandem with a rising rainbow like haze.

As Anthea continued her disorders seemed to be complemented by external threats of rain intermingled with sunshine.

“I feel, Eric there is a radiance trying to break through.

Just to see you … your presence is a light which I could focus on.”

Then I realised that speed was of the essence.

That's when I could have panicked.

Anthea’s voice seemed louder, but also more lyrical as I realised this obscure

overlooked route could have done with some restoration!

Tufts of grass oozing slime.

Mounds of mud with pockets of oil stained water.

The briars were a shock team that endangered every part of the human body.

I was conveying all this to anthea as I was trying to dash at my normal pace.

Oddly Anthea’s tone of desperation started to dip.

But she did appear less tense as I told her this story over the phone.

“Someone told me this is a shortcut.”

Eric said gingerly.

“Who was that ? Anthea asked.

“Fidelma. We met on the main road just a short while ago.” I responded.

“You know her a bit better than I do.”

Anthea observed. “She's going to call over one of these days I'm sure.”

By now Anthea, initially nervous was mellowing as I continued with my frantic running … and staggering commentary!

She didn’t have had much to excite her over the last five years.

But I had to be careful lest those dark brooding phases returned.

Like a roving reporter I regaled her with lurid descriptions of limp green shrubs, tea brown leaves shredded on fissured rocks, juice dripping blackberry bushes with foraging earwigs seeking shelter from the sun.

But here I was almost knee deep in tangled foliage while keeping the love of my life up to speed!

The labyrinthine outcrops and mock craters were all included.

Suddenly misfortune struck without warning.

I nearly sprained my leg as I fell face down on a grassy patch.

Sprawled awkwardly across this surface my phone went flying but I managed to catch it.

“Eric, are you ok?

I don’t mean to be a burden.

Will I get someone to meet you at the end of this lane or short cut.”

Anthea again.

“I'm fine, Anthea.”

Eric said before slowly rising.

I kept detailing my observations and Anthea was reacting positively.

But I made it eventually with the sounds of the road as guide.

The temperatures continued to rise causing perspiration.

Peering thru the maze of entwined growths I saw … Fidelma.

“Where did you spring from?” Eric punning his own name.

“Fidelma ...you fell too.” A question that might have appeared tactless.

She was getting up, having fallen when taking her bearings it seems.

“Fidelma …. thanks but no thanks.

The shortcut.” I said.

“You are shivering.” She observed.

“I am. Spring responded.

“Got to get to Anthea because she might be in need of help.” Spring continued.

We both headed for my house as quickly as possible.

But it wasn’t far.

I texted Anthea and she answered by saying she had every reason to speak to me.

One wondered what that might be.

My face whitened.

Fidelma and I soon reached the house where I lived.

Eric pressed the doorbell as his heart pounded.

The door opened suddenly and we couldn't believe what we saw.

“Anthea, is that you?

I haven't seen you smile like that in years.”

I said.

Fidelma and I were perplexed to say the least.

“It’s early days yet but those locusts of darkness hopping around in my head maybe dwindling.

Those creative juices returned when I sensed your anxiety down the lane because I didn't want two sick people in this house.

But you brought splashes of vivid colour into my drawing room.

I could almost smell the rustic fragrance of every wilting petal and the creaking of every twig.

You set a whole cycle in train.”

Anthea then showed me two items she was working on.

“I have started a rough sketch of the lane you detailed and a short story.

There's been a sea change.” She said.

“Oh I wonder what I'll call this sketch and that short story?

Any ideas?” Anthea enquired.

Fidelma and I looked at each other and spoke almost in unison.

“I think we both have a fair idea what they both might be called.

Your story included.”

A little known shortcut indeed!

Photograph and short story copyright protected

[killwrites]

@killseeks :  ‘  how could you?  ’ 

(  scene,  outside on the street  )

                ANDREAS doesn’t know.  he’ll never know the utter strength carlos is demonstrating,  the unusual amount of control needed to take every last step forward,  but oh,  why would he?  the storm inside of carlos is a well kept secret !  (  not for a lack of trying.  )  but the situation demanded for someone to be level-headed.  day in,  day out,  the creature keeps carlos’ superficial mood shallow,  even,  it’s so rare for him to express anything.  and while the demon usually feeds on depression,  their anger doesn’t match.  it’s thankfully rotten tasting.

                in a different story,  carlos wouldn’t need to struggle with himself,  wouldn’t need to overcome walls and walls of manipulation to be able to act on his own,  but reality is a different book entirely.  and so,  for far too long,  carlos had just watched andreas humiliate the first responder on call in front of everyone.  ❛  HOW  COULD  I  ?   ❜

                it was quite a scene,  something for the demon to feast on, but the truth is,  it’s carlos’ fault.  he let the girl live,  allowed for her to witness the artwork he turned her into but didn’t take into account how quickly they would find her.  it’s a shame he still roams undiscovered.  but the rest is beautiful,  a tragedy unfolding as she died surrounded by strangers and this one taken life is what pushed andreas over the edge.  watching rage blind the detectives’ eyes,  fueling his every action,  it made the demon want to join in.  ❛  are  you  even  aware  anymore  of  what  was  going  on ?    you  nearly  attacked  a  man !    a  fellow  officer.  ❜

                carlos isn’t sure how he managed to evade the siren call from within his ribs,  but as they walk,  calm washes over him again.  further and further away from the police station,  a hand is still holding its iron grip around andreas’ arm as they hurry down the street.  it’s the middle of the day,  too early for a visit to the bar but carlos has been up all night and fighting the evil inside is impossibly draining.  so he only stops once they reach a familiar door and at once,  exhaustion bleeds into his system.  the demon isn’t regulating his emotions,  allowing for the full mess to spill out of him with no filter.  at last,  a finger jabs into andreas’ chest.  ❛  you  don’t  need  to  say  ‘thank  you  for  making  sure  you  don’t  lose  your  badge’  and  right  now,  reyes,  i  wouldn’t  mind  you  shutting  up.  ❜

(  scene change,  inside a bar  )

              with the shake of his head,  carlos turns on his heels and walks through the door into the dimly lit establishment.  a beer,  two beers,  a whiskey  ――  who even knows anymore but full glasses find their way onto their table and into carlos’ hand.  when he speaks again the voice betrays his alliance.  ❛  don’t  think  i  wouldn’t  have  had  your  back,   but  you’re  not  any  help  to  her  or  to  me,   if  that’s  how  you  decide  to  react.  ❜  a moment of silence.  thanks to the chaos from earlier carlos’ is alone in his head,  the creature slumbering inside its cage.  from his throat,  a sigh escapes before he pushes andreas tumbler closer to the man.  it’s weak but a peace offering nonetheless.  ❛  get  a  grip  and  drink  up.  ❜

[frizz22]

Witch’s Mark

Anon tumblr prompt: Zelda signs the book and her first time is with Faustus in the woods right after. Thanks for the prompt! Read on ao3

Notes: Faustus only a few years older than Zelda.

She considered making Faustus wait.

It’d been impossible for Zelda to be his first, being underage and having to wait to give herself to the Dark Lord first. She certainly hadn’t expected him to wait for her to come of age either. Which meant, well, she should balance the scales by taking some other witch or warlock to bed first. She wasn’t his first, so he shouldn’t be hers.

As the magic and lust swirled inside her after she signed, though, Zelda looked up and found Faustus watching her far more intensely than the situation warranted. It sent a spike a heat straight through her.

She could make him wait. She could. But Zelda didn’t want to. She wanted him. And she’d never been one to deny herself the things she wanted most. 

Which was why, after the ceremony was over and the adults filtered away, after her siblings were properly distracted by their friends, Zelda let Faustus pull her aside. And then deeper into the woods still.

Only once the sounds of everyone else faded did Faustus stop and release her hand.

Looking around her with careful neutrality, Zelda arched an unimpressed brow. “And what are we doing here?” She drawled, twirling a curl around her finger.

“I have to make sure you’re truly a witch now.” He teased, drawing a finger down the length of her spine.

Zelda suppressed a shiver and did her best to appear unaffected. “You’re not convinced? My name is in the book, same as yours. Or,” magic crackled visibly at her fingertips, “do you need another kind of demonstration?”

Humming as he circled her, Faustus’ eyes swept over her hungrily. “I need another kind of visual verification. All witches have a mark, your mouth can lie,” his thumb brushed her lower lip and was gone before she could react, “but your body can’t.” He delivered the last few words in a sultry voice that had heat pooling in her lower abdomen.

And oh, how right he was, her body betrayed her when she was around him every single time. Leaning into his light touches only to give little lurches when he backed away quickly. There was no need for teasing anymore, though, all their unspoken promises could finally be fulfilled.

Despite the fact that they were free to do as they pleased, Zelda wanted to play his game. Wanted Faustus to think he was winning up until the end when she turned the tables on him and left him stunned.

So, she turned coquettishly and swept her hair over one shoulder so he could reach her zipper. “If you insist.” She sighed, managing a mildly bored tone.

Faustus stepped up behind her with a dark chuckle and it sent thrills through her. “Oh, I do, Zelda. I really,” he fell silent, he’d lowered her zipper down to her hips and apparently gotten lost in the sight of her bare back. “I really do insist.” He finished, voice harsher than before and pride swelled inside her at how he lost control from such an innocent piece of skin.

Stepping away from him, Zelda let the dress slip to the ground. “Is this enough?” She asked coyly, not facing him or looking at him yet.

And it was as if she could feel the heat of his gaze, how it eagerly traced her newly exposed skin. “Not quite enough.” Faustus growled, his fingertips brushing along the edge of her bra, tickling the skin just above the clasp.

“Oh,” Zelda breathed, trying to sound innocent as she reached behind her and unhooked the material and let that fall away as well. “And now?” She teased, finally peeking over her shoulder at Faustus and nearly losing her carefully crafted demeanor at the lust in his eyes.

A sinful smile spread Faustus’ lips and he shook his head, hands now coming down to bracket her hips. “Almost there, dearest.” His pinky slipped underneath the elastic of her underwear and Zelda almost ended their game right there and jumped him.

But the wait only increased the pleasure. So, she hooked her thumbs through the fabric and lowered her final piece of clothing, bending only at the waist to give Faustus a good look at what he was getting.

He inhaled sharply behind her and Zelda smirked, and the other girls had told her she’d disappoint the well-versed Faustus Blackwood. It appeared they were wrong.

Flinging her underwear away, Zelda finally turned to face him. “I believe I’m ready for your inspection, Mr. Blackwood.” She intoned huskily, holding her arms out to the side slightly. Faustus’ breathing came in quicker bursts as he stared at her, and Zelda could see a slight tenting in his pants. When he didn’t move, Zelda licked her lips and cocked her head. “Faustus? I was under the impression this was an official inspection. If you’re not up to the task I can certainly go find someone who is willing.”

The comment had Faustus snapping to, and there was a dark, possessive glint in his eye that had more heat pooling in Zelda’s core. Taking several slow predatory steps towards her, Faustus’ eyes roved over her. “You could go find someone else.” He murmured, stopping only an inch from her. “But I have a feeling you’d be unsatisfied with another’s inspection.”

Huffing, Zelda rolled her eyes. “That’s hard to tell, especially since you’ve yet to start yours.”

He grinned wickedly at her. “And what makes you think I haven’t started?” Faustus purred in her ear, still not touching her. “A visual inspection is first.” Pulling back, Faustus slowly circled her, occasionally instructing Zelda to lift an arm, turn this way, or that. And how was she so worked up when he hadn’t even touched her yet? How was it his gaze and voice were enough to arouse her so?

Not entirely unaware of her reaction, Faustus stopped in front of her and smirked. “Hmm, no mark. Must not be a witch.”

Zelda shrugged slightly. “If that’s what you call a thorough inspection...” She tsked and shook her head. “I feel sorry for anyone facing trial where they must prove themselves.” And how he didn’t see the pounding of her heart through her chest, Zelda wasn’t sure. But she was sure if one thing, she was playing the game right. Faustus shifted slightly, his hand going to his pants to adjust though his eyes never left her. He was enjoying this foreplay as much as she was.

“Good thing I have failsafes in place.” And before Zelda could make some quip back, his hands were tracing over her skin, following the same path his eyes had taken. And just when Zelda thought she might crack and beg for more; Faustus replaced his hands with his mouth and repeated the entire process. And if his mouth lingered on her inner thighs, her breasts, her neck and had her panting... well, could she really be blamed after so much build up?

He finished his search by sealing his mouth over hers, his hands gripping her hips hard and pressing her against his now very evident need. As he explored her mouth with his tongue, Zelda allowed herself to touch him for the first time. Her hands skating up his chest, around his neck and into his hair, scraping and tugging lightly as their mouths moved.

A growl of pleasure and approval sounded in the back of Faustus throat and Zelda pushed against him harder, wanting more.

A moment later, though, Faustus broke the kiss, trailing his mouth down her neck and then back up to her ear. “I think I found your mark.” He murmured, hand ghosting along her ribs, back down to her hip and then further down still.

“Did you now?” And her voice was pitched higher than she’d like, a little too breathless, but he’d finally sunk a finger into her aching core, and it’d been all she could do not to moan. She refused to give his ego the boost.

As if he knew she was holding back, Faustus added another finger and planted lazy kisses along her chest and neck, his tempo matching that of his fingers, and it wasn’t nearly enough.

While Zelda enjoyed being played with, it’d been all she was allowed before her baptism, they were past that now. She didn’t want a gentle Faustus, had pleasured herself enough nights at the thought of rough and fast sex with the warlock that this wasn’t anywhere near what she wanted.

When she tilted her hips to encourage him to increase his pace, Faustus gave her a feral grin and took her nipple into his mouth, sucking, nibbling and licking in the most delicious manner as he finally picked up the speed of his hand.

Back arching, Zelda moaned out his name, grasping at him, nails digging in before dragging along the back of his shirt. Faustus groaned in response, switching his mouth to her other breast, his thumb coming up to work her clit at the same time.

“Finally,” Zelda gasped, biting her lip hard.

A chuckle rumbled against her chest and Faustus released her nipple with a wet pop. “Is this what you’ve wanted, Zelda?” His eyes were nearly black with lust and she panted from his efforts and the sight of him getting worked up over her.

Always impertinent, though, Zelda huffed. “I expected a bit more... passion.” She settled on the word, arching a brow at the warlock whose hand was still pumping inside her.

Eyebrows flying up, Faustus grinned at her hungrily. “That so?” Trying to hum in a nonchalant manner, Zelda managed a one shouldered shrug. “I can manage that.” He stole a bruising kiss from her lips before suddenly he was on his knees, his mouth aligned with her core. Before Zelda could even shudder at the sight of him between her legs, he circled his tongue teasingly around her clit before sucking it hard into his mouth as he added a third finger inside her and started to thrust faster, harder.

A litany of curses flew from Zelda as pleasure built in her rapidly and she had to cling to his shoulders to remain upright.

This, this was what she’d imagined... and then some. She came with the Dark Lord and Faustus’ name falling from her lips and Faustus continued to work her until she practically went limp. Chest heaving, Faustus guided Zelda gently to the ground.

Pulling away, Faustus licked his fingers clean and then kissed his way back up her body before slipping his tongue into her mouth so she could taste herself.

An obscene sound emanated from the back of her throat and Zelda dove her tongue into his mouth, taking control of the kiss so she could explore and find every trace of herself that remained.

Faustus’ hard length pressing against her thigh had Zelda breaking the kiss and sliding a hand down to stroke him through his pants.

Grunting, Faustus pressed his face into her neck and muttered curses as she continued to work. A smirk tugged her lips and Zelda snapped the fingers on her free hand and suddenly Faustus was as naked as she was. Taking advantage of his surprise at his loss of clothes, Zelda rolled them and straddled him, still pumping her hand along his length.

“Is this what you’ve wanted, Faustus?” She asked, repeating his question from earlier with a light mocking tone. His hands clamped onto her hips, nails biting into the flesh there, and he nodded; too lost to play games anymore. Smiling wickedly, Zelda shifted so she was aligned with him and slid her entrance along his cock, teasing him and coating him in her juices at the same time.

“Satan, Zelda.” He groaned, bucking his hips to try and hurry her along.

And seeing the oh so proper Faustus Blackwood come undone by her was the most glorious thing Zelda had ever witnessed. But she didn’t want to wait, while teasing him was incredible, she knew she’d have plenty of time for that later. Now, now she just wanted him inside her.

With a final teasing swipe, Zelda sank onto him, sheathing his cock to the hilt. She was still sensitive enough that she almost came from that alone, but she ground her teeth and held back; she wanted them to come together and from how Faustus was praising her and her tight, wet cunt, she wouldn’t have to hold out long.

She waited a moment, letting the sensation sink in, there hadn’t been any of the pain the older girls had tried to scare her with; slight discomfort, but that had been quickly overwhelmed but much more pleasurable feelings.

Leaning forward to rest her hands on Faustus’ chest, Zelda started to move, slowly at first, getting the hang of the movement and then faster as she stopped thinking and let her body take over.

Faustus allowed her to ride him for roughly a minute, his eyes simply watching her as she rose and fell over him again and again, and then he snaked an arm around her waist and sat up, clutching her tightly to him while she kept moving.

He kissed her hard, the hand not wrapped around her snuck between them and pinched her clit, rolling it between his fingers and Zelda’s back arched against him. Her head fell back as she tightened around him, grinding tight circles as she rode out another orgasm. Faustus flipped them before she’d finished and started to pound into her with abandon, Zelda moaned again, her climax lengthening at his efforts and he came inside her. Hips snapping forward a few more times as he slowed before he collapsed half on top of her. She wrapped her arms around him, keeping him in place as she ran her hands through his hair and up and down his back, a smile on her face as she caught her breath.

She’d been warned partnering with others could be a bit disappointing, no one being able to know your body as well as you... but Faustus, he had a road map to her. And Zelda found she wanted to show him all the backroads too.

After some time, Faustus pulled out of her and rolled onto his side.

Assuming they were done, Zelda shifted to get up and clean herself off before disappearing. His hand catching her arm and tugging her into him had Zelda smothering a smile as she curled into his side and rested her head on his chest. The older girls had told her he’d want nothing to do with her after, that Faustus wanted her cherry and nothing more, Zelda hadn’t cared one way or another she was getting what she wanted regardless; but it was another victory over them, this intimacy and cuddling after sex. Faustus’ voice recaptured her attention and drew Zelda out of her internal gloating.

“Satan, Zelda, if I didn’t know for a fact you were a virgin before tonight,” he sighed contentedly. “You’re incredible.” He murmured, languidly trailing his fingers up and down her bare back.

Unsure how to respond without sounding like a cock-struck amateur, Zelda hummed and kissed up his neck, along his jaw and then captured his mouth in a slow, but intense kiss. Breaking, they smiled at one another and settled back down, her head on his shoulder.

“So, where was it?” She asked, tipping her chin so she could look at Faustus without lifting her head.

Brow furrowing, Faustus frowned. “Where was what?”

A smile tugged her mouth and Zelda laughed. “My witch’s mark,” she reminded him of the thin excuse he’d supplied for undressing her.

Faustus laughed too and held her more tightly against him. “Well, you see, I seem to have forgotten.” He stated, eyes glittering. “I’ll just have to search again. Though, I seem to recall it was somewhere down here.” He pulled her so she was laying mostly on top of him and kissed her soundly, a hand roaming lower and lower until it brushed against her lower lips. It didn’t go further though, giving her some time to recover, his hand drifted back up to hold her closer.

Shaking her head, Zelda smiled into the kiss as she adjusted her position slightly so she could explore his skin as well. She wasn’t the only one with a witch’s mark in need of finding.

[why-this-kolaveri-machi]

what does this have to do with clownfish?

i know this was a mostly sad episode that ended on a rather disquieting note, but i was grinning from ear to ear by the end, you guys. I LOVE THIS SILLY SHOW SO MUCH, and i want to tell you why, so let’s talk about titans 2.04:

SPOILERS ahead

1. i get why we’re getting a flashback episode now--the titans’ ~sordid past~ with deathstroke has gotten a fair bit of build-up, and now that slade has jason, we need the history between him and the og team to contextualise the upcoming confrontation. still, i was really looking forward to having kory reunite with the team, goddamit! 

1.5. i like the convivial, almost collegiate vibe that the original titans have about them--the idea of them getting together both desperate to prove that they are more than what their origins and youth might suggest, and to dick around (pun not intended) and just... be, in a way that their individual circumstances wouldn’t allow them. costumes on, in mission-mode, they are trained and hyper-competent, but in their downtime they apparently like adorably warbling off-key at each other and re-enacting 90s/00s cheesy rom-coms. it’s great! i would’ve loved to see these kinds of flashbacks drip-fed to us right from the beginning of the season--putting it all in one episode, from aqualad’s introduction to demise all in forty minutes, not only screws up the pacing, but also robs us of more of garth’s genuinely warm chemistry with the rest of the team. 

1.67. besides, the immediate contrast between this and the way dick conducts the titans now would’ve been funny and quite impactful.

2. for all that dick seemed standoffish and genuinely frightened of himself in s1, the slightly less filtered look we get into his mind in this flashback--well before his existential crisis--is somehow even more disquieting?? the way he talks about batman and his relationship with dawn and even his friendship with donna smacks of an alarming emotional disconnect; a space where his sense of self has fallen and been replaced by a role that he has been trained to play. he smiles more in this episode than probably all eleven of s1 combined, but he’s far more reserved, afraid of vulnerability, and completely unwilling to express any emotion that would come in the way of him being who he Needs To Be.

2.45. this episode puts into sharp relief just how far dick has come to make peace with bruce in 2.01. here batman is a glowing symbol against the night sky; a shadowy figure promising justice is vengeance and not the other way around; a hulking figure that he can hate and love without reserve, that orders him to be better no matter how exhausted he is, even while standing between him and incomprehensible evil like a bulwark. at the heart of the titans tower--a skyscraper on the opposite side of the country from gotham--is another batcave, a sign that how no matter how far he goes, dick’s perception of himself and his relationships is still inextricably tied to batman and his ways. 

it’s the missing link between the angry, grieving boy we saw in flashbacks last season, and the man rapidly spiralling into crisis at the beginning of season 1. he’s internalised batman’s mission before he can decide for himself what he wants to be, and he’s been like this well into his adult years (unlike the comics). no wonder when the moment he goes Too Far finally comes, when he’s so burrowed into himself that vengeance becomes an end rather than a tool, it’s such a violent upheaval, and one that he hasn’t quite been able to put to rest in over a season.

2.65. honestly the matter of fact way he talks about being dawn’s rebound relationship after her breakup is haunting me?? dick grayson--robin, batman’s partner, the First Sidekick, leader of the titans, friend, brother, lover, a valuable asset with trackers in his arm and neck--is so utterly subsumed that his feelings, his self, automatically comes second to the role he’s playing. i wonder if he had found that he’d had a tracker installed in his body without his knowledge at this point, he’d have accepted the cold logic of it (of course batman needs to keep track of him), instead of the visceral reaction he has five years later, when he immediately picks up a knife and cuts it out of his skin.

2.95. (retrospectively it lends so much more meaning to the opening scene of 1.08??? where dick says he needs to go off on his own to get his bearings right instead of staying on to be the Leader after their traumatic time at the asylum and kory and the others are quietly accepting of it?? where’s that ‘that’s growth’ gif when you need it)

3. donna! it’s interesting that her role as a titan was always meant to be a pitstop before she moved on to Greater Things, and her struggle to reconcile that with her growing attachment to the team came across really well. jillian’s never really pressuring her to leave immediately--six months! two weeks! idk, forever! really, it’s your pick!--but donna tells dick she needs to leave that very night, either because she’s hoping that he’ll protest and ask her to stay, or that she’ll fall for garth and lose her wavering conviction to leave if she stayed any longer, or both. 

3.5. donna and garth’s relationship followed so many wonderfully cheesy conventions, with all of their attendant adorableness and Problems. the scions of two different royal families of two different races falling in Forbidden Love! garth clumsily flirting with donna even as she keeps turning him down! (not cool, garth!) bonding over reminiscing about quirky childhood memories! consulting a put-upon mutual best friend! the last minute reconciliation and confession of love at the airport! garth dying right after celebrating his birthday! (that cop was just a day away from retirement!) PERFECT

like. i have NO IDEA why people still insist on calling this show ‘dark’ and ‘edgy’. don’t let the weird lighting and occasional blood spatter distract you from the goofy, well-intentioned heart right at its centre, you guys!

(but man, dick and donna’s quiet heartbreak at the prospect of separation was harder to watch. for a moment, dick really let himself feel the burden, sinking onto his haunches, his head in his hand like he was about to cry. just a moment.)

4. the others’ reaction to garth’s death is very telling. donna is devastated; hank and dawn are upset, but in a distant way that suggests that they didn’t really know him very well or for very long; and dick... well dick is hard at work in his batcave, because that is how he knows to react to disaster. 

4.5. i know that i spend quite a bit of my reviews harping on and on about dick, but he is more than just the team leader, or the one with the most well-defined arc so far, or the connective tissue between the old and new teams: the titans is HIS, in ways both subtle and insubtle. batman is funding the whole thing; their resources, their tech? all wayne enterprises. by extension, this shindig is dick’s idea, dick’s operation, something he shaped after himself--serene, beautiful, somewhat impersonal on the surface and batman-the-symbol, batman-the-phantom, right at the centre. 

4.65. so when the burden of morality-bending vengeance falls squarely on dick’s shoulders, it seems natural. it also seems entirely natural that when dick does follow through on what the team wants from him, the fallout is also put square on him: he’s the one that’s gone completely off the rails, the one that would sacrifice anything for a mission (like hank implies in the previous episode), the one haunted by his own darkness. this, of course, is patently false, as trigon demonstrated earlier this season.

5. the opening scene of slade wilson doing the Thing He Does Best was so fun to watch. i love that this show is always trying to do interesting things with the camera. (tho i wonder, who hired him to take out donna troy in san fran? was that even his original objective? was it dr light? i am Confusion)

5.5. ... even tho the villain-confrontation scenes seemed hampered by low effects budgets and a lack of... kineticism. i can’t figure out how dr light works even after two episodes of seeing him do his thing. he can apparently implant light bombs in people but never seems to use this awesome ability again, when it can actually help him against the titans? 

6. the moment i saw joey wilson’s profile through the window of his home, i knew he was going to be my favourite character on this show. i love him and his enthusiasm and his cute shoes and his love for vintage records SO MUCH! i know it’s been hinted that he died, but i can’t bear the prospect for even a second. HE’S ALIVE AND WELL SOMEWHERE HAVING TEA AND LISTENING TO GREAT MUSIC WITH AMY ROHRBACH, I JUST KNOW IT

6.5. dick (and the others) wouldn’t be so horrified with themselves and think about shuttering the titans for good if they hadn’t felt some kind of attachment to jericho. dick especially i think is going to fall into an actual honest friendship with joey and is going to extremely disgusted with himself when it all ends in tragedy anyway. 

6.75. we’re probably not going to find out what actually happened to joey for a while, but here’s hoping the Unforgivable won’t happen.

7. on the brightside tho, KORY’S BACK NEXT EP! can’t wait. 

[theperksofbeingbarbie]

New Kids On The Block (Intro)

Summary: Based on my post about what happened to the other 36, Sir Fuckface Reginald is contracted by the government to help train four of the children they got their hands on. Here is an excerpt from his journal. 

Word Count: 1,218

Warnings: None

Parings: None in this but planning on Klaus x Gender Neutral!Reader

A/N: This idea has been scratching at me since I made that post and since I finished with the first half of The Empath, I thought it was a good time to get this out. I honestly have no idea where I’m going with it, but I’m excited lmao. And honestly, most of these characters are inspired by X-Men (some more than others - looking at you Masego.) 

They’re currently 13. Thinking about doing a bit at 13, 16, and adults? Thoughts?

December 3, 2002

With the success of the Umbrella Academy, the government has contacted me to offer my expertise in four of the children they acquired that were born on the same day. I am taking the Umbrella Academy with me to the compound upstate so that they might be able to access their powers more in a truly scientific environment. 

Number Eight

Masego Kenya Acquired at age 5

Number Eight shows plenty of promise. When out in the Sun, Number Eight absorbs the energy and power from the Sun. He is then able to change his form into one of pure light, what the scientists are calling his ‘solar form’. From the trials I observed, his solar form gives him the ability of increased strength. I do not believe he is as strong as Number One, but it is worth looking into more. Number Eight is also able to produce beams of light from his hands, using that light as a sufficient weapon. In the trial, Number Eight also showed an increase in durability, able to take many attacks until he began showing signs of distress. 

He does, however, become much weaker in darkness. Number Eight sources all of his power from the Sun. I am currently unsure if he would react positively to artificial UV light, which may be needed before embarking on late night missions. 

Number Eight shows signs of being a natural leader. He typically spoke on behalf of the new group of students, will have to win his favour to earn the rest. He also shows signs of being reckless, willing to do stunts as a way to show off for those looking on. Will have to get that in line right away. He needs to fulfill his need for adventure in other ways. Number Eight seems fond of Number Three, which will surely cause issues between him and Number One. Have to assure his affections for Number Three get completely crushed to assure a strong team. 

Number Nine

Shreya India Acquired age 2

Number Nine is able to control electricity. Due to her gift, she developed an interest in creating and fixing electronics from a very young age. She currently manufactures experimental weapons. Will have to see how she responds to gifts of gadgets for good behaviour. Number Nine is also able to control objects powered by electricity. She was able to change channels on a television by blinking her eyes. Under extreme stress, Nine was able to create a force field of electricity to protect herself from gunfire. 

Currently, the only weakness I can see for Number Nine is rubber. To avoid any accidents, all of her restraints are rubberized. The guards in charge of Number Nine wear rubber gloves and boots for an added layer of protection. 

Number Nine is a very quiet girl, content with reading or working on her latest project. Number Six seemed to take a liking to Number Nine. The pair sat in the library reading next to each other during their hour of ‘free time’. Will have to ask administrators to cut down on silly free time. 

Number Ten

Enzo Peru Acquired age 10

Number Ten has a number of interesting gifts. Most notable: his night vision. In a pitch black room, he was able to singlehandedly take out 10 armed gunmen. Number Ten also possesses the ability to scale walls and ceilings. It seems he produces some kind of sticky fluid from the tips of his fingers at will. He also has the brilliant ability of a ‘sonic scream’ as the scientists have named it. Number Ten will have to learn to control it more, but it seems he can use a softened version of it to echolocate. Will have to see if he can use it underwater. 

Number Ten must wear extremely darkened goggles when the lights are on, or if he is outside to filter some of the light. Without them, he is prone to migraines as his eyes allow too much light in. His sonic scream can deafen humans and break glass, will have to watch to make sure he doesn’t harm any of the Academy. 

Being the newest addition to the facility, Number Ten is still improving his English. Number Two seems eager to spend more time with Number Ten, the boys instantly speaking in his native tongue. If Number Ten can use his sonic scream underwater, Number Two would make a good partner for him. Number Ten is very charming, convincing the guard bringing him lunch to bring him an extra serving of pudding. I don’t believe this is a super human gift, just him getting everyone to like him. Ten does have a habit of getting distracted easily, always wanting to make a joke. Will have to teach him not everything is a game. 

Number Eleven

[Y/N]  America Acquired age 4

Number Eleven seems to be the most powerful of the group. They have great control over their telekinesis that I hope to get Number Four to reach as well. Number Eleven is able to move objects of many different sizes and shapes. In their trial, they were able to move everything from a can to a small car. They can also produce a shield made of telekinetic energy, as well as weapons. Eleven seems to be fond of the whip, I assume it is because they are able to keep some distance between them and the threat unlike with the sword they produced. Number Eleven also shows various telepathic gifts, though these aren’t nearly as developed. They are able to cloak their presence by controlling the minds of those around them. Eleven also has a basic ability to read minds and insert illusions into threat’s minds. 

Number Eleven’s shield does not seem to protect them from anything heavier than basic weaponry. They are, however, able to take control over the object coming toward them. I had Number One throw a car at Number Eleven. It was able to breach their shield, but they were able to hold it in the air before throwing it back a short distance. As for Number Eleven’s telepathy, they have to be fairly close to the target and can get exhausted. During the trial to showcase their cloaking ability, they were able to last five minutes with twenty minds in the room. 

Number Eleven is quite... Peculiar. They currently have bright blue hair that I have been informed was a reward for good behaviour. Their handler has mentioned Number Eleven’s request for a nose piercing, and it has been promised to them for their sixteenth birthday. Will have to discuss that more with the administrator. Eleven, toward the other children, is very kind. Able to hold a conversation about almost anything, they are extremely well read and personable. With people that are not their peers, however, they do not show the same kindness. Number Eleven was extremely reluctant and frankly, rude, to me when I asked for them to demonstrate their various gifts. They have a rebellious streak that runs deep, which has been attracting Number Four to their side. While I believe Number Four and Number Eleven will make a strong alliance, I am afraid they will stoke the fires of rebellion in each other and I will lose two strong assets. 

[fume-knight-of-shovelry]

Inaccuracies

For @northwindpersonal

“…Angela, are you honestly asking for my opinion on this? Of all things?”

Doctor Ziegler winced. It wasn’t like Genji to react to her requests with such incredulity, but she supposed that the entire situation was so ridiculous that she couldn’t blame him.

What had begun as a brief glance at a game’s name and cover from the corner of her eye while visiting Hana had become something that Angela had never expected would go as far as it had. Now, she was here in front of their television, her boyfriend was exasperated, and there was no going back.

“Yes, Genji, I’m perfectly serious. I would greatly appreciate it if you were able to help me evaluate the authenticity of what I am about to show you.”

Genji quirked his eyebrow beneath his helmet: he always tilted his head to the right when his left eyebrow rose. He could survive without the helmet covering his face, and could remove parts of his armor safely, but he’d grown so used to his cybernetic body parts that he was usually more comfortable staying in his suit than going through the effort to remove it.

“Honestly, Angela,” Genji wrung his hands, the exoskeleton clicking slightly as the joints of his elbow bent, “I understand where you are coming from, I really do, but I think you already know how I will react.”

“Please, Genji? I know it is not important, but I would still appreciate your input, given your experience with the subject matter,” she pleaded, brow furrowed and lip slightly pouted.

He sighed, metal pectorals rising and falling as he breathed with a small rattling sound from where the material pressed against his skin. He could never resist that begging expression, even if she didn’t realize she was doing it.

“I suppose it’s not too much to ask, Angela. And you’re correct: I have some familiarity with the source material.”

Angela let out a tiny squeal of delight, narrowing her eyes and clapping her hands together once. Genji was suddenly aware of his heartbeat echoing in his ears, pounding along with the pulses of heat across his face.

He was glad she couldn’t see him blushing.

“Danke, liebling! I promise it won’t take too much of your time.”

Angela turned, and Genji was grateful for the chance to let go of the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. She bopped the power button on the console below the television, snatching up the controller with her other hand as she did so. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t noticed it before, but he realized that this was one of the newer console models that boasted “Infinite backwards compatibility”, which was a fancy way of saying that they played games that ran out of distribution before Reinhardt was born.

The legal jargon and development credits faded in and out of existence, and Doctor Ziegler rapidly mashed the start button as the game’s title screen appeared from the blackness.

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

“I would like to know who decreed that ninja possess magical powers. I feel as though I received the short end of the stick, in a manner of speaking, since I’m unable to manipulate ice.”

Doctor Ziegler stifled a giggle. She’d only just begun her first demonstration, and Genji was already pointing out flaws in the video game’s character design.

“Well, you have your dragon spirit, right? Isn’t that a sort of magic?”

Genji shrugged, one hand coming off of the plastic held in his grip. His fingers were articulate enough that holding the controller wasn’t much different than when he had his original hands, but this was the first time he’d tried holding such a device since receiving his silver-and-green suit.

Angela reached over and interlaced her fingers with his, and Genji lost his train of thought. Her hand was soft, and the warmth lacing through her digits seemed a stark contrast to his cold, unfeeling metal.

“I don’t believe it’s magic. My mastery over the dragon is…something I do not fully understand myself. It simply happens when I need it, and does not appear when I do not. I suppose it is not unlike a reflex,” the ninja mused, tapping the controller against the plate covering his mouth, “The only ones who might be able to help me better understand this are dead, by my-”

Genji cut himself off. He didn’t like thinking about those years; his rage, his frustration, his potential for violence. Genji was still dangerous, but he was more stable where he was now, and he knew Angela was happy that he was in a better place. Being where he was now was the reason they were able to be together like this. Angela didn’t deserve to have to revisit the past like that, on such a lighthearted occasion.

He took a breath, and Angela squeezed his hand. I know. But that was then. This is now. We are now, her grip seemed to say.

He started again. “And his outfit. It covers the face and masks the identity, yes, but everything else about it…the blue and the black, and the exposed arms? It stands out in a crowd. That is the exact opposite of what a ninja is supposed to do.”

Angela smiled, and her golden hair framed her face such that the sun appeared to be shining down on her from behind, creating a halo around the outline of her head. Genji tightened his hold on her hand, as if he could hold on to the image. His angel, lovingly gazing down at him, reaching out for the connection. Both for his sake, and so that she could move on from what she had left behind, what she had lost and kept losing over and over for decades and had now found again, in a different form.

A family.

Then he realized that the wall light directly behind her was creating the effect, and the fantasy faded as Angela began to speak.

“And I suppose that there are a great many silver-and-green mechanical men for you to blend in with?”

“Angela, if they’ve seen me, it is because I wish them to.”

She rolled her eyes and released his hand, but the gesture communicated no malice. Angela knew that Genji could get a bit defensive about how he presented himself to others, but a little good-natured teasing had helped him acclimate in the past, and it could now as well. It helped that she knew he wasn’t exaggerating: more than a few times, Genji had let himself in through their open window rather than use the door that he had a key for, but the neighbors swore that they never saw anyone climbing the walls outside their apartment.

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

“And what about this one?”

“No. That is not even how one uses a kunai.” Genji’s voice was firm and brooked no argument. Angela would have wondered if she’d offended him if she wasn’t familiar with the tone his voice took when he was truly angry.

She hadn’t heard that in years, and she knew he hadn’t either. Genji had turned the page to enter a new chapter in his life, and she was forever grateful that he’d chosen to share that with her, for moments like this, when Angela knew he was at ease.

“And he is too loud. What is the point of being a ninja if you announce your every move? I understand the intimidation factor of shrieking ‘Get over here!’ when pulling an enemy to you, but in such a situation I imagine that they are already terrified. If they are not, then shouting alerts their allies to your position.”

“I recall that you yell, at the top of your lungs, the moment that you are preparing to strike with your dragon spirit. What is it you say again? ‘Ryūjin no ken wo kurae‘?”

Genji nodded, and Angela could tell that he was smiling under his helmet. A tiny spot of pride swelled in her chest. She’d been practicing her Japanese, just like how he’d been practicing his German.

His lessons hadn’t been going nearly as well, but she appreciated the effort.

“Well done. Yes, I do make noise when channeling the dragon into my odachi, but at that point, stealth is no longer an option.”

“I suppose you have me there. And would you prefer this one’s fire, or the other one’s ice?”

Her boyfriend paused. His brain was not cybernetic, but Angela supposed that the idea of “gears turning in Genji’s head” fit him more than most.

“Neither. Both leave obvious damage and have readily available countermeasures. I would choose poison, as it is less traceable and more difficult to mitigate.”

“Well, then, I suppose you won’t be happy with who employs poison in this game.”

Genji winced. “No, I would not. I admire reptiles, but not to that extent.

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

“This discussion is over.”

“Genji, it is fiction. Some artistic liberties are to be expected.”

“I understand that, but the inaccuracies here are too great to ignore! As a cyber ninja dude myself, I believe I am an authority on what elements constitute an actual cyber ninja! And this…Triborg has none of them!“

Angela blinked. Genji was standing up, gesticulating wildly, and she was briefly concerned that he might lose his grip on the controller and watch it go flying into their television. From what Reinhardt said, this had been a very real problem in his parents’ time.

“Flamethrowers? Buzzsaws? Missiles, rockets, and bombs? Where was I when these became standard equipment for ninja?”

Genji fell back onto the couch, breathing heavily, the filter for his voice having crowded out his regular speech pattern from his raised volume.

He paused. A thought seemed to occur to him, and he tilted his head at Angela. She knew he was raising his eyebrows at her.

“Angela, I cannot believe that this did not occur to me earlier, but…this game series is notorious for being one of the most explicitly violent in the industry. Why exactly did you take an interest in this game?”

Angela chewed her lower lip, a nervous habit Genji had caught onto early in their relationship. Clearly, she hadn’t been looking forward to this moment. For his part, Genji was flabbergasted that he hadn’t been thinking of this earlier. Perhaps anticipating the game’s poor depiction of ninja had distracted him from the very real question of “Why is my pacifist girlfriend playing the gorniest video game ever developed?”

“I…briefly glanced at it when visiting Hana several weeks ago. I did some research and discovered that the game contains something referred to as ‘X-Ray moves’, which purport to demonstrate the internal damage done by certain attacks.”

Doctor Ziegler couldn’t make eye contact with her boyfriend. Her cheeks had started to redden: the shame of going into the details of her guilty pleasure was palpable to Genji as she rubbed her forearm, and he extended a hand and placed it on the light blue fabric covering her shoulder to reassure her.

“Well, I got curious. Human anatomy obviously has not changed in the last half-decade, but I was wondering if changes in medical protocol might have led to a different-looking representation of internal trauma.”

“And?” Genji squeezed her shoulder lightly, feeling her pulse echo through his fingers.

“Well, the damage is certainly representative of what would occur if these attacks were performed on actual humans. The primary difference is that these humans get back up from them. Shattered skulls and ruptured brains are ignored completely! And I am not even addressing the lethality of ‘basic’ moves, such as the effect of point-blank contact with rockets the size of those employed by Triborg or even the force of the punches to the sternum used by many, many characters.”

“Let me guess: instant death?”

Angela nodded, turning back towards Genji. Her features relaxed, and she placed a hand over his on her shoulder and sighed.

“To put it mildly, though in the latter case there might be exceptions. But now, I am ‘into’ this game. I suppose, now that you’ve been reminded that it exists…”

“...That I might I play it with you? Of course, Angela. This small time spent on it with you has already proven to be very enjoyable.”

Angela laughed and leaned in to rest her forehead against Genji’s, and he returned the favor. When he didn’t feel like removing his mask, this was their equivalent of a quick kiss. She enjoyed the uniqueness: it felt like a private gesture that held real meaning for the two of them, and the two of them alone. One that could be done in public, but still have some secret significance.

“Angela?”

“Yes, Genji?”

“I am not going to play as one of the ninja.”

“I did not expect anything different, Genji.”

[moonwaif]

Latte (H)Art: Ch. 2/?

AO3

“Boss From Hell”: Hinami really likes working at Aogiri Tree Cafe. Not.

Fic Summary: Traumatized after being rejected by Kirishima Ayato, her first love, a teenaged Hinami vows that she will never fall in love again. Four years later, Hinami is a young woman trying to get by in life. Her painful past is behind her - at least, until she gets a job at Aogiri Tree Café, where she runs into a few familiar faces...AyaHina human!AU

Not many things shocked Hinami anymore. She'd learned how to distance her emotions. It was like staring through the wrong end of a telescope. Nothing could catch her off guard when it all looked so tiny, so far away.

So why was it that just one glimpse of Kirishima Ayato was enough to send a thousand sirens blaring through her brain?

He'd changed since they'd last met. His hair was longer, his appearance neater. She deftly noted the bulging sinews in his shoulders and arms. But the dark eyes and flawless jawline were undeniably his, even if the look of surprise and uncertainty on his face wasn't.

Takizawa cut in before either of them had a chance to react.

"This is Fueguchi-san," he said. "She went to high school with us. You remember, right? Have fun catching up."

He tossed them a malicious smirk before slinking off into the café. 'Bastard,' Hinami thought. What was his problem? Surely he still couldn't hold a grudge over losing that secretary position, could he? No one could be that petty…

Ayato coughed lightly. With great reluctance Hinami tore her gaze away from the door and turned to face the last person she'd ever hoped to see again. She expected to see the haughty expression he'd always worn in high school, or maybe even a smirk similar to Takizawa's. She was very mistaken. His look of surprise had melded into an open glare. His eyes burned, as if her very presence was a personal offense. Before she could even react he pushed past her, pausing only to bark at her over his shoulder.

"Follow me."

Hinami stared at his retreating back, seething. What the hell? What was with his attitude?! Sure, he'd always been kind of rude in high school, maybe even a little bit of a jackass, but he'd never so unreasonably hateful.

'Maybe he's just having a bad day,' she thought with a frown, studying his movements as he led her through the kitchen. They were quick and decisive, different from the relaxed arrogance he'd comported himself with in the past. He'd always made a deliberate show of his strength in those days. Why, or for whose benefit, she wasn't sure. But there were no more theatrics now. He didn't need them. Capability pervaded his every stride.

It made him far more intimidating than he ever had been.

'I wonder if he even remembers that confession after all,' she thought, watching as he paused to rifle through some boxes. 'Like I even need to ask. I was nothing to him in those days. Nothing...'

"Here." He tossed her a bundle. "Your uniform. Put this on."

Hinami glanced down at the navy blue polo shirt. It smelled vaguely of cheese, and there was a suspicious green stain on the khaki apron. Whatever. She’d worn worse. However, as she changed in the bathroom, she couldn’t help but feel like she was wearing a parachute. The shirt was at least two sizes too large. It fit like a dress. The loose, bulky apron didn’t make the ensemble any more flattering.

A smirk danced briefly across Ayato’s face as she returned to the kitchen. It was a familiar expression, the kind he’d made back in high school when he snickered at those that were beneath him. Hinami clenched her fists in the pockets of her apron.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “What now?”

Ayato began showing her around the kitchen. The equipment was new, and everything was relatively tidy. As they reached the espresso machine he suddenly reached over her, leaning in close for a demonstration. He smelled like coffee, cinnamon, and some kind of warm, masculine scent that made Hinami want to bury her nose in his soft cotton shirt.

"I already know how!" she cut in, more sharply than she'd intended. Ayato raised his brow.. Hinami looked away, arranging her features into an indifferent expression as she fought for composure.

"I've worked at cafés before," she explained more coolly. "So you don't have to demonstrate everything so minutely."

Ayato's face twitched. Behind him, Takizawa - who must have crept in at some point during the tour - giggled.

"What's so fucking funny?" Ayato snapped, whirling around. "Shouldn't you be getting started on that bread? Or should I let Eto know what a useless piece of shit you are?"

'Eto?' Hinami thought, remaining expressionless. Whoever 'Eto' was, the name seemed to mean something to Takizawa. His smile vanished, replaced by a sour look. He shuffled toward the pantry, shooting them both a glare. When he was out of sight, Ayato whirled back around.

"And you, since you're so 'experienced,' why don't you get started on those?"

He cocked his thumb at the mountain of dirty dishes stacked in the sink.

"Oh, and we need someone to take inventory. Normally Takizawa does it, but since I finally have an 'experienced' employee, you can take care of it. You can at least do that much, right?"

He crossed his arms with a sneer. 'Arrogant prick,' Hinami thought.

"Yes," she muttered reluctantly.

"We open in five. I need you out on tables. So get to it."

And with that he was strutting out of the kitchen, wearing that same insufferably smug look he'd worn the day he'd crushed her heart on the classroom floor.

(space)

That night Hinami collapsed into bed in a pool of coffee residue and sweat. She pulled the blanket over her head, Saiko's soft snores buzzing in the background.

"I hate him," she whispered into her pillow.

She'd spent the last eleven hours busting ass at Aogiri Tree under Ayato's constant surveillance. Thanks to him she'd barely gotten a fifteen minute break, and even then she'd only managed that by hiding behind the dumpster until Takizawa ratted her out. Despite the fact that they seemed to be having a relatively slow day, Ayato never ran out of tasks to delegate.

"Done with dishes? Scrub the toilets."

"The table legs haven't been wiped down in a while."

"Why are you just standing there? Don't you see those napkins need arranging?"

"If you're not doing anything, here - go stand outside with this promotional sign."

This last assignment squashed whatever little bit of amorous feelings Hinami's heart may still have been harboring. Sure, he was gorgeous - even more gorgeous than he'd been as a scraggly, pubescent rebel; and the crooked smile he gave female customers as they forked over their cash may have raised the ghost of a blush to her cheeks. But standing under the beating sun on a street corner, car fumes wafting in her face for three hours, cured her of the madness completely.

Kirishima Ayato was the scum of the universe, and the reason humanity couldn't have nice things.

She'd resume her job search tomorrow. For now, she'd just have to suffer through it until her first paycheck came through.

(space)

When Hinami got to work the next morning she was surprised to see the lights off and the front door closed.

'Maybe we're closed today,' she thought. 'Maybe Takizawa went on strike. Or maybe Ayato got hit by a car and had to call into work.'

Her hopes were dashed when the front door pulled open easily. The jingle of the bell was lost in the metallic crash of drums and squealing guitars. Hinami glanced around the shop, searching for the source of the music. She followed the sound through the kitchen and to a door beside the pantry. She remembered passing it more than once yesterday. It'd been shut tight, and she'd never had any reason to go through it. This morning it stood partially open. Through the crack she could see a darkened flight of stairs.

"Hello?" she called, but the music drowned out her voice. She gave one last apprehensive glance over her shoulder before opening the door further. Music poured into the kitchen, along with a dull, quietly monotonous pounding sound - like someone repeatedly dropping a bag of flour onto the floor. Cautiously, Hinami began to descend the stairs.

The walls of the basement were brick, the floors unfinished. Light filtered dimly through small rectangular windows on the left side of the room. However, she could make out enough to see a bed and a small dresser. Clothes, shoes and comics were strewn about the floor. A punching bag hung from the ceiling. It swung wildly as a man drove his fists into it with a power and deliberateness that left Hinami breathless. His feet were light, his movements confident. A tattoo of a black rabbit grinned up at her from his right shoulder blade, its monstrous body rippling with each flex of the man's bare, tightly muscled back.

Hinami was so enthralled that she didn't notice the audio cord stretching from the speakers on the wall. It caught against her foot, yanking out the cord with a loud squeal. Shivers shot up Hinami's spine as the man spun on his heel. Then there was silence.

Ayato's chest heaved as he faced her. The punching bag swung uselessly. His eyes were as round and guileless as they'd been when she'd first arrived at the cafe. Embarrassed, Hinami averted her gaze only to lock sight on his naked chest. Her gaze continued down defined abs, stopping only at the first promise of a happy trail just above the band of his joggers.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, snapping her back to her senses. "We start late on Sundays."

"S-sorry, the door was open, so I -"

"Get out."

The words were quiet, but their force hit Hinami square in the chest. She flinched, her feet rooted to the spot.

"Can't you hear me," he said, voice frigid, "or are you just stupid? Get. Out."

The sheer loathing in his voice sparked something in Hinami. It was the same hot, nauseating humiliation she'd felt building in her gut all those years ago.

"Don't," she whispered.

"What?"

His voice was low, threatening. Hinami swallowed. It was too late to take words back now. She forced herself to make eye contact with him, clenching her fists and fighting to bring her features back to something resembling stoicism.

"Don't talk to me like that."

Ayato's head cocked, his glare softening. Her words had surprised him. Hinami sensed her advantage and decided to press forward.

"I'll scrub your toilets," she said quietly. "I'll empty your trashcans. I'll hold your promotional signs and if you ask me to I'll even sing and do cartwheels and tapdance. I'll do almost anything, so long as you hand me a paycheck at the end of the week. But -" her eyes flashed, and she could feel her body shaking with years and years of pent-up resentment - "I will not allow you to talk to me like that again. Ever."

She braced herself for shouting. For anger, or insults.

Ayato snorted. Loudly.

"Was that supposed to be like, intimidating, or something?" he asked. "Cute. Real cute."

He tore off his gloves, dropping them to the floor. Hinami struggled to keep herself from shaking as he approached her.

"Low-level employees like you are a dime a dozen," he said, bending forward until their eyes were level. "You think I give one rat's ass whether you like what you hear? Huh? Well, do you?"

Hinami stayed silent, glaring at him. A small, rational part of her brain whispered that he was right. 'Just stay calm,' it whispered. 'Don't say anything that will get you fired.'

Unfortunately, that voice was becoming increasingly harder to hear.

Ayato frowned at her persisting silence. "Typical,” he muttered.

Hinami’s eyes flashed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He rolled his eyes. "Don't play dumb with me, Fueguchi. You know exactly what I'm talking about. God, you're still just as annoying as you were back then."

Back then…? Was Ayato talking about their high school days? But...why?

"Sticking your nose where it didn't belong, then crying when your fee-fees got hurt," he rambled on, his tone mocking. "Do you have any idea the mess you left behind, the crap-ton of bullshit that the rest of us had to clean up for you? Then you waltz in here, into my café, and try to tell me what to do? Christ, Fueguchi. You must be really fucking stupid."

Ayato’s cheeks were reddening, his voice and gestures growing increasingly accusatory. Without registering, Hinami took a frustrated step towards him.

"The mess I left behind?" she interjected. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about!”

“Then let me enlighten you,” he hissed, his voice suddenly low and venomous. “You. Fucked. Up. Everything.”

His proximity was intimidating, but Hinami stood her ground without even a flinch. “That so?” she retorted, forcing her voice to remain even and calm. “I guess you would know all about fucking things up, wouldn’t you?”

Her response sounded rather weak in her own ears. Ayato, however, seemed stricken. His eyes widened before narrowing dangerously. He opened his mouth to retaliate when the door to the basement suddenly banged open.

“Ayato-kun,” a voice whined, accompanied by plodding steps down the stairs. “Where’s my paycheck at? I’m starving and I wanna get breakfast, I could eat a-”

The voice stopped as a man came into view. Two round, dark eyes peered out at them from a babyish face. He ran a hand over his slick blond hair, glancing at Hinami sheepishly.

“Oi, who’s the girl?” he muttered, as if she couldn’t hear him.

Ayato tore a hand through his hair, scowling audibly. “Just - just get the fuck out, ok? Both of you. NOW!”

The man sulked back up the stairs, shooting Ayato furtive glares. Hinami followed, head held high as she felt Ayato’s gaze burn into her back.

(Space)

Hinami’s thoughts whirled as she entered the kitchen, trying to make sense of the morning’s mess. What the hell had Ayato been talking about? Her, causing problems? How dare he make any accusations when HE was the one that had ruined everything, the one who had made an already tragic episode in her life even more isolating and humiliating!

‘Oh well,’ she thought. ‘At least he’ll probably fire me now, and I’ll never have to see him again…’

Takizawa suddenly passed in front of her, drawing on a cigarette and blowing smoke in her face. “You two really shouldn’t go down there, you know.”

Hinami coughed. “T-takizawa?” she stammered. “Why are you here? Ayato said we start late on Sundays."

"Ayato starts late on Sundays," Takizawa clarified, sprinkling ash into the coffee grinder. "Everybody else hauls ass."

The other man heaved a sigh. “Yeah, I know...but I really need my paycheck! Just wanna grab some grub…”

His stomach emitted a pointed growl. The man patted it soothingly.

“If you’re really hungry, I have some snacks in my bag,” Hinami offered.

The man’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

She nodded. “Do you...uh...want some?”

Five minutes later they were standing around the counter, the man shoveling trail mix into his mouth like it was going out of style. Hinami wasn’t sure why she was being so generous, but the confrontation with Ayato had emboldened her. She suddenly felt like reaching out to someone.

The man swallowed thickly. “So, uh, who are you exactly? New employee or something?”

“Fueguchi Hinami. And...yes, I am.”

He chewed thoughtfully. “Mmm, I see. Name’s Naki. Thanks for the food.”

He dumped the rest of the small bag in his mouth, his cheeks bulging. Takizawa watched him with a mixture of fascination and disgust.

“So,” Naki continued, chewing noisily, “how ‘er you gettin’ along ‘ere so far? Ayato givin’ you much shit yet?”

Hinami didn’t answer. Naki smiled knowingly.

“‘S like that, huh?” He crumpled the empty bag in his hand with a sigh. “Let me guess, he probably ripped you a new one for interrupting his practice this morning, right? Don’t worry, he’s always like that before a match. Besides, he's probably just embarrassed that a girl saw him all gross and sweaty like that. Instead of looking 'cool.'"

Hinami ignored this last part. "Match? So he's a boxer?"

"Nah; cage fighter. I'm his manager," Naki said proudly.

"Maybe in your fantasies," Takizawa mumbled.

Hinami imagined Ayato locked in a cage, vehemently pounding his fists into a lifeless opponent as a bloodthirsty crowd cheered him on. After the way he'd looked that morning, it wasn't too difficult to conjure. He'd been the image of a perfect athlete: his torso firm, his arms and legs defined and chiseled. As she sifted through the memory her thoughts couldn't help but linger on his hair, all dark and tossled, one damp curl falling in his eyes…

Hinami shut her eyes, shaking her head furiously. Stop fantasizing about that jerk!

"I know; it's surprising, isn't it?" Takizawa drawled, misinterpreting the gesture. "He was always such a little pretty boy back in school. I guess he learned to fight in prison."

Hinami waited for the punchline of what she thought must be a tasteless joke, but nobody was laughing.

"Ayato...went to prison?" she repeated softly.

"Oops; did I say that outloud?" Takizawa shrugged nonchalantly. "Oh well. Now you know, I guess."

He sauntered over to the oven with a tray full of cookie dough, whistling gleefully. Hinami watched him without seeing. Ayato...in prison? He'd always been a troublemaker, but he'd been so driven and charismatic. She always thought he'd go into politics, or maybe sales. Had he really turned to a life of crime?

And just what sort of crime had he been locked up for?

Her thoughts were interrupted by Naki. He was stooping low, staring into her face like he was observing bacteria under a microscope. Hinami stepped back instinctively.

"Sorry," Naki said. "I'm just trying to figure out which one you are."

"...Excuse me?"

"You're not an ex-con."

Hinami shook her head slowly.

"Hmm," Naki said, stroking his chin. "Then that leaves only two options."

Hinami eyed him cautiously. "I'm not following..."

"Eto only hires three types of people: drug addicts, ex-cons, and dropouts," he explained, counting them off on his fingers. "So. Which one are you?"

Hinami gulped as she tried to digest this new information. Drug addicts...ex-cons…and dropouts? She could sense Takizawa waiting by the oven, listening attentively.

The basement door flew open, causing all of them to jump. Ayato stood in the frame. He was wearing more clothes than the last time Hinami had seen him - his Anteiku uniform, in fact. He seemed freshly showered; the crisp scent of body wash hung around him like an aura, and his bangs curled in damp ringlets.

Hinami bit the inside of her cheek. 'Don't you DARE think about him in the shower.'

"What're you all standing around for?" he grumbled, casting them a suspicious look as he entered the kitchen. "Get to work. We open in five."

Takizawa slunk off, but Naki lingered, his eyes locking with Ayato's for a few tense moments in a look that was anything but friendly. At last Naki broke away, muttering swear words under his breath as he swaggered out of the kitchen.

Leaving Ayato and Hinami alone.

She expected him to bark an order, but none came. Cautiously, she looked up at him. He was staring down at her, his face strained. It made Hinami uneasy. She was about to beat a hasty retreat and follow Naki into the shop when Ayato suddenly stopped her.

"About earlier," he said, taking a step towards her. He paused, scratching the back of his head with a scowl. "Just...don't go in the basement. It's off limits."

"All right," Hinami said, averting her eyes. Inside, her mind was reeling. Why? Ayato was obviously living down there. Was he really that private?

Or was there something there he didn't want anyone else to see?

(Space)

Hinami spent the morning trying to concentrate on work. Without Ayato pestering her every five minutes, it should have been much easier. However, his sudden distance confused her. Had he really been that impressed by her outburst in the basement?

'Doubtful,' Hinami thought. They'd just gotten through the first part of the morning rush, and she was wiping down the tables in preparation for the next wave. Ayato stood behind the cash register, staring dully out the window.

'As if I could ever be intimidating,' she thought. 'Especially to someone who...'

Hinami squeezed the rag tightly. No. She couldn't go there. She shouldn't judge, shouldn't speculate. What Ayato did in the past didn't affect her. Besides, she was already looking for another job. All she had to do was last at Aogiri Tree for another couple weeks. Then she'd never have to worry about Kirishima Ayato again. Unfortunately, this consolation didn't completely stop the thought from seeping through the crevices of her mind:

'I could be working for a murderer.'

The bell over the door jingled. Ayato gave Hinami a meaningful glance. She swallowed thickly, ignoring the rush of nerves his look sent roiling through her stomach. Straightening her apron, she approached the customers.

"Welcome to Aogiri Tree. Would you like to be -"

The words died on her lips. An attractive young man and an equally attractive woman stared down at her. They were clad in business clothes, and each carried a sleek briefcase. They fit the image of an up-and-coming professional couple so well that they could have walked off the cover of a business magazine. Well, except for the man’s eyebrows. They probably could have used a little trimming.

"-seated?" the man finished, when it became apparent that Hinami was not going to do so. He frowned. "Yes, we would like that, please."

Hinami, however, made no move to assist them. She was too busy staring at the woman. Blonde and sleek, neck arched like a cat, the woman stared back, her smile growing ever more stiff.

"Fueguchi-san," she said at last, her words steel. "How many years has it been now?"

"You...know this girl, Mado-san?"

The woman nodded slowly, deliberately. Hinami's blood ran cold.

"Of course I do, Amon-san. She's the reason my parents are dead."

(TBC…)

[freeforex20-blog]

The Framing Effect and Confirmation Bias

The framing effect describes our tendency to react to, judge, or interpret the exact same information in distinctly different ways depending on how it is presented to us, or “framed” (most commonly, whether the information is framed as a loss or as a gain). Building off of the previously discussed concepts of loss aversion and Prospect Theory, people tend to avoid risk when information is presented in a positive frame but seek risk when information is presented in a negative frame.

Free Forex Signals

The most commonly cited example of this is a 1981 Tversky and Kahneman study that asked participants to choose between two treatments, A and B, for 600 people affected by a deadly disease. Treatment A was predicted to result in a guaranteed total of 400 deaths, while treatment B had a 33% chance that no one would die but a 66% chance that everyone would die. The same two alternatives were then presented to the study's participants either under a positive frame (how many peoples' lives would be saved) or under a negative frame (how many people would die).

Free Forex Signals

 When the alternatives were framed positively, 72% of participants chose Treatment A (“saves 200 lives”). When the exact same alternatives were framed negatively, however, only 22% of participants chose Treatment A (now presented as “400 people will die”). Saving 200 of the 600 lives is the exact same outcome as letting 400 of the 600 die, but the manner in which this identical treatment option was framed resulted in a massive decrease in the number of participants who chose it. Under the positive frame, the majority of participants avoided risk by choosing the treatment that resulted in a sure saving of 200 lives. Under the negative frame, however, the majority of participants sought the riskier alternative treatment that offered a 33% chance of saving all 600 lives.

Forex Signals

Another famous example that demonstrates the impact of framing is a study that found 93% of PhD students registered for classes early when a penalty fee for late registration was emphasized, but only 67% did so when the same number was presented as a discount for early registration.

Forex Signals

It is no secret that investors in the financial markets are under a constant barrage of information from all different sides - bullish, bearish, and everything in between. The exact same information can be framed by multiple sources in many different ways, biasing your interpretation of it. As you filter the stream of news and financial data that comes your way, consider the manner in which those numbers, statistics or reports are framed and think about the impact that their presentation has on the opinions they lead you to form.

Confirmation Bias and Forex Signals

Confirmation bias is the tendency to overweight, favor, seek out, exaggerate or more readily recall information or alternatives in a way that confirms our preconceived beliefs, hypotheses or desires, while simultaneously undervaluing, ignoring or otherwise giving disproportionately less consideration to information or alternatives that do not confirm our preconceived beliefs, hypotheses or desires. This inherent flaw in our cognitive reasoning leads to misconstrued interpretations of information, errors in judgment, and poor decision making. The effects of confirmation bias have been shown to be much stronger for emotionally-charged issues or beliefs that are deeply entrenched. In addition to overvaluing information that confirms our preexisting beliefs, confirmation bias also includes our tendency to interpret ambiguous evidence as supporting existing positions, even if no true relationship exists. In short, this concept says that individuals are biased towards information that confirms their existing beliefs and biased against information that disproves their existing beliefs, leading to overconfidence in our opinions and our decisions even in the face of strong contrary evidence.

the best Free Forex Signals

As an investor in the financial markets, it can be difficult to maintain a separation between informed estimates or expectations and emotional judgments based on hopes or desires. By causing us to overweight information that confirms such hopes or desires, confirmation bias can affect our abilities to make sound assessments and form well-reasoned opinions about, for example, a stock's upside potential. Awareness of our natural biases towards confirming information and, perhaps more importantly, our biases against disproving information is the first step in combating the unwanted effects of confirmation bias.

the best Free Forex Signals

Hindsight Bias and the Availability Heuristic

Hindsight bias describes our inclination, after an event has occurred, to see the event as having been predictable, even if there had been little to no objective basis for predicting it. This is the psychological tendency that causes us, after witnessing or experiencing the outcome of even an entirely unforeseeable event, to exclaim “I knew it all along!”

 The discovery of hindsight bias emerged during the early 1970s as the field of psychology witnessed an expansion of investigations into heuristics and biases, largely led by Amos Tversky and Daniel Kahneman. Along with the uncovering of tendencies such as the hindsight bias came the discovery of the availability heuristic, a common mental shortcut that causes individuals to rely on immediate information or examples that come to mind first when evaluating a specific topic, concept, method or decision. According to the cognitive reasoning behind the availability heuristic, if something can be recalled, it must be important, or at least more so than alternatives that are not as readily recalled. As a result, individuals tend to more heavily weight recent or immediately-recalled information, creating a bias towards the latest news, events, experiences or memories.

Forex trading Signals

The Sunk Cost Fallacy

The sunk cost fallacy rests on the economic concept of a sunk cost: a cost that has already been incurred and cannot be recovered. While theoretical economics says that only future (prospective) costs are relevant to an investment decision and that rational economic actors therefore should not let sunk costs influence their decisions, the findings of psychological and behavioral finance research show that sunk costs do in fact affect real-world human decision making. Because of our tendencies towards Loss Aversion and other cognitive biases, we fall victim to the sunk cost fallacy, which describes our irrational belief that sunk costs should be considered a legitimate factor in our forward decision making when, in fact, their consideration often leads us towards inefficient outcomes.

Forex trading Signals

For example, let's say a gentleman named Fred is concerned about his weight and decides to go on a diet. As part of his cleanse, he empties his fridge of all tasty temptations. When he comes across an unopened tub of ice cream, however, he falls victim to the Sunk Cost Fallacy. Even though the $15.00 Fred spent on the ice cream is a sunk cost that has already been incurred and cannot be recovered, Fred convinces himself that he cannot let the ice cream go to waste because he previously spent his hard-earned dollars to buy it. Eating a full tub of ice cream is in no way in line with his current weight-loss objectives, as the calories he will take in by consuming it are many times the daily total target of his new diet. Still, despite the adverse consequences for his health goals, Fred is swayed into eating the ice cream because of the Sunk Cost Fallacy.

Forex trading Signals

In an investment setting, the consequences of the sunk cost fallacy can be much more severe than some unwanted calories. As the share price of a security falls, investors often begin to employ the logic that “I've already lost $XXX, it's too late to sell now.” As prices keep falling further and losses grow, the investor's commitment to the sunk cost continues to escalate. “Now I’ve lost $XXXXX, there's no way I can sell now. It has to come back eventually. I'll just hold on to it.” Improper or irrational considerations of sunk costs can lead to poor decisions that continue to spiral out of control, simply because of an incorrect perception of an expense that is irrecoverable.

Forex trading Signals

 The Gambler's Fallacy

The gambler's fallacy, also known as the Monte Carlo Fallacy, is the mistaken tendency to believe that, if something happens more frequently than “normal” during a period of time, it must happen less frequently in the future, or that, if something happens less frequently than “normal” during a period of time, it must happen more frequently in the future. This tendency presumably arises out of an ingrained human desire for nature to be constantly balanced or averaged. In situations where the event being observed or measured is truly random (such as the flip of a coin), this belief, although appealing to the human mind, is false.

Free Forex Signals

The gambler's fallacy is, rather obviously, most strongly associated with gambling, where such errors in judgment and decision making are common. It can, however, arise in many practical situations, including investing. Winning and losing trades are in many ways similar to the flip of a coin and thus subject to the same psychological biases. If an investor has a series of losing trades, for example, he or she can begin to erroneously believe that, since the statistics feel unbalanced, his or her probability of making a profitable trade increases. In reality, the probability of his or her next trade being profitable is unaffected by previous losses.

Free Forex Signals

SIGN UP FOR A FREE TRIAL To Access FREE Forex Signals in the Members Area  START FREE 30 DAYS TRIAL on https://www.freeforex-signals.com/

[artistdan]

Anxiety Reduction Techniques

I remember vividly I was searching the world wide web couple of years ago and came across this topic "urine therapy".

Gross! just how can somebody do this? Urine in your face, that is absurd right? Well I happened to be set for a ride, because you'll find so many advantages to making use of urine (whether internally or externally). We shared the concept by having a friend that is close hear her opinion about it. It turned out her grandmother - a classic country girl (whom looked years younger her daughters and granddaughters to do the same than her ripe old age at that time) had been applying facial urine therapy for decades and had told. That anecdote won me personally over... In the end I'd nothing to lose. Still hesitant, I decided doing more research on line and discovered that a number of leading models (of both genders) use urine therapy to fight every thing ranging from acne to aging. So, I took a leap of faith and began therapy that is urine. Over couple of years, completely confident with the application daily I am convinced that this works. Although there are those who drink their urine (over 3 million Chinese) and high percentages in some europe which are into normal wellness, it will take an even of acceptance and openness to drink one's urine- which i will be perhaps not at that stage-yet ( and may also never make it - I admit). After having a year of using therapy that is urine epidermis is impeccable, it glows and feels as soft and brand new. The time that is first used it to my face there was clearly a tingling feeling on my epidermis, demonstrably reacting to the foreign substance applied. After months of application my skin had no reaction as soon as the urine had been used. To my shock and you perhaps shocked, there is absolutely no fowl smell in the skin following the urine is used plus it vanishes and is aesthetically undetectable. That observation made me carry on while the odor may have deterred my fascination with seeing the final outcome. My routine... Just what exactly do ? I get up within the mornings and while peeing I personally use a roll of muscle to catch the urine just enough to wet it. In addition, they recommend utilizing your very first pee into the early morning because it is havening technique for anxiety more concentrated and so more effective. Afterwards I face the mirror and wipe the tissue that is wet my face (forehead, chin, round the eyes, jaws, steering clear of the lips and eyes). We enable the epidermis to process the therapy that is urine 15 -30 minutes, then wash my face. Once I began I would personally only give it about ten minutes but after seeing the outcomes I began expanding the period, even doing it twice daily. Certainly one of my buddies (the same one with the super young grandmother) actually leaves hers on all night at the same time, unless she has to work or be around other people. All of it depends on the consumer. Logically, the longer you leave it on, the acid within the urea can remove dead levels of epidermis. The model testimonials I saw (you can YouTube the subject) mentioned a half hour, therefore I chose to follow that. Anyhow, as I had been saying, in per week we saw radical modifications to the appearance of my skin which made me very happy. An unbeliever was now persuaded. I did not have serious acne but We had epidermis problems. Today, i'm content, truly pleased we began urine treatment. Every once in a while, depending on work stress and diet, we'll have skin that is little for a day, but over all I can properly state the improvement is noticeable and constant. Lots of my buddies have actually epidermis dilemmas -acne, blemishes, blackheads, whiteheads etc plus they have tried everything available on the market but absolutely nothing bleaching that is works-even. I'd like to inform them to try urine therapy. Don't be embarrassed! I had similar gut reaction too because many of us are items of our upbringing and, unless you're from some distant indigenous tribe on some uncharted area, or you're from my friend's family (the main one with the youthful grandma), you probably were not raised to even think of putting urine on your own face. That is for the toilet, appropriate? Perhaps not completely... You may think its nasty however you could be filtering the key to your fountain that is own of. Let's remember, if you're a person who cares about being youthful and achieving healthier skin, think of the amount of money you are spending on services and products with harsh chemical substances and questionable results whenever a small dab of your extra liquids and urea could do the same work or better 100% free!

[mantrabay]

A Little Known Shortcut.

Wandering the roads. It has me under a spell.

Even when prickly brambles

scrape my eyelids or those bony ankles are being twisted by tooth like stones. The angular sort clustered mischievously among the green shoots that litter every footpath.

They lie in wait, in ambush.

It goes with the territory for this seasoned footman.

Meandering landscapes are house and home to the spiral lanes and clover clad hills that are rife in my area.

Their rustic heritage sometimes sacrificed to the orphanage of malleable motives.

Crop farmers obsessed with bountiful harvest.

A restless developer pushing the limits of an urban jungle.

Fellow traveller in league with fugitives from the cockpit.

The pressure cooker of modern life.

The town dweller with split loyalties who clings to the tumult of the city but hankers after some rural idyll.

Culprits one and all.

A lair from the hubbub.

Dwellings of the quaintest kind huddle together like dots in a matrix separated only by a minuscule space.

The more alluring aspects of tradition have been preserved.

Among these are shortcuts or bypasses.

Those sequestered passages that shave miles off for the perennial rambler or clueless hitchhiker.

The eye becomes a lense to all these

things hidden or supposedly hidden.

Human vision as sensor to magic trails.

Those tucked away secret spots beloved of local wiseacres.

They festoon the sprawling countryside at random.

My name is Eric Spring.

Anthea, my partner a transcendental meditation teacher retired early at an early age.

Her withdrawal from work was never meant to be permanent.

A final decision hinged on Anthea's ability to purge that fiendish veil of sadness that had been shadowing her.

There were several obstacles in her path but they weren’t insurmountable.

Thoughts of Anthea in her halcyon days haunted me.

Mental pictures of a vibrant woman imbued with passion.

Poignant evocative heart-tugging images.

Bar excursions into town my station is that of Anthea’s carer.

This eternally stoic woman is mindful of her mental boundaries and the abyss concealed by each of them.

But she is not prone to self-hate or abuse. The more lethal plagues of the psyche hadn't yet impacted on her.

Anthea was groping for exits but hadn’t found the signs.

She remains housebound as I embark on those age defying treks into town.

We keep in touch by mobile phone.

A very angelic sensitive looking person is she.

Reminiscent of a Sunday Times editor.

The accent filters every noun and stresses every nuance.

Like the sounds from an early morning orchard.

Anthea's job became monotonous and her other pursuits painting and writing fled without trace.

A budding artist’s most dreaded syndromes struck.

Writer's block. Artistic vacuum.

The wellspring of her imagination now devoid of those inspiring flashes that sustain creative impulse.

She had few outlets bar my care and a lady called Fidelma who had the edge on me with regard to local knowledge. I longed to hear Anthea's voice on my device.

Her hypnotic voice bridges gaps.

You feel close even when speaking to her from a distance.

I love the walks and savouring all those pivot points of folklore.

I pride myself on my intimate knowledge of every branch strewn rivulet, stream and layered rock formation.

My links to the environment are almost erotic as I crave it's sensual touch.

At times I enter a tranquil zone where the shutters are drawn.

Just myself and all those habitats.

“Hello Eric? Lost in thought again.

How is anthea these days?

I spoke to her over the phone a few days ago.

I sometimes drop in on her when you are out.”

Fidelma speaking with that chirping red robin voice of hers.

She had this penchant for suddenly appearing like an archaeological site.

And she vanished just as quickly leaving the person she spoke to scrambling to process her asides and insights before they disappeared.

Neighbour, friend, root and branch archivist whose grasp of detail was legendary.

“She seems to be coping.” I said.

“Glad to hear that. Maybe I can pay a flying visit some time soon.

But aren't you a foolish man to be imposing all those Olympic Marathons on yourself?”

Fidelma about to share one of her treasured nuggets.

“I love walking but any tips?”

Spring enquired naively as events soon demonstrated.

“There’s a shortcut…..a little known shortcut.

People in the know recommend it though I have never actually used it myself.

Maybe I will one day.

See, it's on the right hand side up the road there.

Think it might be useful when you want to get home in a hurry.” She concluded.

Fidelma in advanced middle age was still sprightly and youthful in her ways.

I missed a text from anthea and Fidelma noticed.

“Yes. I have one of those gadgets too.

Keeps me connected.

Took me awhile to master it.

Wish there was a shortcut for that.

But I'll best be on my way.

Take good care whatever the route.”

As always having spoken to Fidelma I wondered about in a trance.

Another colourful aspect of Fidelma’s personality was her “Banana Skin Syndrome.”

She could lose her balance betimes when enthusing about a topic or when she stumbled on an area that fascinated her.

The feet were a little wobbly.

All this against her philosophy about how interconnected everything is.

The mind is an antenna sending out signals to others was a frequent broadside of hers.

Even when Fidelma said very little she always had this magnetic effect on others.

Those terse one liners could trigger an avalanche in the mind.

Her thin phrases were always shrouded in a well crafted poetic meter.

It was in the tone, gestures and body language.

Those beady yet expressive eyes scanning her environment like a radar screen.

A cascade of images and sound bytes ensued when she left.

Several hours passed as my mind was in overdrive like a central processing unit.

I heard this inner voice telling me to explore this “shortcut.”

Having texted Anthea I then proceeded to this offshoot of a lane.

It was going to lighten the journey of this slope and pavement plodder.

Off I went down this quaint country shortcut.

Nothing out of the ordinary to begin with until Anthea rang.

“Gnawing feeling of sadness.

My mind is a dark blue canvass at the moment.”

Her lilting twang mingling with the song birds at the start of my downward journey.

I sensed this was urgent and started to walk quickly.

That's when problems arose.

Just a plain country passage with a primarily flat surface at this point.

There were houses on each side and some weeds strewn and partially mangled, turned to mulch by wild and indiscriminate boots.

Strange feelings welled up within me as I felt like a geyser at yellowstone.

The puff and splutter of tractors in nearby fields as furrows, the epicenter of future yields were turned.

Scarecrows were strategically perched in the meadow behind the right hand hedge to ward off some menace or other.

Something told me to relate my surroundings to Anthea.

If only to divert attention from an impending gloom.

Those barely audible inner prompts again.

“Eric, I don't want to pressurise you but at the moment I feel this dark cloud.”

Eric paused.

It then occurred to me that I was engulfed by dark foreboding clouds in tandem with a rising rainbow like haze.

As Anthea continued her disorders seemed to be complemented by external threats of rain intermingled with sunshine.

“I feel, Eric there is a radiance trying to break through.

Just to see you … your presence is a light which I could focus on.”

Then I realised that speed was of the essence.

That's when I could have panicked.

Anthea’s voice seemed louder, but also more lyrical as I realised this obscure

overlooked route could have done with some restoration!

Tufts of grass oozing slime.

Mounds of mud with pockets of oil stained water.

The briars were a shock team that endangered every part of the human body.

I was conveying all this to anthea as I was trying to dash at my normal pace.

Oddly Anthea’s tone of desperation started to dip.

But she did appear less tense as I told her this story over the phone.

“Someone told me this is a shortcut.”

Eric said gingerly.

“Who was that ? Anthea asked.

“Fidelma. We met on the main road just a short while ago.” I responded.

“You know her a bit better than I do.”

Anthea observed. “She's going to call over one of these days I'm sure.”

By now Anthea, initially nervous was mellowing as I continued with my frantic running … and staggering commentary!

She didn’t have had much to excite her over the last five years.

But I had to be careful lest those dark brooding phases returned.

Like a roving reporter I regaled her with lurid descriptions of limp green shrubs, tea brown leaves shredded on fissured rocks, juice dripping blackberry bushes with foraging earwigs seeking shelter from the sun.

But here I was almost knee deep in tangled foliage while keeping the love of my life up to speed!

The labyrinthine outcrops and mock craters were all included.

Suddenly misfortune struck without warning.

I nearly sprained my leg as I fell face down on a grassy patch.

Sprawled awkwardly across this surface my phone went flying but I managed to catch it.

“Eric, are you ok?

I don’t mean to be a burden.

Will I get someone to meet you at the end of this lane or short cut.”

Anthea again.

“I'm fine, Anthea.”

Eric said before slowly rising.

I kept detailing my observations and Anthea was reacting positively.

But I made it eventually with the sounds of the road as guide.

The temperatures continued to rise causing perspiration.

Peering thru the maze of entwined growths I saw … Fidelma.

“Where did you spring from?” Eric punning his own name.

“Fidelma ...you fell too.” A question that might have appeared tactless.

She was getting up, having fallen when taking her bearings it seems.

“Fidelma …. thanks but no thanks.

The shortcut.” I said.

“You are shivering.” She observed.

“I am. Spring responded.

“Got to get to Anthea because she might be in need of help.” Spring continued.

We both headed for my house as quickly as possible.

But it wasn’t far.

I texted Anthea and she answered by saying she had every reason to speak to me.

One wondered what that might be.

My face whitened.

Fidelma and I soon reached the house where I lived.

Eric pressed the doorbell as his heart pounded.

The door opened suddenly and we couldn't believe what we saw.

“Anthea, is that you?

I haven't seen you smile like that in years.”

I said.

Fidelma and I were perplexed to say the least.

“It’s early days yet but those locusts of darkness hopping around in my head maybe dwindling.

Those creative juices returned when I sensed your anxiety down the lane because I didn't want two sick people in this house.

But you brought splashes of vivid colour into my drawing room.

I could almost smell the rustic fragrance of every wilting petal and the creaking of every twig.

You set a whole cycle in train.”

Anthea then showed me two items she was working on.

“I have started a rough sketch of the lane you detailed and a short story.

There's been a sea change.” She said.

“Oh I wonder what I'll call this sketch and that short story?

Any ideas?” Anthea enquired.

Fidelma and I looked at each other and spoke almost in unison.

“I think we both have a fair idea what they both might be called.

Your story included.”

A little known shortcut indeed!

Photograph and short story copyright protected to mantrabay