#it was relevant to the discussion kind of but he kept circling back to it

[gaysforbyler]

I was talking to this guy on my other account and I’m kind of worried that he’s a creep

[queer-ragnelle]

the arthuriana essays you share on here are always so interesting and well-researched! are there specific places you go to look for them or do they just kind of find you over time?

Hi anon! This is a complex answer. Research is never simple lol obligatory disclaimer I'm just some random enthusiast and in no way an academic, this is just how I go about it.

I find essays in a variety of places. JSTOR is where most of the stand-alone essays came from (IE; not otherwise published in a book, sometimes in journals I cannot find). I’ve been very fortunate to have friends lend me their college bypass so I could download from there, as I would be unable to access them otherwise.

Sometimes, while reading books, like The Friend by Alan Bray, there will be a reference to an influential essay or article, such as Faithful Unto Death, which describes the joint tomb of Sir John Clanvowe and Sir William Neville. For that paper, a friend had to request it from their own institution, wait for it, and then give it to me. I'd been staring longingly at it for literally years but couldn't justify paying the $30+ asking price for a PDF. I was lucky, once again, to have help.

Another way to find these academic resources is by reading the footnotes or bibliography in the back of books and tracing the source of individual essays or articles back to a bigger collection contributed by a variety of authors contained in a single volume (like A Companion to Malory I shared a few days ago). I learned about Alan Bray specifically because other essayists kept referencing his work! From there, I sought him out. The same has happened as I delved into Zoroastrian studies. The literature there is limited (at least in the English language, as I cannot read Persian or Hindi). So I found myself researching in a circle, following the trail of names until I ran out of scholars and they just referenced each other's work back and forth. I had consumed the entire body of [English] literature on the subject, so I knew I had come to collect the same resources as these essayists and historians had! Once you start going, "Hey, it's my friend [scholar] again!" you know you're in deep haha!

Much the same has happened with Arthurian legend. Norris J Lacy, known for his work as head editor of the translation team that tackled the Vulgate, is everywhere. He's the editor of countless textbooks, translator of medieval poems and prose, and even wrote his own retelling, A Camelot Triptych. Once you find someone in a field of interest that pops up a lot, you can begin searching for relevant resources through their name, rather than relying on blindly sifting through thousands of papers tagged "King Arthur".

Essayists don't make any money on this stuff. Institutions even charge people to publish their work. It's perfectly acceptable to obtain that knowledge however necessary. If you don't have college access yourself nor a friend who can help, there are websites to pirate from. (Please use a VPN to protect yourself.) Some websites are specific to the field, like science, which isn't my expertise, so I can't offer guidance there. But I've had luck on annas-archive.

It can be easy to assume everyone has the same opportunities, that a screenshot or link to JSTOR is sufficient for someone to access the same information mentioned in a post. It's tough when tumblr doesn't let you upload a PDF! It makes sharing resources difficult. One could dedicate money and cloud space to it (like I do with Google and MEGA drive) or upload it to a discord server where it can't breach containment and reaches only a limited audience. It's not ideal! And it's no individual's responsibility to tackle the problems with academia and gatekeeping, of course, but my goal is to source as much of what I discuss as I possibly can, as well as share those resources with anyone who could benefit from them. A librarian basically lol so I'm glad the essays I've shared have been beneficial to you!

[earthstellar]

The Cybertronian Class System in Transformers Prime

We know very well about the class system in IDW Transformers and how that contributed to the societal tensions that led to the rise of the Decepticon movement, but what about the Aligned Continuity? 

Novel: Exodus 

We know there is a dual caste and guild system in place. 

The caste system referenced in Exodus is directly stated to be determined through a process in which a new spark is encouraged to take its most natural alt-mode form as soon as it is able. The alt-mode is then used to rank them in society. 

Guilds are less well defined, but appear to be structured around further classification of bots by their relative position within their caste. 

The scientific/academic guilds are stated to be of a very high rank, whereas labourers and manual workers are towards the lowest rank. 

There isn’t much more detail than that, so that is almost all of the information we have to work off of in terms of the TFP Cybertronian social structure.

However, it is worth noting that Functionism in the IDW Transformers comics was developed prior to TFP’s writing, and TFP borrowed the concept of alt-mode determination from the comics. So we can assume that many elements of Functionism are shared one to one between these continuities, although the Functionist Council does not exist in the Aligned Continuity. 

Interestingly, Megatron and the beginning of his social revolutionary efforts are based around the same similar initial core beliefs in both IDW and TFP:

I talk more about how class differences between Orion Pax and Megatronus are largely what caused the war in TFP in this post. 

TFP: Deus Ex Machina 

The episode opens with Miko in trouble at school, when she is picked up by Bulkhead after detention is over. He takes her back to base, and they have a discussion about Miko’s future.

Here’s the relevant dialogue: 

Bulkhead: “Look, Miko. Before I became a warrior, I was a labourer. Construction. I can build stuff, I can break stuff. And that’s it!”

Miko: “I love breaking stuff! I wanna be just like you, Bulk.”

Bulkhead: “Ugh... Why would you wanna be like me, when you could be a... A medic, like Ratchet!”

Two things here stick out to me, the first being that Bulkhead thinks very little of himself, and has class related trauma that likely resulted in his generally low self-esteem. He always claims he isn’t smart, isn’t clever, and so on. But building and construction takes significant skill and knowledge on a material and conceptual level. 

The second thing is that he immediately jumps to using Ratchet as an example of what Miko should aspire to be. Ratchet, of course, is a medic-- Remember the guild system in TFP, where scientific class bots were deemed amongst the highest in social capital and relative value. 

The Wreckers and the Class System

I get the feeling this is why Wheeljack doesn’t like Ratchet very much (at least at first), and why Wheeljack resists Ultra Magnus outright. They are both higher class/upper guild bots who would have been a part of the system that likely kept Wheeljack down. 

We don’t know what Wheeljack’s background is in TFP, other than the fact that he’s a Wrecker, but I get the feeling that the reason why he’s not first and foremost a scientist/engineer in this continuity is because he was likely prevented from joining the scientific guild because he was ranked into a lower class due to his natural alt-mode. 

There’s nothing that supports that in canon, but it makes a lot of sense. 

We also know that Bulkhead and Breakdown know each other, and we don’t have all the details there, but it seems likely their relationship to each other may pre-date the factional divide and they may have been from the same class/caste or guild. 

TFP: One Shall Fall 

The episode opens with the kids erasing photos of Bumblebee from the internet; Infamously, this leads to Jack asking Optimus if he wants to see the cat gif that made Ratchet laugh, to which Optimus replies with a flat no. 

This leads Ratchet to mention that Optimus wasn’t always like this, and he was very different before becoming a Prime, leading to the following dialogue: 

Raf: “Optimus wasn’t always a Prime?”

Ratchet: “On Cybertron, one isn’t born into greatness; Rather, one must earn it.”

I think it’s interesting that as he says this, he takes the posture above: Looking up, even though the kids are all far below his line of sight and off to the opposite side of his gaze here. Like he’s repeating it from memory. And that’s possibly exactly what this is; He’s repeating what he was always told. 

Of course, that statement contradicts nearly everything we know to be factual about Cybertronian culture, but it makes sense from Ratchet’s point of view.

We know Ratchet is old, walked across the Cybertronian continent to reach Iacon to study and train as a medic under Remedy, who was the CMO in Iacon at that time. 

Ratchet, while his spark originated in an undeveloped village, had to travel and work hard to become a medic. 

What he doesn’t seem to grasp, is that he’s quite possibly old enough to pre-date the caste and guild system on Cybertron. 

While we don’t have any definite dates, we do have eras for Cybertronian civilisation which I explore further in this post, and it is entirely possible Ratchet simply became a medic before he would have been defined by his alt-mode. Or perhaps his alt-mode was always some kind of Cybertronian ambulance, and it didn’t make any difference in his case because he wanted to become a medic anyway. 

It’s easy to see why his attitude might grate on bots like Wheeljack or Bulkhead; He’s either very old or very lucky or both, and while from his own POV he did have to earn his place to study in Iacon by way of having to get there first and prove his potential, that is a very far cry from experiencing systemic oppression. 

In Pre-War Cybertron, Ratchet had social privilege above every other Autobot we see in TFP.

I think in light of that, it’s very interesting that he yearns for Cybertron so severely. We know Ratchet cares about others and would not have supported the Functionist society if only because he feels all bots should have equal access to healthcare and a right to be well. 

But we also know he wants Cybertron restored, so much so that the destruction of the Omega Lock nearly causes him to collapse. (I might talk about that scene in a future post, too.) 

What we don’t know, is what Ratchet’s vision for an idealised, restored Post-War Cybertron actually is. 

Do I think Ratchet is a Functionist? No. He cares about his people, and believes in the Autobot key tenant that all bots are autonomous and should have the right to individual choice. (Something Megatron also believes, or believed in the beginning-- He is the one who first put the thought into Orion Pax’s mind.) 

But do I think that Ratchet has been heavily indoctrinated by Functionist beliefs due to his long-standing high ranking position in an intensely classist society? Yes. And I think he’s repeating something that used to be said in his pre-war social circle in the scene above, because surely, he knows better. 

[heckpup]

Hahaha I did the Ranboo thing here y’all go have some food hope you enjoy it I stayed up again. And I made art!! (It’s in the middle, where it’s actually relevant. Don’t go looking for it, let it come to you.) :D enjoy!!

(Edit: I LEARNED HOW TO DO THE KEEP READING YESSSS)

Phil does not know very much about Ranboo.

What he does know he can count on two hands.

1. Ranboo is half Enderman, half something else. (Phil doesn’t know what the other half is, but he’s not going to ask.)

2. Ranboo exhibits many Enderman-y traits, which can be expected in hybrids.

3. Ranboo has memory problems.

4. Ranboo likes being with people

5. Ranboo could probably use therapy. (as could most people on the SMP)

6. Ranboo is loyal to his friends, regardless of side.

7. Ranboo likes animals.

8. Ranboo easily succumbs to peer pressure.

9. Ranboo hates Dream.

10. Ranboo lives with Phil and Technoblade.

It’s sad, really, how little most people knew about the tall boy. Philza knew that the only people who knew more than him were Dream, maybe Tommy, and (if he wanted to push it) maybe Niki.

But, regardless, Phil knows that Ranboo likes animals! (He doesn’t think about all the pets that died in the creation of L’Crater, or the time he found Ranboo in the doghouse, surrounded by the Hound Army, crying.) So, what could be cooler than taking Ranboo to see the turtle farm!

Ranboo had loved the green aquatic animals. He had rushed over, in all his Enderman glory, to awe at the turtles. Phil watched Ranboo’s ears perk up, listening to the movement, and his long tail waved behind him. One of the turtles, a female, Phil vaguely think, walks- slides?- over to Ranboo, before looking up at him and perching herself on the fence so Ranboo would pet her head in a very un-turtle like manner. Ranboo, frankly, doesn’t think too hard about it clearly, since he’s to overjoyed at the turtles and petting her head to think about the ‘how’s’ and ‘why’s.’

The sight in front of Phil, the happy Ender-hybrid with the Antarctic Empire cloak that Techno loaned him, with the golden crown and white shirt and beaming face, makes Phil suddenly think ‘Snow Prince.’

He doesn’t know why.

But what he doesn’t know is that something in him has changed, given him the want to pull out the metaphorical-not so metaphorical- adoption papers for the fourth time.

— — —

It’s a few days later when he has the thought again. He and Techno are discussing their newest roommate and the living conditions they are in.

“So,” Techno says. “This house is gettin’ kind of small, and none of us want to put effort into expandin’. I obviously get my room, since it’s my house. You already have yourself situated ‘n the room across, but currently Ranboo is occupyin’ that one and you’re forced on the couch.”

“Do we really have to kick him out though? He’s just a kids, Tech.” Phil jokes halfheartedly. They’re planning on building a new building, maybe a new house. The problem is who’s going to live in it. Techno won’t, since this is already his house, and Ranboo shouldn’t be living alone, but Techno needs Phil to help with the voices, since they only ever change from needing blood to needing “Dadza” (Phil heard him mutter it once and he smiled) when he’s around.

So, it all comes full circle. Who’s going to live in the new house?

“Listen Tech. What if we, hear me out, we just extended the house a bit so no one has to leave.”

“But that’s work, Phil! It took me a while to finish buildin’ this house, and I’m not ready for renovatin’!”

He can see the amusement on the Piglin hybrid’s face, as they banter back and forth about the choice.

Then, with a sudden movement, Technoblade is standing up and walking over to the doorway. He pulls out a black and white figure- when did Ranboo wake up?- and sits him down at the table.

“Ranboo!” Phil says, pleasantly surprised and mildly confused. Why does Ranboo look angry and close to tears? “How long we’re you listening?”

“Longer than you’d like, I’ll bet.” Ranboo’s answer is short and snippy, and whoa, Phil can almost taste the resentment and tension in the air. Phil almost asks him what’s wrong, but Ranboo beats him to the punch.

“So, you guys are tossing me out? I’ll go pack my things then, again.” And every question Phil had is suddenly tossed out the window and replaced with a new one.

“Wha- Ranboo, what are you talkin’ about?” Techno asks in surprised shock, while Ranboo looks both like a kicked puppy and an angry cat at the same time. “We’re not gonna kick you out.”

“Oh really? Then what was all that about? ‘Do we have to to kick him out?’ Not wanting to expand the house ‘cause it takes work?” Ranboo’s tail lashes angrily around the chair.

“What? Mate, we weren’t talking about actually kicking you out! Techno and I are planning on building a smaller, one person house over where we’re moving the kennel, and we were talking about who’s going to live in it because I don’t know if you noticed, but this house is a little small.”

Phil watched as Ranboo digests what he’s said, thinks about it, pieces it all together, and suddenly, Ranboo’s much calmer. “Oh.”

Ranboo looks out of the window behind him, surveying the land that Phil had pointed out the day before. “I wouldn’t mind watching over the dogs, I think.”

Phil and Techno give each other a look. “We figured, but I didn’t want you living out there alone. I mean, you’re just a kid, mate,” Phil says, silently glad that Ranboo no longer thinks that what- they’re kicking him out? Why would they do that? Ranboo’s a great kid!

He hears Ranboo mutter about how it “wouldn’t be the first time anyway,” and suddenly he’s hit with the urge to both immediately adopt this kid and also burn whoever did that to Ranboo until they’re nothing but a small pile of ashes and then dance on them.

Philza knows a lot more about Ranboo by the time Ranboo moves into the small home by the dogs.

1. Ranboo suffers from voices like Phil’s eldest. (Is it just a hostile hybrid thing?)

2. Ranboo has abandonment and trust issues.

3. Ranboo must, at all times, be kept away from Dream.

4. Ranboo loves turtles.

5. Ranboo is now Philza’s new son. (In his heart, at least.)

[reflections-in-a-critical-eye]

Hi! First of all I love your blog and I love reading your opinions. So I wanted to know your opinion on the famous taekook conversation in ITS 1. I’m not asking you about this moment for the ship or the opposite ship. I just don’t understand why so many armys like that conversation so much. I found it a little bit weird. I am not saying it was staged or anything because I couldn’t possibly know, it’s just weird to me that a matter like that, that seems to be so important to taekook is discussed in front of cameras. Plus the entire thing was maybe a little too formal? I don’t really know how to say it, it’s just a feeling. It’s not the first time that I see some moments like this in bts. It’s just strange to me because they don’t really discuss their private life in front of cameras but then things like these happen.

Hey Anon! I actually answered a similar ask last month, but I just rewatched that part with the talk so I can have a fresh perspective on it. First, you can read it here

As I said before, I personally don't think it's such a big deal and maybe fans, mostly shippers, turned it into something more. We know what taekook shippers think of it which is insane, but other shippers, aka jikookers, love to talk about it as well, but they're ''smart'' in how they approach it. Usually, it's something like ''oh, it's so good that Tae and Jungkook had the conversation and now they're getting along again, we know they drifted apart, it was so obvious and how sweet they are'' while in the back of their head they also thought that well finally, they have the ''confirmation'' that those two are not a couple. It's a very selfish thought, but I would bet money that some of them thought of it this way. And jikookers like to think they are the bigger person and how they know how to appreciate taekook, not like the other shippers who hate Jimin. For some it's genuine, for others it may as well be an act. Who knows? But what it's kind of obvious is that it gained so much attention mostly in shipper circles due to over-analysis.

Looking at the entire conversation again, it wasn't even that personal, they kept it quite vague because it was on camera. We can say it was structured in two parts. First, we have like a sort of introduction in which Jungkook is the one who does the explaining, saying how lately he didn't get together with Tae to have a drink and a talk and how that happened because they don't spend that much time together like in the past. It was as simple as that. Nothing of what he said is out of the ordinary. All we have to do is listen to his words. Tae changed and that was obvious for the fans as well and a change can happen for multiple reasons. First of all, it's the age. People in their 20s rarely act as if they're 16-17 and it's a normal occurrence or one that can be influenced by external factors. Everyone is going through that process. And it may have been influenced by something else, which we don't know and it's not really our business as fans, audience to know it. For me, it didn't come across (at least given what was being told on camera) as some big rupture that happened in their relationship, it's just that they didn't hang out together as much as before and when Jungkook sat down at the table and started talking with Tae, they reminisced about their training days.

And the second part was Tae talking about how he tries to cope with not being able to see his fans and how he needs to feel the love from them. That part for me is a bit more relevant than whatever else was discussed before. Again, it's not really something extremely personal because he talks about a relationship with an entity – Army which is an acceptable subject to be approached on camera simply because BTS always talks about Army. Tae had his coping mechanism and Jungkook tried to understand it and offer his perspective.

Overall, what I'm trying to say it's that it wasn't really focused on their personal life as much as some think it was, which is why they were able to talk on camera about it. The BTS bonds are important when it comes to the group and their brand. This is what we have seen since the beginning. Just as we saw the fight between Tae and Jin during a tour which was shown in the documentary, so was this talk between Tae and Jungkook.

[goldenkamuyhunting]

Ramblings and crazy theory time about GK chap 276 “Fried shrimp”

New chapter before the break in which we get to meet…

…yeah, Hanazawa’s sacrificial sheep, Yuusaku. The poor guy seems to believe he shares his father’s beliefs on how he (Yuusaku, sadly not Hanazawa) has to die for the well being of the country… as if he were the antichrist or something like that.

So we’ve left Sugimoto showing, in his hurry to eat the fried shrimp, that he has not the slightest idea how to use western cutlery, realizing he has messed up and thinking, in panic, he’ll have to signal to Kikuta already about his failure.

I mean, Sugimoto, if you’ve no idea what to do just let Kaeko start eating first and then copy what she does.

Anyway, luckily for him, Kaeko thinks she’s making a joke and Sugimoto takes advantage of it, saying he did it to lighten the tension.

She then observes he’s still wearing his cap, asking him if that too is due to him being tense. Sugimoto removes it, then claims at the academy they eat in Japanese style so he’s not used to this.

Kaeko notices there’s a difference between him and the photo but she’s pleased by his look anyway and continues not to suspect anything.

Anyway Kaeko gives him tips on how to eat the food, which, as usual, pleases Sugimoto greatly. He asks her if she comes there often and it turns out she does, as well as visiting other expensive places. Sugimoto thinks at how he, instead, after his father died, was in such a poor situation he resorted to steal the food that was given to cats.

We get a one page image with Sugimoto, in his dark uniform seated in this white and luxurious place, as if he were a dark spot clearly out of place in all that white luxury, his gaze downcast as he looks at the food in front of himself and is forced to take conscience of the huge divide between his world and Kaeko’s.

Later he’s with Kikuta again and claims since he kept silent, he should have felt like a boring guy, which should have displeased Kaeko. Kikuta is predictably happy and tells him since marriage interviews involve more than one meeting he’ll be counting on Sugimoto again.

Sadly for him, Sugimoto is seriously mistaken in regard to Kaeko’s reaction to his behaviour.

In fact Kaeko is delighted with ‘Yuusaku’, thinking he was just a quiet man, who kept on nodding at whatever she said without disagreeing with her and who had an awesome look.

In a way this is interesting because it’s clear Sugimoto thinks to impress a girl he should be vivacious and talkative, strong and assuring, when this isn’t necessarily what girls search in men.

Toraji never beat Sugimoto and was even prone to cry and yet Umeko loved him because he would do everything for her.

Tanigaki is quiet and grumpy as a bear yet Inkarmat ended up liking him because he was actually gentle with her.

Shinpei is a coward, yet Chiyoko wants him because, again, he is willing to leave his life for her.

Girls aren’t all made with the same mould, Sugi, they are different one from the other. Not everyone likes the loud type and it’s kind of relevant how, ultimately, the girl in GK ultimately chose men who just cared for them.

Kaeko assumed Yuusaku did her the kindness to let her speak without him disagreeing, that he tried to make her relax with a joke, in short that he was kind with her, though clearly Sugimoto’s look also played a part in this.

Anyway Kaeko’s maid warns her about how she cares too much for the look of men, which is why she lost many chances to get married so yes, Sugimoto’s good looks played a huge part in why Kaeko liked him.

Back to Sugimoto he complains he can’t believe how someone would marry someone else only after meeting them a few times. Kikuta explains him that’s how it works among the upper classes and Sugimoto ends up on talking with him about Toraji and Umeko… and this is relevant because instead he kept for a really long time the matter for himself when with Asirpa and Shiraishi and was reluctant to talk about it.

Sugimoto concludes his tale pointing out how Toraji told him he was still Umeko’s number one yet she married Toraji so he wonders if this sort of things happen as well.

Kikuta gets angry, asking him if he’s wondering if Umeko is happy after marrying Toraji and what does he understand about women.

Kikuta views his words as arrogance, as Sugimoto thinking he’ll always stay number one in her heart, she always pining after him and never being happy with Toraji… and yes, this is what in a way Sugimoto hopes, because he’s unhappy without her and thinks it’s not fair how Toraji took her from him and a side of him probably would like to hope she’ll jump Toraji for him in the future.

Kikuta points out how this is rude toward Umeko and Toraji, how women are capable to move on from a failed love story and start another, without remaining dependant on the man they had lost and how Sugimoto should apologize to them both.

Sugimoto doesn’t get why Kikuta got so mad and wonders if he’s just being pathetic because he can’t let go of things. Kikuta’s mood changes radically and he assures him it’s absolutely normal for men to be pitiful creatures who can’t let go of the woman they love.

I wonder if part of Kikuta’s reaction is due to him living an experience similar to Sugimoto. Did he too pined for a woman who ultimately chose another? Or was he the replacement for such a man?

Anyway Kikuta tells him that, as a man, he should understand Toraji and leave the whole thing behind himself, firmly and completely. So hum, yes, I tend to think Kikuta lived through something similar as Sugimoto.

Anyway Kikuta’s support brightens Sugimoto up, who smiles and agrees to do so.

I think Sugimoto is starting to see Kikuta as some sort of father figure, who feeds him and scolds him and accept him. He’s a replacement family in a way.

I wonder if it’s due to his discussion with Kikuta that Sugimoto became reserved on the topic, for fear to look pathetic… or it’s just due to Toraji’s death. He feels guilty because deep inside himself he had hoped for Toraji to get out of the picture and when it happened in such way, it broke him.

Anyway Kaeko’s maid is giving her tips on how to seduce ‘Yuusaku’, get him into the right mood and then wrap her legs around him. Kaeko is determined to get ‘Yuusaku’ and her maid is very encouraging about this.

Kaeko comments that since men who chose brides from her school do so for her pedigree and looks, there’s no problems if she does the same. ‘Yuusaku’ is good looking and of a high social ranking so he’s perfect for her.

As she thinks so she realizes her cousin might chide her for focusing too much on appearance but he also picked up a country girl with curly unruly hair merely due to her look and now he seems to be really happy… and so now we know what had happened to Igogusa/Harumi Chiyo.

She really left her hometown because she married the son of a manager from Mitsubishi, which is to say Kaeko’s cousin. Well, in a way it’s a relief. I’m glad to know she’s alive and I hope she’s also happy.

In short Tsurumi was honest the first time, when he said how a man from Mitsubishi wanted her as a wife for his son, and Tsurumi only tricked Tsukishima with the story Tsukishima was told in Mudken, in which he made Tsukishima first believe she was killed by his father, then that Tsurumi merely made things look like that, so he could make Tsukishima feel indebted to him even more.

Also this means Tsukishima really killed his father over nothing, as the man might have many faults but didn’t cause Chiyo to die.

Kikuta and Sugimoto are out eating in a poor restaurant, Sugimoto thinking at the fried shrimps and feeling angry and jealous at how upper class people can eat them. Kikuta reminds him that’s how it works in Tokyo.

Sugimoto then wonders if Yuusaku wants to be a flag bearer. Kikuta says his job is only to protect Yuusaku’s virginity and have the lady rejected as gently as possible. Sugimoto insists Yuusaku might want to eat fried shrimp instead than joining the army. I mean Sugi, in the past chapter you considered joining the army so as to get food… I get your situation is desperate because you were literally starving but food serves little when you’re sent out to fight and die in a war… and you realize this only when you think Yuusaku, instead than dying in a war, might want to eat fried shrimp?

Kikuta insists Sugimoto shouldn’t worry about Yuusaku… but those are wasted words.

Sugimoto dresses up  in Kikuta’s uniform and goes to meet Yuusaku, telling him he’d heard his father wants him to become the regimental flag bearer. Yuusaku is confused but points out this will be only if he gets chosen for the position…

...which makes him pretty naïve because of course his father can hugely influence the choice if he’s already set on having him in that role.

Have I mentioned in this ramblings how Hanazawa senior is a jerk? No, I think I haven’t yet so here it is, Hanazawa senior is a jerk.

Sugimoto asks him why his father would want such a role for him, wondering if it’s maybe Hanazawa thinks there won’t be a war.

Yuusaku ‘reassures’ him it’s quite the opposite, his father believes there will be a war soon and what a better chance than to make use of his son for his honour by putting him in the riskiest position with the highest death rate? Because what’s a son if not cannon fodder meant to be used for his father’s honour?

Hanazawa is a disgusting person.

Sugimoto asks Yuusaku if he wants to be a flag bearer and Yuusaku… circles around the subject, saying if he’s chosen he’ll feel pride. Yeah, because who doesn’t want to die as a sacrificial lamb for his father’s social standing?

Sugimoto asks him if he’s merely trying to met his father’s expectations.

Yuusaku sweats and denies it, asking him what does he wants.

Sugimoto says he just wants to know how he feels.

Yuusaku explains Hanazawa (at this point, as Alessandro Manzoni would have said “I have not the hear to call that guy ‘his father’”) told him about how his life can be used for the good of Japan so Yuusaku believes using his life for the good of Japan is the right thing to do.

Dear God, this man really viewed his sons as pawns to use and dispose when they weren’t useful anymore. Is he ever human? Or there’s only duty and honour running in his veins?

Sugimoto, who has no idea Yuusaku is the kind who’s stubborn as hell and would have refused anyway, thinks Yuusaku’s problem is merely he thinks he only have one path open, but wouldn’t think so if he were to know there’s another path, one they’re hiding from him.

No Sugimoto, the problem is actually Hanazawa completely brainwashed his son, to turn him into a noble and righteous icon without even knowing well why except that daddy thinks that’s the best way for him to live his life.

Hanazawa is a jerk.

On a sidenote I hate this situation even more exactly because Yuusaku is basically brainwashed. Each time he has to explains his position he uses as argument what his father told him, yes, he says he came to believe it too, but it doesn’t seem like it’s something he came up on his own, or something he gave deep thought about, but something that was merely put into his mind by all of Hanazawa’s talk.

Maybe it’s just me but Yuusaku always feel more like not thinking for himself but merely reporting what his father told him to think. Whatever, let’s go on.

Meanwhile Yuusaku proves he can be observant, as he notices Sugimoto is wearing Kikuta’s cap due to it being stitched in a little area due to a hole made when Kikuta has been nearly killed by an officer candidate during shooting training. Sugimoto tries to cover up the thing by claiming he got the hat from Kikuta, but this is even more suspicious as that cap belonged to Kikuta’s little brother who died of illness during the war with China.

This is probably why Kikuta is adopting young men… but at the same time, although he should know Yuusaku since Yuusaku knows him so well, he has little to no sympathy for his fate and will show complete disinterest for Koito as well. I do wonder if Kikuta has issues with people from the upper classes.

He trains officer candidates but this might have exposed him even more to the differences between classes and made him think low of them. We’ll see.

On another side I wonder if Yuusaku will do something out of this information there’s someone wearing Kikuta’s cap and who’s asking him if he’s okay with being the flag bearer.

This little exchange proved Yuusaku can be observant and connect the dots so now if only he were to think a little more he could prove himself to be more than just his father’s puppet.

Anyway as Sugimoto walks for the city, holding his cap in his hands he gets careless and slams against someone… this someone turns out to be the 4 horsemen of the apocalypse…

...pardon, I mean Tsukishima, who’s with Usami, Ogata and Tsurumi (please notice how the light shines on them as if they were some sort of saviours or angels from above), the four of them all enjoying a trip to Tokyo prior to the start of the apocalypse… Tsurumi’s plan, I mean… because really, it would feel to absurd to have those 4 in Tokyo just for a touristic trip, so they had to be there to pursue Tsurumi’s plan.

Okay, I know, maybe the apocalypse was safer than what Tsurumi’s plan will turn out.

Anyway, some random observations on them.

From the 27 on Ogata and Usami’s shoulders we can see they’re already in the 7th division.

From the stripe on Ogata’s sleeve we can see he’s a second class superior private, meaning he has just enrolled in the army since, second class privates should have been automatically promoted to first class after 6 months (at least from the info I have who’re dated past GK so it might be things were different that early on). It’s 1901 so he should be 19. It means he enrolled in the army earlier as although one could join the army from when he was 17, the norm was they would be examined for fitness at 20 and, if judged fit then they would join the army for a 2 years period of training.

Considering Noda said Ogata studied Russian with Tsukishima and Tsukishima went in Russia with Tsurumi much earlier on, it seems that Tsurumi recruited Ogata prior to him being able to enrol in the army.

Usami should be a year older, so he’s still pretty young. Did they join together or Usami also joined much earlier than planned? We’ll see.

Anyway the 4 of them are having a trip to Tokyo… and I can’t help but think if Tsurumi went in Tokyo with 3 of his soldiers whom he has twisted with ‘love’, things are likely going to turn troublesome.

LOL, now let’s only hope Sugimoto won’t introduce himself as Yuusaku… though if he were it could be that Tsurumi would spot the lie immediately and that’s why Ogata knows passing for an officer is a dumb plan.

On another side... this might be the moment in which Yuusaku and Ogata first met. I’m honestly scared.

Oh well, we’ll see.

Overall this chapter provided us some info and was nice but not that emotionally compelling, it merely seemed to plan to set up things for the next developments.

Anyway next week there’s a break so we’re in for a long wait.

[explosiveranga]

Games of the Heart (BTS fanfiction)

Rating: G (May change in the future)

Word Count: 1480

Fandom: BTS

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Summary:  You and Jungkook are rival live streamers and for the next month, you'd be stuck in the same building as him for a reality TV show. Will you be able to prove that you're the better gamer, or will his mere presence distract you and cost you everything?

Notes: This is my first BTS story, god help me but I couldn't resist purple mullet JK. I blame @youarejesting. Any complaints, take it up with her. Also, happy birthday stinky boy.

P.s. Stream Butter now.

                                                      CHAPTER 1

Day 1

The slamming of a car door woke you and your first thought was that the sun was too goddamn bright. The next thought that crossed your mind was that you needed coffee, badly. An older gentleman opened your door and you recognised him as the driver who had picked you up from your apartment at 6 am.      “We’re here, miss.”      Through your sleep-addled brain, you almost forgot your manners and you nodded your thanks before leaning over to the sleeping form beside you.      “Namjoon,” you nudged him in the ribs with your elbow and the man started awake, eyes wide and drool glistening off his chin. He blinked at you as a giggle fell from your lips. “Come on. They’re waiting for us.”

The facility was huge.      You weren’t sure how far out of the city you were but as far as your eye could see, trees surrounded you, a sea of red and burnt orange lining the horizon, broken only by a large, modern estate, all white stone and tall glass windows. It loomed over you as you approached with your bags, your friend right behind you as you followed a producer through to a large sitting room. Sliding doors lined the far wall and were open to a balcony that overlooked the district, the morning sun slowly rising higher in the sky. A group of people were gathered, a mix of producers and the other contestants. A few of them were leaning over the fence for a better look, others cradling cups of coffee or catching a few minutes of rest. One man was laid back over a banana lounge, dark glasses hiding his eyes, mouth gape as gentle snores fell from him.

There were ten players in total, including yourself. Jeonju would be your home for the next four weeks where you and the other players would test and play an early release of the newest MMORPG - DragonStorm. You’d spend 12 hours a day, 6 days a week playing, testing, gaming. Everything would be filmed; think ‘Survivor’ but instead of surviving the wilderness and drinking your own pee, you’d be trying to beat a computer game. It was a massive PR stunt, to hype the release of the game and boost sales.      The prize was 100 Million Won to any charity of your choice and there were only a few rules; no contact with the outside world: no fourth wall-breaking (which meant that everyone had to be in character while they were playing at all times) and no discussing the game with other players. Anonymity was key.      Each player would start with their own quests to complete over the duration of the competition and everything they did accumulated points. At the end, the one with the most points would be crowned the winner.

The host, an older, bespectacled man that introduced himself as Bang Si-Hyuk, explained all of this to you once you were settled. You were familiar with most of your costars. Everyone here had some kind of platform on MeTube or Snitch and so you knew each other by association, having attended the same events and running in the same circles. Everyone seemed nice enough so far.      Apart from him. Your rival.      Well, you used the term ‘rival’ loosely. Jeon Jung-Kook, JK to his fanbase, was a fellow streamer and gamer. You used to play together when you were both new to the platform but one day, he stopped inviting you to lobbies and your fan bases had taken it upon themselves to start a rivalry. What began with a playful comment here and there soon became a full on turf war.      You spotted him from across the room, his hair an obnoxiously bright purple. He might actually be handsome if he wasn’t so frustrating. He caught your eye and threw you a crooked grin. It was your management's idea; the ultimate test to prove who was a better gamer. MeTube feuds kept you relevant and trending and that kept the money in your management's pockets, so everyone was a winner. All you had to do was survive four weeks locked in the same building as him.

Introductions were made and coffee was served as the contestants disbanded, some retreating to their rooms for some RnR, others exploring the grounds. Your friend, Namjoon, was making conversation with heartthrob actor Teahyung, waving his hands animatedly as they spoke.      You’d known RM since you were in the 3rd Grade when your family moved to Seoul. He’d taught you Korean and in turn, you helped him with his English. Through that, a firm friendship was formed. At this point, he was like a sibling to you. He was the Sherlock to your Watson and there was no one else you would rather be in this competition with, not least of all because Kim Namjoon was absolutely appalling at games and you planned on kicking his ass.

Finally feeling a little bit human after your early morning - after all, you gamers weren’t known for being early birds - you loaded yourself and your luggage into the elevator in search of your room. You took a sip of your coffee, grateful for the caffeine, leaning back against the mirrored wall as the doors began closing.      “Hold the elevator!”      Without thinking, your hand shot out between the doors but your gamer reflexes must have been too quick for the machine and it closed around your wrist. Startled, you dropped your precious cup of liquid energy, the doors opening just in time for you to see it tumble to the floor and all over Jeon Jungkook’s shoes.      “Shit,” you cursed, dropping to your knees in an attempt to clean it up with the one napkin that had been between your hand and the styrofoam. A few staff members rushed over to help and you felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment. One held the doors as you both got cleaned up but Jungkook’s white trainers were now splattered with coffee stains.      Eventually, you loaded back into the lift, coffee-less and in a worse mood than when you’d started. JK, bags at his side, was right there with you. You could feel his eyes on you as the doors slid closed.      “You’re shorter than I expected.” The man grinned and you wanted to smack that pretty smile off his handsome face. This was your first time meeting in person and it was going perfectly. Sometimes, you forgot that the feud was all a PR stunt and that you didn’t actually hate him. Well, maybe a bit; you still hadn’t forgotten the time he’d called you a n00b on his podcast and these comments weren’t helping his case.      “You’re more insufferable than I expected,” you retorted, wanting nothing more than for this elevator ride to be over. The building had 4 floors - the ground floor was all communal, with a kitchen and living area occupying most of it. The crew and production team occupied the second floor, and the contestants had assigned, self contained rooms on the third floor. The upper most floor housed a gym and other recreational facilities that you’d be able to use on their downtime. You only hoped that your rooms weren’t too near to each other.      “Are you ready to prove once and for all who’s the better gamer?” You blinked at the man. “...Me. It’s me. I-I’m the better gamer.”      “Wooooooooooooooooooow,” you couldn’t hide the smirk on your face, quickly looking away from him.      “What’s that supposed to mean?”      The doors slid open with a ‘ping’, allowing for a quick escape, leaving a frowning Jungkook to rush after you with his belongings.      “No, no, nothing.”      “It doesn’t sound like ‘nothing’.”      “Well, you’re very full of yourself aren’t you?”      “I do have more subs than you.” You shot him a quick glare. You’d been neck and neck for years but these late few months, he’d taken the lead in sub count and you had yet to take it back. You blamed his handsome face and that ridiculous purple mullet.      “Fine.1 V 1 me then.” You stopped at a door that had your name on it and opened it, loading your bags into the dark room. Jk stopped across the hall and you saw that his room was right across from you. Great. “Name a time and a place and I’ll show you who’s better.”      “I don’t think a 1v1 would be fair on you. You wouldn’t be able to kill the EnderDragon even if you were in Creative.”      You frowned, skin prickling with annoyance, watching him lean back against his door with folded arms “Well, you… you wouldn’t even know an EnderDragon if it...landed on your house.”

Without letting him reply, you rushed into your room, cursing yourself. You closed the door behind you, not before you heard the giggle coming from the frustratingly handsome man.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Man in his Castle

Warnings: noncon sex. Let’s not be fools here. You know what I write.

This is dark!Charles Blackwood and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: A co-ed discovers that money is still king.

Note: Charles is fun because he’s already horrible. I know my summary sucks but I hope you all enjoy this. It takes place in the 1960s so keep that in mind and enjoy! But let me know what you think in reblog or reply and slap a like on there <3

There were more than a dozen girls squeezed into the windowless classroom in the basement of Victory Hall. The book club had grown quite a bit since your first week on campus. The Brownies, you called yourself. An ironic play upon a lifetime of ridicule.

Every Friday night you met in some abandoned room bartered off the registrar and set to discussing your most recent read. Sheila was the leader; bolder than you as she fostered your sprout of an idea. She was cooler, calmer, and by all means, more radical. And she was a senior.

The flock of freshmen looked up to her and the few other older girls in the group. She had brought along with her, Linda and Patty; the former with her stiff turtlenecks and the latter her faded beret. These were the types your mother had warned you against. Peddling their liberalism in the name of Kennedy and Kruschev.

That week, your group had chosen Miller’s famed play, The Crucible; still relevant despite a decade past. Though the red scare had faded to orange, there was still a breath of suspicion in the air. As people marched in the streets and sat-in at diners and cafes, the old breed was growing nervous. The world was about to change, with or without them.

You sat amid the circle with your worn copy against your knee. You took turns reading the lines and pausing to discuss the intricate and yet overt allusions made by the playwright. The furor of the blacklist which still lingered in the air. A paranoia much broader than years before. No longer just the Reds, but all who spoke of equality and freedom; no longer exclusive to a single group. The same tensions which kept you in the basement with the dingy old desks.

You couldn’t help but smile at the group of girls. When you’d arrived on campus, you were certain you’d be the same loner as before. Solitary nights spent barricaded in your dorm only to lose yourself in the crowd of the lecture hall. 

But Sheila had changed that. She was in your elective Lit class, filling a void in her audit so that she could graduate on time. You had lost yourself in a discussion of Marx and the mounting tensions with the East; not that they ever really subsided. 

Then she invited you to meet Linda and Patty for a drink. Your lack of ID didn’t keep you from the chance to make friends as she knew the doorman by name. That was when you mentioned the club. It was just you and your friend, Elsie. Not really a club, more so a pair of girls with nothing better to do. But Sheila liked it and the next week, she had six new girls to add to your duo.

Now, you were a full blown corps. The three seniors and at least fifteen freshmen, a few in between to fill out the circle. 

Sheila snapped her book shut and declared the end of the night as she checked her watch. 

“We’ll finish next week,” She chimed. “Granted we don’t devolve so easily again.”

The girls giggled and began to pack up. You stood and shoved your book into your leather bag. Sheila stood with Linda at the back of the circle and Patty offered a goodbye to each girl as they left. Most did so in pairs or trios. Safety in numbers.

Your dorm wasn’t far and so you would keep a brisk pace with your keys in hand. You turned and Sheila called to you before you could reach the door. You spun back and neared her and Linda.

“Hey, you need a walking partner?” She asked. “Me and Linda are head down the The Cask. We’ll be headed past yours.”

“If you’re headed that way,” You accepted eagerly.

You helped rearrange the chairs and desk with the three seniors. Patty left on her own as Sheila locked the door. You walked on her right as Linda kept to her left and made your way out of the depths of Victory Hall. The night was cool but not bitter. You pulled your collar up as you passed between the carefully trimmed hedges.

“You sure you don’t want to come for a drink?” Linda asked. “Seeing as Patty ditched us.”

“Oh, you know she has that boy waiting for her,” Sheila countered.

“Um, no, I have an early morning,” You replied. “But thanks.”

“What about next weekend?” Sheila asked.

“Next weekend?” You wondered.

“Wanna come to a party?”

“A… a senior party?” You glanced over at her as you tucked your hands in your pockets.

“Oh, no, it’s not on campus,” She trilled. “But I think you’d like it.”

“Off-campus?” You said surprised. “Really?”

“A bit of an older crowd but…” She lowered her voice, “Of a similar mind as us.”

Your eyes widened. You blinked at her and she laughed.

“Oh calm down, they’re no interlopers, merely open-minded,” She assured you. “You have to realize that this little club, that’s a children’s game. If you’re serious, these are the people you need to rub shoulders with.”

“I don’t know. It’s pretty seedy downtown and the last time--”

“Downtown?” She scoffed. “Oh, this is different from that hole in the wall.”

“Where--”

“Uptown, actually,” She preened. “You know, we do have allies with money. They hide among the enemy until we can truly act.”

“I don’t know. That sounds--”

“You worry too much. It’s not illegal to meet people who think like you do,” She said. “Otherwise us Brownies would be akin to the mob.”

You laughed at yourself and watched your scuffed shoes on the sidewalk. “I guess you’re right. Um, what kind of party is it, exactly?”

“Wear something nice,” She picked a thread from your jacket. “Fancy dress hides a humble heart.”

You nodded and gripped the strap of your bag. “Sure, why not?” You shrugged.

“I’ll see you in Lit,” She stopped just outside your gate. “I’ll give you the details then. You should ask Elsie to come with you.”

“Alright,” You breathed. “Yeah, I’ll ask her.”

“Have a good night,” She sang and Linda echoed her. 

“You, too.” You smiled.

You turned and unlocked your gate as their heels continued down the pavement. You let yourself inside and listened until there was silence. You were happy to have friends, happier that you were so much alike, but the thought of a party had your stomach aflutter.

🏰

You found your only formal dress. Rather, your most formal dress. A long-sleeved black number that flared at the knee. You wore the simple silver chain your mother gifted you for your high school graduation and a pair of kitten heels. You hugged yourself with a red shawl and grabbed your purse.

Elsie waited just outside your dorm room. She looked as nervous as you felt. The lack of details gave both of you the jitters. You were two shy girls who found each other among the sea of students. You took comfort in knowing you weren’t the only one in over your head.

And Sheila would be there too. She could help you maneuver your way through this maze of etiquette and idealism.

You took a bus as far as you could but at the last stop, you were still three blocks away from the place. Blackwood Manor. Sheila’s loopy cursive marked it on the corner of paper. The house on the hill, she said, can’t miss it.

The gates towered over you as you approached. Tinted lanterns lit the walkway and you pressed the button over the small speaker box. A dull voice greeted you from the other side.

“Um, hello,” Elsie squeezed your arm as you bent to speak into the box. “We’re here for the party.”

“Par-ty?” The voice said.

“We’re friends of, uh, Sheila.” You replied nervously.

“Ah, yes, Miss Sheila.” The crackle died and the gate clicked. 

You looked to Elsie and a man in grey neared from the other side. He pulled open the gate and removed his cap as he waited for you to enter. A car drove up, its bright headlights washed over you, as you walked up the drive and the gates man spoke with its occupants.

At the front door, you met with a man with grey hair and the same even tone that rose from the speaker. He took your shawl and Elsie’s coat and directed you to the next room. You detached Elsie from your arm and gave her a look. She smiled tensely and smoothed the front of her dress.

The sparkle of the chandelier drew your eyes first. The light refracted from the crystals and illuminated the large room. Men in suits stood around with drinks in hand and chattered. You heard the next guests enter behind you and stepped out of their way.

You spotted Sheila in the far corner, a broad pair of shoulders left her barely visible. There were several other girls you recognized; Linda. Darla and Colleen, two other Brownies, and even a couple girls from your Lit class. Every women in the room was barely that; they were all bright-eyed co-eds amid a conclave of stiff-lipped men.

You felt a chill crawl up your spine but resisted the shiver. You were just anxious about all these strangers. It was natural to be a little nervous.

Elsie followed you across the room and smiled at Sheila over the shoulder of the man she spoke to. She waved you over and the man turned to look at you. His blue eyes flicked from you to Elsie and back again. His expression was placid as he buttoned his jacket.

“Charles, these are my friends,” She introduced you and Elsie, “And this is Charles Blackwood, our host.”

He seemed to recall himself and shook your hand and then Elsie’s. His grip was firm and his expression unbreakable. He was entirely unimpressed by you and your plain black dress.

“You have a beautiful house,” You offered. “I don’t think I’ve ever been anywhere so… grand.”

“It was my grandfather’s,” He said tersely as his eyes explored the room. “Sheila, if you’ll excuse me, I must speak with Gerald.”

“Of course,” She kissed his cheek and his lip curled before he walked away. “Sorry about him,” Sheila turned to you. “He’s a bit antsy, you know? Always is on nights like these.”

“I never…” You looked at Elsie as her eyes bounced around in wonder, “I never would think anyone who lived like this would you know, agree with us.”

“Oh, but we already know money isn’t everything,” She said. “You know, these men, they know that and they want to use their money for good. They want to make sure that students like us make it through college and go on to speak our truth to the world.”

She stopped a man passing by and took a wine glass from his tray. She offered you it and grabbed another for Elsie and herself. She batted her lashes at the waiter and returned her attention to you.

“Which is why you should loosen up and talk to some of these men,” She advised. “They are much preferable to the boys on campus and much more powerful. My second year, I had my tuition paid in full by one of Charles’ friends.”

“Wow,” Elsie gasped. “Really?”

“Consider it a grant,” Sheila explained. “Spread the wealth, right?”

“I suppose…” You uttered.

“Oh, there’s Patty,” Sheila perked up. “I knew she’d be the last one here. Pardon me a moment.”

“Alright,” You turned and watched her go as she waved over the heads to her friend. 

You brought the glass to your lips and the alcohol burned your nostrils. Your stomach turned and you lowered the flute. Elsie drank deeply as you glanced around. A man with thick silver hair and a sharp aquiline nose stared at you from across the room.

You fidgeted and slipped behind Elsie to set your glass down.

“You should take it easy,” You warned her as she gulped down the wine. 

🏰

The man with silver hair introduced himself as Harry. You weren’t fond of him as he talked of his new car and something about a cottage up north. You were confused. Sheila intimated that these people were like you; maybe not communists are heart, but left-leaning at least. They surely didn’t sound like it.

You glanced around for the umpteenth time and frowned. You didn’t see Sheila or Linda or Patty. Elsie was with a man in a striped suit, Darla and Colleen sipped from glasses as they listened to a pair of men banter, and you were stuck in the corner with this grey-haired boor.

You excused yourself, claiming to need the powder room, and walked along the wall as you searched the room. The seniors were gone. And something else caught your eye. The men drank from their stout tumblers and the women, more aptly girls, all held champagne flute. Yours was still on the table, untouched.

You neared Elsie and excused your interruption as you turned her away from her companion. You lowered your voice.

“Have you seen Sheila?” You asked.

She shook her head and wobbled. She giggled as she steadied herself with your arm. “Nope!”

“How much of that have you had?” You took her glass from her.

“This is only my…. Third,” She counted on her fingers.

“Well, I think three is enough,” You said. “Why don’t you come to the restroom with me? Splash some water on your face?”

“No, no,” She shrugged you off. “I’m talking to Gerald.” She turned back and smiled at the balding man. “He has a fellowship.”

“Elsie,” You drew her back. “Something’s… wrong.”

“What do you mean?” She hiccuped. “It’s all quite fine, isn’t it?”

“Just…” You peeked over your shoulder. “Wait here for me, okay? Don’t go anywhere else.”

She rolled her eyes and you sighed. You left her reluctantly and stopped a waiter as you neared the main archway. You asked him where the restroom was and ducked into the hallway. You passed by the foot of the staircase towards the next and paused. 

You peered around the wall and pulled back. You slipped off your heels and looked back at the room that swirled with voices. You tiptoed to the door and tried the handle. It was locked. You searched for a mechanism but there was only the intricately wrought handle. 

You went back to the stairs and listened to the buzz from the front room. You climbed a step at a time as your ears perked up at every creak and crack. You wondered what had happened to Sheila and the others. It was unlike them to leave early. And why was the door locked?

You found a window and carefully turned the latch. You shifted it up and cringed as the wood loudly rubbed together. You stuck your head out and stared down at the grass below. There was a tree not far from you, a few windows away.

“Can I help you?” The voice frightened you and you hit your head on the window as you reeled back. You turned to your host, Charles, as he leaned against the bannister.

“I was… looking for Sheila.” You lied.

“Oh, outside?” He wondered with a smirk.

“Well, no, I just needed a breath of fresh air so I thought…” Your voice trailed off as he stood straight.

“The party’s downstairs,” He said evenly. “I’m sure you just missed her.”

You stared at him. His eyes sparkled with mischief. Your heart dropped and your heels threatened to slip from your sweaty hand.

“She’s gone,” You said. His lips curved again and he chuckled. “What’s going on here?”

He inched forward as he pushed back his jacket and shoved a hand in his pocket.

“She did her job. Delivered what she promised.” He said coolly. “Can you blame her for cutting out?”

“What--” You backed up until you were against the window ledge. “I don’t understand.”

“You tried the front door, didn’t you?” 

You blinked and your shoes fell from your grasp.

“You think you can get to that tree? Even if you moved a few windows to the left?” He got closer. “Or maybe… you think you can get past me.”

Your lips parted as his features hardened. His brow twitched as he held your gaze. He didn’t look away as he knelt and grabbed your shoe. He took your foot and shoved the kitten heel on. He did the other and stood.

“Let’s go back to the party,” He growled. “It’s only just getting started.”

🏰

You stood against the wall as the room spun. Your chest was filled with doom as you looked around at the girls in their sheath dresses and chunky heels. Many shared the same glazed look as Elsie. They swayed just a little, giggled airily, and their eyelashes drooped. They were barely awake on their feet.

The man who answered the door stood beside you. He squinted at you every now and then. Charles had told him to keep an eye on you. You watched the host of the event disappear through another doorway. You thought of the invisible lock and the tree just a few windows down.

It was that crushing sense of defeat when you knew loss was imminent but unavoidable. So you watched it slowly creep forward until finally you had to submit. You shivered and shook your head at yourself. Sheila had done this. Ensnared all these girls in whatever sick game this was.

Time dragged. You watched the servers offer their tainted champagne and the girls all too ignorant to realize that something was amiss. Your eyes stung and you gripped your purse tight. Whatever was planned, it couldn’t be good.

The clinking of metal on glass silenced the room. Your eyes were drawn with every other to the other side. The men exchanged knowing looks. The girls were confused but not suspicious. They looked to Charles as he relinquished the glass and knife to a server. He grinned at his rapt audience.

“Shall we commence with our evening?” He asked; the men nodded and mumbled in agreement. The girls frowned and wavered on their feet. “Very well. Girls…”

He waved an arm to his left and the waiters, now free of their trays, dispersed to herd the girls to the other side of the room. You were led along with them and stood in the row of drunken co-eds. For a moment, you wished you had drank the wine. That you could be as oblivious as the rest.

The girl at the head of the line was ushered forward to stand beside Charles. Her red hair hung in ringlets and her cheeks were rosy with alcohol. He asked her her name and she slurred “Carrie.” He repeated it for all to hear and shouted a number. Ten thousand.

A man raised his hand and Charles called eleven thousand. Another gestured and the number went up again. Again. Again. Carrie was visibly confused as she tried to keep up. She couldn’t. She was sold for twenty-five thousand and ushered into the arms of her buyer.

Elsie was next. She could barely stand as she struggled to keep her eyes open. Eighteen thousand for the mousy-haired girl. Colleen went for about the same and Darla was in tears as she was bartered for an even twenty. 

You were near the end of the line. You marched up to the front and bit down as you stared at the bourgeois bastards. Harry was the first to bid for you. Your stomach flipped. Then another man you hadn’t even spoken to. You could see only his hand as he reached above the crowd. 

The bids bounced back and forth, Harry cursed as he wondered who was so determined to have you. You sold for forty thousand to the faceless man. You were shown out the side door by a waiter as the last girl was brought up to stand by Charles. 

You stood alone in a long dining room with a large table and more than a dozen chairs. You turned as the doors slid closed and faced the grey-haired man who had greeted you in his monotone at the door. You thought he was the help. You grimaced at him.

“You?” You sputtered.

“No,” He said blandly. “Not me.”

“Then…” You couldn’t finish as you were certain you knew the answer.

You swallowed and spun away from him. You gripped the back of a chair and placed your purse on the table. The furor from the other room reached a peak and then began to dwindle. The grey-haired man glanced at the doors.

“I must attend to the coats,” He announced. “Do not stray. He will be mad.”

You sighed as he slipped through the door. A hand kept them from closing and you watched the doorman rush away. Charles stepped through and shut the doors. He took a breath as he turned to you. He fixed his lapels as he stopped across the table from you. 

“What?” You hissed as he stared at you.

“No… thanks?” He asked.

“Thanks?” You narrowed your eyes. “For what?”

“Don’t tell me you wanted to fuck one of those old men?”

You blanched at his language and your lip curled in revulsion. He laughed.

“Don’t worry. I only need… a maid.” He smirked.

“A maid?” You wondered.

“Cooking. Cleaning.” He tapped two fingers on the table as he spoke. “They ever write about that in your books?”

Your eyes were glossy as you gulped. You were furious, frightened, and frustrated.

“You girls think you know it all,” He scoffed. “There’s a lot they don’t put in books.”

“No, there are horror stories,” You assured him. “Of repulsive monsters and their nasty ways.”

He chuckled and rounded the table. He stopped just beside you as his hand closed over your purse. He slowly lifted the strap from your shoulders and batted your hand away before you could stop him.

“Trust me,” He said as he flipped it open and looked inside. “There is no monster like me.”

🏰

You were shown to a room with a barred window. It didn’t matter as it was in the basement and so narrow that you couldn’t hope to fit through it. The door was locked but even so, there was a man without. You could see his shadow under the door and hear him cough every now and again.

You didn’t sleep much. There was a blanket on the floor beside some dusty boxes. You sat against the wall and dozed in spurts. The night replayed in your head on a loop. Then all those moments you’d spent with Sheila. How she had lied so easily. Was she even a student? 

Didn’t matter now. The sun rose slowly through the small window and the door opened shortly after. You were given a black dress, stockings, and a pair of black shoes. Nothing else. You were taken to a shower hidden in the cellar; the water was cold and you washed quickly in the closet-like restroom.

You dressed and contemplated turning your underwear inside out. They were too worn to re-use. You left them with the rest of your clothes and emerged in your uniform. The man in black who had spent his night outside your door was mute. You weren’t sure entirely if by choice.

Your first task was to clean the main room, still dirtied from the party. The grey-haired man, Albert, told you so and recited your list of chores. The kitchen would be next and then you were to sweep the upstairs corridors and check every room in case it needed dusting or new linens.

It took you hours to tidy up after the previous nights’ guests. When the glasses were cleaned, you stacked them in the cupboards and wiped the counters. Alone, you went to the back door. It was locked too. The windows on this floor only opened two inches. You cursed.

You climbed the stairs with a broom and pan and set to the endless tedium of sweeping every corner. That took another hour, if not more. You emptied the pan downstairs in the bin and returned with a duster. 

You knocked on each door before you entered. Most were pristine and required only a touch up. When you reached the end of the next hallway, your rap was answered as the door opened from the other side. 

Charles wore only an undershirt and pants as he looked you up and down. He waved you in wordlessly. You entered and set to dusting the mantle and all its ornaments. He moved around behind you and stopped in a doorway just left of the bed.

“I expect you to do more than dust in here,” He said. “Grab some fresh linen when you get the chance.”

He slipped through the door but left it open an inch. You huffed and continued on lazily. Call it spite or your fleeting mind. You tried the window. It opened but there was no way down. You closed it and turned away.

You went to find the sheets and when you had discovered the trove of pressed and folded cotton, you returned to the room. You could hear the soft ripple of water through the small doorway. You set the sheets down at the foot of the bed. You cleared the wrinkled clothing from the chair and dropped them in the hamper.

“Girl,” Charles’ deep timbre called sternly. “Girl.”

Your cheek twitched. He knew your name. You sneered and quickly wiped it away as you neared the door. You pushed it open hesitantly as you peered through.

“Towel,” He demanded.

He sat in the deep tub, his dark hair damp and his broad chest bare above the water. You tore your eyes away and grabbed the towel from its rack. As you faced him, he stood and the water dripped down his body shamelessly. You unfolded the towel and held it up so that you could not see all of him.

“Well,” He waved you closer and snatched it from you. 

He stepped out onto the bathmat and fanned the towel around his body. You looked away quickly and a soft chuckle escaped him as he secured the towel at his waist. He passed you, his wet arm touched your sleeve and he neared the mirror as he admired his freshly shaved face.

“Did you make the bed?” He asked.

You shook your head and turned to return to the bedroom.

“Wait,” He stopped you. “That’s ‘yes, sir’ or ‘no, sir’.”

“No, sir,” You said bitterly. 

“Then you better get to it,” He rebuffed.

You swept through and moved the new sheets to the chair before you stripped the mattress. He leaned in the doorway as he watched you. You could feel him as you moved around the bed and stretched the cotton over the corners. You spread out the top sheet and replaced the quilt over top. You changed the pillowcases and fluffed them. 

Done, you bundled up the old bedding in your arm. He went to the bed and dragged his fingers along the quilt. He grasped the blankets and tore them from the mattress. 

“Tuck in the edges,” He said. “Now, fix your mistake.”

“Yes,” You gritted. “Sir.”

You dropped the old sheets in the chair once more and set to redoing your work. He stood at the foot of the bed and when you slipped past him, you felt a brush across your ass. You ignored it, content to think it was natural friction, and carried on. You could feel the heat of his gaze upon you and as you faced him, it was confirmed.

“Very nice,” He commented. “You learn… quickly.”

“Quicker than the others?” You asked. “Huh? How many have you bought? What did you do to them?”

“Oh, you’re mistaken,” He said. “I’m not a buyer, I’m a seller… but well, I decided to indulge myself last night.”

Your mouth was dry. You turned and grabbed the linen again. As you backed up, you were stopped by a figure behind you. His arm stretched out around you and he held his towel out. Slowly, he released it and it flapped to the floor.

“You don’t learn that quick though,” He mused as his hand settled on your shoulder. “You think I would spend that much money on a maid.” His fingers crawled along your neck. He gripped your jaw as he pressed himself against you. You felt the prod of his arousal through your skirt. “But it was fun to watch you try.”

“Why me?” You breathed as he gripped your arms and pulled them away from the laundry. The bundle fell to the chair and drooped down onto the floor.

“Because you’re the first to figure it out,” He answered. 

“Please,” You begged weakly as he pulled your arms back and rolled his hips so that he poked you.

“Get on the chair.” He ordered.

Your breath caught in your throat. You stood staring at the yellow wallpaper with its golden lilies. You turned slightly and he caught you. 

“No, don’t turn around.” His voice sent a shiver through you.

Your lip trembled and you lifted a knee, then the other. His hands ran up your arms and around your back. He shoved you so you caught yourself against the back of the chair. You tensed as his hands fell to your hips and over your ass.

He squeezed and stepped between your ankles so that his legs were against the seat. He ran his hands down your thighs and kneaded through the skirt. He reached the hem and slowly raised it an inch at a time. When it was higher than your stockings, your hand flew back to stop him.

He grabbed your wrist and twisted until you cried out.

“If you scream, there’s no one here who will care,” He snarled. “And they certainly won’t help you.”

He pushed your hand away and tore your skirt up over your ass. He slapped you so hard you yelped. You could feel the heat of his palm across your ass even after it was gone. He bunched your skirts around your waist and hummed in approval.

“You look nice in black,” He said, “Better out of it.”

You kept your eyes forward. You couldn’t have looked at him if you wanted. This man, this stranger, was touching you like no one had before. And he meant to do more. Because he owned you.

His hand snaked around your hip and down your pelvis. He tickled the hair there and slid lower. You tried to press your thighs together but your ankles hit his legs. He tutted and leaned against you.

“I’m being nice,” He warned. “I don’t have to be.”

You grabbed his hand and shoved it away. He struck your ass again as he stood straight. He grasped the back of your neck and pushed your head down against the back of the chair. Your fingers clutched at the cushion beside your face as he held you there.

“I told you last night,” He pinched your thigh. “I can be the worst fiend you’ve ever known.”

He pushed his knees up on the chair between yours. His fingers crawled around your hip again and along your pelvis. He pushed two down along your folds. He rubbed your bud with his middle finger as he spread your lips. He flicked and teased until your hips bucked.

“Not so bad…” He purred. “Am I?”

“Stop,” You begged as his grip tightened on your neck. “Why are you doing this?”

“I can’t just let you go,” He said. “That’d be a poor investment. Even you could see that.”

He dipped his finger inside of you and you inhaled sharply. He drew it in and out and added another. Your thighs shook and your fingers bent against the cushion.

“You don’t realize how fucking lucky you got,” He pushed his palm to your clit as he rocked his hand. “Those other men; old men, they’d fuck you for two seconds before they blew. Leave you there, unsatisfied, discarded. The girls never last long.”

He curled his fingers and moved his hand faster.

“The men get bored. Naturally, they’re greedy,” His nose tickled your ear as his breath glossed over your cheek. “Or maybe the girl gets pregnant. No good. Send her away. Don’t care where, just don’t want to hear about her ever again.” 

He nuzzled your hair as your breaths grew laboured. You found it hard to resist the heat that radiated from his touch. You shook as you tried to force the ripples back down.

“So, you keep me happy, girl,” He sneered. “And you might just last.”

You squealed as you came. You were ashamed and astounded. You’d never felt so… much. Never felt anything so deeply. You quivered around his hand and he slowly drew away and wiped his wet fingers on your bunched up skirt.

He reached between your thighs and you felt his length rub against your ass. He teased you and dragged his fingers along your ass. He pressed his tip to your skin and guided it down. He squeezed your neck and you whimpered. He pushed against your entrance and paused.

“You’re not…” He began and thrust inside of you all at once. “Well, it doesn’t really matter.”

Your walls ached as he filled you. The pain was nothing compared to relief that washed over you. You hadn’t realized how much you longed for that feeling. His hand slid from your neck and he gripped your shoulder. His other went to your hip and he rocked his hips.

You grunted as he thrust. You wanted it to end but you also didn’t want him to stop. He was relentless and impatient. You expected little else from the steely man. You quaked as his pelvis slapped against your ass. The noise echoed off the corners of the room, interspersed with his low groans and you pathetic mewls.

He moved your body against his as he plunged deeper and deeper. He sped up, driven by your helpless moans as you clawed at the upholstered chair. You wanted to get away as much as you just wanted to grab onto something steady. You turned your head back and forth as your nerves flared. You shook and gasped as you came again.

“St-st-stop,” You pleaded. “Stop. It’s too--”

He slammed into you so hard you shrieked. He didn’t let up as he crushed you against the back of the chair. He snaked his hand up in front of you and groped your tit as his other arm wrapped around your neck. His thick muscle choked you as he pounded into you and the chair creaked dangerously. You trembled as the ripples washed over you and you skin tingled with the heat of the man behind you.

His thrusts turned sharp and furious. His arm tightened around your neck as he pulled his other hand back. He pushed into as far as he could, holding himself there for just a second each time. His heavy breaths were like hungry growls in your ear.

He pulled out of you suddenly and you felt his knuckles against your ass as they moved frantically. A warmth spurted along your lower back and his hand slowed. 

He sighed and unhooked his arm from around your neck. He climbed off the chair and smacked your ass again. It stung so much you were certain there was already a bruise.

“Clean yourself up.” He demanded as he sat on the bed heavily. “Then take that damn dress off.”

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 150: A Sluggish Memory

It was a square room, the fireplace lit and waiting for James to fall into, the desk sturdy and a dark wood Remus fell on upsetting a bottle of ink, and the view beyond the great double doors that weren't really there showed a dark stormy sea that they all sadly recognized as Azkaban in the distance.

The portraits still lined the wall of the past Ministers, but it was the only resemblance to the office they'd once been in before.

Lily rubbed her head from where it had landed against old Auror trophies, Alice had to untangle herself from some secrecy sensors and other dark detector devices that were currently inactive but on and waiting with high-quality care, and Regulus landed where the hat stand used to be. The portraits didn't even seem to recognize them, Faris "Spout-Hole" Spavin immediately began saying the exact same thing he had to him the last time they'd been in here. He sighed and ignored them more thoroughly than ever as he went over to Peter and the two quietly kept discussing their theories of what all Malfoy could be up to that everyone in Harry’s time kept dismissing.

"Well this is, kind of new," Frank muttered with a shiver of unease. They'd never once forgotten they were traveling through time, but the difference of seeing it live still gave him the creeps.

"As if we didn't get enough of this birk in the last bit," James said in disgust, once again circling around the desk to have a look through while Remus swept away the ink and fixed a picture of Scrimgeour holding a massive dead nogtail up, the magical picture didn't do justice to the grizzled man of age now constantly being described as he walked without a limp and made sure all angles of his prize were visible.

Remus sat at the desk and watched as James began tearing through reports once more, muttering foulties a plenty for how little use each of them were. He found one near the top with Umbridge's signature and ripped it to shreds before offering if Remus would like to eat them. He refused to admit how mildly tempting it was since said woman wasn’t around to be spat in the face and snickered instead.

Frank found the book amongst a display of case files for the wanted prisoners still loose out of Azkaban and sat down on the floor to read, though nobody was any more pleased to hear the news they were just going to be hearing of more memories, even if the title alluded to it being somewhat relevant to their recent turn of bad luck. What did Voldemort have to do with Slughorn?

Evans had perched herself on the edge of the desk, which James absolutely did not notice of course, and was practicing the bird summoning spell again in hopes to give this dreary office a bit of life. Somehow even Fudge's posturing felt better than this dismal view. The book was not offering much of a distraction as Harry made it back to school and caught Hermione up to speed, nor was any of his hands being of any more help right now. Remus was being pensive and clearly still digesting the recent news while fidgeting with his own scrap of paper so clearly not up for a talkative mood, so he finally gave in and just watched her with intrigue.

She had that look of concentration on her face he adored so much, even as she stated the spell firmly around the book a few feathers finally sprouted free and she beamed in delight before trying again. She was really trying to focus despite the fact Apparition lessons were being discussed, something they wouldn't get the privilege of for another year, boy was that still a little odd to realize Harry was now older than his two parents hearing about this.

He'd always been terrible about staying on one topic too long, he had to much energy and bounced around to so many things, and he indulged a fantasy for a few moments of her giving him lessons on how she managed it so well before mentally slapping himself and going off to where Sirius was lounging by the door like he'd tried to get out of here, eyeing the view with great dislike. His Padfoot definitely needed a distraction from that, and the two eagerly began a great and ludicrous game of how to keep both of these idiots out of office, most of their planning's mildly illegal and unworkable of course.

Remus was grateful James had swooped in to chat up Sirius, especially as the memory of Voldemort murdering his Uncle Morfin was read out and the man innocent of that particular crime in killing the Riddles was given in ghastly detail. He worried if he'd gone over there he'd have done something they'd both regret, like try to hold his hand for comfort like Padfoot had done for him, but there was no shielding that from the others in this place. So he just kept fidgeting with that stupid list Sirius had given him, flipping the paper back and forth as his stomach tightened in ever growing painful knots as he imagined them going back to school now.

It helped to have something else to focus on, and he could easily imagine how this came about. Perhaps when he came of age his father would tell him this truth and he'd eagerly jump in with the Order and be inducted as a werewolf spy right under the monster who started it all. He'd do better this time knowing even sooner he was sure, he'd kill Greyback before Dumbledore even had the chance to ask while Sirius stayed with James, their fantasization of killing Voldemort naively being played out as the next memory began, it apparently being Dumbledore's most important one yet.

The memory was strange to the extreme, none of them had a clue what a horcrux could be or even if Longbottom was pronouncing the word right it sounded so odd, but then, all of this had been far above them from the very beginning. He snorted in disgust at himself for his own growing inflation, he'd probably die trying he knew, and reached for the quill. Soon this would all fade into a horrible memory for them if they didn't get killed escaping this future.

HPHPHPHP

So, obviously, I've had to give up on not using repeat places a while ago, but I still stand by this being technically a new 'location.' Even if they've already visited, it's a new kind of environment than they were in before, and they keep getting sent back to the Burrow with a little more space open each time. Hope you're following the pattern and logic of it alright and this isn't too confusing.

[woman-loving]

A History of US Bear Subculture

Selection from “A Concise History of Self-Identifying Bears,” by Les Wright, published in The Bear Book: Readings in the History and Evolution of a Gay Male Subculture, edited by Les Wright, 1997.

Roots In his 1991 introduction to The Bear Cult: Photography by Chris Nelson,[1] Edward Lucie-Smith attributes iconographic sources of bears to the 1950s gladiator movies starring bodybuilder Steve Reeves. Gay “physique studios” of the time reflected the predominant fashion of closely shaven faces and bodies. “Old Reliable,” a Los Angeles-based photographer of homoerotic wrestling, specialized in “natural” men, soliciting hustlers, punks, ex-cons, and other truly “rough trade” types off the streets (from the 1950s-1990s) to pose for his camera. Old Reliable’s models were street-smart scrappers, perhaps shabby, perhaps defiant, unquestionably blue-collar, or lower, class. A fat cigar in one hand and the middle finger of the other hand thrust into the camera’s face is the signature pose for Old Reliable’s models. John Rechy’s novels, especially 1963 best-seller City of the Night, serve as a record of gay male engenderment of this particular type in the urban subcultures of the late 1950s and 1960s.

Another informant, living in the Miami, Florida area during the 1970s, reports that when he first started coming out into the bar scene in his mid-twenties he encountered a cluster of “bears” that congregated in the Tool Room, a back bar area of Warehouse VIII, a “disco place.”

“[i]n the meantime, some counter-culture tabloid I read occasionally ran a cryptic personal ad for a Bears party, which would gather at a men’s bar called The Ramrod on a particular evening and time, so I bit. Not knowing the bar’s whereabouts, then learning the address and trying to find the unmarked place in the downtown darkness, I was late but not too late. A dozen of so men with beards, most of them husky, were piling out of the bar door as I was walking in. Two of them grabbed me by each arm, and one said “Great! You’re the even number!” Now I was just in the first stages of coming out, even to myself, but I let myself get swept away (with an alarmed smile on my face). I thought I was headed for my first orgy (gay or straight), but it turned out to be a real party at a home on one of the causeway islands between Miami and Miami Beach. Real men having a hell of a good time without a woman in sight. Imagine!! We watched the second half of the Dolphins game, played some cards, then sat outside under the moonlight, slowly pairing off and disappearing back indoors or off into tropical hiding places behind the patio.

I was out. I started hanging out regularly at the Ramrod, where any bearded local was greeted as “Hey, Brother Bear!” I checked out The Rack, a leather saloon, but the bear camaraderie was not present. A few Rack regulars were good-looking, beefy, bearded guys, but their bikes and image were their focus, not the bears among them. The bears continued to patronize the Ramrod and the Tool Room, or a larger bar in Fort Lauderdale called Tacky’s, but could be found in lots of neighborhood bars, too, like The Hamlet and The Everglades. Not only did we refer to ourselves as bears, but the term caught on among non-bears too.

It was too early in beardom, I guess, to have a Bears club or organization of any kind. Nobody thought of it. There were spontaneous parties arranged by word-of-mouth, picnics, beach volleyball. We even loaded three vans full of bears and invaded Key West.

You might think of Florida as an unlikely place to find bears, but bearded men were very common there in the 60s and 70s. When the disco era streamrollered fashion for straight and queer alike, it became less common. Many bears kept our beards, many left only a moustache. The Ramrod faltered and closed, 13 Buttons and The Copa flourished, as did all the big discos of the day. I became more private whit three bear affairs over five years, then finally met a cowboy in New Orleans on Mardi Gras and left Florida forever. We moved to Colorado in 1981 and had five great years together. I've been in Denver since 1986 and was later a founding member of one of the oldest bear clubs in the country, Front Range Bears.

But that’s another story.”[2]

Larry Reams has unearthed the first documented apparent uses of “bear” in the current sense. He has found among records of the Los Angeles-based Satyrs’ MC club the formation of a “bear” club mentioned in two entries from 1966.[3] Another source cites anecdotally a group of lovers of a “Papa Bear” in Dallas, Texas, as the start of the “bear community” “well before 1975.”[4] Several undocumented sources have related similar anecdotes of private circle or bar circles of self-identifying bears.

The first published description of gay “bears” appeared in a whimsical article called “Who’s Who in the Zoo: A Glossary of Gay Animals,” penned by George Mazzei in the Advocate, July 26, 1979. Larry Reams reports that he and his friend, the author,

“were standing in Griffs’, a Los Angeles leather bar, one evening discussing the types of men we were and those to whom we were attracted. We decided we were Bears and continued on to formulate what we thought constitutes a Bear. Once we had described Bears it was an easy step to look around the bar and create the rest of the article.”[5]

Because the type so strongly suggests aspects of both bear attitude and bear image, it is worth quoting in its entirety:

“Bears are usually hunky, chunky types reminiscent of railroad engineers and former football greats. They have larger chests and bellies than average, and notably muscular legs. Some Italian-American Bears, however, are leaner and smaller; it’s attitude that makes a Bear.

General Characteristics: Hair. Their tangled bears often present no discernible place to insert a comb. Laughter. Bears laugh a lot and are generally good natured. They make wonderful companions since they are prone to reach for the check, buy the next round and keep abreast of when the Trocadero is dancing this season. Their good humor can turn threatening if you attempt to cruise their trick and you will hear about if for weeks afterward. [...]”

Jack Fritscher was creating and documenting a similar impulse in San Francisco contemporaneous to this Los Angeles subculture. Those pre-AIDS years in the Castro and South-of-Market subculture are documented in the roman à clef Some Dance to Remember. Recorded in the novel is an account of Fritscher’s short-lived underground magazine called Man2Man, a direct precursor to the first incarnation of BEAR magazine. The “homomasculinity” of Fritscher’s philosophical quest was summed up in the magazine’s subtitle: “What you’re looking for is looking for you!”

First-Wave Bears of the Zeitgeist, 1986-1989

The energy that called itself “bear” appeared as one of the signs of reemerging gay communal life following the arrival of AIDS in the 1980s. After several years in a state of shock, emotional devastation, eating more, perhaps exercising less, continuing to age, and ready for a somewhat slower and more compassionate pace of gay sex and gay social life, “hibernating” clones, leathermen, and many other self-identifying types came back to gay public spheres as “bears.” AIDS led many of us to put on extra padding and to eroticize (or publicly admit to our erotic desire for) male bulk. Feminists, such as Andrea Dworkin and Mary Daly, had articulated the mechanisms of patriarchal/capitalist subjugation through the “beauty myth.” The tyranny of the “Castro (or Christopher) Street clone” had been breached.

Since the late 1970s, in counterpoint to the “endless party” spirit of gay life, increasing numbers of gay men were burning out on the alcohol and recreational drugs. Alcoholism has been, and remains, a serious problem in the gay community. The drug experimentation of the “love generation” had turned into a nightmare before AIDS arrived. Now, for the first time, many were experiencing another sense of self, a “sober self,” a discovery of self-respect, which allowed them to bring to a halt these self-destructive behaviors. Across the country sobriety became not only fashionable, but even “politically correct.” Discussion of the uses and misuses of the principles of Alcoholics Anonymous belongs elsewhere. Relevant to bears is the rise of self-esteem among gays--whether through sexual “liberation” or adoption of cultural norms of the moment.

The self-empowerment movements of the 1970s, the nurturance and “safe space” strategies of 1970s feminism, the ever greener alternative impulses of rural gays, Radical Faeries, and nongay-identifing men-loving men (as disseminated, for example, through RFD magazine), and the fundamental strategy of Stonewall politics--coming out--prepared the way. For gay men, who had come out as gay, as sober, as HIV positive, as leathermen, it would seem “natural” to come out--yet again--as a bear. On the one hand, Stonewall-era identity politics shaped the Zeitgeist. On the other hand, for many men-loving men who did not identify with any of the images of gay men in the gay press or with (usually) urban gay men they had encountered on trips to a city, their first encounter with the idea or an embodiment of a “bear” would strike pay dirt. Many have reported immediate identification, sometimes after years or decade of not “fitting in.” Twelve-stepping and two-stepping were new venues for socializing, for being in community without an explicit exhortation to sex. It gave us another chance, a utopian moment, in which to reinvent ourselves and our community.

“Bears” have been emerging as successor to the “clone” and as transmutated variant of “leatherman,” as an integration into gay mainstream social life of “girth-and-mirthers.” In many ways, it was a humanizing response to what clones had been. Martin P. Levine, in his study “The Life and Death of Gay Clones,” focuses on the urban enclave of West Village clones (Manhattan), noting that “AIDS, gay liberation, male gender roles, and the ethics of self-fulfillment, constraint, and commitment”[7] were the sociocultural shapers, creating and destroying this gay male subculture. Bears, during the 1980s, represented a break with the competitive and objectifying tendencies which had alienated so many Stonewall-era gay men. Bears continued the tradition of masculine identification, the social identity politics of gay liberation, and basic Enlightenment values of equality, self-determination, and self-fulfillment. Bears sought to ameliorate between socially isolating cliques and creating safe social spaces, comingling social and sexual spheres, merging rough, unkempt masculine iconography with the emotional nurturing lacking in the clone subculture and the caretaking many gay men felt called to as a direct result of the AIDS epidemic.

The point of titration came in 1987. The “Bear Hugs” parties, the advent of BEAR magazine, and developments in electronic communications were the catalysts that sparked the concept of the self-aware, self-identifying bear across communities. First, computer bulletin boards and then listservres and moderated mailing lists made communications instantaneous and were collectively dubbed “cybearspace.” All three significant events took place or are tracable back to San Fransisco, independent each other but with an unexpectedly synergistic effect all together. All three represented, each in its own way, a “safe space” for bears.

Play Parties A group of friends began organizing private “play parties” in Berkeley and San Francisco in 1987, as safe and warm gatherings--social and sexual for their friends and friends of friends. Private, invitation-only “jack-off circles” became popular during the AIDS sexual freeze, but these were an alternative social and sexual space for gay men who felt “left out”--out because they did not fit, or felt like they did not fit, the gay media images of “beauty”--young, tanned, smooth-skinned, blond LA surfer boy “twinks.” Their “difference” was both physical and perceptual, and was expressed through a social and sexual inclusiveness--men in their thirties, forties, and fifties, ranging from slender to stocky to chubby (though generally on the heavier side), usually with beards and perhaps body hair, and from a range of social classes. The common mold was a warm, nurturing, affectionate attitude toward each other. The intimacy of the early days changed, however, when the gatherings grew to over 100. By 1989, a larger space and a more formalized “guest list” became necessary.

This San Francisco group was the spawning ground for several later developments. Among them were Bear Fax Enterprises, a business privately owned by Ben Bruner and Bill Martin. The International Bear Expo, which ran for three years in San Francisco (1992, 1993, and 1994), the effort of dozens of local bears, was overseen by a steering committee, many of whom later founded the Bears of San Francisco and the International Bear Rendezvous. The “International Mr. Bear” competition and title were introduced at Expo ‘92; John Caldera, the first title holder, eventually acquired ownership of the tile, and the contest has been held annually ever since.

“Bear soup” became a widely adopted idea. In many places it refers specially to hot tub parties, though often with the implication of an orgy or private sexual pairings later in the evening. Sometimes “bear soup” seems to refer merely to a crowded space full of bears. The Bear Hugs group in Great Britain is a strictly social organization.

Similar groups, such as the OzBears of Sydney, Australia, and the Bear Cave parties in Manhattan, had started up for purposes of private socializing, and formed the basis of new groups that developed into bear clubs dedicated to social activities or even community work. As organized bear clubs have arisen and sex clubs started advertising a weekly “bear night,” these play parties have all but disappeared.

BEAR Magazine At about the same time, Bart Thomas began putting together a small, photocopied underground magazine he called BEAR . The magazine was, at first, local to San Francisco. It consisted of jack-off photos and personal ads. The reader could send in appropriate photos of himself or stop by the BEAR office and pose for the magazine. In some ways, BEAR may be seen as the direct successor of Jack Fritscher’s Man2Man underground magazine of nearly a decade before. Before he could actually launch the magazine, Thomas succumbed to complications form AIDS, but not before passing the torch to his friend Richard Bulger.

Bulger’s vision of a lifestyle magazine, articulating this masculinity, with a leftist sexual political slant, and embedded anthropological underpinnings, not to wax abstractly, but to act, to embody the principles through practice and a level of discourse clear to any blue-collar man. In a few years’ time the magazine expanded in size and status, and from word-of-mouth circulation to international commercial distribution, with a full line of videotapes, photo sets, and accessories.

In this 1993 study of BEAR magazine, Joe Policarpio describes the dual aspects of image and attitude stressed by publisher Richard Bulger through his choice of models and editorial content. The general profile of a “bear” includes at least some facial hair and some body hair (”usually the more the better”), a “musky animality,” a blend of traditionally masculine aggressiveness and (feminine) desire to cuddle, muscles by Nautilus or physical labor, and a tendency to be older than the models found in most other gay male porn magazines. “The most important point is these men are presented as fitting an ideological pattern the magazine espouses. This is one of freewheeling, playful and positive attitude toward sexuality between men. He is comfortable in his body and exudes a sense of self-assurance.”[8]

Because of personal ties, BEAR magazine was from the start intimately connected with the South-of-Market bar scene. The original Lone Star Saloon was the first “bear bar,” and followed the tradition of the Ambush and the Balcony, both of which had gone out of business early in the AIDS epidemic. These “sleaze bars” all developed an international reputation. They all offered a free-spirited, anarchic, anything-goes ambience, drawing in blue-collar types who disdained the middle-class pretensions of mainstream gay culture, those who sensibility combined social rough edges with the loyalty ethic of the American lower classes, and misfits, eccentrics, and other “rugged individual” types historically drawn to frontier towns and their saloons.

“Cybearspace” Direct electronic communications over the Internet developed and proliferated during the 1980s and 1990s. Word-of-mouth knowledge of bears spread very rapidly across the Internet. The preponderance of bears on-line or in computer fields is traceable back, in part, to this. One of the most often used private or personal uses of the Internet, regardless of sexual orientation, is for communications of a sexual nature. The lines of communication are numerous and diverse: live chat lines (IRC), BBS (electronic bulletin boards), unmoderated (echoed) an moderated mailing lists, websites, CU See ME (live video transmission), and e-mail. Altogether an individual can transmit or receive text, images (such as gif or jpeg), sound, and video images (nearly) instantaneously. The Internet allows for establishing and maintaining contact anonymously, for uncensored communication, for the exchange of visual images (yourself, your friends, your favorite sexual icon), and for echoed messages (broadcasting to all subscribers of a mailing list of a global mailing to everyone in your e-mail address book). Certain mediums (such as the IRC) can guarantee anonymity (no clues as to personal identity or physical appearance). The question of subverting prejudgment on the basis of appearance becomes moot, however, when we consider the proliferation of visual mediums, such as webpages, archived gif and jpegs, or CU SeeMe, which permit blatant self-advertising based on one’s appearance without revealing one’s name or location.

Early on, circa 1985-1988, there were several bear-dedicated bulletin boards, such as the PC Bear’s Lair (sysop Les Kooyman). The bearcave chat room on the IRC has been a very popular site in cybearspace for live conversation. While the option of remaining anonymous is always available (everyone uses a “handle,” or pseudonym), cyber-communities have evolved over time. This may range from sexual encounters to personal friendships to life partners.

By far the most popular cybearspace is the Bears Mailing List, or BML. Founded by Steve Dyer and Brian Gollum in 1988, it grew from a small, friendly, safe-feeling cybergathering of several dozen bears to a heavily subscribed, largely anonymous, and often fractious, moderated exchange of over 3,000 subscribers. Since 1995 Henry Mensch and Roger Klorese have been moderating the BML and introducing changes to accommodate the dramatic shift in tenor and purpose of the list. Subscribers are drawn from all fifty states and several dozen nations worldwide. English is the lingua franca although everything, including whether to have and who should determine a common language (and how), has been brought up for discussion. Bob Donahue’s somewhat tongue-in-cheek rough guide to “bear codes,” which was accessible from the BML archives, is the source of subspecies terminology within the bear community, such a cub, otter, behr, and the like. Numerous individuals have taken the code in all seriousness and this has become a source of contention, quoted by both sides in disputes over what is a “real” bear. [...]

Although not the only cybear group to do so, the BML has staged several informal, in-person gatherings of its subscribers  During Stonewall 25 in New York City, for example, some sixty to seventy BMLers gathered at Bethesda Fountain in Central Park on the day before the parade. Consensus determined the group should form a spontaneous contingent and march in the parade. And thus on Sunday, Stonewall 25 included a sizable contingent of mostly bearded, bearish-appearing gay men from all across the country and from abroad.

Second Wave: formalizing, 1989-1994

Bear Clubs As the concept of bear circulated between gay communities across the country and “news of recent developments in the gay capital” was drawing more comers to San Francisco, localized efforts to promote and organize bears appeared everywhere. The Bear Paws of Iowa, co-founded by Dave Annis and Larry Toothman in 1989, was the first bear club. By 1992, Bear Expo organizers were aware of four such clubs. Two years later, there were forty. According to the International Directory of Bear Organizations, maintained by The Tidewater Bears (Virginia), as of January 1996, there were 137 bear clubs or explicitly bear-friendly (girth-and-mirth and leather) clubs worldwide.

Bear clubs have generally followed along the lines of their older cousins, the lather motorcycle clubs. In some places this means an informal club that schedules periodic social events. In other places, this has translated into a great deal of fundraising and gay community civic activities. As the club model has gained wider acceptance, it has drawn long-standing problems endemic throughout the gay community into its sphere.

A formal club membership structures creates automatically an insider/outsider division, even if membership is “open to all” (usually defined as “bears and their admires”). Having a club also invites quibbling over definitions of who is a “real” bear. (This is borne out by regional differences, whether emphasis has been placed on body hair, on body weight, or on “attitude,” though a beard or moustache seems to be universally required). Clubs and organizers of events, such as the OctoBearFest (Denver), Orlando Bear Bust, Bear Pride (Chicago), European Big Men’s Conference, or the International Bear Rendezvous (San Francisco) have created bear contests, which engenders the very hierarchical system the earlier bear impulse had been resisting.

Finally, the disjunctive ideals of bears as working-class masculinity and bears as an increasingly distinct subculture within mainstream gay culture bring into sharp relief the larger issues of gay community. If bears began in a spirit of inclusiveness and egalitarian-mindedness, sex positive and relatively “anti-looks-ist,” then what is to be made of the increasingly conformist, consumerist, competitiveness that has take over? As the idea of bears has spread, the opportunities to travel far and wide, to purchase ever more and ever more costly bearphernalia, to update an expand one’s computer sources are generating another, unanticipated dividing line-between bear haves and bear have-nots. to what extent does having money now calculate into the formulas of who is a “real” bear?

Expanded Print Media As BEAR magazine rapidly grew in format, production values, and circulation, reception among gay mainstream media remained very lower. The first published serious essay on bears was a piece I wrote in 1989. It appeared in its entirety in Seattle Gay News, an abbreviated version in the San Francisco Sentinel, and Drummer magazine carried the “Sociology of the Urban Bear” as the first bear cover story in 1990. (It was reprinted in Classic Bear, February 1996.)

What became known as bear types had been featured, in one way or another, in RFD (rural), in Chiron Rising (”mature”), in leather/SM-oriented, and girth-and-mirth publications. Numerous niche-crossover magazines sprang up in the early 1990s--Bulk Male, The Big Ad, Husky, Daddy, Daddybear, GRUF. Bearish models began staring back at the reader from the pages of Advocate Men, Honcho, In Touch, and other gay mainstream glossies. BEAR magazine’s direct competitor American Bear, published by Tim Martin (Louisville, KY) took advantage of a lacuna left by BEAR magazine’s retreat from Bulger’s philosophical lifestyle magazine publishing. With the establishment of the bear icon in the gay community and the world of mainstream-gay print advertising, gay bears had become a local presence everywhere (not just in San Fransisco). And with interests, at least sometimes, beyond immediate sexual gratification, this translated into new niche markets. While American Bear Features a regular column on dissonant (HIV-positive/negative) couples (Bulger adamantly refused to mention AIDS in his magazine), a how-to column on accessing the Internet, and other features, none of the bear magazines have attained Playboy-calibre intellectual content.

In the early 1990s “bear war” broke out when Bulger, then owner-publisher of BEAR, sought to gain sole ownership of the word “bear” as his company’s trademark. Needless to say, this led to a lot of bad feelings and was widely followed and criticized in cybearspace. The Advocate even mentioned it in print. At the time, the Bear Hug group’s informal newsletter the Bear Fax had been expanded into a full-fledged magazine by Bill Martin. The lingering legacy of this “war” was a schism, based on a difference in basic body types typically portrayed in each magazine, between “fat bears” and “skinny bears.” Since this time, personals ads have proven far more profitable, and the bulk of the magazine currently consisted of personals ads, photo spreads, and commercial advertising.[9] The magazine was sold to Bear-Dog Hoffman in 1994 and is currently under Joseph Bean’s editorship. It is not clear which direction the magazine will go. It is clear that BEAR is the voice of authority in matters of bear community and sensibility.

Print media as gone a long way in generating a prototypical bear icon--full-bearded, fairly to very hairy, beefy to chunky GWM baby-boomer, probably of Irish, Jewish, Italian, Scandinavian, or Armenian heritage. In reality, the question of race, presence or absence of body hair, body build, social class, or outlook on life is anything but so neatly compartmentalized. BEAR magazine introduced the serious photographic work of Chris Nelson (as Brahman Studio) and Steve Sutton (who succumbed to complications from AIDS in 1994). Lynn Ludwig has established himself as the documenter of the San Francisco bear community. And, perhaps, the most gifted photographer of bears is Los Angeles-based John Rand, whose work is included in this book.

Bear Contests The bear calendar includes many regional gatherings, as mentioned above, as well as annual bear contests as the local club level. The highlight of such events is often the bear content. As Lurch, a popular bear icon, stand-up comic, TV actor, and psychiatric nurse, has put it, “I prefer to say ‘titleholder.’ ‘Winner’ implies ‘losers,’ and none of us are losers.”[10] Successful bear contest titleholders may be expected to organize or work a number of fund-raisers, go on public speaking engagements and represent their hometown or club on the road. In other places, the local bear club may be one of the few, or even the only social outlet, and merely being a known presence in the local community is the extent of the titleholder’s “duties.”

The emergence of bear contents has tended to straddle the fence between two sides--parodying traditional gay ideals of beauty while striving to establish a new, legitimate bear ideal. The International Mr. Bear contest, a component part of the San Francisco-based International Bear Expo, evolved in its first three year from poking somewhat self-conscious fun at traditional gay values to striving in an increasingly serious manner to project an image of a self-confident bear ideal, a new icon assuming its place among the archetypes of male beauty. From the beginning there has been an emphasis on personal warmth, a compassionate nature, civic-mindedness in the gay community, and spiritual playfulness. Titleholders John Caldera (IMB ‘92) and Steve Heyl (IMB ‘93) worked hard during their “reign,” and have remained genuinely and deeply committed to the bear community. Yet, in the progression of titleholders and the proliferation of bear contests in recent years, here has been an increasing tendency toward consolidating a bear image, and away from qualities intangible or at least invisible to the camera.

[corisanna]

Over 100 Years of Generational Pandemic Trauma with a Side of WW1/Depression/WW2 Trauma and Frugality: 1917-2020

This will be more personal than I usually get on Tumblr, but for some reason, I wanna share it. I wanted to put it in words with a bit of research as a way to process it and maybe get some other stories from other people.

...

So the other day, Mom and I were talking about illness and reactions to the threat of widespread, dangerous illness while watching pandemic coverage on TV. (Yes, we talk about weird social stuff a lot. A lot.) Mom casually said she and her sister were distressed every time they got even a little bit sick and tried to hide it from my grandfather because he seemed to react to illness with anger. Huh, we said, How odd.

“Maybe he was angry at the illness, not at you?” I guessed.

“Hmmmmmmm,” Mom said doubtfully.

So we were taking a break from talking and someone on TV brought up the 1917-1918 flu pandemic.

“Oh, hey, didn’t Great-Grandpa live through that?” I idly asked.

Mom blinked and went utterly still. After a minute of staring blankly, she said, “Oh. Oh.”

“What?”

“He wasn’t angry. He was afraid,” Mom said.

“Who? Oh, Grampa?”

Mom nodded, face in an expression of epiphany.

I started thinking. It turned into diving into family history and history in general.

Okay, so. Let’s back up for some context.

...

2000s back to 1950s back to 1940s back to 1930s back to 1914: Habits from World Wars and the Great Depression

First of all: I know for a fact that my mother, born in the 1950s, was raised on Depression/WW2 Era food frugality. My grandparents lived through both and were old enough to remember them; Grandpa was around twelve on Black Tuesday and Gramma was around two years older. Grandpa and his brother were in the military during WW2.

The things Mom was raised on:

Very simple recipes, all based on salty canned/jarred food that had been cooked to Hell and back. SO MUCH SALT. SO MANY PEAS. Grampa was especially focused on canned food; he likely ate mostly canned food when deployed and on kitchen duty. Treating sugar and salt like gold. Stretching meals that had meat with potatoes and gravy. A backyard pseudo-Victory Garden Gramma and Great-Grandma canned veg from and orange trees that Grampa obsessed over keeping healthy and productive; the garden was dominated by tomatoes to be stewed even into the 1980s and the obsessive care for the orange trees had them massive and healthy when I was a kid in the early 1990s. Butter was for holidays; the rest of the year was margarine (”oleo”). Leftover grease was strained and saved. SO MUCH JELL-O and relish IN SO MANY RECIPES, possibly because it hadn’t been rationed. (You know all those weird old 1960s-1970s recipes with gelatin and odd stuff? Look at when the recipe-makers were kids.) Did you burn your food nearly to charcoal? Eat it. Food was absolutely not to be wasted.

Shoes were to be worn until mending or tape couldn’t hold them together anymore. Weird little broken things were saved in a junk drawer as possibly useful for scrap-- broken rubber bands, screws from something that had broken, old keys, bent nails-- and metal cooking pans were to be used until they started ruining food. Boxes, scrap paper, newspapers, and magazines were to be bundled up and saved.

(source)

And so on.

For other rationing information, see the “Make It Do” tag on Sarah Sundin’s blog.

But my grandparents’ frugality goes back another generation. There was no formal rationing in WW1 in the US, but there were massive propaganda campaigns to reduce consumption of certain things. People were encouraged to have “meatless” and “wheatless” days. Weird recipes for “Camouflage Cookery” appeared.

(source)

WW1 “War Gardens” were the predecessors of Victory Gardens. Canning the produce from the gardens was patriotic. And so on.

My grandparents improved bit by bit as Mom grew and Grampa made more money at better jobs and the economy recovered. One of the first things they caved on was having coffee all day every day as some kind of personal victory, but still never with cream or sugar. Mom and I keep suddenly realizing some of their habits were tied to rationing.

Generational drift has kept a lot of those odd little habits. Mom hates vegetables that aren’t salty and cooked to floppiness. Eat freezerburned food because it’s your own damned fault it got freezerburned. Wear shoes until they fall apart and unless they are flip-flops that become 100% unusable, keep the worn out pair until our next pair of shoes wear out “just in case” the new shoes get damaged. Shoelaces are saved when the shoes get trashed. Clothes get ripped beyond repair? Fight the urge to save the cloth for “something.” Recycle things to near-obsession. “Waste not want not,” but for very specific things.

I explain all this to establish that we have already identified patterns in hardship coping mechanisms within our family.

Now we have identified another.

1917-1918 Influenza Pandemic

My great grandparents-- the parents of my maternal grandfather-- were European immigrants who lived in Chicago during WW1 and the pandemic. My other grandparents likely did, too, but I have very little information about them. My GGF’s occupation would be considered non-essential in modern times, but I’m not sure about 1917-1918. I don’t know what he did during that time; though I know there is a Draft Registration Card for him, I have no proof or anecdotal evidence that he served in the military. So he was likely home with his wife and baby. During a time of fear of bringing illness home enhanced by propaganda,

real(?) news,

(source)

and gradually escalating sanitary measures imposed by the local government.

(source)

So. Terror.

Mom and I talked about him. Obsessive about handkerchief use and washing. Strict standards for cleaning. He didn’t live with Mom’s family, so she doesn’t remember much else relevant. And Great Grandmother? She focused on the food and frugality.

But their son, my grandfather? Also obsessive about handkerchief use and washing. So unreasonably obsessed with cleaning that Gramma threw up her hands and said, “Then you do it!” and Grampa, a man in the early 1950s, did it without complaint. Silverware and dishes were never to be shared or used twice and must be washed immediately after use.

He was born during a pandemic and raised by a father who had to keep his family safe during a pandemic. And a world war. And the Great Depression.

How could my great grandfather’s parenting not be affected by all that trauma?

How could my grandfather not be affected by that parenting from trauma?

How could my grandfather’s parenting not be affected by all that trauma, plus trauma from serving in WW2?

How could my mother not be affected by that parenting from trauma?

Mom said she and her sister were distressed every time they got even a little bit sick and tried to hide it from my grandfather because he seemed to react to illness with anger. Huh, we said, How odd.

“Maybe he was angry at the illness, not at you?” I guessed.

“Hmmmmmmm,” Mom said doubtfully.

“Oh, hey, didn’t Great-Grandpa live through that?” I idly asked.

Mom blinked and went utterly still. After a minute of staring blankly, she said, “Oh. Oh.”

“What?”

“He wasn’t angry. He was afraid,” Mom said.

“Who? Oh, Grampa?”

The chain was greatly loosened by my mother, who was a sheltered white girl who literally didn’t know who Martin Luther King Jr. was until everyone started talking about his assassination because my racist grandparents and their social circle controlled her access to media about the Civil Rights Movement so tightly. (The deprogramming of all their underlying racism is a completely different YIKES discussion for another day.) Grampa didn’t serve in Korea, she didn’t have any brothers to get roped into Vietnam, they were very middle class when she was old enough to notice such things, she never really wanted for anything. Just lived a very privileged white girl life.

A charmed life until her mid-30s.

And she still inherited a lot of frugal and cleanliness/sanitation compulsions from my grandparents, which she then passed down to me. Diluted twice over, but very much there. And very useful, now that we are low-income and disabled but still live in a run-down but big house capable of storing extra stuff. If one or both of us has a flare and can’t shop? We just turn to the freezer and pantry and the garage cabinet. Because always having a month’s worth of food is... just how it’s supposed to be, isn’t it?

Buy extra nonperishable food when it’s cheap whenever you can afford it. It’s better to have too much than to have not enough. Mind your hygiene. Wash, wash, wash anything that gets saliva or nasal discharge on it. Wash your hands before, during, and after food prep. Wash your hands in general. Grow your own vegetables and make sure they’re nutritious ones that’ll keep. Some things Are Not To Be Shared. Anything like double-dipping is a crime against humanity. Don’t lick the stirring spoon, or wash it immediately after if you do. Correct people who don’t cover coughs and sneezes and either make them wash their hands if they used them or do not let them touch you. If you get sick or poor or disaster/war breaks supply lines, you’ll be glad to have enough food to live on for a month. Buy extra nonperishable food when it’s cheap whenever you can afford it. It’s better to--

2020 Coronavirus Pandemic: Distilled Generational Habits and Coping Mechanisms

I still have the recipes Gramma carefully saved from the Eagle Brand canned, shelf-stable sweetened condensed milk that was given to her family by local welfare workers in the 1930s.

This is why when panic buying started in early March 2020-- before people started taking the possibility of long-term shutdowns seriously-- one of the first staples I went for was shelf-stable milk. I remember being surprised that there was so much of it on the shelf. Huh.

Fresh potatoes were gone, but the canned and dry/instant potatoes were untouched. Huh. Tons of Gramma’s recipes used “potato flakes.” Don’t they know that fresh potatoes have a much shorter shelf life? Huh.

Fresh tomatoes were picked over, but the canned diced/stewed/paste/sauce were still well-stocked. Huh.

Bread and bread products like tortillas were gone. The flour was untouched. Huh. I didn’t buy any because we already make sure we have a good amount of flour on hand. Same for salt, sugar, yeast, baking soda, and baking powder. Like, we have an in-other-times-(by-which-I-mean-January)-excessive amount of salt, sugar, and baking soda. Prepackaged bread crumbs were untouched; we still had a good amount of panko at home but I got two more boxes because they were BOGO and surely people would soon realize this was good to have for a bit of shelf-stable variety.

Buy extra nonperishable food when it’s cheap whenever you can afford it, Gramma may as well have whispered to me.

I should’ve bought dried split peas to make soup with the leftover ham hock we have in the freezer. They sold out the next week with all the pasta. Which I hadn’t even considered because Mom is diabetic and controls it through diet alone. Pasta is a no-no here.

I was so busy with sorting out *vague gestures* life in general during a pandemic that I delayed going through my seed stock; I didn’t realize some of my staple veggie seeds were so old because I started my garden so late last year that I just bought seedlings. I’m guessing seedlings are gonna sell out. So I was late to go hunting for seeds online, but now they’re in the mail. My usual tomatoes, eggplant, zucchini, cucumbers, and winter squashes, along with things I hadn’t seriously considered before: Green/soup peas. Black-eyed peas. Carrots. Onions. I usually try to grow fun things mixed in with staples but not this year.

Remember to use sunflowers as wind and sun breaks, Grampa may as well have whispered to me. In hot and sunny places, they can make or break a garden. I learned that the hard way when I moved out west. They bring the bees, too.

Okay. I can do this. Thanks.

Conclusion

That meme of the person going “wow I wonder what it would be like to live through a major historical event-- WAIT NOT LIKE THIS NOT LIKE THIS NOOO” has me thinking even more than it usually does. This pandemic has made me acutely aware of how “macro” history’s threads are woven into the “micro” history of my family. It has made me more curious; if we’re shut in for longer, then I may actually get to poke into Mom’s side of the family more. Gaining extra context for things fascinates me-- and could be a great distraction when I’m not able to garden. I’ve already learned a lot.

I really wish I could talk to my grandparents and great grandparents about this. I can already see that I am going to have some habits permanently ingrained in me as compulsions, the same as pandemic and economic disaster did for them.

And I really understand my grandfather’s difficulty controlling anger at an invisible, microscopic enemy and what it could do to your family.

The only difference? I have twenty years of therapy behind me as a tool. I hope that’s enough.

Because yeah, there is anger in my anxiety.

[everydaymj]

Call You Mine - Peter Parker x Reader - Part 2

“Alright, can anyone tell me why we still study these plays,” I asked, watching several hands shoot up. 

Glancing around I rounded the desk and leaned against it as I went on, “And don’t say it’s because Shakespeare is the world’s most prolific writer, give me a real reason.”

I watched as the majority of the hands went down, the first day of class was always a fun one and these kids weren’t disappointing as I spotted a few nervous hands come back up. Zeroing in on Rosa, who had picked a seat right up front I nodded at her. 

She took a breath nervously but met my gaze as she said, “Because they are still relevant to current issues, the themes are still ones that resonate in the modern world.”

Smiling I said, “That’s part of it, yes, the human race is eternally fascinated with itself and perhaps no other writer captured the essence of humanity as well as Shakespeare.”

Seeing a boy wearing an Omega Delta shirt in the third row roll his eyes I narrowed my eyes as I snatched up a piece of green chalk and started to write on the board.

Large sweeping letters started to come together into a list of emotions. 

Cracking the chalk harshly, I said, “Hatred, something I am positive you’ve all felt at one point.” Pointing to the frat boy that was looking more bored by the moment I asked, “You, what’s an example of hatred?”

Eyes going a bit wide he stuttered out, “Ah I guess when a girl ghosts me for another guy?” 

Grinning at the opportunity he had given me I said, “Ah but is that hatred or love? I think over the course of the semester you will all find they are one and the same.” 

Before I could give an example of this in one of the plays we would be starting next week, Rosa’s hand shot up again so I just nodded at her. 

“But can you really say love and hate are the same? I mean motivations might be similar on the basis of passion but true love doesn’t have space for hatred, there are countless examples of this in the plays. I just don’t believe they are in any way the same Professor Y/L/N,” she said, a great deal of conviction in her eyes. 

Whispers started to circle and I could tell right now that this was going to be a lively class with lots of opinions and that was my favorite kind of class. 

Raising a brow at her I said, “Agree to disagree, love is a game and even when you win you’ll find that you lose.”

Moving on to the next point, I called on a different student and steered the conversation back to different themes. 

This would be an interesting semester to be sure. 

                                                         ~~~

Peter couldn’t help the grin on his face, even if half of the students looked like they were bored out of their minds and wanted to just go home already, he would call this first lecture a success if just for the fact people had actually shown up. 

Should his standards be higher? Probably, but he didn’t really care. 

“So ah, now that we’ve wrapped up this introductory lecture does anyone have any general questions about the material or what we’re going to focus on,” he asked, looking around the large lecture hall to be sure he didn’t miss anyone. 

Listening intently his enhanced senses picked up the mutter of “How does any of this apply to real life,” from the back row.

Deciding not to let it get him down he smiled as he said, “That’s a great question, how does any of this apply to real life? Well, physics is so much more than numbers and whiteboards if you think creatively it can apply to the most base of human actions in day to day life.”

Seeing one of the students in the back duck down, he bit back a laugh and kept going, “You might not believe it at first but even things like relationships and the more abstract concepts of humanity can be broken down if the laws of physics are used.”

In the front row, one of the girls that had actually been taking notes raised her hand.  

“Ah yes, Rosa wasn’t it,” he asked, hoping that he remembered correctly. 

She nodded, giving him a smile. 

“So Professor Parker, you’re saying that even something like emotions can be broken down into the terms of physics,” she asked, watching him intently. 

Thrilled that someone was engaging he beamed at her, wondering in the back of his mind if possibly he had something on his shirt with the way several other students were staring at him. 

“Exactly! Take Newton’s Third Law, even if yo-” 

He was cut off by the tick of the clock signaling the end of class and the shuffle of students getting up to leave. 

“Ah right, have a good weekend, I’ll see you all next week,” Peter said, slightly disappointed class was already over. 

Turning to grab his papers—he would not be losing any more notes from his aunt—he felt a tap on his arm. 

“Ah Professor Parker, do you think you could explain what you were about to say,” asked Rosa, a curious look in her eyes when he turned to face her. 

Putting his bag down, Peter leaned against the desk and smiled as he said, “That was a great question you know, ah yeah, so it’s not a popular theory or anything but personally I like to think so much of humanity and its complexities can be explored through science. Not saying that it can explain everything but it’s a fun way to try and put things together.”

Furrowing her brows, she asked, “So even something as complex as love? Or hate? You think things like that could be taken apart with the laws of physics?”

Already thinking that he would love for her to take his theoretical physics class next semester he rubbed the back of his neck in thought. 

“Well, I’m not sure anything could explain something like love but hatred is an easy one. Before class ended I was going to say that Newton’s Third Law was a great explanation for something like hate, to every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. In my experience,” he paused, thinking of all the villains he’d fought over the years and the burning hate thrown at him. “I’ve found that it’s almost always an initial action followed by a reaction that causes something like that.  What’s got you thinking about something like that.”

She thought for a moment before saying, “So you wouldn’t say it’s the same for love. You don’t see them as the same thing.”

Confused at the notion of something so outlandish he couldn’t help a laugh. 

“Not at all, I’m not sure there’s any one action that could lead to or cause love. It can be similar I suppose but I wouldn’t call them the same thing at all,” he said. “I mean everyone can have their own opinions on it, but that’s just not how I see it. What got you curious about all this?”

She shook her head, glancing at the door. 

“Just something another professor said in a literature class, this just made me think of it again. It’s sort of funny you would think a literature expert would believe in that sort of thing, not a physics professor. No offense,” she hurried to add.  

Seeing the time he grabbed his bag and said, “Not at all, I’m glad you find the class interesting. If we have time next week maybe we can bring the topic back up for class discussion.”

Waving as she left, Peter smiled to himself, glad that at least one of his students seemed to be really interested in the topic. Starting back to his office, he wondered what kind of literature professor would start a semester off by saying love and hate were the same things. A very bold take if you asked him. 

Lost in thought, it was only his lightning-fast reflexes that kept him from running into the person that rounded the same corner he was turning. Catching them with one arm and bracing against the wall with the other, he found himself looking into the same Y/C/E’s that he hadn’t been able to forget since the last time he saw them. 

Determined not to act like an idiot this time he quickly let go and said, “Ah sorry, wasn’t looking where I was going. That’s on me.”

The hint of a smirk on her face she raised a brow. 

“You certainly were, on me I mean. I’m afraid I’ve really got to be going, I have an evening class in twenty minutes,” she said, brushing back a strand of hair as she started to walk away. 

Calling after her, he said, “You know my name, isn’t it only fair I know yours?”

Stopping, she glanced over her shoulder with a look in her eyes that Peter knew was nothing but trouble. 

“Life isn’t fair Parker, but I’m feeling generous today. Y/N, but you can call me Y/L/N,” she said, turning without another word. 

“Okay Y/L/N, that’s better than nothing,” he muttered to himself as he tried his best not to keep from thinking about how attractive that smirk was as she walked away. 

Watching her go, Peter knew for a fact the smart thing to do would be to stay as far away from her as possible. But he also knew for a fact he would be doing no such thing.

                                                           ~~~

Taglist: 

@annathesillyfriend @daughter-of-the-stars11 @imagine-what-would-happen @r-does-stuff @captainamericasdaughter @fxnfarra @unstablewritings @intoomanyfandomsblognstuff @starlight-starks @glenn-the-cinnamon-roll-rhee @tom-holland-is-spiderman @hello--zuko-here @peterfromqueensny @rubberducky-jrr  @opinions-you-didnt-ask-for @cunaeparker @intoomanyfandomsstuff @thegryffindorstudies @t-monosapiens-h @chaoticpete @myserenewords @appreciating-chase-brody​

If you want to be added or removed just let me know! 

[koganeirou]

me before playing blue lions: haha I’m not like ~other girls~ I don’t like Dimitri and I think he’s boring and basic.

me after playing blue lions: I will die for Dimitri.

I finally finished Azure Moon!! Can’t believe it took me 4 damn months to finish this route. Just like with Crimson Flower, I decided to do a very long write up of my thoughts of this route after letting my thoughts marinate for a bit. There will be spoilers for both Azure Moon and Crimson Flower. Also disclaimer: these are just my personal opinions.

Tldr: this route was so fucking good!!!! I jumped ship from being team Edie/BE to team Dimitri/BL faster than Sylvain jumps girlfriends because I enjoyed this route more than Crimson Flower in almost every way possible. The Blue Lions are my KIDS and I will die for each and every one of them. Blue Lions may not be my first route/house, but this is where my heart rightfully lies. 

I guess the first thing I should get out of the way are the negatives. While this isn’t really a complaint about AM specifically and more so the narrative over the entire game... the conflict between Edelgard and Dimitri seems really stupid and contrived. In other games, war happens because the villain is evil. In this game, war happens because the villain is fucking stupid. Basically, I still ain’t convinced that Edelgard’s war was ever necessary LMAO. She straight up nuked the church’s authority and relevancy out of orbit the chapter before the time skip, so she technically already accomplished her goal; why she still feels the need to go on a savage conquest alludes me. 

Speaking of nuking the church’s relevancy out of orbit, that’s exactly what happened to Rhea LOL. Despite all the church goons clamoring every .5 seconds about how they gotta save Rhea, we literally never see her again at all after the time skip, even at the end of the game. It makes no sense why Edelgard would keep Rhea imprisoned and not kill her, especially when Rhea seemingly served no greater purpose to Edelgard and became completely irrelevant in the war phase.

Edie says some mumbo jumbo of “I weighed the victims of this war against the victims of the world and I deem that there will be less victims of war” like bitch, how??? How do you tangibly quantify “victims of this world”. If she means “people who had a shitty life because of shitty society”, then those people are always going to exist because every society has its flaws. Even if you change society, you aren’t decreasing that number because you’re only solving problems by creating new ones (Edelgard’s specialty). Also the mental gymnastics you have to do to be tortured by an evil organization only to team up with said evil organization to take down another organization that, unless I missed something, isn’t even directly responsible for the death of all your siblings??? In both CF and AM, Edelgard comes off as incredibly thoughtless and illogical in her actions and I can’t help but feel that if she had been just a little bit more diplomatic, then maybe, just maybe, she could have found a better solution without starting a bloody war.

This brings me to the god forsaken chat between Edelgard and Dimitri. Dimitri demanding to know why Edelgard started the war only for her to go “it was the only way” has about the same narrative weight as “Riku why did you become one with the darkness?!” “Because I’m the worst”. Instead of bitching about whose ~ideals~ are better, how about y’all sit down and actually discuss what each person wants to accomplish and maybe figure out a way to accomplish these goals without murdering each other over it? Not that I think Edelgard would accept anything BUT murder, but jesus, this is why you don’t leave diplomatic matters to actual children.

Speaking of why you don’t leave diplomatic matters to children, god that Gronder battle. I get that it’s supposed to be an epic showdown between the three houses that mirrored the mock battle pre time skip but... the Kingdom had literally NO reason to fight the Alliance!!! The reasons they provided to justify why the Kingdom and Alliance couldn’t team up at Gronder was so fucking dumb, especially when two chapters down the line, Claude is knocking at our door begging for help. I will say tho, I never knew how much I appreciated himbo in distress Claude until now lmao.

Rodrigue's death was also really poorly done imo. As much as I liked having Dimitri’s father figure be the one to snap him out of his insanity, (I love found father/son relationships...) how on earth are you guys so fucking incompetent that you let this tiny little girl kill Rodrigue??? It doesn’t help that the exact same thing happened with Jeralt and Monica. This... just ain’t it, chief. 

I think the biggest bone I have to pick at AM specifically is... so what the fuck is the truth behind the Tragedy of Duscur LMAO??? They literally blue balled me by dropping the bomb of “Dimitri’s step mom may have conspired in it” ONLY TO NOT DO ANYTHING WITH IT. I assume that the full truth behind the Duscur tragedy will probably be revealed in VW (I hope) because it involves the slithers but it’s highkey ridiculous that the BL goons... never actually find out what really happened, and why. And I get that the story is about them moving on from their trauma and the past, but they should have at least figured out the actual truth behind it so they can get the closure they deserve???

Despite the gripes I have with some of the writing, unless VW or SS is mind blowingly amazing, this route will easily stand as the best route for me, because.... it is kind of is mind blowingly amazing. I wholeheartedly love character driven stories, and this route absolutely delivers in that respect-- the character writing is amazing and is essentially the heart of this story. To think Dimitri and the Blue Lions were the lord/house I was least interested in at first. Even after hearing people talk about what the BL goons and Dimitri’s character arc was roughly about, I was still blown away by just how damn fucking good it was, and this route exceeded my expectations in every way possible. 

When playing CF, I struggled to connect with a lot of the beagles; I didn’t have that problem at all with the BL goons and the route does a phenomenal job at making me actually give a shit about these characters and their problems. Childhood friend squad (+Marianne and Ashe) are easily my favourite characters in this game by a landslide, and the dynamic between not only the childhood friend squad, but all the BL goons, was just so, so amazing. Watching these characters that are seemingly joined by a single tragedy, rise above all their suffering as they grow, heal, and overcome hardship together is just so... MY KIDS... MY HEART..... I really got the sense of not only their shared pain, but also shared intimacy, care, and friendship. Their support conversations with each other had everything; from goofy and fun, to soothing and nurturing, to painful and harrowing. 

The connections that the BL goons have to the pre time skip missions gave part 1 story so much more meaning, and it only gets better after the time skip. I really appreciate that the BL bean boys actually feel relevant to the main story, and that their input and opinions actually mattered. The cast’s struggle to come to a consensus on the best course of action during the war phase made them feel like actual people with opinions, unlike in CF, where everyone was just a mindless passenger to Edie’s not so merry joyride. This also made Dimitri’s arc way more impactful because the narrative actually holds him accountable for the consequences that his behavior/poor decisions had on others. What I also really liked about the war phase is that you could just feel how war torn the kingdom was and how much everything went to shit after the time skip. I felt really strongly to the characters’ sense of hopelessness at fighting a losing battle as they struggled to keep their home land in tact while everything just kept spiraling out of control and deteriorating further. 

So to see the BL goon beans slowly, one battle at a time, turn the tide of the war and push back against the corner they were backed in, was SO fulfilling and rewarding. The battle of Fhirdiad is probably my favourite battle in the entire game because it felt like all the suffering and toiling that the BL goons went through was finally worth it, and just watching the kingdom slowly heal after being liberated was just such a good feeling. This kind of payoff is something I think CF sorely lacked, since tbh, I struggled to celebrate Edie’s victories with her. Though I do appreciate how Edie’s a much more threatening antagonistic force than either Dimitri or Rhea were in CF too bad Edelgard’s boss battle was pathetically easy and Dimitri shredded through her armor like swiss cheese... at least Rhea put up a slightly challenging fight.

I could gush about the characters all day, but Dimitri? He makes this game, 100%. This truly felt like his story and he was the star of this route. On a superficial level, I’m a basic bitch as well as a slut for angsty boys who have trouble talking about their trauma because I want them to rail me. I fucking loved his feral personality it was just so fun to watch and interact with LMAO 10/10 would let him use me until the flesh falls from my bones. His dialogue in this state is just so demeaning, belittling and raw that it somehow comes a full circle and becomes charming I promise I’m not a sick masochist.

I’m also a degenerate and dimileth is my otp. The way the relationship between Dimitri and Byleth develops over the game truly felt like a bond forged over time. The way Dimitri admits that he couldn’t trust Byleth at first because he was put off by the way they could “kill without batting an eye”, to being so elated when he sees them smile for the first time that he’s completely mesmerized when they starts expressing emotion... oof, talk about otp material. I think what really sold me is the way he’s their anchor after Jeralt’s death; their emotional support both in a traditional sense, but also in a darker sense when he declares he will kill anyone so they desire it because their enemies are his enemies. Character A declaring they’d die for character B? Soft shit. Character A declaring they’d kill for character B? A+ romance right there, boys. 

On a non superficial level, Dimitri’s character arc of his fall from grace and subsequent redemption was absolutely phenomenal. Just seeing how far he sinks, how far he goes, only to see how far he climbs his way back up after hitting rock bottom, was such a roller coaster and I loved every minute of it. I also probably like revenge stories more than I care to admit. Dimitri has everything; blood lust, cruelty, obsession, but also empathy and compassion so extreme that it’s his very own innate kindness that drives him into insanity, which is what makes him such a compelling character in my eyes. The extremity of his psychosis was absolutely heart breaking, but despite everything, him making the conscious decision to change for the better and rise up to fulfill his role as king was just astounding to watch. 

I will say though... maybe I have a screwed up moral compass but tbh Dimitri brutally killing imperial soldires didn’t really upset me because... this is war??? That he didn’t even start?? Everyone is killing everyone??? Even if he never went feral, he’d still be killing because his bloody kingdom is being invaded?????? But I digress.

While I think just how damn avoidable everything was kind of detracts from the tragedy of his relationship with Edelgard, I still really loved how steadfast and unconditional his love for her was (after he stops going feral), and you can tell just how much she meant to him every time he spoke of her. I also love how the dagger kind of becomes a symbolic motif throughout the story, and Edie throwing the dagger at him in the final cutscene as a sign of her wholehearted rejection of him was just fucking depressing, but also very fitting of her character. 

I adore the whole overarching narrative and themes surrounding grief and death, befitting of a war game. How, as tempting as it is to constantly keep the memory of the dead alive, there comes a point where you have to move on and not let your life be ruled by those no longer around. The way that the characters react to the death of loved ones and grieve so differently was a huge highlight of the BL squad’s characterizations, which just makes them feel more alive and human. Honestly, no words can really describe just how incredible of an experience Azure Moon was.

Anyway my order from favourite to least favourite BL goon bean boys are: Dimitri > Ashe >/= Sylvain >/= Felix > Ingrid > Mercedes > Annette > Dedue. (I love Ashe/Sylvain/Felix almost equally LOL)

tldr my experience with Azure Moon:

tfw my second best girl is childhood friends with all the best boys in the entIRE GAME and she settles for a guy with a dead wife, daughter, and most likely triple her age :|.

I’ll be finally playing Golden Deer next, which I’m gonna do on NG+ Maddening so.... hope that goes well!!

[thedistantstorm]

Project Compass 04

Read Along on AO3 Here

<< Previous Chapter <<   >> Next Chapter >>

This time: Ezra doesn’t feel like he’s made a very good impression on the Chiss. Thrawn doesn’t really make him feel better. Vah’nya and Ivant discuss Un’hee.

Next time: Un’hee confirms sinister forces at work, both past and present. Thrawn is delivered harrowing news. Ezra observes and contemplates his course of action. 

-/

Ezra found himself growing frustrated. Across the mat, a Chiss of approximately his strength and build was calm and confident. He beckoned Ezra for the fourth time, and Ezra went. The young Jedi didn't mind sparring, in fact he rather enjoyed testing his skills.

The first time, the Chiss proctor had asked him to use all of the tools at his disposal. It had been easy to win. Now, they tore him apart consecutively since he'd been asked not to use the Force.

Thrawn watched him with a cool, unreadable expression. It only ramped up his aggravation. The lieutenant he was sparring with dodged his blow, rolled, and got a leg into his unprotected side, making him stagger. Ezra tried to channel some of Kanan's calm. It wasn't working.

"The Force is a part of me," Ezra said aloud, breathing hard. "I'll never not use it."

Behind Ezra's back and off the sparring mats, the lead Navigator watched with a critical eye. "Your connection to the Force," Vah'nya's basic had a distinct accent, but was easily understood, "Can be temporarily weakened. Our enemies have developed medications to this end. They will not hesitate to use them on you, whose power is different than ours. More tangible."

Beside Vah'nya, Captain Ivant stood silently. If anything, his gaze was just as intense as Thrawn's. It made him think of Thrawn's reaction earlier, the sadness and loss that was so weirdly out of place for the stoic ex-Grand Admiral, and he paid for his distraction.

His sparring partner made an unimpressed comment. Thrawn hesitated to translate it, likely due to the language used, but Vah'nya stepped in. "Lieutenant Wes'lash'andi said that he is your enemy, so get out of your own karking head."

"The more accurate translation of the swear is 'kriff,'" Ivant commented to the Navigator, then barked at Ezra, "Get your head out of your ass, Bridger! Prove your worth."

Later, Ezra sat across from Thrawn in the almost entirely vacant mess hall. They had been kept late, and Ezra felt bad that he would not be able to keep his promise to Un'hee. She was gentle and sweet, and he felt a sort of kinship to her he couldn't entirely understand. But physical testing had been in the middle of knowledge testing. Ships, medicine, weaponry, history (he knew that one was his worst, there was nothing related to the republic or Empire to be seen on it so he had no basis for reference.

Thrawn watched him half-heartedly move some sort of vegetable around on his plate with a flat look of his own. "I don't think I met their expectations in any of it," Ezra murmured.

"I do not believe so, either." Thrawn wasn't the kind of man to shrug, but he did stop eating long enough to give him a more complete portion of his attention. Ezra gave him an irritated glare to thank him for the kindness of his words "They will correct your shortcomings. It will be grueling work."

"Yeah, I'm not afraid of hard work."

"I did not say that you were," The Chiss said. It was practically a compliment, considering the speaker. "We will begin your studies of the Chiss language tomorrow. Ideally, you will become fluent rapidly with immersion, so I will not monopolize your time for long."

Ezra pulled a face. For Thrawn, that little comment was self-deprecating, which bothered the human immensely. Awkwardly, he said, "I don't… mind you teaching me." He put down his utensils entirely, and reached for the mug of caf just to have something warm to hold in his hands. More centered, and a little more confident, he repeated his sentiments from the night before. "Like I told you, I think you're being wasted on me."

Thrawn evaluated him thoughtfully, but did not speak. Ezra caught the smallest hint of sadness in the Force, before it was tucked away. "I suspect this is a lesson for us both," Thrawn said finally.

"Yeah, well, I came here to help. You brought me here to help. If they aren't going to let us do that, we might as well go back."

"It is too early to make such assumptions, Bridger. Patience will be your ally with the Chiss. Consider that a fundamental lesson in dealing with my people."

Ezra changed direction with a searching glance that seemed to go beyond the physical. "You exercise that patience with everyone," He said carefully. Thrawn was not against the Force, but he was not Force sensitive, had never been. Still, he had a knack for knowing when Ezra was using it, or when it was speaking to him. Ezra knew there were other tells. The calm, his tone, even his breathing. It was like tapping into a well.

"I do," Thrawn agreed, voice pinched.

The Jedi sighed, blinking slowly before his eyes refocused on the Chiss in front of him. "What do you do if that isn't enough?"

Thrawn wasn't sure who he was asking for, but answered all the same. "A warrior is patient. Knowing your enemies as well as you know your allies will give you an advantage in defeating them. You can never have too much knowledge."

"Yeah, I agree with that bit about enemies. But what about allies? All I learned today is that the Chiss do not like me and don't think I'm strong enough."

"Time, commitment, and respect will help earn trust," Thrawn said. "You are eager to prove yourself."

"Aren't we both? That's how we fix this."

"My situation does not require fixing," Thrawn hissed. "You would do well to worry about yourself."

"That's not my style. You're the one who asked for my help," Ezra pushed. "And I agreed."

"On behalf of the Ascendancy," Thrawn interjected.

"Yes, and I'm a Jedi - or at least, I'd like to think I am," He retorted. Thrawn did not disagree. "Jedi help people in need. The Ascendancy might need me, but so do you."

"Is that so?" The Chiss asked. Ezra thought he might have seen something subtle shift in Thrawn’s facial expression, there and gone right in front of his eyes. Clearly, he wasn’t impressed.

"Yes." Ezra didn’t shy away from Thrawn’s penetrative gaze. They’d been forced to spend a lot of time together, and clearly there was more of the same in front of them. The only way this would work, Ezra had decided, was if they approached this openly between them.

“You can best help me by getting ahead in your studies, so that we may find ourselves in the most opportune position to assist the Ascendancy,” Thrawn said.

“And whatever’s going on with you?”

“There’s nothing ‘going on,’” Thrawn refuted.

“Right,” Ezra rolled his eyes. “If there’s nothing going on, with you, I’ll eat my boots.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” The Chiss commented dryly, rising from the table. He spared Ezra a glance. “Your concern would be better directed inward, I assure you.”

Ezra matched him, rising and reaching for the ex-Imperial’s tray before he could get his hands on it. “You’re not very convincing,” He argued, taking both trays to the receptacle that separated and sterilized the trays, utensils, and dishes before returning them to the kitchen. Waiting until he was back to Thrawn’s side, despite the empty mess hall around them, Ezra finally said, “But I’ll let it go if you want me to.” He looked up to the taller Chiss. “For now.”

Thrawn didn’t often smile, that wasn’t his way. But Ezra had spent enough time in close quarters to know when something amused him, or at the very least left a positive impression. Most of it was in inflection and tone, posture, the subtle glow of red eyes. Maybe some of that would come in handy with other Chiss he’d be working with. Thrawn interrupted him with a mild, “Come, Bridger. Let us see if you remember the way back to our quarters unaided.”

He rolled his eyes again, with faux irritation. Thrawn diffused any emotionally relevant conversation with something light, like a teacher quizzing a student. In the beginning, it had been infuriating. Now, Ezra almost welcomed making a fool of himself, leading Thrawn around in circles. He wasn’t used to such large ships, just like he hadn’t been used to the densely forested planet they were on before this. But the benefit of being on a ship and not that jungle planet was that Ezra couldn’t lead them to a den of angry sabretookas while insisting he absolutely knew his way back. Thrawn eyed him with a spectacular deadpan expression after what was probably the third incorrect turn. Ezra was sure he was thinking the exact same thing.

-/

On the bridge, Captain Ivant watched the blur of stars in hyperspace, his gaze trained on the front transparisteel, just over the bowed head of Navigator Un’hee at the helm. Behind him, the hydraulic doors withdrew as another Navigator entered behind him. They stood a step behind him and to the right, watching for a moment before taking the final step forward to address him.

“She is doing better,” Vah’nya murmured softly. “She is more focused in her studies as well. Not as… attached.”

“I agree,” Ivant nodded. “Some level of attachment is appropriate considering her age,” He said, “But it is not obsessive, like it was before. Having more of her sisters around has given her more responsibility.”

“It has,” Vah’nya said, proud of the young Navigator’s progress. Months ago, she’d been attached to either Ivant or Vah’nya at all times, to the point of needing one of them present to fall asleep. “Being occupied has helped a great deal.”

Shoulder to shoulder, they stood in silence for another few moments. The bridge around them carried on as usual, indicator lights blinking and beeping benignly, attended to by sensor monitors and dedicated officers who kept the ship running smoothly. The sound was calming to the Senior Navigator. She suspected it was to Captain Eli’van’to as well.

“There’s something else on your mind,” The Captain said, stepping to the side so that he could turn to address her fully.

“Well, Sir,” She considered, trailing off.

“Calling me ‘Sir?’” He gave her a half-grin, something so obviously human. None of the bridge staff seemed to think twice about it. “Now I know you want something,” He looked into her eyes, evaluating her. “What is it, Senior Navigator?”

“Navigator Un’hee. She wishes to assist the Jedi.”

“And you do not want her to?”

“I do not want her tied up in the politics that surround them. The Jedi's loyalty lies with Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

“I gathered as much, as well.” He took a moment to think about it, looking back at Un’hee. “Does that bother you?”

It took her a moment to speak. “Somewhat,” She admitted. “But I do not doubt Commander Mitth’raw’nuruodo as much as others.”

“On that, we agree.” And yet, Ivant continued, "However-"

An alarm sounded. Un’hee’s head snapped up from the helm. “Dropping out of hyperspace,” She informed them. Officers quickly filed back to their posts if they’d been elsewhere. Overall, the ship was neat and orderly, a well oiled machine both physically and in terms of Chiss efficiency and ingenuity.

“Readings are stable,” One of the sensor monitors informed him.

“Deviation from set course?” Ivant asked, when the drop was complete and Un’hee leaned back in her chair, looking out at the black expanse of space.

“Point zero one.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant Sun’ami’irn,” He addressed the sensor officer. “Excellent work, Navigator. You may be dismissed.”

Vah’nya offered the small Chiss girl the beginnings of a smile, which was returned with a toothy grin. Un’hee basked in the subtle praise, smoothing her braid over her shoulder. “Yes, Captain,” She said, mindful of bridge procedure. “Senior Navigator,” She acknowledged.

“Good work, Navigator Un’hee,” Vah’nya said. “I will meet you in your quarters in a moment.”

Both Captain and Senior Navigator watched her go. “She understands how important our work is,” Ivant said, in his quietest voice. “If the Grysks did not break her,” He noted Vah’nya’s sharp intake of breath and steadied her by placing a hand on her shoulder - also outside of Chiss standard protocol, but effective and grounding, he’d learned through his dealings with a very emotionally volatile Un’hee - “Nothing will. She knows her orders.”

“You think she’ll continue to seek them out, regardless,” Vah’nya accused. “That is why you would not hear my question before you started talking me out of it.”

Ivant smiled helplessly. It was a charming look, the way his eyes lit up, knowingly tender, his lips pulling back to reveal pearly white teeth in a way that looked far less severe than a Chiss. She suspected it had a lot to do with his Lysatran brown complexion. “I’m sure you wanted to tell him what was going on, too.”

“My-” She exhaled softly, her shoulders rising and falling ever so slightly with the movement. “Our feelings do not matter in this,” She said firmly. “I just worry. She has made so much progress. I do not wish for it to be unmade by the situation.”

“That is my worry for you and all of your sisters, Vah’nya.” He withdrew his hand and offered her a tighter smile. “We will look out for them together. Project Compass depends on it.”

[lechevaliermalfet]

In the Name of the Moon – A Look at Lunar Legend Tsukihime

There’s a popular joke in the Type-Moon fandom that there is no Tsukihime anime, but boy it sure would be great if there was one.

I had only ever been dimly aware of this attitude toward the Tsukihime anime myself.  Watching it fansubbed for the first time in the early 00s, I wasn’t really plugged into the fandom, and the joke seemed like a minor thing to me.  I had all but forgotten it by the time I was with my wife at Otakon in 2012, and we went to a panel about Type-Moon for fandom newcomers.  

The panel was pretty salty about the Tsukihime anime, taking the joke about there being no such thing so far as to refuse to acknowledge it or discuss it.  If I recall, they insisted on this refusal even when directly asked about it by someone in the audience.  I also don’t recall them being all that complimentary about the Fate/Stay Night anime (the original 2006 series) for that matter.  We had a long drive home after the convention – fourteen hours, give or take – and our discussion about the convention kept circling back to that panel.

She’d gone mostly to accompany me, I think, and because she didn’t have anything she wanted to do that conflicted with it.  She had some minor interest herself, as she’d seen this supposedly nonexistent Tsukihime anime, and like me, she enjoyed it.  So it was pretty irritating for her to go to this panel ostensibly for newcomers and then have them trash the one thing she’d experienced in the fandom.  It was all the more irritating when you stopped to consider that at that point that it was, in all probability, one of the handful of things real newcomers might have experience with.

In its way, though, the panelists’ hostile and disdainful attitude toward the most accessible works in the general Type-Moon oeuvre did make for a suitable introduction.  If not to Type-Moon and their work, then to the fandom, and the high levels of toxicity most of its assholes could and would display given the opportunity.

But I’m not here to talk about the Type-Moon fandom, except as it amuses me, or is relevant to the subject at hand.

The subject being this supposedly non-existent anime: Lunar Legend Tsukihime.

My own relation to the Western Type-Moon fan community is tangential at best.  A couple of guys I know (one a good friend, the other an acquaintance), back in the early to mid-aughts, were moderators for the Beast’s Lair forum, basically the center of the English-language fandom community at the time.  Of course, at the time, the fandom was almost brand-new.  Tsukihime was all the rage then, because Tsukihime was almost all there was. Fate/Stay Night was new enough that there hadn’t really been time for the discourse around it to even form, let alone evolve much.  And in those days, Beast’s Lair was basically the forum owner and a few of his online friends, and I feel like half the reason it existed was because at that point, it was more convenient to just have a forum than it was to get a bunch of guys together on an AIM group chat with that level of frequency.  This was before Mirror Moon created a translation patch for any of these games.  These were guys who bought the game direct from Japan, paid the outrageous import fees, referred constantly to a GameFAQs walkthrough, and died like men.  It was that, or learn Japanese.  Most of them opted for the walkthrough. Thank Whoever you believe in that the game runs windowed, I guess.

Fate, which has been the bread and butter of Type-Moon’s success for well over a decade now, was a commercial game.  But it was one built with on the base of the huge support Tsukihime had garnered following its launch.  Tsukihime itself was a doujin game, made when the guys at Type-Moon were a bunch of nobodies and had no real money to speak of.

Because they were nobodies, and because they needed the game to sell big if they were going to make the kind of money they needed to make, they did what a lot of Japanese doujin developers have done and continue to do, and will probably do until the end of time, and put porn in the game.

This is not unknown in Western development circles either, just for the record. But Japanese culture is in some ways more permissive when it comes to depictions of sex or sex-adjacent topics and material in their mainstream entertainment.  Porn can net you a decent career, or at least a halfway-decent living, and it’s generally easier over there for porn artists in any field of endeavor to “go legit” and make the jump to the non-porn version of their field.

That doesn’t happen in the West, or at any rate not in America.  Or very rarely. We have (for better or worse; there’s a whole separate debate there) a much sharper division between the porn and non-porn sides of the entertainment industry, and that barrier’s much less porous. But porn fans will support you.  If the success ceiling is far lower than in the legitimate side of the industry, it’s also true that the floor is likewise lower.

So here we have Tsukihime.  Not “porn with plot”, or even “plot with porn”, but “plot (…with porn)”.  It’s there because they were worried the game wouldn’t sell without it, and so there’s not much of it in the first place.  What I’m saying is that if you’re wanting to get your rocks off, you’re going to be a while.

Which is not to say that Tsukihime as a game is inherently like… progressive, or woke, or anything like that.  Oh no. Nonononono.  It’s horror (-ish, depending on your route), for starters – a genre that thrives on objectification and exploitation.  And then it’s Japanese, which gives it an extra few layers of seeming weird to American sensibilities.  So this is less like going down the rabbit hole and potentially more like falling into a snake pit.

I say all this to lend some context.  When we think of Type-Moon today, we tend to think of this highly successful production house with a star franchise that’s rapidly hitting the market saturation point.  If it hasn’t already (and I have a friend who maintains that it has). And that is absolutely not Tsukihime.  Not the game, and certainly not the anime.  No ufotable animating, no Yuki Kajiura composing, no Gen Urobuchi directing the critically acclaimed and popularly loved (and irritatingly overpriced) prequel.

This is Tsukihime.  This isn’t the property that launched Type-Moon to stardom.  That would, again, be Fate.  This is the property that let them make Fate the way they did.  Tsukihime is the visual novel world’s equivalent of some garage band you never heard of releasing their demo tape as their debut album, and the demo tape is actually pretty good, even as it suffers from having basically rock-bottom production values.  It’s one of those things where the whole is more than the sum of its parts.  You have to look at what it tries to be and tries to do, and like it for that. In that much at least, even as they differ in many other ways, that much is true of both the anime and the visual novel.

It’s worth it, though.

Phantasmal Fantasy

If we’re being honest (and why wouldn’t we be honest?), Tsukihime, at least going through the main route, is a little bit less straight horror and a little more what I think of as horror-fantasy.  It isn’t horror because it’s rarely if ever actually frightening.  But it uses horror aesthetics in a fantasy setting (urban fantasy, in this case), which may lend things a generally eerie and unsettling sense of ambiance and a particular feeling of threat to the main characters without ever quite getting your pulse up.  It’s a hybrid genre I happen to have a huge soft spot for (I’ve been reliably informed that this is sort of My Thing).  The entire Legacy of Kain series falls under that banner for me, as do most of the Castlevania games.  The Dark Souls games all have it to some extent, and Bloodborne leans into it hard enough that it actually is kind of legitimately scary at various points.  And then there are movies like Vampire Hunter D.

Lunar Legend Tsukihime, the anime based on the visual novel Tsukihime, was released in the early to mid 2000s.  On a technical level, it’s very middle-of-the-road, with a bit of a generic visual style and workmanlike animation.  But we’re talking about an anime based on a doujin hentai game.  More mainstream visual novels’ adaptations tend to get better treatment.  Tsukihime is well-regarded, but probably not really “popular” in the same sense as something like, say, Da Capo or Little Busters or Air, or...  Look, Type-Moon’s getting the star treatment was pretty much going to be impossible at that stage.  It took Tsukihime and the first Fate adaptation before we got to that point.  That the Tsukihime anime happened at all is honestly kind of remarkable, and a testament to how much of an impact the game made.

Tsukihime takes place in the modern day (well, modern for the date of its release, which for the game was 2000, and for the anime would be 2003 or so).  It’s a vampire story, of sorts, though the only creatures we’d recognize as traditional vampires are a minor threat at best.

Our main character, or at any rate, our viewpoint character, is Shiki Tohno.  He’s part of a large, wealthy, and presumably powerful family, though he lives with an aunt and uncle whose ways and means are much more middle-class than his father, the head of the family.  He was banished from the main estate eight years ago, shipped off to live with his aunt and uncle after an accident when he was about eight.

He doesn’t remember much about the accident.  He (and therefore we) are initially told it was a car accident, and that it damaged his heart. He has fainting spells occasionally if he over-exerts himself, and otherwise generally anemic symptoms.  Something to do with damage to his heart after the accident; it’s not really clear.  The weakness makes him an unfit heir to be head of the family, hence his being put aside.

The real change in him is far stranger, and far harder to understand.

While recovering in the hospital, he begins to see odd lines running through everything, making the world look fractured.  He discovers that if he cuts along those lines with a blade or other edged implement, the object will simply fall apart along those lines.  It takes little to no force to do this.  He could cut down a tree simply by dragging the edge of a knife along a particular line on its trunk, a line invisible to anyone but him.  His attempts to convince others that these lines exist fall on deaf ears, and only cause concern for his mental state.

One day during his recovery, while wandering around outside, he runs across a woman named Aoko Aozaki who not only believes him, but understands what’s happening.  She explains to him that he has a rare ability – perhaps the only one in the world with it – known as the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception.  What he is seeing is the inevitable destruction and dissolution, the “death”, of every person and object around him.  The lines are the only way his brain can make sense of it, as this is something the human mind doesn’t readily grasp.  She gives him a pair of glasses which make the lines go away while he wears them, and which therefore allow him to go on with his life as normal.  She tells him that he mustn’t use this power of his unless absolutely necessary.

Shiki lives his life normally from that point forward, until one day while he’s in high school, he receives notice that his father has passed away, and Shiki is to move back into the main estate.  Said estate is in the same town, so much of his day-to-day should remain the same – same friends, same school, same daily routine.

But a strange thing happens on his way to the manor after school.  While resting in the park, he sees a young woman with shoulder-length blonde hair and a white sweater.  From out of nowhere, he is overcome with a furious, murderous impulse.  His body seems to move on its own, with no input or control from him.  Off come the glasses, out comes the knife he carries with him, and he’s off chasing her.  Bad things happen.

He wakes up in the Tohno mansion, having blacked out and been retrieved by Hisui, one of the two maids of the home.  She dresses as a Western maid, while her twin sister, Kohaku, also a maid, prefers a kimono.  

But his arrival at the manor comes with significant culture shock.  In the wake of his father’s passing, possession of the manor and the position of head of family have both fallen to his younger sister, Akiha, whom he hasn’t seen since his accident some eight years ago.  His memory of her is a little hazy, but he seems taken aback by the polite but stern young lady she’s grown into.  Altogether, the four of them – Akiha, Shiki, Kohaku, and Hisui – are the only inhabitants of the house.  

Shiki finds its size and sense of isolation intimidating, all the more because his daily life in and around the house is in for a massive shake-up.  For starters, there’s a strict curfew, and also no television.  When Shiki objects, Akiha puts her foot down, and seems determined that he will live according to the family’s ways and rules, or…  Well, there is no “or else”.  He just will, end of story.

So he sneaks out to go buy some snacks and magazines.  On his way, he is accosted by one of his classmates, Ciel.  But here, she’s dressed in an odd outfit, carrying a set of deadly-sharp swords, and seems intent on killing him until she satisfies herself that he poses no threat.

The next day, further weirdness ensues.  He encounters the blonde lady, the one he thought he killed, very much alive and well.  His initial relief that he didn’t actually kill her is quickly undone by her assertion that actually, he did, and with rare skill and gusto.  She then goes on to describe the exact cuts he used to slice her into seventeen separate pieces.  

Then it gets stranger.

She is, she tells him, a vampire, albeit not all that much like what you’d think of when the word comes to mind.  And no, she doesn’t sparkle.  Her name is Arcueid Brunestud, and she’s hunting an enemy of hers who’s in the area, and is responsible for a string of murders and mysterious deaths that have been occurring lately.  She was doing well enough until Shiki came along murdered her.  While she was able to recover from this inconvenience, their encounter has left her in a weakened state.  Now she needs help, and who better than the one who put her in this position in the first place?

Twists, Turns, and Dead Ends

I’m a little conflicted about the problem with the Tsukihime anime.  I can’t decide whether its creators overestimated what they could do in twelve episodes, or underestimated the material and the time it needed.  I supposed it really doesn’t make much difference.  Six of one, half a dozen of the other.

Bad news first.

There are some technical issues with the show, which are probably the least of its problems.  The art style is kind of lackluster and workmanlike, and the animation is overall pretty by-the-numbers.  There are numerous moments where you can see drawing or animation shortcuts were taken, and there are lots of long shots where the camera lingers on one place or on one person well beyond what’s necessary for drama.  On the other hand, the more important action scenes do see a slight jump in quality, so maybe the producers were keeping something up their sleeve for when it counted.  

The English voice work is serviceable.  The actors’ voices are by and large a good fit for the roles, but the acting is occasionally a little wooden. The writing is somewhat off as well.  Shiki disappears from his normal life for a while in the third and fourth episodes, and his friends’ and family’s discussions of it once he resurfaces don’t seem to agree on the times he was gone – at one point, even within the same conversation.  This may be a translation or dub writing error, though.  There are other weird gaffes (this time in the original script), such as that Shiki doesn’t notice that Kohaku and Hisui are identical twins. This despite the fact that their only notable differences are eye color and wardrobe.

But these are mostly technical troubles, and they’re things I can overlook pretty easily.  The writing errors are never so serious that I get confused about what’s going on, and the artwork issues aren’t too out of line, either.  Certainly I’ve seen other shows from the time that did worse and more often.

The real issues \with Tsukihime, and the problem most of the original game’s fans have, stem from the way it’s adapted from the game.

Like a lot of visual novels, Tsukihime has multiple routes, and many if not all of them are mutually exclusive.  In fact, some don’t even involve Arcueid, who you’ll remember is one of the main characters. This presents some difficulties when making a TV series.  On the one hand, there is a canon route, and you could probably make a decent twelve-episode TV series out of just that.  On the other hand, there are lots of fans who prefer the alternate routes, who would be pissed if their favorite characters showcased in those routes weren’t given some screen time, and so you want to give them something.  And, too, one of the intriguing things about a game like Tsukihime is all the lore and world-building that makes these divergent plotlines possible and interesting.  Even when not pursued, elements of those routes may come up one way or another, and lend a certain richness and depth to the story.  It would be a shame to leave that on the cutting room floor.

Another possibility the show’s creators could take is to craft their own continuity, essentially creating a story hybridized from multiple routes from the game while not adhering strictly to any one of them, and create a single story that way.  This hypothetical hybrid story would then be better able to explore more of the background and lore, and incorporate that richness into its own new canon.  But that would take probably more than twelve episodes, and twelve was all Tsukihime got.  For anyone who’s curious about what this approach might look like, there’s a manga adaptation that incorporates elements of the other routes into the main story.  It’s out of print now, sadly.  Originally published by ComicsOne, it was taken over by DrMaster after ComicsOne went out of business.  Then DrMaster themselves went out...

Anyway, the compromise measure that the show’s creators eventually decided on was to largely tell one story (the Near Side routes, particularly the Arcueid route), while throwing in bits and pieces from other routes… and then never following up on them.  There wind up being a few non sequiturs and narrative dead ends or red herrings, almost as a kind of wink and nod to say that the show’s makers at least know those possibilities exist.  But this results in the show being unfocused.  For instance, a couple of episodes build up the Problem With the Tohno Bloodline, but this ultimately doesn’t figure into the story.  This material comes from what the game refers to as the Far Side routes, and those developments largely go unnoticed during the Near Side routes which the anime’s plot focuses on.  The problem is, again, that these are mutually exclusive as the presented in the original game.  Weaving them together in the “new continuity” approach would be fine – maybe ideal for the anime, even – but it would take an amount of alteration to the continuity that the anime never makes.  It winds up being less of a problem than it sounds like, but it does manage to be frustrating.

The main story, meanwhile, hints at interesting elements from the broader cosmological background that the game establishes (and which later Type-Moon games borrow and build upon), but many of those elements never quite leave the background.  This leaves a frustrating sense of massive, powerful forces and entities moving in the background, that there is something far larger happening that we are not even quite glimpsing, but only being given hints of.  

But if it sometimes seems that Tsukihime only scratches the surface of the greater and deeper lore of its setting, that lore and setting are still compelling.  There’s an almost Lovecraftian sense of cosmic scale to the supernatural as it’s presented in Tsukihime.  Arcueid, Nvrnqsr Chaos (no, that’s not a typo; it’s the real name of an adversary in the game, though the anime presents it as Nero Chaos instead), and her ultimate enemy, Roa – all of them are connected to higher forces and entities.  The murders occurring in Shiki’s city are the most minor of problems in the grand scheme of things.  This is what makes the anime both fascinating and frustrating.  It shows us this conflict, but refuses to give the full context for it.  So much seems to be held back; the full natures of these characters goes unexplored.

I like a little mystery.  I like it when some things are unexplained, or when the answers are there to be found rather than to be given.  It’s one of the things I love about Dark Souls and Bloodborne.  But the story of Tsukihime fails to explore these mysteries in a way I find really satisfying.

I feel like this is the root of why a certain overly vocal segment of the fandom chooses not to acknowledge the anime.  Coming to it from the game, I can see where it might seem a little disappointing.  Many of these hooks can seem like teases to those who understand their significance enough to be upset that they ultimately don’t deliver.

But that’s not the experience that either I or my wife had watching the anime.  We both came to it before we ever knew anything of the game.  For us, those odd hooks were just moments where we went, “Huh.  Weird,” and carried on watching the show.  Sure, there was clear and unaddressed significance, but it wasn’t a problem.  If anything, it made me more curious about the game.

The show may seem meandering to some, but to me, I just tend to think of its pace as sedate.  It doesn’t really dig into the characters’ backstories, but it does help to develop them and give them room to breathe.  

In particular, the anime spends a lot of time developing Arcueid.  We see that despite her power, and her potential for wrath and violence, she’s surprisingly cute and innocent-seeming at times, and actually innocent when it comes to some things.  You can see her interest in Shiki grow, but she seems unable to express it.  Her attempts at being normal can come across as almost mocking, when they are instead sincere and well-meant, but hopelessly clueless.

What we learn of her story is somewhat sparse, but we know that she spends most of her time asleep, awakening only to deal with threats like Roa.  The reasons for this are complicated, at least enough so as to be beyond the scope of this writing.  Suffice it to say that there’s a wiki if you’re after more information.  Just be warned: The writing there is pretty iffy.  Anyway, Arcueid is capable of getting by just fine on her own (when some inconsiderate dick doesn’t just up and murder her, anyway), but it’s also clear that, thanks to spending most of her time asleep, she doesn’t really understand a lot of what’s going on around her.  There’s a kind of obliviousness to her that might be frustrating in another character in a different show, but is somehow just endearing here.  Like my wife said at one point: You just want to hug her.  Which is not, you know, the normal reaction you have with vampires.  “Aloof”, “compelling”, “seductive”…  These are the words we tend to think of when it comes to vampiric “affection” in fiction.  “Huggable” doesn’t really show up on the list.  And yet, here we are.

There’s a certain cat-like quality to her.  Elegant, graceful, mysterious, sometimes selfish, frequently endearing, and occasionally ridiculous.  There’s comedy in her situation.  Shiki, despite his powers, is otherwise kind of a dork who could not be more clearly in over his head, at least at the start.  He spends most of the series bewildered, confused, scared, and very occasionally snapping and completely losing his shit against some eldritch horror.  And yet he’s the one who has to keep Arcueid grounded (to the extent that this is really even possible) and basically explain to her how the world works.  In some ways, it’s really Arcueid’s story.

The pace of the series helps it build a sense of brooding mystery as it explores the twin dilemmas of finding a way to stop Roa and figuring out Shiki’s uncertain place in and relation to the rest of the Tohno family.  And as you might suspect, these two problems aren’t as separate as they first seem.

If nothing else, the opening theme is just about perfect.  Subdued, mysterious, haunting; it sets the mood of the show almost perfectly, in a way that comes close to over-promising on what the anime actually delivers.  It definitely sets a mood.

That mood is one I tend to get into around this time of year.  I’m normally a night person in the first place.  No amount of working mostly first-shift jobs over the last two decades has changed the fact that there’s some part of me that wakes up when the sun goes down, and wants to stay up until the sunrise.  I like to be out and about in the dark.  I can remember back when I was in college, I would be out with friends trying to find any reason at all to stay out as late as possible.  Later in life, I’d duck out long after everyone else was asleep and go for roaming walks at night (at least, back when I lived in a reasonable neighborhood).  With fall here, the urge just gets stronger.  

There’s something of that feeling I get from Tsukihime, large portions of which involve that same nocturnal roaming, and take place in the nighttime times of life.  And I enjoy stories about monsters and the supernatural – I went through something of a vampire fascination phase when I was younger, and still maintain a certain amount of interest – and so those things alone might have gotten my attention.

Fuck the haters; the Tsukihime anime exists, and it’s good.  Not great, and not as good as it might have been, but it’s fine.  If it’s not exactly gripping, edge-of-your-seat suspense, it’s still an entertaining way to spend the better part of five or six hours.  Certainly worth a watch if you can track it down.  

Tsukihime tells an odd, interesting story – moody, dark, weird, mysterious, fantastical – all things I like.  A story of supernatural threats, monsters, mystery, and marauders in the night.  It’s hard to think of anything more appropriate for fall – for October – for Halloween.

Availability

The DVD release for Lunar Legend Tsukihime was originally handled by Geneon in both Japan and the U.S., since they were part of the original production committee.  After they folded, it was picked up by Sentai Filmworks, one of the several splinter companies that rose from the ashes of ADV’s implosion in the late aughts.  

Geneon’s release was evidently a multi-volume affair.  Which seems ludicrous today, when you typically buy an entire season of twelve episodes or so all at once these days, in a single set.  But Geneon (which had previously been Pioneer) had been around since the VHS days, and a lot of those companies in some sense inherited the mindset that had governed the VHS release schedule, which was to release a volume every couple of months or so, with three or four episodes on each one, and that was that.

Sentai Filmworks’ version is a two-disc, single-volume set, so that would probably be the way to go.  Especially if shelf space is a concern.  

There is no Blu-ray release, and honestly, it’s hard to imagine what Blu-ray would really do for the show.  At any rate, it seems to be out of print currently.  Geneon, of course, folded about a decade or so ago. And although Sentai Filmworks lists it in their catalog, there’s no option to buy.  And it doesn’t appear to be available for legal streaming anywhere.  Like a lot of older (and I hate to think of this as “older” – I remember being an adult when it was new) – maybe I should say somewhat older anime – Amazon and eBay are your best bet if you’re interested.  

Postscript the First – The Anime versus the Game

Tsukihime, as a visual novel with multiple routes, contains far more material than the TV series.  HOWEVER, please consider this paragraph your giant, flashing, neon-lit trigger warning for content potentially involving sex, assault, sexual assault (of various kinds), incest, violation of consent, and more violence than the anime producers could show even with the series airing at otaku o’clock.

Just to be up-front for a moment, I haven’t played much of the game.  Much of my information comes secondhand, or else is the result of reading the Type-Moon wiki and talking with friends who’ve played through it. I’ve yet to finish a single route.  I’d like to, and I occasionally chip away at it here and there, but the problems are twofold.

The first problem – probably the main problem – is the low level of engagement.  I get curious about visual novels from time to time, but they’re always a little too easy to put down, and a little too hard to pick up.  And that may seem strange, since there’s so little to do in one.  The amount of effort involved is nil.  But that’s just the thing.  I often wrestle with whether or not I even consider them to be games at all.  And, look: It’s not like I think visual novels are unworthy of anyone’s time.  They’re fine.  Largely not my cup of tea, but fine.  But what you do in a visual novel could hardly be called playing, any more than you “play” a Choose Your Own Adventure book.  There are no mechanics, no maneuvering through the world, no use of skills.  Just decisions to make, and those not very often.  The thing about an actual game is that I’m mentally engaged, fully occupied and firing on all (or most) cylinders.  When I want to play a game, that’s what I’m after.  And visual novels just don’t offer that.

Of course, I do love to read, and so it would seem like they should be right up my alley for that reason at least.  But no.  The writing is actually my second problem.

So far as I’ve observed, which admittedly isn’t much, most Japanese visual novels translated into English are pretty awkward, and this is probably a combination of factors.  One is that what constitutes good writing (in terms of how the language is deployed) in Japanese differs considerably from what constitutes good writing in English.  It’s not just visual novels, mind you.  The couple Haruki Murakami books I’ve read have both also seemed off to some degree as well.  I think it’s just something in the translation, some difference between English and Japanese in the matters of word choice, rhythm, and flow, and the sense for how these things work in each.  I sincerely think that making a Japanese work really sing in English would involve a level of change that most translators (and visual novel fans in particular, given their greater likelihood of being total Japanophiles) are deeply uncomfortable with.

But beyond the general problem of Japanese-to-English writing, there’s the problem of Kinoko Nasu in particular, who is Type-Moon’s writer.

Nasu is, I think, something of a Lovecraft disciple, with his cosmic-scale sense for horror.  But he’s also like Lovecraft in another very important and distinct way, which is that despite having really interesting ideas that set my imagination on fire, he actually can not fucking write.

I’m sorry, Lovecraft fans, I really am, but it’s true.  Deep down, you all know it.  Lovecraft, for his part, was a man who at some point earlier in his life swallowed a thesaurus, and was then hell-bent on vomiting it out over every page he wrote ever afterward.  He never used one word if he could find a way to use five or six to say the same thing, never used a simple, elegant, and concise word when he knew a more complex one, and his style has so little flow you’d need an electron microscope to find it.  You could make a workout of running back and forth to the dictionary while reading his work.  Or you could make it a drinking game.  And then die, of alcohol poisoning.

He had some great ideas, once you got past the writing, and the multiple onion-like layers of intense racism.  And he was intensely racist; let’s not forget that.  Not just “racist because it’s the 1920s or ‘30s and basically everyone white is racist right now,” I mean racist even for those times.  People back then were a little weirded out by how much he hated the Jews, and black people, and anyone else who wasn’t the right shade of paper-white.  But even just focusing on his writing, the feeling remains that he was not the best vehicle for his stories, and that’s just how it is.  The most aching, taxing, fucking grueling reading I have ever done on stories I still actually liked is mostly found between the covers of the various Lovecraft compendia I have lying around the house.  I like his stories; I just don’t like reading them much.

Nasu may well be his reincarnation (and oh, would it ever have horrified Lovecraft to be reincarnated as a Japanese person).  A common complaint I’ve heard about Nasu’s writing (from people who’ve read it in Japanese) is that he has good ideas, but just isn’t a skilled writer.  Now, I’m not qualified to really dissect how he comes across in his own culture, but when translated into English, he’s a painful read.  Maybe it’s the fault of the group responsible for the translation (Mirror Moon), but at the very least, I can confidently state that he should stay out of porn.  His sex scenes have some of the least sexy and most unintentionally hilarious writing I’ve seen in my life.  It’s why I think that even Fate didn’t really take off to become the absolute phenomenon it is until after we started to get anime adaptations of it.  Those adaptations would all have been written by other people, or at least had some amount of editing or collaboration to dilute the worst of his influence, letting the good ideas shine through without Nasu’s own writing griming everything up.

I don’t have a lot of basis for comparison, but I feel like on a technical level, Tsukihime is pretty basic.  The character artwork is nice enough, with a distinct style.  The backgrounds, though, are in most cases very clearly photographs that have been filtered or otherwise manipulated so as not to clash too badly with the character art.  This was probably a shortcut to save time or money, or both.  

On the balance, I’d say it’s worth looking into, with the major caveat that there’s a lot of stuff in it that didn’t (and couldn’t) make it into the anime, that makes the story overall much darker and more sinister than the anime could manage.  Unfortunately, it’s going to be hard to find.  There’s only the original version released in 2000.  There’s talk of a sequel and a remake, but the amount of time that’s passed for no more attention or work than the project has received, to the extent that these things have become running gags in the fandom.  They probably are things that the higher-ups at Type-Moon really do mean to create at some point, but which aren’t a huge priority for them, and so are very, very back-burner projects.

As I mentioned above, the anime and the game are both similar in that their quality persists despite somewhat lacking production values.  But the anime’s middle-of-the-road budget and somewhat generic style was never the problem.  The game, meanwhile, was pretty clearly made on a close-to-shoestring budget, but this actually doesn’t matter nearly as much.  Visuals novels live and die on their writing, ideas, and artwork, I think.  Rarely if ever do they rely on really cutting-edge graphics for their impact.  And in truth, Tsukihime the game was always going to be marred far more by Nasu’s writing than anything technical.  

A nice upside is that, since we’re privy to Shiki’s internal monologue, he comes across as a more interesting character.  He seems to sometimes just float through the story in the anime, with bouts of intensity here and there when things go wrong or he’s totally lost it.  But the game gives us his thoughts, and we get a better handle on why he does the things he does.

For English-speaking fans, there are walkthroughs, of course.  But if that understandably sounds like too much of a pain in the ass, there’s also a fan translation (unauthorized) by Mirror Moon.  In addition to rendering the game into English, I believe it also introduces an option for removing the sex scenes.  So for those who are uncomfortable with those, this will answer that concern, at least.  

Postscript the Second – Alternate Takes: Kara no Kyoukai

Frequently referred to in English-speaking circles by its subtitle, The Garden of Sinners, Kara no Kyoukai (which Wikipedia tells us means something like “Boundary of Emptiness”) is an interesting story from Kinoko Nasu’s early days.  It began publication (independently) in August of 1998, and is set in that timeframe.  Originally a series of novels, it’s primarily known in the U.S. as a boxed set of seven movies (plus a stand-alone eighth) priced exorbitantly by Aniplex USA (the Blu-ray boxed set for the first seven will set you back a cool $400).  These movies tell the story of a different Shiki, this time a young woman who wears a kimono, boots, and red leather jacket, named Shiki Ryogi.  

There are pretty clear linkages between it and Tsukihime, though these are thematic rather than narrative, and the result of ideas being reused.  Nasu began writing Kara no Kyoukai first, and seems to have cannibalized some of its concepts for Tsukihime. The two stories take place in alternate universes.  As with Tsukihime, this version of Shiki also has the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception, although Kara no Kyoukai’s Shiki does actually come by them after an automobile accident.  There’s also a redheaded sorceress with the last name Aozaki (Touko instead of Aoko), and I want to say that I’ve read somewhere that they’re sisters, and that Touko traveled to this alternate reality from the “main” one where Tsukihime and Fate take place. She was initially envisioned with sort of pixie-cut blue hair, but was converted for the movies into a redhead like her sister Aoko, and Nasu decided he liked the change so much that it became canon.

But although it features a Shiki with the Mystic Eyes, she shares the spotlight with Mikiya Kokuto, who’s a dead ringer for the Shiki of Tsukihime. His personality’s different – he lacks Shiki Tohno’s deeply buried killer instinct, for a start.  Mikiya has no special abilities beyond a knack for information-gathering and a better-than-average capacity for deductive reasoning.  Moreover, even without any special powers of his own, he seems to move with relative comfort in a world full of sorcerers and mystical murderers, in part by keeping an open mind, taking nothing for granted, keeping his assumptions in check, and taking everything as it comes.  He works as an investigator for Touko’s paranormal detective agency, Garan-no-Dou. Shiki is mostly the muscle.

Mikiya has a younger sister, Azaka, who in her turn looks an awful lot like Shiki Tohno’s sister Akiha.  Except for in flashbacks, where she looks like a young Rin Tohsaka from Fate instead.  As with Tsukihime, she is attracted to her brother.  Unlike Tsukihime, the two of them are actually blood siblings, so... At least with Kara no Kyoukai, this profound failure of the Westermarck Effect is entirely one-sided; Mikiya has eyes only for Shiki.  TV Tropes would undoubtedly describe it as Single-Target Sexuality.  

There are any number of other parallels between the two, but these are the most obvious.  Much of the background lore seems to be similar between the two series, although Kara no Kyoukai doesn’t use the same parts of it, and doesn’t dig into the parts it does use quite as much.  It’s much less concerned with cosmic entities like Arcueid or Roa or Nvrnqsr Chaos, and more concerned with its characters as individuals, and how they relate to each other.  That isn’t to say that it doesn’t dive into the sort of metaphysical strangeness on display in Tsukihime and Fate – Kara no Kyoukai is aggressively weird – but its metaphysical struggles are more self-contained, connected more directly to the characters and less tied to the cosmological backdrop.

The movies were released in Japan beginning in 2007, almost a decade after the novels began publication, and well after the successes of Tsukihime and the first Fate series. They’re animated by ufotable, and feature Yuki Kajiura as the composer.  I’d encourage anyone interested to track them down, though I know the price tag can be offputting.  Aside from high-quality video and sound, the set is pretty bare-bones.  There’s no English audio track; in fact, the impression I get is that this is basically just the Japanese Blu-ray release, re-encoded for Region 1. This includes the movies’ proper titles not being displayed in English anywhere on the discs or cases, so you have to do a little sleuthing to figure out which movies are which.  This is doubly aggravating considering that the intended viewing order isn’t chronological, so it’s not immediately apparent if you’ve started with the wrong movie.  If you feel totally lost and like you’ve just come into the middle of things, then it’s highly likely you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.  Thankfully, the menus are in English, and the subtitles are serviceable.

There’s a DVD version of the boxed set that costs less – I want to say the whole boxed set went for something like $200 – which is still a decent chunk of change, but more reasonable for a set of seven movies. Unfortunately, a quick browse of Amazon makes it seem even harder to find than the Blu-ray set.  And, sadly, there are no legal streaming options for this series.

[divine-veil-vb]

Never ending survey

RULES: Repost, do not reblog. Tag 10 blogs!

Tagged by: @lareine-kira and @paleshadeofrose

Tagging: @hangedemperor , @istolin , @maximiloix , @trahja-tia , @eorzeasfrozenknight , @charm-in-spades , @thorcatte , @haila-wetyios , @a-sharlayan-abroad

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BASICS.

FULL NAME: Varg Blacksoul, formerly Timur Oronir NICKNAME: Varg-Varg (given by Lareine), Stiffy and Grumpy (given by Silke) AGE:  54 BIRTHDAY:  9th sun of the 1st astral moon ETHNIC GROUP: Xaela Au Ra NATIONALITY: Othard, Ishgard LANGUAGE/S: Common, xaelic, ishgardian SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Demisexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Biromantic RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single and not looking for company. HOME TOWN / AREA:  Dawn Throne, Azim Steppe CURRENT HOME:  Pillars, Ishgard PROFESSION: Paladin, medic/healer at Ishgard’s service.

PHYSICAL.

HAIR: Long and silvery grey. EYES: Black with white limbal rings, small irises. FACE: Angular features, long nose, high cheekbones. LIPS: Narrow, often cracked, slightly darker than his usual skin color. COMPLEXION: Grayish purple BLEMISHES: Dark circles SCARS: Lots of scars which he keeps hidden at all times. Two thick, long ones are visible and almost go across his right eye. TATTOOS: No tattoos. HEIGHT:  210cm WEIGHT: Slightly underweight BUILD: Slender but masculine, somewhat toned. FEATURES: Black markings around eyes, and naturally thick, black claws. ALLERGIES: None USUAL HAIR STYLE: At work or formal meetings it’s combed back either completely or with some locks on his temples left loose. In more casual situations he mostly just lets it be. USUAL FACE LOOK: Calm, focused, narrowed eyes. USUAL CLOTHING:  Full, dignified heavy armor or parts of it combined with a long coat, formal robes, jodhpurs, vests, blouses and high-heeled boots.

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR/S: Imprisonment, being held or tied down, physical pain, betrayal. ASPIRATION/S: To be successful, self-sufficient and powerful until the end, to bring as many as possible wrongdoers to justice, to find an heir, and catch people still on the loose who managed to escape his revenge long ago.

POSITIVE TRAITS: He keeps his word, doesn’t leave things unfinished, is a good motivator for slackers, aims for high-quality results in everything, is reasonable and logical.

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Insensible towards most of people, logic always comes before his own or other people’s feelings, very straightforward, capable of cruelty if necessary.

TEMPERAMENT: Calm SOUL TYPE/S: Thinker ANIMALS: Gray wolf

VICE HABIT/S: Smoking. He hates it, but it’s the least harmful thing that calms his nerves down, and he’s addicted. He tries to limit it though, and use it only in worst occasions, since he doesn’t want the side effects affecting his health or work. If things get especially grim, he also has full stashes of potent liquor and intravenous sedatives.

FAITH: Science usually comes first, but he’s also spiritual in some way. It’s one of those topics he doesn’t discuss with anyone. Some of his duties include working as a cleric, so it may have something to do with Halone. Or then it doesn’t, and it’s just another job.

GHOSTS?: Has seen them with his own eyes so can’t deny their existence. AFTERLIFE?: He hopes it exists, for reasons. REINCARNATION?: It’s a possibility.

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: Generally neutral, but on demand would choose the side of underdogs: ignoble, the poor and the sick, minors etc. Wouldn’t show his alignment publicly if it was a threat to himself. Would also pretend to be supporting the oppressor, only trying to sabotage their work at every opportunity. Even I’m not sure would he actually die for anyone else or some common cause. He has fled once to save his own hide and he could do it again. Knows main points of what’s going on and where around the world for the sake of common knowledge, but is only interested in topics that concern himself. Has been a target for racists since arriving to Ishgard as a teenager, so he despises them from the bottom of his heart.

EDUCATION LEVEL: Learned

FAMILY.

FATHER : Not relevant MOTHER :  Not relevant SIBLINGS : None that he knows of EXTENDED FAMILY: Iris Ymir (patient and protege) and Arsene Dreadeois (butler)

NAME MEANING/S:

Timur is a Turkic and Mongolic name which literally means iron. In Indonesian, timur translates to east and symbolizes hope by the rising sun.

All members of the Oronir tribe believe themselves to be direct descendants of Azim, the tribe's god of the sun.

Varg is wolf in swedish. Varg was also originally a nickname given by his friends at the Steppe. It was the only thing he kept after starting his new life in Ishgard and severing his ties with his homeland.

Blacksoul was given by his comrades in the army for being so ruthless towards enemies - both the ones on the battlefield and the ones captured.

HISTORICAL CONNECTION?: None

FAVORITES.

BOOK:  Science, mythology, swordplay, alchemy, etc. Everything that has something to do with his work or hobbies. DEITY: Halone seems to share most of his values. HOLIDAY: Doesn’t celebrate any. MONTH: September and October. There isn’t many little things in life he gets pleasure from, but fall colors is one of them. SEASON: Fall and winter. PLACE: His estate, cathedrals, libraries and forges. WEATHER: Thick fog, rain and sunshine at the same time. SOUND/S: Fire, rain and musical instruments when someone who actually knows what they’re doing plays them. SCENT/S: Herbs, iron, parchment. TASTE/S:  Whisky, tea, whatever Arsene makes. FEEL/S:  Clean clothes, heat radiating from a fireplace. ANIMAL/S:  Doesn’t like animals except for his chocobo, Mori. NUMBER: Doesn’t care about numbers. COLORS: White, black, blood red, gold, silver.

EXTRA.

TALENTS: Accuracy of a chirurgeon, skillful with swords, managing to define a goal fast in any kind of surprising situation and being very patient and stubborn at achieving it.  BAD AT: Admitting he has weaknesses, comforting people, having fun, small talk, relaxing. HOBBIES: Reading, studying, weapon maintenance, alchemy. TROPES: Antihero, tragic hero and mad scientist. Definitely could also be a villain. Depends on whom you ask.

QUOTES:

“Since you seem to be so worried of my… customers, perhaps I should take you along the next time I interrogate them. You would see with your own eyes what kind of delicate, exquisite and misunderstood individuals they are, when they spit on you, mock their victims and brag about the amount of people they have raped or murdered.”

“Today it happens. Make sure she is out of here before I return tonight. I am no longer even sure which one of them is the worse one.”

“It was a mere procedure. If procedures were considered intimate, I would be close friends with half of Ishgard by now.”

“Do tell me... If you work as much as you claim, how come you are always broke when we meet?”

“Very well. Play something for me. Let us see are you a man of your word.”

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1 :  If you could write your character your way in their own movie, what would it be called, what style would it be filmed in, and what would it be about?          

A1 :  He’s been busy sticking his spoon into so many soups during his life that you could probably make a trilogy of his fooleries feats. The first part would tell about his early life in Azim Steppe and how he was forced to leave from there, the second part about how he found his soulmate and adapted to his new life in Ishgard, and how it all eventually ended up into a shitstorm, and the third one would be the current storyline. No clue about the name, though. The Soulforge would be perfect but too bad it’s taken.

Q2 :  What would their soundtrack/score sound like?          

A2 : Bloodborne, Dark Souls and Amnesia the Dark Descent OSTs are absolutely the closest ones you could get to Varg. Orchestral, choir, bowed string instruments, both epic and monstrous. Even if there were more peaceful pieces here and there, while listening to them you’d still have that same feeling of dread you used to have while playing the original Resident Evil and Silent Hill games and finding a safe room: you just barely escaped death but can’t stay in the safe haven forever.

Q3 : Why did you start writing this character?          

A3 : He’s quite different compared to my Forsaken shadow priestess in WoW, whom I used to RP for... two or three years? Long story short: I wanted something else for a change. I also used to have an old Forsaken death knight, who was a lot more similar to Varg, but he was more evil. He existed pretty much only for occasions when someone needed a true villain for some plot. He was funny however and I always thought it was a pity I didn’t get chances to RP him more often.

Q4 : What first attracted you to this character?          

A4 : He’s a mixture of four different OCs of mine, with a bit of his original spice ofc. One of them came into being in, uh, somewhat obscure conditions. Kept seeing him in my dreams when I was a kid, and he became one of my imaginary friends I used to have back then. And not just one of the many, but the closest one. Also generally in entertainment I couldn’t care less about Lukes and Frodos. Villains, tragic heroes and the like are my thing. They’re usually the most multilayered and interesting characters.

Q5 : Describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse.

A5 : Perfectionism. I’m similar and it sometimes drives me nuts to watch him neglecting himself while trying to achieve perfection. If I could physically talk to him I would go and slap him and be like “EAT. SLEEP. YES THE THING IS GOOD ENOUGH ALREADY. LEAVE IT.”

Q6 :  What do you have in common with your muse?          

A6 :  Well, already kind of answered this one, but wait, there’s more: insomnia, nightmares, PTSD, misanthropy and cynicism come to mind first. And booze. How could I almost forget booze? I believe I know what misery is so I’m good at RPing miserable characters and make them look as authentic as possible. *lols like Alcyone from Magic Knight Rayearth* We both also have a strong sense of justice and nonexistent sympathy for those who use others as stepping stones. Aye I know, sounds a lot like a self-insert character, but it’s not like that. It’s more like... before meeting him/the OCs he’s based on, I used to be quite a scentless and tasteless kid. Similarities and peer support attract. And I’ve also learned from him.

It’s also a lot like me and Lareine. We became friends because we had 95% of the same interests and problems but perhaps that’s why we get along so well and understand each other.

Q7 :  How does  your muse feel about  you?          

A7 :  He would probably hate and like me at the same time. Or couldn’t decide. We both like peace and quiet, doing our job well is fundamental and our basic values are pretty much the same. We would get along well if we worked in the same place. However, unlike him, I have some horrid procrastination seasons, crippling self-esteem issues, tend to put other people’s needs and opinions above my own and keep stressing about things for 7 billion souls instead of just myself. I’m suspicious of pretty much everything else except Lareine and our plushie crow Agatha, except that Agatha creeps me out sometimes as well when she takes out a knife and sits next to my bed at night, staring at me, can’t watch Hachiko without bawling my eyes out during the entire movie, love puppies and kittens and danger noodles and I’m addicted to video games. Very likely he’d kick me out as well.

Q8 :  What characters does your muse have interesting interactions with?        

A8 : Varg would never admit it to himself, but I think he gets best along with people who are a bit silly in some way, and who get on his nerves by being too carefree and doing stupid things. Lareine and Iris, when they’re behaving. Arsene, who’s kind at everyone. Currently Shaura is my favorite. Varg himself is so uptight people like them help breaking his gray routines. Also a bonus: he doesn’t see them as a threat, so that’s probably the closest he’s able to get to relaxing among other people.

Q9 :  What gives you inspiration to write your muse?        

A9 : I’m a fan of my own characters. It doesn’t feel like I would’ve created them. I saw them with my third eye or something and I’ve just written for others to read what I’ve seen. I don’t plan RPs beforehand. I just let the hound loose and let him do whatever he wants. So far I haven’t got tired of my characters’ antics and could just write more. The only obstacles are limited hours per day, necessary evils like eating and sleeping, procrastination, trying to sort out my life, and the damn FFXIV. SOMEONE PLEASE TAKE IT OUT OF MY HANDS.

Q10 : How long did this take you to complete?          

A10 : Ehh, maybe 4-5 hours.