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twilightpoison · 3 years ago

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It’s been brought up to me that a lot of my content is Isekai based. However I didn’t want this to be a Ieskai HC post. Instead let me tell you all about a stupid thing I came up with as a kid that I’ve been meaning to make into a fic for so long.:

What if the characters you play actually can feel your presence and/or can hear your commentary when playing?

Fair warning I never play Hyrule Warriors and Twilight Princess so let me know if I got things wrong.

Head canons under cut!

General head canons (These are all platonic headcanons btw.):

- Let’s say that the simple reason that you are here was to help the chain. Think of it like you’re the groups companion on this journey. Who better then someone that knows about each hyrule?

- The people who dealt with a lot of magic recognize you at first. The others need a bit of a push to connect the dots but everyone gets there.

- The connection wasn’t as strong at times during their original adventures, so its not like they could always hear you or sense you.

Time:

- You saw him and it was clear he has another sibling now.

- Time knew you where telling the true, that you followed both of his adventures however he wasn’t going to be fully open to you.

- Guess who isn’t scared of Time? You.

- Literally at one point you’ve pointed at Time and with a straight face says “thats a child”.

- This is also how the chain found out that Time actually fought the moon technically.

- “You fought Majora on the moon while it was falling. That’s not the same thing.”

- You meet Malon and it was an awkward first meeting since how do you explain this in the first place.

- Yet the two of you got along amazingly.

- When you and time are alone you instantly ask Time if he knew how she got the cow in his house. He kinda just… stares at you? Like you just met his wife and thats what your asking about?!

- The answer was that he wasn’t sure how she did that but the cow isn’t in his old house anymore. Since different timelines and all.

- It’s honestly weird for him to have someone remember both of his adventures in confidence.

- All be a little awkward hearing someone go, “oh yeah! Time had to do something similar.”

- Early on Time did go over boundaries since he really doesn’t like to talk about his adventures to much.

- So instead you both agree to be as cryptic as possible or at least there is an attempt on your part. Since your the only other person that can confirm or deny his claims.

- And no. You also don’t know his true age. But your guess is the closest.

Twilight:

- Since he is one of the Link’s that is drenched in magic, he recognizes your aura instantly.

- Chaotic sibling energy.

- If he is giving Wild or any of the other Link’s a hard time you are by his side calling Twilight out. Unless if the person in question did something truly idiotic then you let him go off.

- Speaking of, you call this man out as much as you possibly can. Like hell if you’re going to let the others think he isn’t a gremlin.

- He did try to stop you by covering your mouth but you licked his hand. So…. guess what he isn’t trying again unless it’s necessary.

- Somethings are kept a secret though. Since he did live through it and even if it was stupid he still could of gotten really hurt.

- You both play good cop, bad cop to the younger Links all the time.

- Twi is surprisingly very open with you about his adventure, to finally talk to someone about it with out having it sound crazy is nice.

- He also has some questions about you and your life. Since before this adventure started you just disappeared.

- The two of you honestly get along like two best friends who haven’t seen each other in years but still can banter like its the good old days.

- Knowing only small amounts about what they all been through it’s nice to know that you’re looking after the others as well.

- That feeling makes him really push himself to protect the family he has here and luckily you are here can smack him upside the head before lecturing him.

Warriors:

- heeeeey… you know what happen the last time he met someone that was suppose to be watching over the hero’s spirit?

- Yeah, so….War’s isn’t so keen on trusting you like some of these Heroes.

- You seem nice and not obsessively crazy. If anything what makes him decide to give you a chance. It’s seeing you get along with the other Heroes post battle or around the campfire when you think no one is watching.

- The moment that he recognizes you. You were cursing out some monsters and calling Dink every name under the sun. Which he actually remembers hearing your panicked voice briefly when fighting Cia.

- Anyway, you guys are a sass duo and even a trio when you get Leg involved.

- You steal his scarf sometimes with Time and Wind’s help

- He finds you and Wind wrapped inside of it leaning on time and his heart just- clenches, he has more siblings now!

- Then Warriors realizes he has another sibling… another sibling that will prank him…

- You two can be found discussing tactical strategies. Mostly him teaching you though since depending on the person not many people will know how to lead an army. Yet he is a good teacher and you catch on pretty quickly.

- Same with Twi, Warrior’s needs someone to pull him back sometimes it seems. Who better then to remind him then the person that already saw his lowest moment when his ego got the better of him?

- Seriously speaking. He wouldn’t come to you to talk. If anything he will try to avoid you if he wasn’t his best. In his head he has a reputation to uphold. Which will lead to a heart to heart. No sass. No banter. Just you and him sitting down to remind him that he is human.

- He needs a hug. Please give him a hug.

Sky:

- Sky actually didn’t recognize you at first!

- Yes he felt your presence and hear your voice in his adventure, but that was a while ago at this point. Also he isn’t as connected to magic as the others are.

- He does slowly befriend you despite everything.

- It wasn’t until you referred to a certain demon lord as a ‘B*tch A** Clown’ and a flood gate of memories open up for him. Memories of you cursing out Ghirahim, calling the imprisoned an ‘avocado with feet’ and so on.

- Nothing really changes between you two honestly, he just accepts it.

- If anything he becomes more open to you about everything, setting clear boundaries on what he doesn’t want to bring up. He will tell everyone about the curse eventually, but just hasn’t found a good opportunity too. Things like that.

- You do have to argue with Sky that the curse wasn’t his fault since you were also there when it was put on him, also the fact that he didn’t asked to be cursed in the first place.

- Most of the time you two are together its to get away from the chaos that the group of nine heroes could bring.

- Walking or sitting in silence is how you two end up most of the time together. It may not look like you two are bonding. There are some days while Sky is wood carving you would work on your small hobby as well. Then there are days he plays the harp and your reading.

- Despite it all he really enjoys the peace you bring. There is a sense of comfort that you have.

- When you and Sun finally meet. The first thing you ask him is to be invited to the wedding and it may or may not been in front of her too…

Wild:

- The recognition was really slow for him like Sky. Since Wild just got off of his first adventure he didn’t actually notice you were gone.

- It was until he realized that he couldn’t hear your panicked voice or snarky remarks when fighting in his head. That he finally realized you where outside of his head. He was quick to connects the dots after that.

- There was a moment where he didn’t know how to react since he just figured that you were just from his imagination.

- He now has another adventuring buddy with Hyurle! Though luckily you do keep the both of them from harm. Mostly because if something happens to them you will get in trouble with like Twi and Leg and thats never fun.

- Though you have your moments. Shield surfing and paragliding are on top of that list and Wild is all up for teaching you the ropes.

- The topic of the history of hyrule gets brought up a lot with the two of you. Since his era has a lot of connections to the past era’s. He is all up for learning about what came from where. Soon theories start to fly about.

- When You, Him and Flora are finally all together. There is nothing stopping you all from bouncing off theories. With your outside knowledge mixing with what they know. Things start to fall into place.

- The answer to why the timeline is like this doesn’t get answer. But hey! At least you all are having fun!

- If you can’t cook he will teach you that too! If you can! Well buckle up your going to share your knowledge with him whether you want to or not.

- Once you know how or get used to cooking while camping, you help him out a lot and its these moments where you both talk the most.

- It’s comforting to him to know he wasn’t alone this whole time.

Legend:

- As soon as you two locked eyes he felt instant dread. Yes he knew. No he isn’t going to opening up to you.

- Playful Insults to bond? Yeah that’s literally how he talks to everyone so no special treatment.

- He keeps you at a distance but its not actually working.

- You talk about his adventures so casually like it happened a few days ago. You avoid Link’s Awakening though. If you got hurt with the plot twist then you could only imagine the pain Leg went through.

- “I’m still trying to process the fact you married a tree.” “Hey remember that one time with Yuga, you slammed face first into a wall so hard you knocked yourself out?” “God do you not wear pants because of the fish thing?”

- This relationship is literally: Only I can bully this one.

- He fears the moment you meet Ravio and Fable knowing full well you all will bond over teasing him.

- Overall though he knows you got his back no matter what, to the point he finds himself confining in you slowly.

- Guess who is also teaming up with Hyrule to get Legend to sleep. It you.

- Once you probably have forced him to sleep by getting wolfie to lay on him. It was the wolf or yourself. In the end it was both of you and he was trapped.

- A sign that he was becoming soft towards you was when he started sharing his items with you. He trusts that you know how to use them and if you don’t he is actually willing to show you.

- He regrets giving the bee badge to you.

Hyrule:

- Another person that is drenched in magic. It only took one look at you for him to realize who you were.

- The two of you were awkward as anything at first. Since to you he never really spoken in his adventure so you didn’t know how to picture his personality.

- There’s a lot of mystery in your mind about him since again there isn’t much to go off of with what your given in game. It’s weird for him to hear about how you interpret his personality from that perspective.

- Hyrule didn’t honestly expect you to try and befriend him tbh. It mostly him over thinking it.

- You do follow him sometimes when he wants to wander around and explore. Mostly because you claim he finds the coolest things when he does.

- But its just a excuse to actually get to know him.

- The two of you trade stories and questions about each of your lives. There might be things you know that he might not know of about his adventure and his hyrule.

- Of course never going into to much details since there are things you couldn’t tell him.

- Hyrule honestly was dreading the day you all would land in his Era. He loves his home but is also very aware of it not being the most…welcoming place.

- So it’s more then surprising to him that there is even more then the glint of familiarity and excitement on your face. Knowing full well what dangers where a head of you, you still were open to exploring his world to the fullest.

- It’s honestly refreshing to see someone love his era as much as he does.

- Another boy that needs hugs, please give him a hug.

- You both cheer each other on though.

- This relationship is just aggressive support between you two and the others.

Four: (I’m actively mixing the Four Sword game and manga just to be clear.)

- Not sure if he would know exactly who you where since during the second adventure your voice and presence bounce between the four of them.

- Yet I also feel like he took after you because he was a child in his first adventure, which worries you a lot. Since you did have choice words for Vaati.

- The first to realize was Vio then it went Blue, Red and Green. Despite being in the same head it was just a theory they had over all. They all had their own ways of confirming it.

- Vio noticed the small things you do around Four. Like not stepping on their shadow, and covering Four when things got chaotic in their head. Small references here and there. When the two of you are alone he almost quizzes you about things. Just to see how much you know and to see if your telling the true or not.

- Blue recognize your mannerisms being something he picked up on during the first and second adventure. Only vaguely since again he was a child / there was only a small part only with him. Your fighting banter when your in battle made you see where Blue got his colorful language from…

- Your comfort was what clued Red in. He remembers your presence more clearly then the others from the first and second adventure. It was a comforting (yet chaotic) presence in their adventures that he latched on to. More so from his first adventure since as a kid he made an imaginary friend to process the fact he could sense and hear your presence. When you came back in the second time around it felt so natural for Red to have you there and really helped make him go forward through his small journey.

- For Green? It was a lot of things but when he see’s you treating each color differently when they are in charged. It’s a refreshing sight to be honest. He just enjoys hearing and seeing that his brothers had someone to confide in. Even when they switch who is in control you some how could tell and spoke to them accordingly.

- They were all some what surprise that none of the others picked up on your treatment of him swapping so much. Yet their also glad because their not ready to reveal themselves quiet yet.

- As Four or as you nicknamed him ‘Rainbow’ the two of you tend to sick together when the world’s shift around. Since his body needs more time to recover.

- You two are another pair that cheers each other on when the moral is low.

- He introduces you to the Minish! Getting you a jabber nut so you can speak to them too. You can’t shrink down to properly talk to them so this was the next best thing.

- The four of them makes you a dagger to bring home to remember him by, there’s a kin stone imbedded where the blade meets the hilt.

Wind: (hello self projection my dear friend)

- Wind didn’t recognize you ether at first, yet he didn’t even blink when you join everyone. He was fully on board with getting a new member and is easiest the most opened.

- It was when you two are alone together that something clicked in his head. You see during the Wind Waker he was alone most of the time when he was on land. So he had to face a lot by himself.

- Having you was reassuring to him when facing some of the monsters alone, especially with the puppet ganon fight. The two of you both agree that it was creepy.

- CHAOTIC SIBLINGS PART 2… well kinda

- Wind is a lot more mature then you realized but you two still have those moments.

- You, Aryll and Grandma get along too! So he and his family basically sees you and the chain as family.

- Pranking buddies! You’re targets would never know. Mostly because your covering up for him. You two team up with Four and Wild so the pranks can get chaotic at times.

- No matter what age you are compare to him and if your ok with it he does like platonic physical affection. Your going to be trading off with Warriors a lot of the time for cuddles or it’s the three of you together.

- You teaching him our worlds sea shanties and him teaching you his? Heck yeah! Even making up songs with the others is something on the table and in the works which is nice.

- It’s another thing to bring back home thats personalized!

Honestly since I’ve written all of this down I want to write the fic more. Though I’ll probably not only because idk if people would even read it lol. So it will just be a bunch of head canons. Anyway rambling is done.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu headcanon #Isekai au

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shepherds-of-haven · 3 years ago

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So I follow MANY interactive fiction blogs and I just have to say that you're my favorite by a long shot because I just love answers that you give in response to hypothetical scenarios and AU's for your characters. Like you actually put in effort and give well-thought out answers, so I thank you for that. As for AU's I have one of my own if you don't mind please. What would be the RO's for a murder mystery a la Cluedo? Bonus points that they can't leave the mansion for extra chaos. Thank you!

Ah, thank you so much for your kind words! 💖 I'm lucky to be a part of such a great community of talented creatives and kind, genuinely awesome people! Interacting with readers is such a pleasure, even if I do fall behind on messages and such I'm so sorry

I'm in North America, so I was genuinely like "what on Earth is Cluedo" gkljglfdjgd only because it's called Clue where I'm from! But I, uh, never played it, so I'm just going to go off of my knowledge from Knives Out 😂

SETTING: a Southern Gothic mansion in an undisclosed location, owned by a woman only referred to in jest as The Autarch by her adopted children. It is a stately manor, richly furnished and glittering with wealth, though imposing and dark-windowed during storms.

CONTEXT: a powerful and wealthy tycoon referred to only as "The Autarch" or "The Iron Lady" was once feared across the country for her ruthless business dealings and formidable empire. In her middle age, a mysterious experience and the sudden death of her husband caused her to have a change of heart, abruptly abandoning her empire to her only son and devoting her life to adopting six orphan children. However, stopping her business dealings did not completely change her personality: she was a hard, unforgiving woman, and her relationships to her children (now all grown) can be described as "strained" at best.

In her declining age, the lonely Autarch in her high mansion somehow came to befriend a psychic by the name of Mimir of the Silver Eye. Only the servants were witness to what was said between them, and even then, they never had the full story. The most that anyone knew was that the Autarch began to express more interest in resuming her business activities again, to the disconcertion of her only biological son, Enik, who had helmed the empire on his own for the last twenty years. Meanwhile, Mimir moved into the mansion to keep her older friend company, and to help advise her on matters both business and personal.

One stormy night, the Autarch calls all 7 of her children back home in order to discuss matters of great importance, including her decisions about her will. Some came eagerly, and others with great reluctance--there were arguments had that were years in coming, and there were private talks between siblings who hadn't interacted in years. But the matter that the Autarch was keen to discuss was postponed: the storm knocked out the power in the mansion, and all turned into bed, sleeping fitfully in rooms they'd abandoned decades earlier.

They never discovered why the Autarch had called them to their old haunting grounds, either, for in the morning, she was found with a knife buried in her heart.

CHARACTERS:

- Riel Syndran. A world-famous private detective and consultant famed across the world for his ability to solve any mystery, no matter how old or tangled. He is known for being comfortable with ruthlessly manipulating interrogation subjects and suspects in order to extract the truth and solve his case no matter what; this obsession and willingness to massage the rules--although he claims the truth is his only goal, above all other things--is what makes him unsuitable for conventional police work, but his results speak for themselves. He arrives on the mansion's doorstep mere minutes after the Autarch is found murdered and is claimed to have been hired by an anonymous party, casting suspicion on his timing and the pre-planned nature of the death. His signature move is being recognized by various people as "the detective who solved the Apple Killer case" (or some other famous case of his) and replying in irritable tones that it was actually "the Orange Killer case, but you were close". He abhors smoking and has doctorates in body language analysis and psychology, as well as a law degree, and is gifted with a photographic memory. He picks invisible lint off of his sleeves while he thinks.

- Blade Bronwyn. An FBI agent (think Agent Cooper in Twin Peaks) who has been in the town of Old Haven investigating a string of serial killings across the country. He hears about the murder of the Autarch from the local police and arrives at the manor a mere hour after they were alerted, keen to investigate the murder as part of his ongoing case. He plays the straight man to Riel's more eccentric detection methods, and is seen more as a serious, by-the-books rule-follower determined to get answers. The suspects in the manor find him to be emotionally-insensitive, blunt, and grim-faced. He has a better sense of smell and sight than Riel does, as well as more combat experience, and is the only person in the manor acknowledged to be carrying a weapon. He takes his coffee black and very strong.

- Enik Goldenson. The Autarch's only biological child and the oldest. He was granted full control of her holdings and business empire when she retired in order to focus on raising her new family. He has made his disdain of his adopted siblings very clear, not least because he resents having to share his future inheritance with them. He has historically been a bully and cruel towards his mother. Rumor had it that he was once studying to become a priest. He has avoided returning to the mansion ever since Trouble knocked his lights out at fourteen years of age. He was once briefly engaged to fellow heiress Lavinet Naveen, who eventually spurned him, finding him "repulsive." He has the most bad blood among anyone in the family and is considered one of the prime suspects in the Autarch's murder, as it was possible that she may planned to cut him out of the will. Blade places his suspect status as RED while Riel believes he is at an ORANGE: Enik may be far too clever to kill his own mother under such suspicious and bloody circumstances.

- Trouble Alder. The first of the Autarch's adopted children, he was once an urchin running a street-fighting racket on the streets of New Haven. He was nicknamed Trouble for his surly temper and quick ability to get into fights and settle things with his fists, necessitating being sent off to a military boarding school in an effort to curb his violent tendencies as a teenager. He is extremely protective of his other adopted siblings, and while he resented the Autarch in his youth, he has begrudgingly come to respect her more for taking him in as an adult. He now works as a decorated sniper in the military and is working to earn his pilot's wings. The revelation that he kept military weapons in his room casts suspicion on him as a murder suspect, though Riel quickly dismisses him as not being a good enough liar to get away with it.

- Tallys Ironwood. The second of the Autarch's adopted children, she made her hatred of the old woman very well known, and had an even poorer relationship with her than Enik did. Tallys's parents were victims in an accident caused by one of the Autarch's manufacturing plants, and she has always felt that her subsequent adoption was mere lip service to atonement for the Autarch, while she would have rather stayed with her more impoverished aunts and uncles. She ran away multiple times in her youth and has not spoken to the Autarch since she was 18. Her overt hatred and reluctance in coming back to the mansion casts suspicion on her as a murder suspect. She has a degree in plant science and works as an environmental activist, particularly targeting products and campaigns by Enik's company, creating unspeakable friction between them.

- Ayla Aescar. The third of the Autarch's adopted children, nothing is known about her biological parents. She was adopted from a neighboring country and has since returned to it as an adult, making an effort to reconnect with her origins and culture. Her relationship with "the old woman," as she calls her, was more neutral, though it comes out that the Autarch frequently bailed her out in secret whenever Ayla ran into trouble, such as trespassing on Jalis government grounds. Nominally, she works as a photographer for a travel magazine, but secretly, she is an investigative photojournalist looking into various covert practices by the Jalis government. This brings up a question of whether the Autarch's killing was political, and whether it was actually meant for Ayla.

- Chase Trinaeste. The fourth of the Autarch's adopted children, it's joked that he was intended to replace Trouble when he was sent off to boarding school due to having a more charming personality and sweeter face. However, he ended up being the most troublesome one of the bunch, having multiple run-ins with the law from a young age and displaying various tendencies towards larceny, grand theft auto, and more. He had no shame about stealing and pawning off valuables from the mansion and was a well-known skirt-chaser, leading to constant stress in their household about what he was getting up to when he snuck out of the house at night. At eighteen, he disappeared from the mansion, and no one has heard from him in the intervening years since. He completely ducks any questions from Riel or Blade about what he does for a living, leading most to conclude that he has gotten himself deeper entrenched in the criminal underworld. This has cast obvious suspicion on him and his involvement in the murder, as he was known to steal from the Autarch herself. He seems to feel some measure of loyalty and possibly remorse towards his adopted siblings, but hides it well under a polished veneer of charm and casual swagger.

- Briony Stormbreaker. The fifth of the Autarch's adopted children In a dramatic fashion, she was discovered as a young child swept away in a huge flood caused by a storm, with no ability to communicate (or seemingly remember) anything about where she could have lived or who her family was. She was subsequently adopted by the Autarch and is one of the few who had a fairly good relationship with her, always expressing gratitude for giving her a home and family (though this brought her into conflict with siblings like Tallys, as she usually tried to defend the Autarch when she wasn't there to speak for herself). She was the sibling who always tried to unite the others, and their constant arguments and conflicts constantly broke her heart. She was an easily-upset child who tended to be babied by Trouble and Chase, but after constantly bullying from Croelle and Enik, she toughened up and began taking martial arts classes, abruptly displaying her own ferocious temper and violent streak as well as unusually powerful physical strength. She currently works as a passionate public prosecutor. She was heard conversing with the Autarch privately with raised voices, on the night of the murder, and is known to sleepwalk during violent storms. She even had a phase with an imaginary, sword-shaped friend as a child, as well as repeatedly claimed that she's seen ghosts in the manor. This perceived paranoia has led some to wonder whether she could have harmed the Autarch in her sleep. As Riel says, "It's always the nice ones." Blade: "Not in my experience." Riel: "Not in mine, either, but in some continuity, it must be true."

- Croelle. The last of the Autarch's adopted children. He was by far the most anti-social and troubled part of the family, refusing to speak to those he deemed beneath him and breaking Trouble's arm in a disturbing display of dominance as youths. Unlike Enik, his cruelty is more ruthless and matter-of-fact, the way an animal might treat another animal, rather than pointed and manipulative. Regardless, he was a terror to all of the other siblings, and he was eventually thrown in juvenile detention (and later prison) for killing members of a gang, seemingly in self-defense. However, he never cared to divulge the full details of the story, and has been serving his sentence ever since. No one besides the Autarch knew that he was coming until they arrived at the manor. Croelle claims that he and the Autarch had been exchanging letters for the last few years, and that he has begrudgingly allowed her back into his life, which was why she decided to invite him to this gathering upon his release from prison. However, there is currently no evidence that any such letters exist. As an adult, he is currently quieter and more mellow and has shown no particular proclivity towards violence, but there is always a sense of danger lurking in his eye regardless. His social skills have not improved by much. He is considered one of the absolute top suspects for the old woman's murder. His feelings on his adopted siblings or really anything are extremely unknown. He keeps asking everyone about free will, which annoys everyone except Riel.

- Shery Acquell. A longtime maid for the Autarch and one of her closest friends and confidantes. She alone has been caring for the Autarch in her declining health, ensuring that she has been receiving the proper medical care and dietary attentions, and even reading her books in the evenings. Their closeness has led some to speculate that the Autarch may have bequeathed a part of her inheritance to the maid, or that perhaps Shery was motivated to ingratiate herself to the Autarch to attain said inheritance. She was the last person to see the Autarch before her death, knows something about what transpired between her and Mimir, and ultimately reluctantly admits that she believes in the ghosts that Briony has seen, too.

- Halek Prince. The manor's live-in chef. He is one of the few non-family members staying in the mansion the night of the murder, and suspicion is cast on him when his cooking seemingly gives Ayla, Briony, and Red an allergy attack, leading some to posit attempts at poisoning. Mimir claims to have seen him in places where he shouldn't be or even couldn't be, and he is generally someone viewed as a good suspect for the murder. Riel thinks something else is going on here.

- Red Antiqua. Ayla's journalist partner who accompanied her to the mansion, partly to serve as a buffer for the family awkwardness and partly because he was curious to learn more about the reclusive Autarch. Nominally, he is a travel writer, but secretly, he is working as the same kind of investigative journalist that she is. His secret photographs of the manor prove to be a key piece of evidence in uncovering the murder suspect. He is forced to be confined to the manor, the same as everyone else, to prevent information leaks or runaways. He uncovers a secret doorway in his room and is too curious not to duck into it...

- Caine Tavadon. The son of the manor's groundskeeper, he is often seen with his dog, peeping into the windows of the manor because he's incorrigibly nosy. His witness statements lead Blade and Riel to key footprints on the grounds. He claims to have seen a strange figure staring down at him from the windows of the mansion before.

- Prihine Naveen. Enik's current fiancee, she accompanied him on this odious visit to his mother's manor and is a witness in the proceedings. Although they can barely tolerate each other, their shared ambitions for wealth and power keep them together as a polite though distant couple. A file in the Autarch's study reveals that she has been watching Prihine for some time and discovered that she was having a secret affair. The file indicates that she planned to tell Enik face-to-face, leading others to speculate that Prihine may have murdered the old woman in order to preserve her engagement. Enik remarks that there was a period of time where Prihine was not in bed.

- Lavinet Naveen. Prihine's older cousin, and Enik's ex-fiancee. They've technically known each other since they were children and were schoolmates at the same prestigious institution. The Autarch and Lavinet's father initially had designs to marry the two to forge a powerful alliance between their business empires. However, Lavinet quickly backed out of the engagement, finally admitting that she couldn't stand Enik and would never marry him. Although this has generally caused relations between the two families to become frosty, she has strangely remained on good terms with the Autarch herself, who always admired Lavinet's chutzpah and steely will. (This was just another reason for Enik to hate his own mother.) Lavinet was free to come and go to the manor as she pleased, and dropped in on the Autarch once every few months, as her family's manor is nearby. She only recently discovered that her own cousin, Prihine, is now engaged to her ex, and rushed over on the night of the murder in order to dissuade Prihine from the marriage or convince the Autarch to put a stop to it. This led to a four-way argument (between Lavinet, Prihine, Enik, and his mother) of epic proportions, meaning that Lavinet is not clear on suspicions of murder, either.

- Mimir. The psychic who somehow came into contact with the Autarch and began to convert her to the ways of the supernatural. She has been the Autarch's closest friend and confidant for months, even going so far as to move into the mansion. Many point out the obvious designs on the Autarch's inheritance and possible sinister intentions for taking advantage of the older woman, especially since no one but Shery knows what Mimir has actually advised the Autarch to do. However, Riel points out that there has been no traceable financial irregularities when it comes to Mimir; the Autarch doesn't seem to have paid her for her services, only providing Mimir with food and a roof over her head. The psychic speaks in extremely cryptic tones and lapses into trance-like states. Riel in particular scorns her for her supposedly psychic abilities, insisting that she is a fraud, until she comments on aspects of his past that no one could possibly know, shaking him. She is a prime suspect for the murder until it's discovered that Mimir insists on being locked into a windowless room, only being released by Shery in the morning, to protect herself from the ghosts that haunt the grounds...

#Shepherds of Haven #AU #cluedo #clue #murder mystery #murder mystery AU #knives out #knives out AU #long #long post #all characters #<3 #if anyone can actually guess who the killer is i'll send you a sticker #jk i'll reblog the answer sometime

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goldafterglow · 4 years ago

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dissolve me (repost)

(deleted this post on accident, reblog of original here)

Summary: We find out how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop. Except the Tootsie Pop is Horacio Carrillo.

Pairing: Horacio Carrillo x Reader

Word Count: 5k+ (look away)

Warnings: angst, fluff, gory metaphors (I use figurative language to mask the scent of flaming trash)

A/N: This is literally the first thing I’ve written in like 3 years so you have to be nice to me. Please give me feedback!! But it has to be exclusively positive or I will spontaneously combust!!!

Horacio is cold.

It’s a little past midnight and the Sun has been asleep for hours by now, but not Bogota. Instead, the city moves in slow motion, the weight of slumber heavy on its creatures as the few visible stars shush the agitated crickets. Somehow, even despite the Sun’s absence, it’s influence still blankets the trees. It accumulates, even. The hot radiation permeates the lungs of taxis and buildings, but the cool darkness brings life into the air as water begins to materialize on the sides of newspaper stands and underneath Horacio’s shirt. His clothes stick to him so tight (more than usual) that he thinks he may be drowning under the moon. He can taste the ocean on his tongue and the sensation is only relieved as he steps off the pavement and onto the tile of the rundown convenience store. The building, heavily air conditioned, makes each drop of sweat feel like icicles pricking into his fried red skin, but his body still burns from the residual heat.

Somehow, Horacio still maintains that icey core in his chest. So even as he makes a beeline for the refrigerated-goods, yes. Horacio is cold.

He exists as a green-sheet ghost walking through the aisles of the grocery store, barely conscious at 2 am as he searches for some goddamn milk. He knows he works too hard, knows his life is concrete and bricks screeching against his steel heart. Every morning he walks on glass to enter his office, and every morning he forces his feet to bleed. What else is there for him? His body has been adorned with splinters and cuts for so long now, so what’s a few more? Each night, he drags his body flat across the floor, just trying to make it out the door. Trying to escape an office that chews him up and spits him out, saliva covered and filthy.

But fuck if he just wants some milk.

So he makes this small trip before he heads home. Once he finds the dairy, his heavy eyes hoist themselves upwards, to the second-to-topmost shelf in the refrigerator. The last carton of fat free milk - dairy-flavored water - that he’ll chug the next morning. But just as his hardened fingertips reach for it, they meet something else; a third wheel to this toxic milk-Horacio romance that is ruining his plans for what might as well be the best morning he’s had in the past three milk-free days. His mind, once fuzzy from the sleepy grey clouds filling his lenses like cataracts, now feels a sharp jolt of electricity soar through it as his machine body is activated and his surroundings suddenly become clearer, laser vision kicking in. His senses are now sharper and his guard is completely up. His nerves begin racing as the data from his hands shoots straight to his brain to get integrated and that thing he’s feeling is...warm? Shit, no it’s hot. It fucking burns his skin and immediately he pulls back because his motherboard is screaming at him that he’s in danger.

His head shoots up and his eyes dart to the side as he turns to look, expecting a raging bonfire or boiling cast iron, but instead he sees a human. A sweet, candy person that looks almost surprised as he does, but with softer features and kinder eyes. He smells the caramel seeping out of your pores and it stings his olfactory nerves but perhaps he wants to smell it again so it can fill his lungs and then let it harden inside of his cold body. So that it can stay within him forever.

“Disculpame,” you say, remorse dripping out of your golden mouth and if his ears were in control, he’d beg you to say it again. Say anything. He recognizes your accent. Not a Columbian, but a gringo. His brain reminds his heart that hey, we don’t like selfish, egotistical gringos. His heart doesn’t listen.

“Go ahead,” he says, and shit he sounds horrible. He sounds fucked up, and it’s probably because he is fucked up. He talks like toothpicks and needles, but it’s okay because he got to speak to you and he’s never spoken to an angel before.

He notices how you relax a little at the sound of his English, and he feels that heat spread at the beautiful notion that he did that all by himself.

“No really, I don’t need it,” you insist, a small smile gracing your lips. “You’re very sweet for offering, though.” Huh?

Horacio Carrillo is not sweet. He doesn’t taste like sugar or chocolate or berries. Horacio is bitter gourd, burnt toast and that shitty part at the end of the banana that no one wants. Copper and hot tar oozing down taste buds and burning the frail pink dots along the way. Straight black coffee that’s tear-inducingly retched. Pepto Bismol and whatever the fuck is inside of those plastic pill capsules. Raw beef festering with E. coli and flies, a rotting corpse under a wake of vultures, the creepy old man that sits next to you on the train, mace burning your shivering eyes while you collapse to your shredded knees onto a floor of thumbtacks.

Horacio Carrillo is not sweet. But you said he was, and you are oh so persuasive. That’s when he felt the first one. Crack.

His mind goes into overdrive as panic sets in - what was that sound? What just broke? What crevice of his mind just ripped a little and how can he staple it back shut? He feels the slimey pus of his emotions begin to seep out of the opening a little, and he doesn’t like it. Not one bit. He wants to put his guard back up and regain control of this situation the way he’s been trained to do by offering you the carton and then leaving; defying your orders and following his own.

But who is he to refuse you?

“Thank you,” he says, and he’s just noticed that your hand is back at your side and your eyes shine a little brighter as your smile widens at his defeat. That was me, too. But then you’re turning around and leaving, messy bun flopping up and down as you walk towards the cash register and his heart is furious. It’s pounding in his ribcage like a ravenous shark caged in glass, telling him to not let you get away because it wants to burn in your soft flames and turn to ash in your fingers, but he stays planted. Watches you walk away and take that gentle radiating heat with you, leaving him just as hard and frozen as he was before he’d ever let you poke around into his soul. Suddenly he understands why you’d burned him so bad; doesn’t even the lightest match make that violent sizzling sound when it touches ice? But he can’t deny that you had melted him, just a little bit, and he can’t deny that he likes being a little watery.

He sees you again just a few days later. It’s a Sunday morning and Bogota is now wide awake. Pastel streaks fly down the streets as manifestations of yellow taxis, dusty red cars, and pale blue cyclers bring the canvas of the city to life. Horacio decides to be adventurous, introduce true exploration and child-like color into his monochrome world, and walk to the cafe near his street. A truly exhilarating touch, if he did say so himself.

Except he hadn’t prepared himself for the anarchy that would occur within him when he saw you again. The girl that was awake at 2 am and offered him white calcium water in a carton and called him sweet. You’re wearing one of those pink dresses that you just know is sleeveless, but a light denim jacket guards your shoulders and he can’t help but wonder what would happen if he just tugged on your collar a little bit, exposed some of your delicate skin and traced his fingers over it. Just closed his eyes and leaned down to brush his lips over - shit, fuck. What is he thinking? His eyes don’t know where to look, his heart doesn’t know how to beat, his lungs don’t know how to take in air. What do you do when you see a pretty thing in a pretty sundress? Certainly not function. Horacio wasn’t doing that at all. So he did the next best thing: sit at a table and watch you. That’s the next best thing, right?

He watches as you smile at the young man taking your order, talking to him like you know him, care about him. All you were doing was listing the ingredients you wanted in your drink, but your bright eyes twinkle with a sort of endearment that he isn’t used to. Like you were happy.

He is in awe of you. Horacio has worked so hard to stay numb, to feel nothing but that rusty scrape of motivation that made him do his job. But you made it look so easy to gush, to overflow and spill your delight with life onto everyone around you until that tired, overworked teenager behind the register was smiling too as he said “next!”

You turn your head to find a table once you pick up your order and panic settles into Horacio’s bones again as he reflexively turns his head away from you, but your keen eyes spot him. Oh, how you must pity him. The poor, miserable apparition from the grocery store. He feels that radiating heat begin to grow as you approach him at his table, so he pretends to not notice you. Pretends he’s numb as you thaw him into a dripping mess of thin ice and water.

“Is this seat taken?” you ask him, nodding to the other chair in front of him with a cup of coffee in your supple hands. Horacio’s tactful eyes scan the cafe once more; there’s other seats in the building, other men and women for you to pity. He’s been chosen. And he just can’t resist you, is too weak to deny himself that addicting sugary sweetness that you’re coated in because he’s not sure he’ll ever feel so soft again and he wants to savor it.

Horacio looks up at you, clearing his throat as he takes the kind of breath that you can feel as the air fills his lungs. He’s priming his voice to talk to you because this time, he wants to make it count.

“No,” he says. Fuck. In that moment, he couldn't remember having talked before. Has he ever spoken? Certainly not, or he’d know how to do it. But you don’t seem to mind his cold tone as you take the seat in front of you, and those damned eyes of yours are blinding to look at but god, who needs pupils anyway?

He can tell you’re curious about him. You want to pick him apart scab by scab and take him apart into individual fibers until you get to that soft mushy center that is Horacio Carrillo. You want to see him naked and open, but that’s not something Horacio can give you. How could he? He’s taken that weak, inferior soul within him and crushed it under concrete and plaster of paris, secured it with walls and steel and barbed wire until the protective layers become so extensive that even if someone could get through them all, why the fuck would they want to? It wouldn’t be worth the trouble.

“You know, I’ve never been here before,” you say, taking a sip of your drink, and he hums, knowing that’s how people interact but not quite knowing what is going on with him. You’re just saying things, just want him to talk back. You’re trying to have a real conversation with him, and he doesn’t understand why, but maybe for just once in his life he doesn’t need to fucking understand everything.

“Then what brings you here?” he asks, and slowly he begins to regain a little feeling inside him. Not enough that it unleashes his pain, but enough that he can feel that ice water slosh around inside him easily. A gentle flow of slush that mixes with your amber and makes him feel like a person.

“A student of mine recommended it to me,” you explain, and he’s starting to put together a little picture of who you are in his mind.

“You teach?” he asks, probing you for your life. He wants to study your mind, hear the music that leaves your mouth when you speak. You nod thoughtfully, and he can tell he’s mentioned something you enjoy. He learns that you teach at a local university and hears about just how passionate you are about what you teach. His dark eyes begin to fill with that precious light you possess as you tell him about your students and how though you’re new to Bogotá, you already love it. But that doesn’t surprise him so much; somehow he just knows that you’ve got plenty of love to go around.

“Well now you know what business I have in a grocery store at 2 am,” you conclude after you tell him about your late nights grading subpar papers, curiosity twinkling in your eyes like fairy lights in the dark. “What about you?” It isn’t until the focus is back on himself that he notes the smile that graces his features. A real smile. He smiles not out of diplomacy but because right now, he’s happy. He’s high on you and serotonin and he’d let you ruin him if you wanted to. But your question troubles him. He can’t really tell you why; he can’t bear to take his ugly, black, acrylic life and stain your lavender and daffodil backdrop. So he tells you the bare minimum: that he’s a colonel and leads a special ops unit called the Search Bloc. He leaves out the blood that paints his eyes everyday, forgets to mention the agony he’s felt and inflicted on others.

“Your drink isn’t ready yet?” you question, like a sudden realization has just hit you. Your kind features are furrowed into slight confusion, and Horacio wants to let a black sky swallow him into his own misery because he forgot to order something.

“I didn’t get anything,” he admits, face starting to glow light pink as his foolishness begins to manifest on his hardened features. You don’t look confused anymore; you’re curious again. Forever wondering about the enigma in front of you, except he’s no mystery; he’s a labyrinth. Full of questions and doubt without one single answer, and once you enter you can’t ever escape.

“Then what does a colonel do at a humble cafe?” you ask. And all of the sudden, for a man that makes a living out of repeatedly evading death, he wants to evaporate into the beige, worn tile beneath the teal cushion of his seat because the answer to that question will surely ruin the delicate, blushed bubble around the two of you. But you’ve incapacitated him with your stupid fucking pretty eyes so much so that you must be the enemy in this story. He can escape gunpoint, rouse himself from a concussion, but he hasn’t got a single clue how to regain his quick wit and pistol mind in the face of something much more sinister: a pretty girl.

“I-” he starts, but all of the sudden his throat won’t cooperate because his mind is helpless to lie to you but his body is resisting. His body rejects that frozen, dreadful state of nothing that it’s normally kept in. You’ve spread the warmth of fuzzy blankets and blissful vertigo throughout his stomach and his body wants to stay warm. “I was just…” he coughs, hard, willing his esophagus to heed his commands, “...I was watching you.” Horacio is flustered now, completely out of his element as he feels his blood seep to the topmost layers of his skin, exposing his embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” he adds almost immediately, his eyes wide as he tries to avert his flushed features from your careful gaze. “I know that’s weird. I didn’t mean to-”

“Horacio,” you interrupt. Say it again. Say my name again. “It’s okay. Actually, it’s kinda cute.” Crack. That steel fortress that he thought was so impenetrable was beginning to soften into something moldable, pliable only to your hands so you could transform him from a wall to a rose.

Horacio lets out a soft chuckle, biting his lip so hard he almost can’t feel his teeth digging into his own chapped flesh. His pink cheeks are full and for the first time in so long his eyes glimmer with life and adoration.

“I don’t want to be too forward and scare you away,” he says, a little nervous but so much more giddy, “but could I see you again?” You giggle, a beautiful melody that floods his ears and softens his brow.

“Yes, Horacio, I’d really like that,” you agree, and he can’t help but feel like he’s not in a cafe but somewhere in the cosmos as a compliant planet orbiting a bright, burning star. Somewhere far more heavenly and celestial than this godforsaken planet. He watches you glance up at the grandfather clock situated against the wall behind him and then back at him. “I need to get going, but take this.” You pull a pen out of your small bag and scribble a string of digits onto your coffee cup, holding the marked cardboard out to him. He’s slow to take it from your hands; he doesn’t want to keep you here, but at the same time he very much does. He allows himself to brush his fingers against yours again, like they had the night before, so that your potent you-flavored syrup can inject into his bloodstream and fill his capillaries.

As you stand to leave, he can tell you have one last lingering thought itching at your brow. “For the record, you couldn’t scare me away,” you assure with a smile that borders on teasing. “You’re just not scary.” And he watches you walk away, leaving him completely and utterly dumbfounded as to who you had just spoken to because it certainly wasn’t Horacio Carrillo, world class murderer and notoriously inhuman interrogator. Crack.

That next Friday, Horacio sees you again. He shakes as he knocks on your door, roses trembling in his fingers as you swing the door open. He knows the bouquet resting under his chin is pathetic, an overused display of affection, but it makes you gush as you take them from hands and bring them to your own wondrous features and let that stupid cheesy token fill your lungs with its scent.

He takes you to a restaurant like a proper gentleman, not that he gave a single shit where he was as long as it was with you. You put him far too out of his element for him to get creative with his date idea, so instead he pulls every last cliche out of the book and piles it on you. He holds the door open for you and pulls your chair out and orders wine for you because he doesn’t have a clue how to tell you that you turn him into sugar bubbles floating on warm cocoa but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try to show you.

So evening after evening he finds himself leaving work just a little earlier each day. He spends less time in poorly lit grocery stores and more time loitering at the open farmer’s market under the real sun, perusing lazily amongst the various produce and trinkets because why not? He starts wearing pink and stripes and maybe a polka-dot shirt because he starts to realize that the world has so much beauty in it and all things beautiful remind him of you. He waits a little longer to shave his face so he can hear that ethereal symphony of giggles play from your throat when he uses his scruff to scratch against your soft shoulder. You start showing up in his life in places that you don’t even exist and filling his odd corners with a pretty white glow.

He lets little things bring him joy; your tongue wetting your lips when you’re deciding where to eat for the night, your neck craning to look up at him from the couch when he walks through your door, the way the stacks of student papers that rest on your kitchen island are always different sizes. Your tongue tapping his skin when you lay a lingering kiss to his face. Your lipgloss sticking to his tricep when you don’t feel like getting up to kiss his lips, leaving a shimmer on his skin that he never wipes away. Your feather fingers sweeping his torso and turning his skin to cotton candy. The fumes of pencil lead and your perfume choking his lungs when he buries his face into your neck and breathes you in. And every fucking time you call him cute, adorable, pretty, beautiful, baby. All of those forbidden words that you dare to use in vain, courageously sacrilegious considering how he worships you, create more little cracks inside of him.

Horacio may not know how to communicate, but he knows you. He knows which compliments make you turn the reddest. He gets you your favorite artists’ CDs imported from America. He shows up at your door with your favorite pastry from your new favorite cafe. He hugs you from behind and peppers kisses down the column of your throat because it makes you giggle. He flutters his fingers where you’re ticklish until you’re so overstimulated that tears form. He cooks meals for you, insisting that all you can do to help is sit on the counter and look pretty for him. He kisses you deeply, so hard and intimate that the two of you are breathing the same air and taste the same. He does everything he can to make you smile for him because in return he gets called a “beautiful boy” and “my sweet soldier” and an “angel,” all words that send him beyond the stars and spin his head like a top until all he can think to do is giggle.

Passed weeks turn into a month, a month becomes two, and before he knows it he’s twice the man he used to be with you filling in half of him. Horacio is still, however, a man adorned with flaws. And with each moment that you occupy, he starts to really collect cracks. The powerful resolve that keeps him from ever admitting that he’s absolutely gone for you becomes compromised because you are powerful. Without even trying, your soft voice is like a wrecking ball to his defenses, breaking him down as you probe into what you call the “pretty parts” of him that he hides. But you don’t have the first clue what he’s hiding.

Horacio is not a man without emotions. He gets angry and frustrated, but those kinds of emotions sit at his surface, above his armed fortress. He can let them all out in his work through stony grimaces and raised voices and guns and fists. But he also feels sorrow, regret, shame. So much shame. These emotions are unsightly black and blue dents in the soft, fragile mush that sits at the very core of him. Under his walls are wounds still wide open and full of splinters, gushing blood and pus, septic and untreated. And they fucking hurt. So he gathers them all together along with his love, his adoration and sweetness, and ices them over, freezes them away and covers them in layer after layer of concrete until he can barely even remember that they’re there.

But he’s starting to feel again.

His fondness for you is explosive and wild, greedy for your affection. But he’s afraid. He knows you adore him, because you are brave. You can speak your feelings into existence and not feel like something inside you has fractured. But Horacio is a coward. He can’t say he loves you, he can’t love you. He knows that if he did, his filthy rotting core would be unleashed and he’d feel an agony worse than anything he’s ever subjected anyone to. But you’re leaving him full of cracks, making him weak and vulnerable in the security of your arms, and he doesn’t think you could hold all of him together if he was truly unleashed. He thinks you might realize how much of a lost cause he is and leave him on the side of the road to bleed out.

The last crack you leave in him is so small, you don’t even notice.

He sits next to you on your couch, your head tucked into his neck as a shitty telenovela radiates through the thick glass of your TV set. Neither of you say anything because you don’t need to be talking to feel comfortable with each other, so you don’t notice how he hasn’t glanced at the TV in 15 minutes. He can’t take his eyes off of you, hermosa, the puny glow of Rodrigo telling Lucia that “it’s not what it looks like” barely doing your face justice. He notices each pore on your face, the curve of your jaw and the bridge of your nose forming sweeping lines that sculpt your face, and he knows he is so utterly fucked. He knows he’s so dangerously in love with you.

He only blinks when you yawn softly, those lines contorting as you scrunch your face. He relaxes a little as you move to sit up, leaning forward to grab the remote from the coffee table and blindly turning the TV off as the preview for the next episode plays. He fills to the brim with amazement as you stretch your back, letting out a gentle squeal. Now it’s just that antique lamp on the edge of your couch illuminating the room, and it’s still not enough light. Nothing is ever bright enough when you’re there to rival it.

“It’s late, baby,” you whisper, a sleepy rasp scraping your voice a little as you look up at him with a rosy smile. You reach up to run a hand through his dark hair, taking care to let your fingers caress his scalp. “You can stay if you want,” you offer, as he’s stayed the night before. “I sleep better with you anyway.” Crack.

“Cariño,” he breathes, his features turning pained as his lip begins to quiver like never before. “Cariño I love you.”

Horacio crumbles in your hands.

Like a mound of brown sugar after it’s poured, the dome losing its form as it slowly collapses, grains dragging over each other as they sink to the bottom of the bowl and the dome is destroyed. No longer held together by tight, sticky molasses and instead a helpless, feeble puddle too broken down to be considered a shape anymore. Just a pathetic sea of lost particles, helpless in putting itself back together. He falls apart right in front of you.

He feels tears that are years old begin to flow down his cheeks, falling off his chin and onto the baby blue cloth of his too-tight shirt. He is completely unprotected, every last defense around that shapeless, dark flesh inside him falling to dust as you hold it in your kind hands. Your arms are quick to wrap around his head, bringing his face to your chest where he is safe. He’s never been more raw and vulnerable in his life, and yet he’s never felt more secure.

He bares his soul to you. He chokes on his words as he gushes his dried, brown blood onto your cotton skin and you soak up every ounce of him. He tells you he is ashamed, that he is remorseful, that he is afraid. And you listen, skin absorbing him in until you’ve got him enveloped in your big, beautiful heart. And whereas every touch used to break him down, your fingertips are now healing him, building him back up and reshaping him into something better than what he was. He can feel his scars begin to heal and the pain begin to dull as an intense awe for you overcomes him.

He knows you can’t just fix him with your fairy dust overnight. He knows he will need time to restore himself from beast to man. But fuck if he doesn’t want to do it with you, can’t do it without you.

You’ve led him towards your bed, undressing him slowly because you know that he just needs to breathe and feel the air cool his irritated skin. Once you’re both down to your underclothes, you’re careful in letting him onto the mattress. You sit down first, leaning back against the pillow, and then you sweetly tug on his arm to join you. He dives into your body head first, face nosing into your neck as his big arms wrap around your midsection. You reach for your softest blanket, enveloping the two of you in the added warm as his breaths begin to even out against your chest. He feels you wrap your arms around his head again, for the second time reminding him that he is safe.

He can feel his emotions getting the best of himself again as you whisper sweet nothings into his hair, telling him how strong and brave he is, how beautiful his soul is now that he’s really showing it to you. His muscles melt into you as you take those fragments of him and begin to piece them back together, filling the cracks you’d made with your marshmallow fluff and liquid gold.

He feels warm again as you call him your “baby,” and this time he doesn’t try to run away from it. He embraces it, leans into it. He was being protected by bones and bricks, but now it’s by honeycomb and delicate flesh. Horacio finally starts to feel like he’s beautiful because you’re letting him borrow yours. And as long as you’ll have him, he’s willing to share.

#horacio carillo x reader #narcos #maurice compte #iris writes #i didn't fuckfigfdsg put the goddamn mf italics in #i feel like i've outgrown my italics phase #god this post isn't even that old what the fuck am I talking about

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darthkvznblogs · 3 years ago

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From His Vantage Upon the Moon #1

Thor, Doctor Strange, and the Olympians

(MCU x Percy Jackson and the Olympians x Supergiant Games' Hades)

It's rather bad form for a visiting god not to check in with the local deities; Thor's already missed two visits, so he really oughta visit Mount Olympus - though in his defense, being cast out by Odin really shouldn't count. Fortunately, Doctor Strange is willing to play mediator between the typically fickle pantheons.

(From His Vantage upon the Moon is a collection of one-shot stories set in the Kryptonverse, an MCU based crossover universe including over 16 franchises so far. You can find the original work here, but I'll also be posting each short story here on Tumblr, too! If you like what I do, and would like to support me, you can find me on Ko-fi!)

“Are you entirely certain you wish to accompany me, Sorcerer?” –Thor asks, raising an eyebrow as they stand just outside the Empire State Building. Despite the fact that they’re in street clothes, Thor’s outrageously chiseled physique keeps drawing quite a few lascivious gazes, much to Stephen’s chagrin.

“Were it truly up to me, I’d be happy to let you make a fool of yourself.” –he drawls. “My duties, however, require me to mediate your reunion.”

Thor hums. “I don’t recall requiring a mediator during my last visit.” –he grouses. “The Lords of Olympus were quite amenable to our brief presence on Midgard back then.”

“That was then, and this is now. Earth has changed quite a bit in your absence.” –Strange argues. “The Olympians and their demigod children, in particular, have suffered through quite a bit of turmoil in the past few decades – particularly so in the last five years. Compounded with the thinning of the Mist, they’re bound to be wary of anyone outside their immediate circle of trust. Even if you were a friend.”

“Ah. I see.” –Thor mutters. “Strange, is it not? Their own troubles, Loki’s betrayal and the bandit rampage throughout the Nine Realms...we’ve had centuries of peace, and now this. So much has happened in so little time.”

Strange sighs. “I’m afraid this could just be the beginning. But this isn’t the time for that.” –he says. “Let’s hurry along. You have an invasion to repel.”

The god and the sorcerer walk into the building. A security guard stands beside the elevator – less a person and more a magical security measure meant to dissuade mortals (and even some demigods) from entering the gods’ abode. The guard recognizes Strange, though, and merely waves him into the elevator – though not before shooting Thor a vaguely hostile look.

“Odd custom, this.” –Thor notes, as Strange punches in their destination – floor 600. “Moving their home around so often – seems rather a hassle. What’s wrong with the original Mount Olympus?”

“The Olympians like to chase the most powerful nations around, eager for worship as they are. Right now, America’s at the top of the food chain.” –Strange retorts. “Though I hear they’re considering moving back to Greece as part of their big PR strategy. This part of the world is getting rather crowded, rather fast – and Greece could certainlyuse the tourism it’d bring, once they reveal themselves to the world.”

“I remember their strange worship-sustenance, yes.” –Thor recalls as he raises an eyebrow. “Have the mortals truly forgotten us?”

Strange shakes his head. “It’s not like that. Your kind may have become myths, but we still retell them in many forms. That being said, very few people believe in the gods – and I’m not entirely certain that they think of you as you truly are. You and your kin, in particular, have drawn some rather nastyfollowers in the past century or so.”

Thor winces. “Jane mentioned as much, during my brief stay. Something about ‘perfect Arian men’.” –he mutters, disheartened. “Hatred and fear twist the minds of gods and mortals alike. Such it has been as long as I’ve lived.”

“Well, that’s what we’re here for. It’s up to us to set the record straight.” –Stephen says.

Thor nods as the elevator dings, opening to the golden gates and pristine marble of Olympus. “Aye, that we are.��

The duo make their way forth, magically changing into their mystical regalia. Lesser gods and nature spirits look on in surprise and curiosity as Thor cheerfully greets them, giggling nymphs and naiads huddling into gossiping circles. The throne room sits atop a small cliff, like the Parthenon in Athens, overlooking the entire realm and the hazy mortal world, barely visible below.

When they enter, Strange can’t help but be surprised; it’s been maybe a month since he was last on Olympus, and yet he can barely recognize the figures sat on each of the thirteen thrones, each of them at least thirty feet tall – the only exception being the hooded figure of Hestia, placidly sat within the flames of the hearth in the middle of the room.

“Venerable Lords and Ladies of Olympus.” –Stephen half bows. “The Mighty Thor, Firstborn of Odin, God of Thunder, Strength, and Fertility, would request an audience of you.”

The god at the head of the Pantheon leans forward. King Zeus looks very different – his skin is a few shades darker than Strange remembers, closer to the olive tones of the Greek, and his more or less sensible black hair and beard have dramatically changed to become cloud-like in appearance, billowing in the ever-present wind of the divine mountaintop. Gone, too, is his perfectly tailored suit – he is clad in a golden toga, accented in white, and a plethora of rings adorn his hands, one of which casually holds the Master Bolt. A crown of stylized lightning sits atop his head. “Master Sorcerer.” –he greets, his voice booming like distant thunder. “And the Lord Thor. Welcome to Olympus.”

“Do forgive the lack of appropriate fanfare in your reception.” –Queen Hera says, beside him, snow-white robes adorned with a golden belt and peacock feathers, sprouting like a corona behind her head. “Dragging our family together for such an impromptu visit proved a more difficult endeavor than we anticipated.”

The thirteenth god scoffs, at Zeus’ left. Lord Hades crosses his arms, ashen-skinned, bushy-bearded, and much more muscular than Strange remembers him – perhaps the most visually different of them all. A crown of burning laurels, matching his flaming feet, compliments his blood-colored chiton, and precious stones of all kinds adorn his hands and arms. “Then perhaps you should have done with the few of you who were already present, Sister Hera. Blood and Darkness, but this is a waste of my time.” –he curses, leering at their guests with black and red eyes. “Curse the day your spawn so nobly decided to include me in these affairs, Poseidon.”

Poseidon, at least, Stephen recognizes. Physically, Percy’s father looks the same as before, for some reason – even though his clothes have also regressed to what must’ve been his ancient looks. He smirks at his older brother. “We won’t keep you from your lovely family for long, Brother.” –he says, trying to placate the wrathful Lord of the Underworld. “But this is important.”

“Loathe as I am to agree with Lord Poseidon, rekindling our bonds with King Odin and his kin upon Asgard is paramount among our short-term priorities, Lord Hades.” –Athena grudgingly admits. Hades scoffs, sulking back into his throne. The virgin Goddess of Wisdom and War turns to Thor. “And I sense Lord Thor is eager to make amends for his unannounced visit and battle, earlier this year.”

Thor grins. “Indeed, Lady Athena. Though the mortals bid us worship once, Asgard recognizes Olympus’ sovereignty upon Midgard. King Odin sends his regards – and his firstborn, to aid in the protection of your world in whatever way you deem necessary.” –he says.

Zeus and Hades share a knowing look that has Strange wincing internally – they must know something about Thor that the Asgardian himself doesn’t. “There is no transgression to apologize for. And you’re allowed free transit in our domains, fellow Thunderer.” –Zeus declares, amiably enough. “Though grateful for the All-Father’s offer, we do not hold you to our service. You’ve decided to shoulder enoughresponsibilities to humanity already.”

“Your brother, I assume he is no longer a threat?” –Athena asks, narrowing her stormy grey eyes.

Thor’s smile falters. “No, he isn’t. I come fresh off his sentencing – he will live out his many, many days in our dungeons. This, I feel, does require an apology.”

“Family is a difficult matter at the best of times, Thor.” –Lady Demeter says, glaring coldly at the King of Olympus. “You have our condolences for Loki’s turn to madness.”

“Thank you, Lady Demeter.” –Thor bows. Stephen worries, despite himself, at the hint of pain in his voice.

“Madness or not, I envied your ability to challenge it alongside the mortal champions, unbound by our ancient laws as you are. Will you go join them now, in the bloodshed about to unfurl?” –Ares wonders, blood-red irises keen to see the Asgardian in action.

Thor nods curtly, his jaw set. “Indeed, Lord Ares. I do not mean to cut our meeting short, but I must aid my brothers and sisters in battle.”

“Oh, how boring.” –Aphrodite laments. Hers is the most eye-turning makeover of all – if only because she’s fully nude, pink-skinned as the day she rose from Ouranos’...remains. Only her flowing, rosy Godiva hair allows her any modesty – and even then, it’s tremendously inconsistent. Intentionally, Strange must assume. “It’s all doing battle with you warrior types. Here I thought you’d come back to see that pretty little mortal you fancied.”

Thor clears his throat. “That, uh...that is a bonus, yes.” –he admits. “But protecting the world takes priority.”

Zeus nods, approvingly – a little bit hypocritically, Strange feels, considering how hands-off the Olympians can be. “So it does, Odinson. Go with our blessing – and do join us for a spot of Nectar and Ambrosia soon. We have a few thousand years of history to catch up on, after all.”

#from his vantage upon the moon #kryptonverse #fanfiction #fanfic #crossover #hades game #percy jackson #pjo series #marvel cinematic universe #marvel #thor #doctor strange #ko fi link #ko fi

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shuuenmei · 4 years ago

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resolution

BEFORE WE BEGIN:

Admittedly, I didn’t want to reveal this at first but after some thought and discussions, I decided to publish this out. This contains a big part of what I plan for Yuu (Rei) and how “black or white” will run in the future, and because it’s potentially very long, I’m placing this under the cut.

The sound of the clock ticking is the only thing keeping her company as she searched through the library.

Not this book, not that book, not this one either.

She doesn’t know how much time has passed, but she doesn’t care.

She had to keep looking.

She refused to stay helpless and vulnerable like how she nearly died from those vine thorns-

She find herself idly touching onto her neck now covered in the bandages to hide the tiny scars from those thorns.

There’s so many things happening in such a quick span of time she finds herself unable to properly react and adjust how to adapt and survive.

“You were on a near dangerous spot, pup.” The words of her homeroom teacher rang when he was called by the headmaster to check on how severe her injuries were shortly after they brought Riddle back to his senses.

Of how she was lucky to have escaped strangulation when the vines enclosed on her neck.

Of how she nearly died from blood loss due to the thorns piercing her skin.

And the situation now truly sunk on her that she could have truly died not long after arriving in this world.

A deep, deep part of her mind screamed, feeling that for the first time, she wanted to live and survive.

To struggle for survival than to succumb to the temptation of sleeping forever, never waking up.

I don’t want to die I don’t want to die-

“That’s quite a heavy stack of books, little one.”

She couldn’t help but jump at the voice calling her from behind.

Her head turned to see who it was that spoke.

“You surprise me Lilia-san.”

The older student gave out a light hearted chuckle in response.

“It’s good to see you.” He greeted before he wondered. “Now what brings you here to the library?”

“I wanted to look up something.” She answered.

She made up her mind after her homeroom teacher’s diagnosis of her state.

She honestly still feel sluggish from the injuries she had and Professor Crewel issued a permit to Coach Vargas to excuse her (And by extension, Grim) from physical education class until she is fully recovered.

With much time to spare after the rather disastrous duel yesterday, she decided to head over to the library.

There’s something that she wished to know about and if she can’t find what she’s looking for... she’ll just have to make do.

“That’s quite a lot of books you were holding.” He pointed towards the stack of books she was holding.

“It’s fine Lilia-san, I can handle this.” She shook her head as the two started to walk their way towards the table where she placed her bag and some of the books she had borrowed earlier.

“I heard you and your friends called for a duel with Riddle yesterday.” Lilia started once he was seated.

“Ah, so everyone heard about it?”

“It’s quite impossible to not know it, little one.” The old fae chuckled.

She numbly nodded, her hand idly reaching out to her neck as if there is lingering pain sticking to her neck like a phantom.

The fae’s magenta eyes looked at the covers of the books she had brought, now placed on the table.

“Hmm, interesting choices you have there.” With an ever present smile, he used magic to make the heavy books float to his way.

“The Origin of Magic, History of Magic Tools... they all seem to cater towards a specific time frame, to an even older time...” The fae soon implored as he placed the books down. “What has brought you to wish to learn such a subject?”

She pondered for a moment.

Should she speak about it?

She may have only known about Lilia for a few days, a week, even. But she felt that she can truly trust this older student and ask for his aid.

The Headmaster doesn’t seem too keen in watching over her own well being and had a very hands-off approach.

He’s not the kind of person she’d trust her worries of.

In contrast, Lilia, in his own way, had been helping her from the start.

The Headmaster may have tried, but seeing first hand at how he seems to be giving a hands-off approach, how she was told that the Headmaster wouldn’t have rushed her to the infirmary and call for Professor Crewel immediately until the fact that she is nearly dying from blood loss truly sunk in, with the rest of Heartslabyul having to urge him out to get her the aid she needed.

(There’s something about the Headmaster that reminded her of an ill memory of the past, but she has yet to recall the full context of it all.)

Lilia, from the way he speaks and how he treated her, makes her think of the senior as an almost father like figure.

Doting yet keeping a firm watch of those he consider his children.

So she took her chance and spoke quietly.

Of the events that led to Riddle Rosehearts overblotting.

________________________________________________________________

“...I see. That explains the bandages covering your neck.”

She nodded.

“...But pray tell, what convinced you to search for a specific time frame involving magic in the days of old?”

She didn’t say a word to Lilia, deep in thought, trying to think of an answer.

It was a spur of a moment and she couldn’t help but be curious.

Curious to know if there is a point of time where people are not naturally born with magic.

Maybe those of old do magic differently than those who lived in the present.

She also vaguely remember of a story she once read of how people of the past request the world to lend their energy to use magic.

If such method also exist here, does she have a chance to survive?

So she won’t be so weak, helpless and vulnerable like today-

Still, there’s a chance that she won’t be able to find what she searched for.

But nevertheless, she doesn’t want to give up so easily and find a way so she can survive in this unfamiliar world.

She needs to see the end of the tale that she is entangled in no matter what.

She found her answer.

“...I just don’t want to stay weak and helpless as I am right now.”

She spoke and continued.

“After I was told of how I nearly died... I felt myself getting reminded of how easily vulnerable I was as a magicless person.”

She clenched her right hand to a fist, her nails dug onto her skin deep enough to hurt.

“I’m an easy target to the whole school as the lone magicless person. Regardless of how I’m actually capable of being able to fight back, all my skills... they had limits. I can’t always depend on my new friends all the time, and eventually, I’ll run out of options and will get badly hurt like how I did today.”

She had decided, her resolution to her decision firm.

“So I plan to look for an information that can potentially help me survive against other students who would try and target me for as long as I’m here. I refuse to be an easy target just because I’m the lone anomaly of this school.”

That’s all that there is to it.

She wanted to survive longer in a world where she is placed in between many prideful magicians who could potentially end her life with their magic if they so wish it.

Maybe she won’t be a burden to her new friends that way.

She felt Lilia’s silent gaze at her prickling, almost like he is scrutinizing her.

“Do you have an empty paper available to use?” Lilia questioned after a moment of silence.

“I can tear one page off, but what do you plan to use with it?”

Lilia smiled. “You’ll see, little one.”

Despite the fae’s cryptic reply, she obliged and brought out one of her spare notebooks, ripping one of the papers out and handed it to him.

“May I borrow a writing pen as well?”

She wondered where this is going but gave the fae one of her blue pens in the pencil case.

Lilia draw a large set of letters enough to fill a whole paper that is set in a landscape like orientation.

When he is finished, he threw the paper above him and spoke out what sounded like a magical chant in a language she couldn’t recognize.

In response to the fae’s chant, the letters written in the paper glowed, almost like magic, and then the paper shifted it’s shape, shredded into small parts and then rained down on the table, small cuts formed at the empty space of wooden table besides them, as if the paper has turned into small shards of blades.

“Oh, I still had it in me to use them.” Lilia mused at the sight as the papers soon disintegrated into dust, residual magical energy following it. “Well, I shall repair it soon enough lest that young librarian aim for my neck.”

As Lilia reached for his magical pen and used his magic to fix the table, she felt herself feeling awed at the sight of the paper turned to small sharp shards.

“That was just a normal pen right...” She utter out.

She had to wonder how it was possible.

All that the fae did was just drawing rune like letters onto the paper...

“Indeed it is.” The fae answered her.

“I simply use the paper as a medium and the letters as a gateway for magical energy to enter the medium and give form to what the medium will function as.”

The fae’s serene smile remained ever-plastered on his lips. “Simply put, what I did is request for the world to lend me their magic through a medium.”

“...So you used the world’s magical energy instead of using the one that most magicians are born with?”

So such method existed here...

“Bingo, little one.” The fae gave out a good natured chuckle. Elaborating. “Before wands and magical pens came to be, people of days old once used to ask the world to do magic for them. However, this method had since been considered obsolete as society advances due to how many requirements it takes to actually use the world’s magical energy.”

He put the magical pen back into the pockets of his vest. Concluding. “For you, someone who is inherently magicless, this should be the perfect method for you to defend yourself should any of the other students dare to attack you with magic.”

Her eyes lit up. Feeling a glimmer of hope at the senior’s words.

“Are you sure you don’t mind teaching me?”

“Why of course not.” Lilia smiled at her. Reasoning.

“You are but a young lady thrown into an unfamiliar place with little to no contact of anyone you are familiar with, and no way of being able to return to whence you came from. You also happen to be placed in a school of prideful, magicians who can get easily provoked with little prompting, and can potentially harm and give you fatal injuries should they wish to do so. Anyone with a child of their own would worry for you.”

His smile then curved to a frown. “Though I supposed Crowley doesn’t seem to be that keen in regards to your safety following today’s events.”

After what happened yesterday, and of today, she felt what little trust she had on the Headmaster start to crumble.

She can’t completely trust the man anymore after today.

Not when he’s all too content to leave her to fend for her own self outside of providing her the basic necessities and the like.

(Deep down, that unpleasant feeling, almost like seething anger, of a memory she has yet to recall of people acting like the headmaster echoed in her mind)

She soon felt a hand on her head.

She was brought out of her thoughts as she realized that Lilia is patting her.

The gesture felt familiar to her.

Like a parent’s firm hand, guiding and assuring the child.

“The weekend is soon and it’s best that you recover first.” Lilia let his hand go as he advised her.

“I shall be free to teach you how to utilize the world’s magic to aid you for Monday, Wednesday and Thursday after school in the library. Is that an alright time for you?”

“...Yeah, that’s a good time.”

She felt herself smiling wide, almost genuine, grateful for the senior’s help.

“...Really, thank you for this. Lilia-san.”

The Diasomnia vice dorm head smiled back. “It is of no trouble, young one.”

Yep, this is what I planned for Yuu (Rei) in light of Heartslabyul and onwards. She doesn’t stay magicless for long.

This was inspired by the formalcraft concept from the Fate series, where you make the world do the magic for you. Think of it as not using your own MP in video games and use a specialized item that does the magic in RPG games.

Yuu (Rei) is still magicless inherently. So the method only makes her a magician by a technicality. Rather than making her an actual pure magician overnight.

As for why I went this route for Yuu (Rei):

1: The SI in Yuu (Rei) only know Twisted Wonderland based on Pre-release trailers and as such, has zero expectations of what the game would actually be. She doesn’t know that the game was meant to be a Joseimuke genre game with RPG, action and rhythm game mechanics mixed in, and only know based on what she could remember of the original stories the Disney movies are based on and the Disney movies that she remember watching, outside of what she remembers of the Pre-Release trailers. As far as Yuu (Rei)’s impression of the game’s story goes, she thought that she is in an FGO-esque Shounen genre story. So it’s either she stays magicless and die quickly, or survive and get stronger.

2: While yes, it’s established that it’s against the rules to use magic on others for personal fights, the main story proves that a good portion of the NRC student body WILL use magic on others when prompted. Unlike Ace, Deuce and Grim, the canon MC is completely defenseless. Despite Yuu (Rei)’s friendship with the ghosts and her own physical skills in Kendou, every single one of them has limits. Lando isn’t always guaranteed to tag along with her 24/7, someone will use magic to destroy the makeshift sword she had first before beating her down and giving her fatal injuries via magic. Additionally, Ace, Deuce and Grim won’t always be with her, so she’ll eventually run out of options to defend herself. At the end of the day, the real world doesn’t give a damn about what narrative importance you have in the grand scheme of the plot you’re involved in. Yuu (Rei) might be lucky this time, but the same can’t be said for the future.

...Welp.

Anyway, long story short, this is where Yuu (Rei) fully diverges from the canon MC.

I’m also going to start talking, writing and/or drawing stuff for things I plan for “black or white” in the future from here on out so do look out for those!

#Shuu's fics #black or white (fanfic)#Twisted Wonderland #Man it feels refreshing to finally get this out #It's nerveracking but exhilirating...#Of things to come

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pickone1 · 4 years ago

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blue-honeycomb · 5 years ago

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Quiet Devotion 2 [Hawks x Reader]

Since so many people enjoyed the first and asked for a continuation, I decided to make one since I have the day off today. Be warned though, you know what they say about sequels. Also, beware of a possible (most likely going to happen) trilogy.

Summary: Continuation of 'Quiet Devotion'...

Reader Details: Emotional, humble, loyal, introspective.

Quirk: Unbreakable Silk.

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

---

The soft whisper of thread soothed your frantic heart, made calm that which should be a deafening roar. Too soon though, the sharp snip of your delicate pattern work unraveling under your unfocused touch roused you from your thoughts. Too late though, for three hours of work now lie ruined in your grasp, a reminder of your uncharacteristic distraction.

Beside you a crisply folded paper sits unmoving upon your desk, untouched since first you read its contents. Within its perfectly straight creases exists the reason for your distraction, your distress. You'd scold yourself had you the heart to, for though you knew this day would come you still felt overwhelmed by it.

You look around your workshop, taking it in with steady eyes despite the pain searing into the depths of your heart. Silk, cotton and wool creations from generations passed hang proudly along the walls, beautiful and ancient in a way few things are. On their surfaces stories great and small are immortalized, the deeds of heros born before the dawn of quirks, the labors of the common folk. All present, all important, a silent history captured by a weaver's guiding hand.

You look to the paper again, silent. You are not ready, but you doubt you ever will be. There is still so much you do not know, so many things your elders and peers have yet to teach you. Here, you have a life you've just started to live, a place you've begun to make your own: A quiet heaven.

Life moves forward though, as it always has. You know that. You learned that truth years ago in that dark and hopeless place that when life moves forward so must you for there is only one other option. Only one.

Setting your ruined work aside you reach out for the letter and take it carefully in your hands, as though it would burn you if provoked unduly. The first thing to draw you attention is the number sitting unchangingly at the top of the paper, neat and bold against the stark white of the lease notice. Your heart quakes at the sight, but you take a fortifying breath and continue on.

Life holds still for no one after all.

---

Hawk's half-lidded gaze scans lazily over the video footage as it plays mutely before him, head tilting slightly as the object of his attention moves ever closer to the security camera overhead. He'd expected that you'd linger for a while near the mail slot, as most do, but to his surprise you'd merely shoved the package into the slot and walked away without a backwards glace. He'd almost think you felt put upon by how quickly you left, but the smile on your face was more than enough to disprove those thoughts.

His rests his chin in his newly re-gloved palm, enjoying the silken feel of it resting against his skin and stubble. He takes a moment to regret not being able to wear the whole set, but the persistent chill and distracting vibrations that would ensue from it soundly nipped that impulse. Instead, he makes note to be a particularly troublesome nuisance for his support department to encourage them to make his soon-to-be newest outfit their top priority once they receive it.

He replays the video again for perhaps the fourth time that hour because there's something familiar about you he should remember. He's sure of this in a way that strikes him as unusual, concerning even, as he doesn't recognize your face despite his near perfect vision and excellent memory. In his hand he holds a single feather, letting it rest fulling against the glove and watching as it quivers softly against the smooth surface.

That subtle interaction is familiar too, but only distantly so as though feeling a shift of movement underwater or experiencing a phantom ache. It's one of the main reasons he knows he should recognize you from somewhere despite the lack of recognition though, because the sensory input from his wings is not something he's prone to forget or misidentify. Lives literally depend on him being able to control and interpret his quirk.

Leaning back into his chair he props his feet onto his table and smirks, dismissing the concern for now. He'd just have to meet with you in person, simple as that. No better way to get the ball rolling than by just getting it done. He didn't get this far up the rankings by thinking about it after all.

A large, cunning smile crossed his lips, maybe with a bit more teeth than was strictly necessary. Surely, making sure the creator of his newest hero uniform was on hand is what any good hero would do. It's a tough job. You never know when you'll need a patch job. Can't have the Number Two flying around in a tattered costume after all. Wouldn't fit his image.

And so a few calls later and a couple favors shorter, he had your file in hand, flipping through it nonchalantly between bouts of paperwork that never seemed to stop coming.

About halfway through the file he finally comes across what he's looking for, and this time the smile that crosses his expression is fond.

'You really are as pretty as I'd thought you'd be.'

---

Seven Years Ago

---

The feather in your hand has been trying to escape your gasp, likely to return to its originator, but for the life of you you cannot unfurl your fingers from around it. It is your lifeline, your only assurance that there is someone out there, a Hero, who is coming for you even if you cannot see them yet.

The feather tugs in your grasp again and you keen softly, bringing it to your chest to clutch it as tightly as possible in your weakened state.

It could hurt you, you know, slice through your flesh and bone like warm butter with just as much effort. You may not remember the name of the young hero it belongs to but you've seen enough glimpses of him over the news to know that the only reason the feather has not escaped yet is because it doesn't want to hurt you. That the only reason it's stayed this long is because you cannot let go of it. That as selfish as it may seem to an outsider, the trauma and desperation that'd once overtaken you was still there, stayed only by the tangible piece of hope trapped tightly in your hand.

You just cannot let go.

Time passes and the feather still vibrates, soothing your frayed nerves as they try to fill your mind with scenerio after scenerio as to what could have gone wrong up top, each one more convoluted than the last.

Then it happens. The vibrations are no longer just in your hand but all around you, low and quiet as though done with the utmost care. You realize very quickly that it sounds that way because that's exactly what's happening. It takes mere moments for the first ray of light to pierce through the darkness to your far right, followed promptly by the emergence of a helmet cover head you can just make out with your limited sight.

"Is anyone down here?" The voice of the man speaking was rough like gravel and just as grating, but it was one of the most beautiful sounds you'd even heard in all your years of existing.

Once more, for what was beginning to feel like a never ending cycle in your life, you begun to cry.

---

Your extraction was quick, though not nearly quick enough for your liking. Mostly you stayed quiet after your initial outburst of tears, not from embarrassment as some may be lead to believe, but from the sheer exhaustion that overcame you the moment large, warm hands came to help you stand.

After adjusting to the change in lighting you looked to the man helping you and found him dressed in something that looked suspiciously like a onesie/jumper hybrid. Though you suppose such an outfit made sense in his line of work in terms of functionality. Besides, not too many people care about what a person's wearing when they're literally plucking them out of the weckage of what could be the worst day of their lives. You certainly don't.

"Damn. We thought you were a goner. It's a good thing that Hawks kid showed up when he did. Awesome quirk, that one." The strangely dressed hero exclaims with a friendly grin while he supports your back and upper torso, perhaps trying to be assuring or funny but missing the mark on both accounts. "I mean, you were so far down even Radar couldn't sense you! That you survived at all is incredible! You must be a super strong person, no doubt about that!" He smiled even wider, eyes kind and genuinely happy for your survival, but the implications of his words stay with you even as he hands you over to the medics to continue his own hero duties.

'They thought I was dead,' You think numbly as the medic gives you a thorough check up. 'They weren't going to come for me.' Something like panic wanted to crawl up your throat, but you were too tired for it to truly spiral. 'They always recover the bodies last. It could have taken days before they got to that stage.' The implications were not lost on you.

It made sense, really. Why waste effort recovering dead bodies when there were people that needed rescuing and reassuring. Why waste precious life-saving hours looking for corpses that no longer had a time limit when the living had so much more to lose.

It was the right thing to do, you knew. Prioritizing the living was always the right thing to do, but it didn't stop the quiet hurt that settled in your heart. The living have worth, a corpse does not. It stung to think that even if you'd died down there you would have been a low priority issue. That for a while there, you were a low priority.

The feather tugged again and you startled- having forgotten about it in your daze- startling the medic in turn. When they turned to ask you what was wrong you merely shook your head, murmuring softly in reassurance. You knew that had the circumstances been different the medic would have pried, but as it was there was no time for a full Psych evaluation. There were still lives that needed saving and only so much time to do so. In the light of day you could see that well enough on your own, despite both your eyes being nearly swollen shut from the bruising and irritation.

What had started off as a small hero vs. villian battle had somehow devolved into a five block catastrophe of sinkholes and fires. Entire sections of road was missing, likely buried under the untold amount of sand scattered as far as your limited vision would allow you to see. No less than six buildings were near collapsed, some even gone entirely. It was mind boggling just to look at, let alone begin to make sense of.

Still, despite the devastation, one thought remained prevalent above all others.

'They thought I was dead but he checked anyway. He checked because they didn't know for sure and there was still a chance someone had survived the fall. He came when no one else would bother.'

The feather tugged again, and this time you let it go, watching as it dashed away into the chaos.

'I was his number one priority. Not because he knew I was alive, but because there was a chance of it.'

You took a deep breath, and despite the numbing pain all long your body and the hurt that still echoed in your heart, you were lighter for it.

'I'm alive. Thank you.'

#BNHA #Takami Keigo #Hawks x Reader #Takami Keigo x Reader #Quiet Devotion

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chibivesicle · 5 years ago

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Golden Kamuy chapters 239 & 240 - character background arrives for Kikuta

Hello all, this is a much belated meta for the past two chapters. I was very busy with work last weekend and I’m feeling the usual work related exhaustion with the covid-19 situation on top of it. I’m currently living in a part of the States which still has a much stricter social distancing policy and it is still unclear when I can return to work, even if we follow new social distancing policies. Suffice to say, it has been a huge struggle for me. I’m already more prone to suffer from depression and this situation has just been really hard with friends and family very far away from me.

I usually like to give my all into my meta analysis of a chapter but I really didn’t like chapter 239. The sense of humor that underlies the “midnight shoot out” just well - well. I wasn’t keen on it. I have a pretty dirty sense of humor so it isn’t even the fact that it is a part of male body part humor; just how it was implemented.

So I’m just going to go with this. Usami and our “Jack” convict are men cut from the same cloth who link sexual acts with violence. The only difference between them is that Usami was found and groomed by Tsurumi, thus appearing to be a more contributing member of society (as a member of the military), while “Jack” has been left to his own devices and is a free roaming serial killer. Usami is the correct member of the 27th to do the field work for this convict. What is more interesting is teaming him up with Kikuta. After Usami and Jack’s “shoot out” Usami pursues him on foot while he’s on horseback. Usami’s general response is to try to beat someone via brute force. It isn’t surprising that he just jumps for the man only to get knocked down, he acts on instinct.

Kikuta has a much more tempered response as he first had Usami and him split off to try to pinch him off between the alleys/streets. It gives him a clear shot at Jack. Here he’s using one of his revolvers in his right hand.

Jack is lucky as Kikuta hits his top hat. This pause in action allows Kikuta to spring into action. He sprints towards Jack tossing his revolver so that he can grab onto the convict with his right hand. What I really like about this is how is shows how Kikuta thinks very quickly on his feet as we saw at the hot springs.

He’s able to use his left hand to reach into his coat where he likely has at least another revolver in a holster. It should be game over for the man as he tells him that he’s got him with the revolver to the back of his head.

Unfortunately, Kikuta is defeated by “Jack’s” manly abilities and it is just plain gross and unnecessary. Kikuta is one of my fav current members of the 27th, I just didn’t like this entire scene. As a result he escapes and Kikuta is likely feeling - well feeling used, gross and assaulted.

Usami and Kikuta continue to pursue him and hear a woman scream. Sure enough he managed to kill her and Kikuta looks shocked as they find the body. The fact that Usami looks at Kikuta from the corner of his eyes makes me think that Usami is not surprised by anything our killer does.

In contrast, despite his years of experience, Kikuta is uncomfortable with this type of criminal activity & violence. He’s no stranger to violence but he clearly has a strong moral compass.

The next day, they return to the scene of the crime in daylight. The sketchy and questionable police officer is there with our sad and pathetic reporter. Kikuta muses what the killer is thinking. Due to all the things that have transpired so far, it is clear that Kikuta is really trying to rationalize things. In contrast,’knowing’ his mind, Usami just offers an explanation that makes sense to him since it takes one to know one.

This only further highlights the difference between these two men. It is clear that Tsurumi wants them to keep working together, even if Kikuta is really uncomfortable with Usami.

Usami is eager to visit the other crime scene, Kikuta hangs back and lets Usami go ahead. He uses this time to casually approach Ariko. Everything about Kikuta’s body language, behavior and vibe scream - spy/secret agent. He’s able to address Ariko with a calm demeanor and then when Ariko almost panics he instructs him how to behave.

Kikuta cuts the tension by teasing Ariko, stating that he’d recognize his figure anywhere and to think he’d be difficult to recognize is a bit of an insult to Kikuta’s intelligence.

He’s able to approach Ariko about his role as an unwilling double agent. Since he’s there under direct orders from Tsurumi he knows that for the time to being he should be in the loop as far as Hijikata’s movements. If Ariko is in Sapporo, it is a logical extension that Hijikata is there as well.

The chapter then wraps up with Tsurumi leading most of his men to Sapporo leaving only two to remain near Otaru to look for Asirpa. He reports that Kikuta is the one who sent him the telegram about our convict, Jack. If Tsurumi is reporting the truth to his men, it means that Kikuta only reported on the convict and requested backup but Kikuta may be withholding information about Hijikata being there as well. This chapter leaves it up in the air as it shows Tsurumi looking military dictator-ish while Hijikata stares off into the distance.

What is most important in this chapter is setting up how Kikuta is going to be some sort of player in the hunt for this convict in particular.

Chapter 240 begins to bring the manga plot back to the aspects that I like of it, more intellectual, big picture moves of the different groups as well as a side of good old fashioned spy business.

The chapter title page helps us to establish Ariko’s and Kikuta’s personalities even more. Ariko is playing cat’s cradle with Tanigaki in the trenches while Kikuta literally has Ariko’s back and he watches them.

This shows several things. 1.) Kikuta is similar to Ogata as he’s always watching. Since he was one of the “Russian” kidnappers, we know he has a background in intelligence and he’s a clever guy. We also know that he cares about Ariko as a person, hence comfortable enough to lean up against his back as well as cover that back. 2.) It let’s the reader know that Ariko is similar to Tanigaki. He’s a large, soft, dopey man. He is simple, he’s outwardly friendly and like Tanigaki he has natural outdoorsman/hunting skills but that he’s an okay solider and but isn’t the most intelligent. Neither man is a good liar and they are predictable.

Ariko is 100% out of his element and trying to be a double agent is pretty much a situation ripe for failure. He just can’t do it. In direct contrast, Kikuta looks completely natural and at ease. He’s used to doing things like this and he’s confident with the games of espionage and intelligence.

Ariko is barely able to hold himself together, voice unsteady, sweating, looking like he’s got no out. So Kikuta tells him to team up with him in contrast to Hijikata and Tsurumi.

Of course Ariko is shocked by this statement. Kikuta continues his argument. He frames himself as Ariko’s only option. They survived the war together, they saw that same moon together. The flashback shows, Kikuta reaching out to touch Ariko while he goes to hold his hand.

They’ve survived together against the odds. So Kikuta is willing to ask Ariko to ignore everything else. Forget about his father’s involvement in the gold theft and his murder and the fact that Tsurumi will try to get his cooperation by threatening family. He summarizes it doesn’t matter which man he tries to align himself with, the outcome is same - it is terrible. So then he let’s him know that “central” is going to let things play out in Hokkaido.

This is enough information for Ariko to figure out why Kikuta was so keen to regain Tsurumi’s trust. He’s the spy for central that Tsukishima has been always on the look out for.

The angle of this panel is just great, Ariko is in shock while Kikuta adjusts his bowler hat. And with that, a running joke that originated on a discord server when Kikuta first showed up became the truth.

With Kikuta’s appearance several of us tried to figure out what is role would be and we came up with a nickname for him, “Roger”, which was coined by Merdopseudo. This was due to how he looked like Roger Moore, one of the actors that played James Bond. I 100% agreed with the Roger nickname and as a result, I struggle to write any meta post about Kikuta without referring to him as Roger instead. I personally was leaning toward a more Clark Gable inspired look but Roger was just better.

The chapter then has Jack hanging around a church with no informative text.

The action then shifts to Hijikata’s group which is all in disguise.

The wee babe, Kantarou is a newsboy, selling newspapers. Hijikata is a goldfish vendor. Ushiyama and Toni are buddhist monks, and Kadokura is a Koya-san pilgrim. Ogata is a filial piety puppet performer and Nagakura and Ariko are just random looking civilians. Kirawus remained as himself. Perhaps they thought if he tried to blend in as Japanese it would be obvious?

Our morally bankrupt reporter, is able to elaborate on the details of the Sapporo serial killer - calling him a copycat of Jack the Ripper. The Cliff Notes version of things is that if this is a true Jack the Ripper copycat, the fifth and final murder will happen 40 days after the two murders from the night before. It seems proper that Hijikata is the one to summarize the situation that his group is in.

Interestingly, Kadokura, Kantarou and Kirawus are shown sweating in the background while Ogata is deadpan. Clearly, Ogata is not bothered by the 40 day time limit.

This makes a nice transition to Sugimoto, Shiraishi and Asirpa now in Barato. Shiraishi, being the smart dude that he is, points out an interesting article. Sugimoto assumes it is about “Jack” but instead he notices children have gone missing. Boutarou is able to immediately connect these crimes to another tattooed convict.

Asirpa looks nervous as, well she’s a child and she was teased additional information than what Sugimoto got from meeting him. Boutarou is upfront and immediately is able to identify him for the rest of the group. Asirpa is totally freaked out as the identifies him as the candy peddler.

Sugimoto then has murder eyes and angry screentones as he concludes that he is of course one of the convicts.

This chapter is setting up a clear confrontation between all the different groups. I like how it finally begins to ratchet up the the tension and put pieces in place. Usami showing that he’s terrible at spying and discretion both makes them stand out but also tips Kikuta off that something else is likely afoot on Tsurumi’s side.

The missing children are a trail indication the direction of Ueji Keiji. I like how Shiraishi and Sugimoto are looking at the paper while Boutarou towers over them and looks at the paper.

The chapter ends with our two shaded convicts surrounded by swirling newspapers. Both men are making their actions clear to the public. I would guess are both reading the newspapers as Jack let’s his activities know while Ueji is potentially communicating with him as his own actions are showing his direction, moving towards Sapporo.

The chapter then ends with a dark Ogata joke. He’s really into his filial piety act and has to be yelled at firmly by another member of the group.

Overall impressions on 240 and some brief ponderings.

1.) I love Roger, er Kikuta so much. His character has a level of class and sophistication that many characters lack. He is also a ‘self’ made man who rose through the ranks to be a valuable member of military intelligence. It is clear now why Tsurumi would have kept his distance from him and why he was so insistent on getting back into Tsurumi’s inner circle. It is clear that Kikuta is not a “Tsurumisexual”. He is also the type of man who Tsukishima was suspicious of going back to his showdown with Ogata. Tsukishima is livid that Ogata sniped Maeyama and told him that he’s the pet cat of “central” he’s waiting to sell out the 27th to gain position in the military establishment.

Therefore, our three “Russian” kidnappers are all originally enlisted men who likely gained a lot of skills working for a fallen elite like Tsurumi. Tsukishima stresses loyalty to comrades. Ogata has never shown much loyalty to those around him, but it is obvious that Kikuta has loyalty to Ariko. He had to put on an act to look like Ariko had betrayed him and Tsurumi.

I have begun to wonder if Ogata is the red herring deflecting the focus from Kikuta. Ogata doesn’t believe in the words of Tsurumi that are used to stir loyalty and dedication to a cause. Is this because Ogata believe it is complete bullshit or that he’s aware that Tsurumi uses these types of concepts to control most people?

What I want to know now is if Ogata is working with or in parallel to Kikuta. I still don’t see Ogata as a spy for central. It goes against by gut reading on Ogata. I could see Ogata and Kikuta being aware of each other and their objectives where Ogata may have even tried to make it look like he’s the spy to deflect attention from Kikuta. Again, Ogata’s goal from this entire situation is still completely unknown. Was Kikuta linked to the rebel group - RIP bear death trio. I still haven’t forgotten you.

But based on Tsukishima thinks of Ogata as a putative spy, it fits Kikuta’s personality better. Kikuta still has loyalty and connection to others from the 27th, e.g. Ariko. His discomfort working with Usami on Jack’s trail shows that Kikuta has a stronger moral compass and thinks about what actions are justifiable and which are more ‘evil’ or morally questionable.

2.) Ogata needs a therapist. Of all of the “disguises” he could choose, Ogata picks the filial piety puppet show. >_< He put on makeup to look like his own father, and a son puppet that has a striking resemblance to his half brother Yuusaku. Therefore, the bastard child is performing an act where his devoted brother does everything he’s expected to do as a model son for their asshole father. The fact that his line is “What a dutiful son. Please give him the reward that he deserves.” can be read on several levels. Basic text reading - Yuusaku was a good son, and he truly deserved the reward for being a good son. He kept his virginity and purity, was un-corruptable by Ogata and therefore, he had no choice but to snipe him. Subtext reading - due to Ogata’s clear “daddy” issues, he is actually the dutiful son and he wants the reward that he deserves. Ogata entered the military and performed well both in intelligence for Tsurumi, on the battlefield as a sniper and did everything that was asked of him before he liberated himself from Tsurumi. In that regard, Ogata was an excellent solider if not better one that Yuusaku with hands on/real world experience long before Yuusaku was a flag bearer. I think this situation should both be read on the text and subtext level. ‘Cause it is Ogata dammit and he’s not some obvious character.

Ogata is a character who wants and desires nothing more than love and acceptance. Of course being the cynical intellectual that he is, he would pick something like this. . . . it just makes you want to cringe and go “Ogata . . .”

The fact that they almost left Ogata behind indicates to me that he’s acting out his own plan for - something. Our man of mystery - Ogata.

#golden kamuy #golden kamuy meta #warrant officer kikuta #Usami Tokishige #tsurumi tokushirou #hijikata toshizo #nagakura shinpachi #ushiyama tatsuma #kirawus #kantarou #kadokura #ogata hyakunosuke #sugimoto saichi #Shiraishi Yoshitake #ASIRPA #boutarou the pirate #hanazawakoujiro #hanazawayuusaku #ariko rikimatsu

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duncanwrites · 4 years ago

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All the books I read in 2020, reviewed in two sentences or less

My 2020 in reading was, naturally, a little strange. I had lots of long pauses, did a bad job of keeping track of everything I read, used an e-reader for the first time, and read more for work than I usually do.

So these may not be in strict chronological order as they usually are, and there may be a few missing, but here’s the list, as per tradition:

Rising Tide - John M. Barry: This history of the Mississippi floods of 1927 and the resulting changes in how the US deals with natural disasters is one of those stories about how politics and personality can become a part of the concrete world, and essential for understanding the racial dynamics of disaster response. Well-told, and worth reading.

The Consultant's Calling - Geoffrey M. Bellman: A very useful recommendation from a trusted friend that now has a long-term spot in my office shelf. This book isn't only about consulting, it also offers great thoughts about finding your place and impact in organizations in general.

Range - John Epstein: I think Range is the nonfiction book that had the second- greatest impact on my thinking about myself this year (stay tuned for number 1!): I've always approached my professional and political work as a generalist, and for a long time I felt like that approach was leading me to a dead end. Reading this convinced me that I could be effective and even more useful with my fingers in a lot of different pies, and nudged me to keep searching for my most effective place in the movement.

The Accusation - Bandi: A harrowing work of realist fiction from North Korea that shows the toll authoritarian hero-worship takes on the soul.

The Underground Railroad - Colson Whitehead: I found that the quality of The Underground Railroad did not quite match its notoriety. It felt like two books awkwardly joined, where the more grounded approach to the emotional and interpersonal stakes of slavery and freedom was attached to a poorly-explored fantasy device.

Maus - Art Spiegelman: So much more than a book about the Holocaust, Maus is about parents and how pain is handed down between generations.

I Love Dick - Chris Kraus: After a long enough time, it becomes hard to evaluate books that are meant as a provocation as well as storytelling, but even 20 years on, it's not hard to see why I Love Dick brought us so much of the style and voice of feminist writing on the internet. A unique, itchy, sticky piece of work.

Bloodchild - Octavia Butler: Whenever I see an Octavia Butler book in a used book store, I buy it. This collection of short stories is a fantastic example for what transgressive, visionary speculative fiction should aspire to.

King Leopold's Ghost - Adam Hochschild: What I love about this book and the other I've read by Hochschild (Bury the Chains_ is that he very carefully merges deep explorations of systems of violence with the way that they can be undone by the people who participate in them. King Leopold's Ghost is as much about Belgium's murderous plunder of the Congo as it is about the successful global movement against it.

Priory of the Orange Tree - Samantha Shannon: Priory of the Orange Tree is built on a strong foundation, melding Eastern and Western dragon stories into one universe, but couldn't seem to tie all of its threads together in a compelling way by the end.

Desiring the Kingdom - James K. A. Smith: Smith's point about meaning and desire being embedded in every day practices is a valuable one, but I think I may be just too far outside of his target audience of religious teachers and thinkers to get the most out of his explorations here.

City of Brass, Kingdom of Copper, Empire of Gold (The Daevabad Trilogy) - S. A. Chakraborty: This series is exceptional, and some of my favorite books of any kind that I read this year; I certainly think I recommended them more often than anything else I read in 2020. A high fantasy built on Islamic and Arab cultural iconography, the characters are insightfully developed, the world building grows with precise pacing, and the themes of intergenerational trauma, and sectarianism are handled with expert delicacy.

Leadership and the New Science - Meg Wheatley: While I appreciate the effort to apply metaphors developed from scientific paradigm shifts to provoke paradigm shifts of thinking in other areas of work, I think this book strains its chosen metaphors a bit too far to be useful.

The American Civil War: A Military History - John Keegan: I appreciate that there's a value to these kinds of military analyses of conflicts, but I found this book's neutral tone - and sometimes admiring takes - towards the Confederacy off-putting. Two things I did take from it: the outcome of the war was not certain at the beginning, and speed is truly a critical part of winning conflicts.

To Purge This Land with Blood - Stephen Oates: This was the first substantial reading I had ever done about John Brown, and Oates' book made it very clear why he is still one of the American historical figures most worth talking about today. The contradictions, complexities, and unimpeachable truths caught up in his raids are almost too many to name, but I think he is one of the people most worth thinking about when considering what actually changes the world.

Normal People - Sally Rooney: Anyone who denies that this book is anything less than a truly great novel is not telling the truth, or does not actually care about the feelings people feel. It is a work of keen emotional observation, and perfect, tender language, as well as a pleasingly dirty book -- and there is nothing I would change about it.

Conversations With Friends - Sally Rooney: Still a banger, I think Conversations with Friends struggles somewhat to get to its point, and has less of the pleasing depth and ambiguity of Normal People. Still worth your time and attention, I think.

The Glass Hotel - Emily St. John Mandel: I loved Station Eleven, and I can't imagine having to follow it up, and I unfortunately think The Glass Hotel doesn't quite accomplish all it set out to do. It wandered, hung up on a few strong images, but never progressed towards a point that needed to be made, and I finished it feeling underwhelmed.

The Water Dancer - Ta-Nehisi Coates: Coates is an essential nonfiction writer who can turn a phrase to make devastating, memorable points - but I thought his novel failed to do very many of the things that make his nonfiction great.

A Visit From The Goon Squad - Jennifer Egan: Someone once recommended this book to me as a way to study voice in character development - it is certainly that, as well as a brutally efficient window into hope, fame, and aging.

Trick Mirror - Jia Tolentino: The best parts of Trick Mirror show why Jia Tolentino is one of the writers most worth reading today: she knows how to find the experiences and people that wormhole you into dimensions of American culture that you might not otherwise think carefully about. While I think some of the essays in the book are weaker than her usual work, overall it is still terrific, and her essay on Houston rap, evangelical culture, and drugs is one of the best anythings I read all year.

My Dark Vanessa - Kate Elizabeth Russell: I feel like I'm on very shaky ground making any definitive takes about a book like this that is so fundamentally about gendered violence and what it means to be a victim of that violence. But I will say that I think it's important to recognize how power and charisma can be used to make you want something that actually hollows out your soul.

Prozac Nation - Elizabeth Wurtzel: Without a doubt, this is the nonfiction book that had the greatest personal impact on my life in 2020, and I have much longer things I've written about it that I will probably never share. While I've not ever been to the extremes she describes here, Wurtzel describes so many things that I clearly remember feeling that the shock of recognition still hasn't worn off.

The New Jim Crow - Michelle Alexander: In truth, we should all be shaking with rage at the American justice system every single day. This is certainly not the only book to explain why, but it does a particularly good job of explaining both the deep roots, and rapid expansion of the system we need to dismantle.

The Martians - Kim Stanley Robinson: Getting another little taste of the world Robinson built in the Mars Trilogy only made me want to drop everything and read them again. Well-made, but not stand-alone short stories that are worth reading if you've finished the novels and aren't ready to leave the formally-Red yet.

The Wind’s Twelve Quarters - Ursula K. Le Guin: One of the things that makes Le Guin so special is the sparseness of her prose and world building, and her genius is very much evident in her short stories.

Matter - Iain M. Banks: This is the second Culture series book I've read by Banks, and once again I thought it was inventive, satisfyingly plotted, but not so heady to be imposing. A very solid read.

Ogilvy On Advertising - David Ogilvy and Ogilvy On Advertising in the Digital Age - Miles Young: The original Ogilvy on Advertising is frustratingly smug but at least delivers plain and persuasive versions of advertising first principles. Ogilvy on Advertising in the Digital Age is also frustratingly smug, but is mainly useful as an example of the hubris and narcissism of contemporary advertising executives.

Goodbye to the Low Profile - Herb Schmertz: Schmertz was the longtime public affairs director for Mobil Oil, and in this book he talks about how they worked to manage public debate about the oil industry, without realizing that he's writing a confession. Reading this it is abundantly clear how the oil industry's commitment to making deception respectable led to the collapse of the American public sphere.

The Lean Startup - Eric Ries: I was surprised by how much I liked this book, and wish more people who wanted to start political projects would read it. The Lean method is a way of building organizations that are ruthlessly focused on serving their base of supporters, and evaluate their work against real results - and I think we all could use more of those.

Zero To One - Peter Thiel: Another book that reads like a confession when perhaps not intended to, Zero To One's main point is that the point of building businesses should be to build monopolies, and that competition is actually bad. A great starting point for understanding what's gone wrong in America's tech economy.

The Mother of All Questions - Rebecca Solnit: Of the many things to cherish about Solnit as a writer, the one I needed most when I re-read this book is her ability to gently but doggedly show other ways of imagining the world, and ourselves in it.

Native Speaker - Chang-Rae Lee: I think this is the third time I've read this novel, and the time I've enjoyed it the least: somehow on re-re-reading, the core metaphors became overbearing and over-used, and the plot and characters thinner.

Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller: There are several excellent entries in the sub-genre of classic tales re-told from the perspective of silent women characters, but this is the first I've read re-told from a man's perspective - in this case, the likely-lover of Achilles in the Iliad, Patroclus. While not necessarily a groundbreaking work of literature, it is a very well-executed one that tells a compelling story about how violence can destroy men who carry it out.

Uprooted - Naomi Novik: What makes Uprooted so engrossing is that its magical world feels grounded, and political: magic has consequences for the individuals who use it, and further consequences based on their place in the world. What makes it frustrating is the overwhelming number of things the author has happening in the story, and the difficulty they have bringing them to a conclusion.

#books #reading #booklist

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valorandgold-archived · 5 years ago

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Morgan’s 3H Verse

The explanation of this verse is fairly lengthy, so I will leave it under a cut for those who want to read it.

Born to Countess Robin von Alban, Morgan von Alban hails from one of Leicester’s noble houses, House Alban, though they are not part of Leicester’s Roundtable, nor has House Alban ever been in its entire history, meaning their wants and needs often go disregarded by much of the rest of the Alliance. Alban has never had much influence in Leicester, only originally being recognized as a noble house because of a unique Crest their family bears, one which has puzzled even the family themselves as they cannot seem to trace its origin. Morgan’s grandfather (whose name is never spoken among his family due to his disgrace) attempted to gain more influence and bring Alban to the Roundtable by challenging the House Edmund’s place at the Roundtable (one which had formerly belonged to Daphnel but was given up due to internal strife) and, to that end, attempted to call their legitimacy into question by citing the House’s lack of a crest, as well as attempting to weaken Edmund by having hired brutes plunder ships along Edmund’s coastal trade routes. However, these attempts were short lived, after one particularly disastrous attempt easily led back to Morgan’s grandfather as the one who set up these attacks. The man nearly cost Alban its nobility and was exiled and, eventually, executed after being deemed too dangerous and a threat to the rest of the Alliance. As such, a great amount of suspicion and concern hangs over House Alban.

The County of Alban resides in the western part of Leicester, bordered directly by Daphnel and Gloucester. It is a commerce-focused region, being so close to the western border of Leicester. As such, many land trades go to and through Alban, not only to the two other major territories, but to Garreg Mach itself. Alban’s hold on this land and continued protection of these routes is the primary reason it still remains recognized as a noble house, even after the short-lived Alban Treachery instigated by Morgan’s grandfather. Lately, these routes have become safer than ever, as Countess Robin has proven to have a keen tactical mind, and many potential ambushes by even the most organized bandit groups have been thwarted by tactics employed through Alban’s troops (which is most impressive, as Alban has historically had a weak military, only just enough to defend its own lands from potential threats).

Morgan, himself, aspires to have the same high level of intellect and sharp tactical mind as his mother, wishing to earn respect for himself, his mother, and his house through his smarts, so that the mistrust cast upon House Alban may fade, and so that he may make his parents proud. Despite feeling he has a responsibility to his house, he has a rather positive and lighthearted attitude in most things, seeing the best in many people and many things. Pre-timeskip, his naturally pleasant disposition and willingness to help (sometimes to the point of being reckless) has won him the respect and friendship of many of his classmates at the monastery. He attends Garreg Mach Monastery as part of the Golden Deer house. Morgan has a great deal of respect for Claude, both in his easygoing and calm way of dealing with things, and also having a good mind for tactics much like himself.

Post-timeskip, Morgan still maintains a positive and encouraging attitude, but he takes his responsibilities toward his house more seriously than before. Alban becomes a key area in the war, being around the western border of Leicester, and so who he sides with has an important impact on House Alban. Morgan can either stay with the Golden Deer house, gaining the respect of the rest of the alliance when he stands with them during the war, or he can be recruited to the Black Eagles. He cannot be recruited to the Blue Lions, and can only join Byleth on the Azure Moon route post-skip following Claude’s rescue. On the Crimson Flower route when the war begins, House Alban (with Morgan having his mother’s support) joins the pro-empire factions, gaining their respect and favor, while the pro-church houses express extreme contempt for House Alban, with Alban only remaining safe from attack due to Claude’s being able to mediate things and prevent clashes between the territories of Leicester. On the Silver Snow route, it plays out much like it does on the Verdant Wind route, with any suspicion upon House Alban gone due to Morgan’s behavior and his loyalty, and House Alban’s importance upon taking a stand in the war.

Morgan’s birthday is the 5th of Harpstring Moon. His primary skill focus at the start of the game is in Sword and Reason.

#headcanon #morgan headcanon #v: A House Disgraced #v: A House Redeemed

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edificationcoach · 4 years ago

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Through all the ages man has believed in an invisible power, through which and by which all things have been created and are continually being re-created. We may personalize this power and call it God, or we may think of it as the essence or spirit, which permeates all things, but in either case the effect is the same. So far as the individual is concerned, the objective, the physical, the visible, is the personal, that which can be cognized by the senses. It consists of body, brain and nerves. The subjective is the spiritual, the invisible, the impersonal. The personal is conscious because it is a personal entity. The impersonal, being the same in kind and quality as all other Being, is not conscious of itself and has therefore been termed the subconscious. The personal, or conscious, has the power of will and choice, and can therefore exercise discrimination in the selection of methods whereby to bring about the solution of difficulties. The impersonal, or spiritual, being a part or one with the source, and origin of all power, can necessarily exercise no such choice, but, on the contrary, it has Infinite resources at its command. It can and does bring about results by methods concerning which the human or individual mind can have no possible conception. You will therefore see that it is your privilege to depend upon the human will with all its limitations and misconceptions, or you may utilize the potentialities of Infinity by making use of the subconscious mind. Here, then, is the scientific explanation of the wonderful power which has been put within your control, if you but understand, appreciate and recognize it. Visit my Blog: https://ift.tt/2xIkQ1K Support our Cause: The EdificationCoach team supports some primary school students & their families around Turkey with stationary materials, clothes, shoes, books and school bags. There are tens of primary school students in the east of Turkey with families that can’t afford to buy basic school stuff. Let us elevate and enhance their lives. We are aware of those children’s and their families’ needs as they wouldn’t only like to have their needs catered but they are honestly desperate to have them. Through your & our support in terms of finances or even buying any basic school materials and sending them to our address in Turkey, we can reach many people who are in need. Fill in the donation form at the bottom. https://ift.tt/2Wd34gF... In case of shipping physical donations, Ship to this Address: Semsettin Gunaltay Cad. 290 SK 4/8 yilmazlar apt – Kirkkonaklar – Cankaya – Ankara -Turkey Donation given to Mohand Henry FADL Feel free to contact us. We are here to uplift & help the spirit of humanity. Love & Gratitude!💖🙏 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Who is the Edification Coach? The Edification Coach Mohand Henry Fadl is an educator with a keen interest in personal & spiritual help and development. This channel was set up to help you in your journey of life. The Edification Coach intends to share his knowledge to uplift humanity & its suffering. The knowledge he shares with you won't be given to you in any educational institute, such knowledge is designed to assist you in your life path. This channel is a hub for likeminded people. Various themes are shared from success, law of attraction, positive & growth mindset, mindfulness, meditation, hypnotherapy, hypnosis, motivational speeches, music (Sleep & Tranquility) and much much more. The Edification Coach does not follow any religion though believes and respects all as he studied Islam, Christianity, Judiasm, Buddhism and Hinduism. He does not carry any agenda for any belief. He has no intent to influence anyone to change their religion or spiritual beliefs. Though, he mentions in some of his videos the word "GOD" and to him GOD is a term to define consciouness and that languages lack to define or describe supreme intelligence. Love & Gratitude, 💖🙏 by Edification Coach

#IFTTT #YouTube

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bluemoonpunch · 5 years ago

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Hey, any tips on getting to know yourself better or “ascending”? I’ve been into all this self love and becoming a better person trend lately but no idea of where to start. Love your work here darling, you don’t need to answer if you don’t really know how.

Well, for me personally, to love yourself is to recognize and take responsibility for how you feel and what you experience in your life, and then once you’ve done that, take that recognition of responsibility and turn it into the power and the will to serve yourself. Honor yourself by following what you feel. If you don’t like someone or something, don’t try to force yourself into it just to make someone else feel better. Obviously, don’t go out of your way to be an asshole either, but you know, balance. Be mindful and take care of yourself so that you can tell what makes you uncomfortable because it’s genuinely not a match for you, and what makes you uncomfortable because you’re afraid of it. This is actually really important because a big part of self-love for me is nurturing and promoting self-expansion on all levels. I have really bad anxiety so sometimes it’s hard for me to tell the difference between a frequency mismatch and something that I’m repelling simply because it’s beyond my current comfort level. Have to stay mindful of that and ask yourself why you feel the way you feel, and be kind enough to yourself to not shove those feelings down or rip them out, but to FEEL them, process them, and integrate them.

A big thing with stuff like that is that it’s really hard for a lot of people to integrate their negative qualities and experiences. Like really, really hard, and it’s so personal when it comes to how people actually do that, so I won’t go into what I do with that, but know it is important. It’s important to recognize negativity and to not show hatred or shame towards it within yourself and simply embrace it. If there are negative qualities that genuinely hurt you or hurt other people (such as my tendency to be a judgemental asshole with a big mouth) then recognize that as being PART of who you are and try to “spread it out.” Hard to explain, but rather than having this one giant lump of upset energy of feelings, spread it out, thin it out, and use it as a tool rather than a pure state of being. Like my asshole tendencies make me a really good person to help others analyze their own situations and issues, however, I have to THIN IT OUT. I have to be mindful to not run my mouth and tell people how to live their lives. I use my judgment but I’m careful of how I express it.

For me, that’s like the peak of self-love. It’s learning to use and appreciate negative aspects in a way where they become an asset. I’m still judgemental, I’ll still pick people and their problems apart, but I’m mindful to express it in a way that is constructive and provides guidance rather than authority so that they can come to their own conclusions based on their own perspectives. It makes me feel better about being an *~!~*ASSHOLE*~!~* because that negative quality is now something beneficial to myself and other people.

It can be a long process to go through and it takes real solid effort and dedication to keep yourself in that perspective, and there are slip-ups every now and again, but really all self-love is acceptance of your own existence, not just specific qualities, not just what you have to offer, but the whole thing. Your whole mind, body, and soul and every experience that that mind, body, and soul have produced in this lifetime.

Anonymous: I know it’ a bit random, but your site and Tumblr blog are really beautiful.

Thank you! I’m annoyingly keen on organizing web pages making things look nice and clean and easy to use, so I appreciate you noticing, lol. :)

Anonymous: I don’t really know what it is, but every time I visit your blog I get a really heavy feeling. Really “dense”, too. Thoughts? Your posts are curious, yet I can only read through one page until I have to take a “break”

Hmm, interesting. I don’t know what that would be exactly other than a negative response to the frequency of the activations that in some of the readings, but for sure if something makes you feel like that you shouldn’t partake in it. Even with people that I watch on YouTube religiously, if there’s ever a video that just doesn’t feel right to me or I know it’s coming from a different wavelength that I’m just not on yet, I’ll turn it off and go back to it down the line, or sometimes not at all as I feel that it just wasn’t meant for me.

@liannie93 Hi, idk if you’ll see this or even answer it but I want to say that I really fucking admire you and what you’re doing with your blog and how strong of a person you are. You might find it hard to view yourself that way but it’s the honest truth, you’re amazing. Even though you don’t put many personal details out there, the things you’ve said really made me empathize with you because I’ve had similar experiences and have PTSD and other mental illnesses that I deal with, I’m really proud of you 💕

Thank you so much! :)

@liannie93 Hey, so I’ve been doing research on spirit guides/guides recently and read your post on them in the faq but I’m pretty sure that I actually don’t have spirit guides and just guides? Especially since you said that I was mostly getting guidance from my higher self instead of my guides and that they were taking a step back so barely any cards came out? I don’t know for sure though, it’s just a feeling and if I do only have guides I don’t know how many or how to find out?

Yeah, people have a lot of different kinds of influences and “helpers” that guide them and push them along. Some people have very, very strong influences from ancestors, but don’t seem to have set Guides in place for purpose work, or they’ll have Guides but they won’t have any soul connections with Spirit Guides or ancestors. It all depends really, what you chose, what was necessary, and what/who volunteered to help you out is all a factor, and when it comes to origins and all of that, that can dictate what kind of guidance you have with you and how they actually go about helping you.

The only way I know to actually find that stuff out is through channeling and meditation. You can use guided meditations, but for something like that it may be better to do a meditation on your own, just make sure to clear your energy and put up energy blocks, set the intention that only your guides and positive influences with good intentions can enter that space while you are trying to connect with them.

#sipinha #self love #guides #spirit guides #meditation

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santmat · 5 years ago

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Biography of Swami Santsevi Ji Maharaj, the Great Scholar Sant (on the Occasion of His Jayanti — Birthday Commemoration)

Today We Remember Swami Santsevi Ji Maharaj (12–20–1920 — 6–4–2007)

Maharishi Santsevi Ji Maharaj is a renowned saint, an exceptional Spiritual Guide, and a unique social reformer of the 21st Century. Shri Santsevi Ji is the fourth Guru in the Santmat lineage of great spiritual masters: Sant Tulsi Sahab, Baba Devi Sahab, and Maharishi Mehi Paramhans Ji Maharaj. Shri Santsevi Ji was born on December 20th, 1920 in a small village of Bihar State, the most impoverished state of India. His family name was Mahavira. From his early childhood Mahavira was greatly interested in religious and spiritual matters. He enjoyed reading the scriptures and the poetry of saints. He was particularly fond of the Ramayana, the Bhagavad-Gita, the Ramacharitmanas, and the Shri Guru Granth Sahib.

After attending middle school he began home schooling. His intellect was keen and his heart tender. He found joy in teaching and tutoring younger students and in nursing the sick. He always felt great compassion for the sick and oppressed. This led him to study homeopathic medicine in order to help the poor and to nurse the ailing. Through his experience with sickness and death, Mahavira witnessed the impermanence and suffering that pervades human life. As a result, the seeds of detachment became firmly rooted in his heart. He became detached from the worldly life. After considerable reflection, he chose a life of renunciation, even though his family members exerted great pressure to persuade him otherwise.

In 1939, Mahavira came in contact with the great sage of the Santmat tradition, Maharishi Mehi, who had a hermitage in Bhagalpur, Bihar. Upon seeing Maharishi Mehi, Mahavira felt drawn to him, as though he had known him for many lifetimes. Mahavira was also greatly intrigued by the principles and practices of Santmat. He approached Shri Maharishi Mehi for initiation in Santmat. Maharishi Mehi soon became very impressed by the sincerity and devotion of this young man and agreed to initiate him. Mahavira began his meditation and service of Guru, and also continued his work as a tutor.

In the heart of Mahavira a keen desire arose to remain permanently in the service of his Guru. His desire was fulfilled in 1949 when Maharishi Mehi gave him permission to stay in the Ashram in his service. Mahavira devoted his days and nights to taking care of the needs of his Guru, thereby following the ancient Vedic model of the Guru-disciple relationship. He never cared for his personal comfort when he was serving his Guru’s needs: cooking food, doing laundry, keeping track of expenses, editing his writings, and traveling to villages with him to teach the principles of Santmat to the poor, oppressed, and marginalized. Maharishi Mehi, pleased with this selfless service, gave him the name Santsevi, meaning “he who serves saints.” From that day Mahavira came to be known as Santsevi.

As Maharishi Mehi advanced in age, he began to transfer his responsibilities to Shri Santsevi Ji. He authorized Shri Santsevi Ji to give initiation to spiritual seekers, to respond to their inquiries, and to guide them through the inner experiences of their spiritual journeys. He came to be seen as the prominent disciple among Maharishi Mehi’s chief devotees. Maharishi Mehi often said, “As the English letters Q and U cannot be separated, so too Santsevi and I are connected. Wherever I may live Santsevi will also reside.” Shri Santsevi Ji remained in the service of his Guru until Maharishi Mehi’s passing at the age of 101 in July of 1986. After the passing of Shri Maharishi Mehi, Shri Santsevi Ji was immediately recognized as the torchbearer of Santmat. Since then, he has ceaselessly and selflessly been continuing the service of Santmat.

Shri Santsevi Maharaj Ji’s personality is charismatic as a result of his accomplishments on the path to the realization of Truth. Even though he is a learned man, his knowledge goes beyond the confines of the human intellect. Despite the fact that he never attended a class in a university or a college, a number of Ph.D. students are pursuing research on his writings. He has no formal education in any Divinity or Religious school, yet scholars from various disciplines come to him to understand the subtle interpretations found in sacred texts and literature: the Vedas, the Upanishads, the Mahabharata, the Bhagavad-Gita, the Bible, the Koran and the Shri Guru Granth Sahib, as well as various writings of the saints. He is well versed in several languages, including Sanskrit, Hindi, Urdu, Bangala, Gurumukhi, Nepali, Maithali and other dialects of India. He has written and translated about twenty books elucidating the subject of yoga, philosophy, and the teachings of Santmat. His exposition of sacred texts is prolific, arising from his profound personal experience of the Truth.

Santmat and Maharishi Santsevi Ji

Maharishi Santsevi Ji is the present exponent (acharya) of Santmat, the branch which is directly linked to the lineage of Sant Tulsi Sahab. The word Santmat, usually written as Sant Mat, literally means the “point of view” or the “conviction of the sants and sages.” Historically, the Sant Mat movement was not a homogenous movement; but the term is a generic label for the Sant movement in the northern part of India, beginning around the 12th century. The early sants, such as Kabir, Ravidas, Namdev and Mirabai, represented a shift in religious and social attitudes — on the one hand, freedom from sectarian boundaries and ritualistic confinements; on the other hand, direct communion with the Divine without mediation of any authority or liturgy.

The word sant is derived from the Sanskrit word sat (Eternal Truth, Reality). The root meaning is ‘one who knows the truth’ or ‘who has experienced Ultimate Reality.’ Thus, a sant is a person who has achieved Shanti (inner tranquility) as a result of union with the Divine, as in mystical enlightenment.

The word sant is translated “saint” in English. However, both in etymology and definition, there are significant differences that get lost in translation. The English word saint is derived from the Latin word sanctus, which has come to mean a “good person whose life is moral,” or a “holy being.” Thus, in English a saint is thought of as a “spiritual exemplar,” and the word has been attached to a wide variety of gurus and holy men and women. But, in Sanskrit, the dimension of inner unity with the Truth is inherent in the word sant. Some of the sants come from the lower castes, and some of them are even from the untouchable class, but they have enjoyed an honorable status in the tradition. (Although we use sant and saint interchangeably in this book, we imply the original meaning of the word sant for both.)

Santmat, the Way of Sages and Sants, as we prefer to refer to it, not only emphasizes a life of moral rectitude, but underlines the inner journey for God realization, or Liberation. Therefore, Sant Mat is not confined to the beliefs, rituals, and dogmas of any specific religion. It is universal in nature and embraces the truths found in most of the world’s sacred texts and religious traditions, even while not advocating any particular religion. Sant Mat encompasses a set of ageless moral values, a belief in a Higher Power, and even more important, a methodology for realization of the Highest Reality. This method elaborates the path of Divine Light and Sound through which one attains the state of absolute Peace within one’s own self. The unifying philosophy of Santmat leads the way beyond the boundaries of sectarianism, religious fanaticism, and communal distrust which plague our world today. Maharishi Santsevi Ji has taught the teachings of Sant Mat to more than a million people from multiple religions and from many countries.

— Maharishi Santsevi Ji Maharaj: A Biography, in, Sarvadharma Samanvy (Harmony Of All Religions), published by Maharshi Mehi Ashram, and the Sant Mat Society of North America

The Goal of Sant Mat Spirituality and Meditation: Our Path Back to the Source — The Inward Journey Back to God

“Sant Mat (the path and teachings as taught and practiced by Saints [Sant Satgurus]) delineates the path of union of soul with God. The teachings of the saints explain the re-uniting as follows:

“The individual soul has descended from the higher worlds [the Realm of the Divine] to this city of illusion, bodily existence. It has descended from the Soundless State to the essence of Sound, from that Sound to Light, and finally from the realm of Light to the realm of Darkness. The qualities (dharmas, natural tendencies) of the sense organs draw us downward and away from our true nature.

“The nature of the soul (atman) draws us upwards and inwards and establishes us in our own true nature. Returning to our origins involves turning inward: withdrawal of consciousness from the senses and the sense objects in order to go upward from the darkness to the realms of Light and Sound. [We experience this phenomenon of withdrawal as we pass from waking consciousness to deep sleep.] Another way to express this is to go inward from the external sense organs to the depth of the inner self. (Both of these expressions are the metaphors that signify the same movement). The natural tendencies of the soul (atman) are to move from outward to inward. The current of consciousness which is dispersed in the nine gates of the body and the senses, must be collected at the tenth gate.

“The tenth gate is the gathering point of consciousness. Therein lies the path for our return. The tenth gate is also known as the sixth chakra, the third eye, bindu, the center located between the two eyebrows. This is the gateway through which we leave the gates of the sense organs and enter in the divine realms and finally become established in the soul. We travel back from the Realm of Darkness to the Realm of Light, from the Light to the Divine Sound, and from the Realm of Sound to the Soundless State. This is called turning back to the Source.

“This is what dharma or religion really intends to teach us. This is the essence of dharma.” (Swami Santsevi Ji Maharaj, “Harmony Of All Religions”).

Know Yourself and Know God: “Practice ‘Drishti Yoga’ (Yoga of Inner Light) and ‘Nadaanusandhana’ (Yoga of Inner Sound, Surat Shabd Yoga). This will remove the layers of Darkness, Light and Sound (that conceal your Soul from the Supreme Sovereign Soul, i.e. God). You will, thus, get to know ‘Who You Are’. And, when you know yourself, you will also know God.” (Swami Santsevi Ji Maharaj)

“Bienaventurados son las almas que en el mundo materialista de hoy en día tienen una inclinación hacia la espiritualidad.” (Swami Ji Maharaj SantSevi Ji)

https://medium.com/sant-mat-meditation-and-spirituality/biography-of-swami-santsevi-ji-maharaj-the-great-scholar-sant-on-the-occasion-of-his-96th-jayanti-d47efe871de0

#sant mat #santmat #swami sant sevi ji maharaj

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ethenell · 6 years ago

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Best Films of 2018, Part II

5. The Favourite (dir. Yorgos Lanthimos)

“I dreamt I stabbed you in the eye ...”

Dogtooth was as bold as debut features come ... It’s fiendishly clever conceit and distinctively muted delivery heralded an auspicious new voice in international cinema.

But even Dogtooth’s most ardent supporters would have been hard-pressed to imagine that, a decade down the line, Yorgos Lanthimos would find himself at the helm of a film with no less than ten Academy Award nominations to its name. In that sense, The Favourite is a perfect demonstration of both how far Lanthimos has come since his inimitable debut, and how fiercely true he has stayed to his idiosyncratic vision.

Lanthimos’s great leap has been to take his vision out of the arthouses and into the cinematic mainstream without losing one iota of his edge. The Favourite, anchored by a trio of extraordinary performances by Olivia Colman, Rachel Weisz, and Emma Stone, is easily Lanthimos’ most palatable offering yet. With all due respect to Dogtooth and Alps, it may also be his flat-out best.

Lacking the high-concept foundation of his previous work, Lanthimos’ latest more than makes up for it by playing up the absurdities of its setting. In the cutthroat world of social climbers and hangers-on in the lavish royal court of Victorian England, Lanthimos' wickedly comedic voice has found it’s perfect canvas, and his trio of actresses sell every bizarre beat to perfection.

Lanthimos’ films has always explored the ways that the societal convention clashes with our most basic, instinctual behavior, and The Favourite is no exception. Victorian England is simply a (fish-eye) lens through which he strikes at humanity’s propensity for self-interested cruelty, manipulation, and deception. Unsurprisingly, Lanthimos’ diagnosis on the topic remains characteristically bleak. But if The Favourite teaches us anything about Lanthimos as a storyteller, it’s that he’s uniquely capable of delivering bad news with a smile and a wink.

4. Eighth Grade (dir. Bo Burnham)

“Gucci!”

Bo Burnham, who first gained fame through YouTube videos of self-proclaimed "pubescent musical comedy", would strike most offhand as an unlikely source for the most pure-heartedly empathetic film of the year. But Eighth Grade, Burnham's debut feature, is exactly that.

Centering around the painfully shy Kayla as she goes through her final week of middle school, Burnham and star Elsie Fisher bring to the screen a keen sense for what it means to be a child in the age of social media, not to mention the most genuinely rewarding actor-director connection of any film in 2018.

Burnham has said repeatedly that the casting process for the role of Kayla was extensive, and that he nearly considered shelving the project before auditioning Fisher for the role. Seeing her on screen, it's easy to see both why Burnham was so particular in casting this part, and why he struck gold discovering Fisher.

As written by Burnham and played by Fisher, Kayla is a ball of anxieties whose struggles in IRL social scenarios are presented in direct contrast to the version of herself presented on her YouTube channel, through which she shares motivational videos with messages about, among other things, courage and being yourself. It's this juxtaposition that forms the thesis of Burnham's beautiful film, but not quite in the way you might expect.

This may not come as too much of a surprise, given his background, but Burnham categorically rejects lazy criticisms of the social media generation, or of social media itself. In fact, Eighth Grade feels more in tune with the detailed realities of a life dominated by interaction and engagement through social media than any other film in recent memory.

But, in spite of the broad cultural transformation that has followed in social media's wake, Eighth Grade's greatest achievement is to remind it's viewers that the vulnerabilities and angst of childhood remain largely unchanged.

3. Roma (dir. Alfonso Cuaron)

“We are alone. No matter what they tell you, we women are always alone.“

Alfonso Cuaron is one of the world’s most treasured filmmakers – this much is not really up for debate. His unerringly brilliant filmography showcases a directorial range unmatched in modern cinema. So, the transition from the space epic Gravity to an intimate family drama set in an upscale suburb of 1970s Mexico City should have surprised no one familiar with the director’s previous work. His new film’s reported autobiographical elements should also have come as no surprise, as he had previously dabbled in stories loosely based on his own life with his celebrated debut, Y Tu Mama Tambien.

But even this thorough setting of the stage could not have been adequate to prepare audiences for what Cuaron had in store. Among a filmography already replete with masterpieces, Roma may well be the most important (and personal) film Cuaron has ever made.

Unlike Y Tu Mama Tambien, Roma draws inspiration not from Curaon’s own adolescent exploits, but from the experiences of Libo, the domestic worker who helped to raise him, along with his own mother, as they deal with a series of upheavals within their upper-middle class home.

Where Roma and Y Tu Mama find common ground is in their uncanny ability to ground their intimate stories within the broader sociopolitical landscape in which they are set. Perhaps the most notable achievement of Cuaron’s work than his unparalleled ability take us to a time and place, set us inside an experience that’s unlike our own, and drive home with uncanny precision how that experience fits within our world at large.

The miracle of Roma is the grandeur and power it imbues in the banal details of domestic life. Even with Cuaron having largely abandoned the formal flashiness of Children of Men and Gravity, his images elevate a traditionally marginalized figure to almost mythical significance. Today’s world being what it is, Roma serves as a powerful and timely reminder – every life, even those most easily overlooked, spill over with love and tragedy and moments of genuine wonder.

2. Burning (dir. Lee-Chang Dong)

“There is no right and wrong ... Just the morals of nature.”

There’s a mystery at the heart of Burning that never resolves itself -- at least, not in the way you might want it to. And though it casts an unmistakable pall over the film from the moment that it comes into focus, there’s a sneaking suspicion that writer-director Lee Chang Dong’s real focus is lingering just behind this shroud.

Indeed, peeling away this outermost layer of intrigue reveals a thorny, tangled treatise on the divisions of modern society. Burning functions exceptionally well as a pure, slow-burn mystery, but it’s deliberately composed subtext provides contextual space for it to blossom into something far more complex and significant. No doubt in my mind, this film is a masterpiece.

On paper, Burning’s first act seems well-worn – Jongsu (Yoo Ah-In) reconnects by chance with Haemi (Jeon Jong-seo), a friend from his home village, whom he initially does not recognize. He agrees to feed her cat while she travels in Africa. When she returns with a mysteriously wealthy sophisticate named Ben (a slyly terrific Steven Yeun) Jongsu immediately feels threatened. But as his petty jealousies pile up, deeper suspicions begin to take root, and small, seemingly innocuous details begin to point towards sinister possibilities.

Rather than focus on the things that connect us, Burning probes the divides between us that – as modern discourse reaches ever closer to a fever pitch – threaten to become unbridgeable.

In this state of disconnection, what can we be convinced to believe about one another? What (or who) is disposable? Burning asks provocative questions about our cultural shortcomings and paints a chilling picture of the alienation that can fester as a result. It’s a patient, masterful film that pays off with an absolute wallop of a conclusion.

As we see our cinemas filled with more and more tired remakes and obvious retreads, Burning represents something truly indispensable and increasingly rare – an assured, original masterpiece from a vanguard of international cinema.

1. First Reformed (dir. Paul Schrader)

“Can God forgive us? For what we’ve done to this world?”

Decades after penning the script for Scorsese’s searing take on the explosive blend of toxic masculinity and moral righteousness, Paul Schrader is back with his own twisted take on Taxi Driver this time sprinkled with elements of Winter Light, Bergman’s austere study of faith in crisis.

Like Bergman’s enduring chamber play, First Reformed focuses on a pastor, Ernst Tollet (an earth-shakingly great terrific Ethan Hawke), who offers to counsel the troubled husband of one of his parishioners (Amanda Seyfried), only to find himself slipping into a spiritual crisis of his own.

In the wake of their conversation - which plays out as a debate over the morality of bringing a child into a world on the brink of unavoidable ecological catastrophe - Tollet is forced to reckon with his own deeply repressed guilt, along with his rapidly deteriorating health, and quickly finds himself buried under the spiritual weight of his own sins, and those of humanity, writ large.

In his search for answers, Tollet whispers into the void, and in return comes nothing but silence. This profound absence drives Tollet deeper and deeper into the clutches of despair until, in the film’s breathless final moments, the void finally shouts back. It’s one of the more profoundly, beautifully surprising conclusions in recent memory - one that suggests that our only hope for true salvation is not in blind faith, but in transcendental human connection

First Reformed takes on a wide range of themes over its 90 minute run-time, but Schrader is most directly concerned with this eternal and fundamentally human struggle between faith and despair.

At its psychological foundation, faith is a willful confrontation between the human capacity for hope and a cold and uncaring universe - it’s sold to us as the only true antidote to existential despair. But First Reformed – driven to the knife’s edge by Hawke’s powerhouse lead performance – argues convincingly that the line between bravely confronting the abyss, and being wholly consumed by it, is perilously thin.

#first reformed #paul schrader #ethan hawke #burning #lee chang-dong #steven yeun #roma #alfonso cuaron #eighth grade #bo burnham #elsie fisher #the favourite #yorgos lanthimos #olivia colman #rachel weisz #emma stone

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