#love how its so clear how so many people try to invoke the books when trying to dissuade him from thinking ill of lestat

[lewyn-martell]

.

[ball-of-butter]

youre like the only account i look at on here for red queen content (specifically maven) so please go full psychological analysis on maven please. i love your posts they itch my brain perfectly

omygosh anon 🤭 tyyyy tyyyy

theres so much to say about maven and its kinda crazy considering he doesn’t get that much actual page time. so keep in mind that many people could have different interpretations of his character, since he is quite elusive. and i may or may notttt be biassed idk.

the first thing i believe: he's a character that, for all his supposed motivations, had no ambition or dream of his own. he was a complete vessel of his mother’s spite, so he makes for a pretty interesting paradox. mare was haunted by a ‘false’ maven that didn't exist (debatable). cal was haunted by an ‘erased’ maven that used to exist. what is maven haunted by? everything and everyone? he’s a ghost himself, he’s the one who usually did the haunting, but even when you get his POV in the books, there’s a tragedy in the negative space you find. there are clear holes in his psyche that he also subconsciously attempts to fill (his memories always fight to bubble to the surface, but they invoke feelings he can’t feel anymore) and never can. despite how pissed off he is at everyone and everything, he so very clearly yearns for love and approval, to the point where he is absolutely delusional about it. there he was, shocked that mare would reject him after he imprisoned and betrayed her and the scarlet guard. here’s him outraged that anabel lerolan would side with cal after he plotted her son’s murder.

elara basically sculpted a monster, and i don’t think that can be debated since its pretty clearly stated in text. even maven knew what she took from him and the extent of the abuse— but he didn't care because she gave him the love he craved. she couldn’t fill it all, if maven’s obsession with mare was anything to go by. i do think elara genuinely loved and adored him, but i don’t know if i would use the word ‘enabler’ for her because it seems too soft a word. maven is elara. elara dies and maven can’t survive on his own for long without her. he was her iron fist in a way, but neither had much interest in norta as a country like most scheming for the throne usually do– which i find so interesting. it wasn’t political, only personal.

now then there lies the debate of choice— some maven fans are completely comfortable heaping all of the blame onto elara and calling it a day. but i think even elara was failed in a similar way maven was. red queen is cool because it shows how evil is encouraged and nurtured in oppressive societies, how certain individuals even in privileged positions will be abused and neglected, how vices are taught to be hidden rather than treated and how violence is perpetuated as the surest, most permanent decree. every character is affected by this system in some way, and i could talk about it for years but i’ll save you the time. my point is that this would apply to maven, but that doesn’t make him void of choice. it’s sort of predictable that he would make the terrible choices he did in the series considering he never had the chance to escape what predestined narrative was already planned for him, but no one was physically forcing him to burn his initial into mare. no one was physically forcing him to try slaughter a whole race of people. no one physically forced him to blow up naercey, or taunt cal after forcing him to murder his dad, or psychologically torture mare when he kept her as prisoner. yes, there’s nuance but maven is also much too comfortable with being a terrible person, because thats what ultimately earns him love, respect and approval.

i don’t think maven could’ve been saved, not because 'the damage was too bad,' but because he had no desire to be saved, and no one but cal had wanted to put in the effort to save him. i always find it interesting how cal secretly resented mare for killing maven, even though it was such a longtime coming, and he would never voice it because considering all maven had done to her, she had more than the right. but i don’t want to yap so much about maven’s relationship with cal because i’ll be here forever. nor do i want to talk too much about his relationship with mare. i'll only say that when i was talking about his death scene i did mention how much of an impact both of them had on each other, how maven was so scary to mare because he was a viable twisted path that represented the worst of her. i think mare could’ve been (my biassed interpretation) a path for him too, but he was so far gone by the second book and especially after elara’s death that he never considered it (would’ve been too late for him then anyway). i have some thoughts on the chances of maven rehabilitating if he had the tools and will to. some thoughts. they won’t go here though.

lastly i just want to link this post which had super interesting additions by @lucy-the-cat that delves into maven from a psychological perspective. its sooooo well written and i still think about it to this day.

last thing i wanna do is glaze a bit so im just gonna 😭 its refreshing to see this sort of villain be portrayed as an mmc who isn’t attractively suave and super misunderstood and depressed and supremely intelligent for what he does– maven is intelligent and sad, but he's presented as a floundering, insecure, delusional brat that the fmc understands entirely. something so refreshing in how he can only either be hated, and at best, pitied.

[alexandriaisburning]

+002: The Problem with “Good Game Design”

Addendums, Archives and Appendecies is extra, off topic writing in addition to the regular CANON FIRE entries. You can support more writing like this on Patreon.

In games we have a tendency to try and solve everything, to get the optimal, most ideal solution. Sometimes that transfers to how we approach criticism too. There’s an idea that game design is an art that can be perfected, an art that we can test and measure until we’ve achieved perfection. 

A million game design essays and industry post-mortems will have you believe that every year we are getting closer to the platonic ideal of the medium. That we make continued progress towards the unspoken agreement of what games should look like. 

This is where we get what I call “prescriptive game criticism”. 

Prescriptive game criticism goes in with a predisposed set of ideas for what makes a good game. It looks to fit the object of critique into its framework, rather than fit the framework to the object. It overlooks the context and application of why certain choices were made, and the context they were made in. 

A prescriptive approach might take the design choices of a successful game, and turn them into lessons to be applied in making other games, or hold them as a standard to judge other games by. It might observe the way one game builds a world makes it successful, despite its simple combat, and see the depth of another game’s combat system, and so naturally combining both would make the ultimate game. Right?

There’s nothing inherently wrong with this sort of theorycrafting, and it’s easy to see why it’s so popular. It’s entertaining, and often even useful, and it gives us a sense that we’re coming to a greater understanding of a medium we love. But often this rigid approach turns into a rulebook of good and bad design, a checklist you use to judge work on terms you’ve already decided on before you started, removed from context and content. 

These approaches often unknowingly replicate underlying ideologies. Even a simple statement like “games should award skillful play” dismisses a huge swathe of games and can reinforce flawed ideas of meritocracy. Look at the way that people consider skill at videogames to be a prerequisite for having opinions on them. Or the way the fighting game community will often tell you to settle arguments in a first to three, as if your skill means more to your legitimacy than the content of the argument. 

If that still feels like a reach, let’s take a look at the concept of “flow”, which is often used as a measurement for positive engagement and game balance:

As defined by psychologist Mikhail Csikzentmihalyi, flow is a state in which people are so involved in an activity that nothing else seems to matter, achieved when the goals are clear, and there is balance between the difficulty of the task and the skills of the person doing them. 

It sounds like game design 101, right? In fact, you’ll find Csikzentmihalyi’s work cited all across game design essays and post-mortems, with many words written on how to induce this state through game design. Jenova Chen, designer and founder of thatgamecompany, even named a game after Flow, and designed an accompanying system to dynamically adjust difficulty, directly citing Csikzentmihalyi’s principles. 

Chen specifically draws from the argument Csikszentmihalyi makes in Flow: The Psychology of the Optimal Experience, his most cited work. But for such a frequently invoked argument, the rest of the book presents a disturbing picture. 

Csikzentmihalyi presents flow with the framing of a self-help book, as a positive force that can enrich all points of life, as almost a moral good. Among the examples he uses to prove his argument range from the obvious--chess, listening to classical music, playing sports--to the absolutely bizarre--like parenting, factory labor, or even homelessness. No exaggeration.

So if inducing a flow state is a measure of good design, does this mean society is well designed? Wealth inequality?

Incredibly, Csikszentmihalyi seems to believe so! As the book continues he veers into an argument that we should dispense with moral relativism and embrace absolute judgements of which societies are best, with Western society of course being the model, thanks to its meritocratic structure allowing the most opportunity to achieve flow states, and therefore happiness. Even those on the bottom rung can achieve flow here, and those who can’t are simply broken and shouldn’t be factored into the equation. 

Again, this is no exaggeration. If anything, I left out a lot of other examples that I found more distasteful. 

It’s not as if these underlying ideas haven’t made it into people’s work either. The psychological work done on flow has been used to create exploitative games, and to gamify labor and education to replace real satisfaction with a drip feed of short term rewards, and arguably even influences our interactions with social media. 

I say this not because I believe everyone using the term “flow” is cosigning some conservative cultural clash, but to illustrate the assumptions that go unchallenged when we adopt a framework without consideration. 

“Good design” sometimes doesn’t look much different than exploitation, and many effective works directly clash with traditional ideas of what a good game looks like. Descriptors like “depth” or “immersion” frequently exclude more feminine modes of play, like dress up or socialization games, which can be rewarding in other ways. Or shut out games that intentionally introduce friction to make it intentionally unpleasant to engage with. 

I think fondly about Fatale, the most dreadful, boring 40 minutes I’ve ever spent with a game. It’s nothing but slow movement between points, observing tableaus and reading Oscar Wilde quotes. And yet, years later I still remember it, and the powerful impression it left on me. 

Had I been given more freedom to explore the environments and set my own pacing, the whole thing would have fallen apart. The lack of agency, the dreadful atmosphere of the aftermath, IS the point. Fatale strains against our expectations and desires, and it's that friction that gives it thematic weight. Or makes it a total waste of time for you. 

Once you begin to break down the assumptions that we’ve made about “good game design”, it kind of breaks the idea that there’s an objective measure for the quality of a game. Which means we have to accept that something that works for us, might not land at all for others, and vice versa.

So if we throw away those prescriptive ideas of what a good game looks like, what’s the alternative?

For me, I like to approach games with what I call a “descriptive” lens to criticism. To be clear, I don’t want to present yet another dichotomy, between the good and bad games crit. Rather, a descriptive approach is one that I think of as widening the angle from a narrow viewpoint to capture a work’s context, intentions, and even our own personalities and worldview. 

It requires us to take a look at what a work is doing, why it makes certain decisions and decide if it achieves them within its context and constraints. Or if we even agree with those choices. There are many games I would have enjoyed more if they were designed differently, but that doesn’t mean they’ve fundamentally failed because of it. 

To move this out of the realm of the abstract, let’s return to one of those games traditionally excluded from ideas of good game design. Girl’s Fashion Shoot is one of those “games for girls” that are often outright dismissed in conversation. This one in particular lacked a recognizable brand, and was published by a small, niche publisher, and its existence unrecognized by most people. Curious, I played it myself, and I found an interesting cultural connection to a real Japanese teen fashion magazine--hastily scrubbed out of its English release--and found myself challenged by my personal lack of knowledge of fashion styles and movements. It had me thinking about the way I presented myself both physically and digitally. 

Structurally and mechanically, the game presented next to no challenge, handing you the tools to success immediately, pushing you forward only with the promise of access to more items you could use to express yourself. Yet it still compelled me, and gave me plenty to chew on emotionally and intellectually. 

Working within a descriptive mode means opening ourselves to moments like this, putting aside the ideas we project onto games about what they should be, and looking at what they have on offer, whether they present it with a clear or compromised vision. Ask yourself, what is this work attempting, and are the choices it makes on its journey successful? Look at how it frames itself, what it chooses to include and exclude in its aesthetic presentation. What does it give you control over, and where does it take it away? What worldview does it present, intentionally or not? And how does that collide with our own?

Art can inspire a spectrum of thoughts and emotions, often joyous, but often miserable, terrifying and painful. Chasing a singular idea of “good game design”, one that centers fun, flow states, or mechanical complexity and reward, can rob us of the catharsis of something that challenges us in other ways, that pushes back on us. Sometimes the work of criticism means not only looking at the piece in front of you, but the reflection of ourselves presented within it. 

If videogames are truly an interactive art, we need to accept that not only can we influence it, that it can influence us. We need to accept that games are a conversation between us and the work that people have labored to put in front of us. And that means not only speaking about the work, but listening to what it has to say to us. 

[heliads]

Second Best

Based on this request: “a Zoya Nazyalensky story where she and the reader are friends and one night they get into a fight and Zoya confesses her love?”

masterlist

The task before you is simple. All you have to do is use your abilities as a Grisha Squaller to pick up the metal spear before you and launch it across a clearing into the awaiting target. It’s almost offensively easy, something you’ve been training to do since you arrived at the Little Palace all those years ago. It’s very simple, although the fact that you’re now next in line to complete the task makes it seem strangely harder.

However, the eyes of the rest of the Squallers are upon you, so you can’t exactly back down now. You step forward, lifting your hands in the traditional gestures used by the Etherealki whenever they have it in their minds to do something particularly interesting, and the spear lifts before you. You let it hover there, suspended in the air for a second, and then you fling your hands forward, palms facing the target. The spear flies in unison with your movement, burying itself halfway through its length in the target. It’s almost a perfect shot, maybe off by a hair’s breadth. You breathe a quiet sigh of relief.

You can hear applause from behind you, the usual aura of surprise that comes with the feat you’ve just accomplished. With a casual gesture of your fingers, the spear yanks itself out of the target, with only a few sparse pieces of straw falling to the ground as any sort of damage. Well, that and the gaping hole in the center of the target, although that is quickly mended by the Fabrikator kept on hand. You can’t help but grin to yourself as the spear returns to your hand. Let’s see anyone else match that.

You may have spoken a little too soon- seconds after you’ve returned the spear to its awaiting position near the front of the courtyard, it’s hurled again through the air, shooting with the precision of an arrow to land in the direct center of the target. You thought it might be impossible to improve upon the slight difference in your shot, but this latest Squaller has managed it with ease.

Normally, any other blue-garbed Etherealki would be looking around in horror and dismay, upset as to what would cost them the first place spot in the class and curious as to who could land a perfect shot such as that. You, however, are somewhat used to this now, and just keep walking with a grin. You can hear footsteps approaching behind you, and don’t even have to turn around to acknowledge the girl now matching your strides.

“Nice one, Zoya.” The girl beside you smirks. “I should hope so. If I so much as missed the center by a hair, you wouldn’t let me forget it for a week.” You laugh. “Of course not. How could I let go of the chance to not tease Zoya’Best In Class’ Nazyalensky? It would practically be  a crime.” Zoya nods, pretending to be serious. “Absolutely. The Saints might invoke their wrath upon you if you didn’t act upon such an opportunity.” You fling your hand over your heart dramatically. “Here lies Y/N L/N, dead after the Saints wanted to see her make fun of her friend and she let them down.”

Zoya snorts graciously as you pretend to faint on her, shoving your mock limp body aside. “Oh, you consider us friends?” You catch yourself easily, rolling your eyes. “Zoya dear, I know it would bring you no greater pleasure in the world to consider yourself a lone wolf, forever at the front of the pack, but I thought you’d realized by now that you simply can’t get rid of me. We’re friends.” 

You can hear Zoya grumbling, but when you glance over at her, there’s an ill-concealed smile dancing behind her eyes. “That’s an interesting way to convince people to like you, annoy them and make sure you don’t ever leave you alone.” You raise an eyebrow at her. “And did it work, yes or no?” Zoya huffs. “It did, but we’re not talking about that.” You grin. “Of course we’re not.”

You pause by the halls of the Little Palace, ready to part ways as usual. Although the Etherealki and Squallers specifically all have their quarters around the same area, Zoya’s rooms are a ways away from your own. This is typically where you split up, where you go your way and Zoya returns to her own devices, where she’ll most likely plot how to take control of the next lesson and prove herself the best of the students yet again.

However, Zoya shakes her head, continuing to walk next to you. “There are too many people waiting by my doors. I’m staying in yours instead, if that’s alright.” You nod, unable to keep a teasing grin from your face. “Of course it’s alright. It must be so hard, having to deal with suitors and fans so often. I imagine it to be simply exhausting.” You’re expecting Zoya’s vexed scowl and smack on the arm, so you’re able to duck out of the range of both.

This is how it is to be close friends with Zoya Nazyalensky, after all. You laugh with her, develop a thick enough skin to stand the constant scathing remarks that must of course be exchanged, and do your best to keep up with the neverending flow of power and possibility that always seems to come her way. That’s how it has always been, and how it will always be.

It’s not that you mind this, of course. You learned early on that no matter how hard you try, she’s always going to come in first in the class competitions and Grisha displays of strength. Being second out of so many Etherealki is pretty damn good for you, and you can tell that there’s a slight sigh of relief in Zoya’s eyes when you never seem to mind her showing off or ruining what might have been a first place finish for you. Hey- you never came to the Little Palace to always be the best, you came to learn and laugh, and you do that with Zoya. You would never trade what you have with her for fierce competition, even if it meant that you’d start besting her in contests.

This isn’t to say that you wouldn’t change slight aspects of your friendship, of course. For some reason, your heart decided to join the scores of other Grisha and even otkazat’sya that were foolish enough to fall in love with Zoya, and you’re just as hopeless as the rest. It’s just the way that she laughs when she wins, the glimmer of competition and spirit in everything she does, the undeniable thrill in your chest whenever you spot the familiar blue-clad silhouette heading briskly your way. No, you don’t think there was ever a way that you wouldn’t fall under her spell, even if you tried your hardest to fight it.

You could have told her you loved her, you think. You could have mentioned it to Zoya at any point, but you don’t. You’ve seen the way she watches potential friends for their weaknesses, having to always second-guess why they’re talking to her. Is this latest Corporalki approaching her because he truly wants to be her friend, or is it because he instead desires the secrets of her skill in Grisha abilities or as another girl in his bed? For anyone else, you think the constant doubts would drive someone mad, but it doesn’t for Zoya. She’s able to tuck it inside herself, bury it until you wouldn’t even know it was there at all.

She told you once, when the night was dark and long and Zoya couldn’t stop herself from having slightly too much kvas after a hard mission, that she sometimes terrifies herself over the fact that she might always be alone. You can still picture her there, curled up in a chair by your fire, the haunted look in her eyes. You know something happened before she came to the Little Palace, something that made her never trust another soul unless they worked to prove it, but it’s hovering in the back of her mind right now.

So, you nodded at her, and gave her another one of your sapphire blankets to help the way that she won’t stop shivering, and you listen. When Zoya looks up at you again, as if expecting to leave like the others or at least shoo her from your rooms, you simply offer for her to stay the night and not have to go back to her empty quarters. You think that was the moment when she finally accepted that you weren’t going away, when she really started to trust you.

This is precisely why you cannot say a word about how you feel- if Zoya finds out, she’ll begin to wonder if your entire friendship was just borne of a lie, the same as any of the other heartstruck Etherealki who think themselves brave enough to tame Zoya. So, you make sure to direct your lingering glances towards the woods and the scenery around you instead of her, and you force a joking smile instead of a soft look. She would know what you meant if you didn’t hide your heart, so you must do your best to deceive her. 

You’ve arrived in your rooms by now, tossing your outer coats to the side and warming your hands by the fire in the corner. You talk for a while about the class and the other students and the way Marie won’t stop staring at Sergei, a Corpoalki who she most certainly should not be associated with. Zoya stays until the candles burn low, and then she says goodbye with a smile. You return her smile. You always do.

You have a most interesting conversation over the next week. It’s not with Zoya, as it turns out, but General Kirigan. Truth be told, you weren’t expecting it at all. He’d caught you unawares in the library one night, while you were studying the particulars of the making at the heart of the world for a class lecture the next day. He hadn’t been there one second yet appeared the next, looming over your book with a shadow that seemed too tall and menacing to be real.

You had looked up in surprise, but he held up a hand, quelling any doubts that you’d accidentally done something wrong. He spoke to you about a regiment of Grisha in one of the backwater towns, some part of the Second Army that was asking for far too many supplies in exchange for the lackluster job they were doing to protect the potential Grisha in the city. For some reason, he asked your opinion of what to do about them, and you gave it. He thanked you with a smile, then left.

This happened twice more. All three times, he showed up, talked with you for a little bit, and asked a question on what you thought of a particular issue. Sometimes, it was still with the Second Army, and sometimes it was with the opportunities presented to the Grisha at the Little Palace itself. He seemed intrigued to hear what classes were like, saying how he had heard you were one of the best Squallers there were. You had smiled at that, and his eyes had glinted like a hound about to take down his prey.

That was the third visit, the most recent visit. You’re walking back to your quarters now, unable to keep a slight grin from your face. This is it, isn’t it? This is how you make your way from the classrooms of the Little Palace to the battlefield, to a real chance to do something different. When you open your doors, Zoya is propped up in an armchair inside, although this does not surprise you. You’ve long since given her free reign of all that is yours.

She looks up at you, a question already bubbling up in her inquisitive glance. “What’s got you so excited?” She’s never been able to miss a detail, has she? You can’t seem to tuck your smile away. “I’ve been speaking to General Kirigan, three times now. I think he might be on the verge of offering me a job in the Second Army.” You’re not entirely sure what you were expecting from Zoya- an expression of surprise, maybe some congratulatory words. Whatever you thought might happen, you were certainly not expecting her to stand up, face twisted in something that looked almost like fear and anger.

“You can’t do that. You should avoid him as much as possible.” Your feet stall from where you’d been crossing the room to her. “What are you talking about?” Zoya shakes her head, almost manic. “You should stay away from him. What did he tell you?” This, coming from your closest friend when you’d been so excited, is enough to make your happiness start to leach from you, replaced by a cold bewilderment and betrayal. “What does it matter? Zoya, this could be my future.”

Zoya seems unwilling to hear you out. “Tell me what he said, Y/N. You can’t trust a word he says.” You scoff. “I’m not a fool, Zoya. I know what he said, and none of it was a trick. He spoke to me like a friend, and last time he talked to me about potential openings within the Grisha ranks. I could have a position. Isn’t that excellent?” Zoya shakes her head once more. “It’s a trick. He won’t give you anything. Don’t tell me you’re actually going to believe what he says?”

You draw back from her now, all traces of excitement gone from you. “Why are you saying this? Maybe I don’t know if he truly means it or not, but you don’t know anything about this. Saints, I thought you might actually be happy for me.” Zoya almost winces at that. “I’m not- I would be happy for you if I thought this was something real, Y/N, but it’s not. Nothing is with him.” You can feel yourself rising up in anger. “Oh, and you would know about that, wouldn’t you? From all of the time you spent with him? Are you truly doubtful, Zoya, or do you just not want me to be involved with him because you don’t want me to have anything that you hadn’t had first?”

The words are coming out faster now, one after the other. Truth be told, it’s almost good to hear them aloud after so long keeping them inside. “I never had a problem with you being first in class, first in everything. I never will, but I assumed that you would extend that same courtesy to me. Why is it that we’re friends in everything, but the second I seem to get some sort of headway, you have to prove it wrong? Can’t I have anything that isn’t yours already?”

Zoya draws back as if you’ve slapped her. “That’s not how I feel. I’m just trying to keep you safe.” You want to laugh. “This is how you keep me safe? By taking everything away from me until I’m only in your shadow and nowhere else?” Zoya flings her hands in the air. “If it means he doesn’t get his hooks in you, yes! I would rather have you stay here forever than lose you.” You look at her, unbelieving. “And why is that? Because we’re such good friends that you’d trade my future for my complacency?”

Zoya’s voice is soft now, barely there at all. “Because I cannot stand to lose you. Because I love you, Saints damn it, and I’d rather have you hate me than never have you at all.” You stand there for a second, then another, then another. Your breath is sharp and harsh in your chest, but you cannot seem to say a single word. You try for a few, anyway. “You love me?” She nods once. “Yes.”

You do laugh now, incredulous. “Why didn’t you say so, you idiot? I love you too.” She looks almost surprised. “I thought- I thought you just wanted to be friends.” You shrug. All of your anger is receding away from you now, washing back into the banks after a flood. “I did, because I thought that’s all you wanted. I didn’t want to make it seem like I was only your friend because I had feelings for you.” Zoya stands there for a moment, then something almost like a sigh comes from her and she steps forward, wrapping her arms around you. “You generous, impossible fool. I can’t stand you.” You laugh, returning her embrace. “Of course not. You love me.”

requested by @villnella​

grishaverse tag list: someone who would be my squaller bestie @underc0vercryptid​, @darlinggbrekker, @cameronsails​, @aleksanderwh0r3​

[2manyfandoms2count]

A Night at the Opera

A @mlwritersguild​ Valentine for @noirequin​! Happy belated Valentine’s day! 💕

Summary: Chat Noir wanted a date with Ladybug for Valentine's day. Marinette wanted a date with Adrien. When neither option work out, Chat Noir and Multimouse end up on a platonic outing at the Opera. Or at least, that was the plan. 

Tags: Marichat, Multichat, Ladynoir, Adrienette, Snekmouse

Read on AO3

---

Adrien sighed wistfully as he listened to Mme Mendeleiev’s lecture, head leaning on his hand.

It wasn’t that chemical structures bored him, far from it. It was just that, looking at the structure of oxytocin on the black board, he couldn’t help but remember that it was also known as the love hormone, which, of course, made him think about Ladybug, which, in turn, made him replay the last conversation they’d had, a couple of nights back.

The moon had been out, shining its bright, kind light over the city. They’d sat down on the edge of a building, wrapped in thick blankets as they watched out for signs of an Akuma. January had seen quite a few emerge at night, and they’d assumed February would probably be no different.

The warm light from the streetlights below, along with the few stars shining from above, had made it all feel quite romantic.

Without looking at her, fearing that his heart might burst out from his ribcage, he’d asked if she was doing anything special for Valentine’s Day.

He’d seen her nod out of the corner of his eye.

“Oh.” He’d managed to utter before a lump took over his throat.

“I’m going to ask out the boy I love.” She’d whispered, a small blush creeping up her cheeks.

“That’s great!” He’d put on his best smile, and tried to sound as supportive as possible, although his voice sounded more high-pitched than he would’ve liked it to. She didn’t seem to notice, or, at least, chose not to comment on it. “I’m sure it will go well. You’re the best, my Lady, he’d be an idiot to turn you down.”

He’d been almost thankful for the ruckus that had emerged a couple of blocks away, providing an effective change in subject.

It felt stupid to torture himself like this, but he couldn’t help it. He resented the jealous feeling that invaded his chest when he thought about the possibility of Ladybug being in love with someone else. He wished he knew who the boy was, to see if he was a suitable match for her. Well, that was his second wish. He really wished he was the boy (it was foolish, he knew). Ladybug had every right to have someone else in her life. And maybe it would be for the best if they got together, too. Seeing her in a happy relationship, maybe he’d find it in him to properly move on.

He sighed again, and leaned back in his seat, hoping the distance might help him concentrate, but his ears perked up at the sound of Marinette and Alya’s whispered conversation. He couldn’t help but listen in.

“Why must everything be about love right now? Honestly I wish I had some oxytocin.” There was a small thud, which Adrien assumed was Marinette landing her head on the table. She did it a lot when she was frustrated, and he really thought it was valid. He didn’t dare flop down from the first row, though.

“You’re pining so hard, it would be a wonder if you didn’t have any.” Alya snorted.

“Alya!” Marinette hissed, although he really couldn’t understand why, before sighing. “Paris is just so wonderful around Valentine’s Day, if only I had someone to share the feeling with.”

“Just stick to the plan, you’ll have someone to frolic in the snow with soon enough.” The aspiring reporter giggled.

The word 'snow' had Adrien’s gaze snap towards the window, and completely wave off the rest of Alya’s words. Sure enough, the morning’s light rain had turned into majestic snowflakes dancing in the wind, a little shy of completely covering surfaces.

It was pretty romantic weather, perfect for walking hand in hand, giggling as the cold reddened your cheeks and snowflakes landed on your eyelashes. Or for snuggling up side by side on a carriage ride around the Champ de Mars. Or for staying in to watch a movie, warming your hands around a hot cup of tea or cocoa.

He could imagine sharing those moments with Marinette. In fact, beside Ladybug, Marinette was the only person he could see himself spending Valentine’s Day with.

He got lost in his thoughts. Maybe he could take the bluenette out for Valentine’s Day. She deserved a break, and he was more than willing to go all out for her to have a good time. They could hit all the romantic spots - strictly platonically, of course. He still wasn’t sure who it was that she liked, but he doubted it could be him.

Really, nothing prevented them from getting some pommes d’amour on the Champs-Elysées together, ride the merry-go-round at the foot of the Eiffel Tower, or the Tuilerie's Grande Roue. It could all be great fun.

But then again… He wasn’t sure how much she’d enjoy going out with him. They were bound to run into some fans, disturbing their tranquillity.

Or worse: the press. He could already see the headlines: Does Adrien Agreste have a girlfriend? All you need to know about Marinette Dupain-Cheng! She didn’t need people lurking about, trying to find juicy information about her.

And that, of course, would only possibly happen if his father allowed him to go out in the first place. He sighed. The man made everything a real hassle.

There were clearly too many obstacles, if he wanted to spend some quality time with his friend.

That being said, a little voice in his head whispered, there is one purr-son who doesn’t have to answer to anyone, and could sneak out fairly easily. Someone who could fade into the night to avoid the crowds, and had access to even more romantic spots of the capital.

A satisfied smile spread on Adrien’s lips as he relaxed into his seat. Neither he, nor Marinette, would spend Valentine’s Day alone this year.

And he already knew exactly where Chat Noir would be taking her.

---

“Adrien?” Marinette called after him on the school steps at the end of the day. The skies had cleared earlier, and the snow had already melted, making the ground quite slippery underfoot.

“Yes, Marinette?” He turned around with a bright smile as he waited for her to join him at the bottom of the staircase. Her steps were measured, her breathing controlled, but she was wringing her hands, giving away a certain tension. He noticed that a light blush dusted her cheeks, although it could also have been the nipping cold. The colour looked good on her.

“Um…” She cleared her throat, and stood a little taller. “I was wondering… Are you doing anything next Thursday?”

“You mean for Valentine’s Day?” His smile widened. He knew he’d be turning her down, but if she was asking him about his availability, it meant that she was definitely free.

His question seemed to catch her off-guard, and her own brave smile faltered. “Oh, is it already Valentine’s? Gosh, time flies by so quickly, don’t you think?” She chuckled nervously. “Anyway, I… I forgot about that detail, I was definitely asking you out. I mean! Not! Asking you out!” Her eyes widened in panic. “I was just thinking… Since, you know… We’re both single… Maybe we could hang out? Definitely not anywhere romantic, just-”

“You know, I really would have loved to spend Valentine’s Day with you.” He interrupted her with a chuckle, gently touching her forearm. She froze, and her cheeks flamed up.

“Really?” She squeaked. Kwami, she’s adorable, he thought with a smile.

“Yeah!” Seeing her like this, he had to fight back the urge to change his mind and say yes to her straight away. Remember your plan, the voice in his head spoke again. She’ll love it so much more. “It would be so much better than what my father has planned for me.” He rolled his eyes, silently hoping that he wasn’t invoking a real hold-up.

“Oh.” She sounded almost disappointed. “Another photoshoot?”

“I’m not even sure, at this point. I just know there’s something.” He shrugged as defeatedly as he could muster. “Maybe we could hang out some other time, though? I miss my UMS partner.” He winked.

“That would be nice.” She gave him a small smile.

A honking sound made them both jump. Adrien turned around and saw his bodyguard was waiting for him in his car. He waved at him sheepishly. He couldn’t run too late on his schedule, or he wouldn’t be able to fit in his little visit to Marinette.

“See you around, then!” He smiled at her before running towards the car.

She just waved in response.

---

“I’m so pathetic, Tikki, what even was that?” Marinette groaned as she finally flopped down on her bed after finishing her homework, covering her face with her hands. “What is wrong with me? I mean, never mind telling him I love him, why can’t I even ask him out without instantly backtracking?”

“You’ll do it one day, Marinette.” She felt her Kwami’s flippers pat her head gently.

“I’m not sure I will.” She rolled over to her side, hugging her pillow against her chest. “You saw the way he looked at me before I said it wouldn’t hold any romantic implications. He doesn’t like me that way.”

“You know, I wouldn’t-”

Tikki’s sentence was interrupted by a light thud above their heads, followed by footsteps, which sent her zooming behind Marinette’s books.

A few seconds later, a familiar masked face peeked over her skylight, face brightening with a smile as he saw her. Marinette got up and opened the latch, letting him in.

“Hi, Marinette!” Chat Noir said excitedly as he carefully climbed down, mindful not to step on her pillows. He sat cross-legged at the foot of her bed, looking very smug.

“Hey, Chat Noir.” She smiled softly. He really knew when to show up to cheer her up. Maybe they did share a special connection. “What’s up?”

“You’re going to love this.” His smile grew wider, if that was possible, and he started rocking back and forth, as he went straight to the point. “Do you have any plans for Valentine’s day?”

“No, as usual.” She sighed, meeting Adrien’s gaze on one of his pictures.

“Then you’re in luck because I have one ticket for the best night Paris will offer.” His eyes sparkled in the half-light of her room. “I’m taking you out on an adventure.”

“Oh?” Marinette’s eyebrows shot up.

“Yep.” He popped the “p” sound. “I have something great in mind for my favourite mouse.”

“Leftovers from your plan for Ladybug?” She tried teasing. It came out a little more abrupt than she’d intended, but her soft gaze smoothened the edge a little. She’d been so quick to say no to Chat, she hadn’t considered that, being his very thoughtful self, he’d probably had a whole event planned.

He looked more offended than hurt at her words. “Of course not! In fact, I think it might actually be better than my original plan, believe it or not.” He crossed his arms over his chest and stuck his tongue out.

“Sorry, kitty, that was uncalled for.” She placed a hand on his knee, and sighed. “It’s been a long day.”

“That’s alright, Princess.” He smiled and covered her hand with his. Maybe he’d been a little too abrupt with his refusal earlier, and he’d actually hurt her feelings. Marinette did look pretty tired, which he knew from experience could lead to misinterpretations.

“So, what did you have in mind?” She cleared her throat.

“It’s a surprise.” He waggled his eyebrows mysteriously. “The only thing I’ll say is that I’m a sucker for romance, and I might be pulling all the stops for the evening. Even if we’re just hanging out as friends, obviously. Why should couples have all the fun?”

“It’s completely unfair.” She nodded. The thought that maybe it wouldn’t be that bad if they actually were a couple crossed her mind. It wasn’t like she didn’t really like Chat Noir already. There was a part of her she’d actively tried to repress that was very intent on saying that if anything, Chat Noir was very hot on Adrien’s orange Converse’s heels in the race for her affection. Maybe it was time to let him take the lead. If he wanted to, of course.

But really, anyway, going on a date with him (a platonic one, at that) didn’t engage anything. It would always be more than what she’d had with Adrien. And it really couldn’t hurt to expand her horizons a little further than the one Adrien Agreste.

“There is one thing I still need to sort out, and that is how to get the Mouse Miraculous for you.” Chat Noir tapped his chin thoughtfully.

Marinette bit back a smile. “I could take care of that for you, if you want.”

“Really?” He asked, sounding almost relieved. Not that it would have been a huge hassle to get it from Ladybug, just that if he was to set everything up for their night out, he was almost sure it would slip his mind.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it.” She smiled angelically. “Any reason in particular that I should invoke?”

“Just anonymity.” He shrugged. It was true, to a certain extent. It would obviously be a lot easier to explain to a wandering gardien de nuit why two superheroes were hanging around his monument, even if they were in the middle of a picnic. Another reason was a pun, but neither Marinette, nor Ladybug, needed to know that. Ladybug would probably say no if she knew. And finally, it didn’t hurt that Marinette looked particularly badass as Multimouse. Really, he just wanted her to get used to her powers, was all.

“Okay, will do.” Marinette played with the fabric of her pillowcase. “Anything else I can bring?”

Chat Noir’s pupils dilated hungrily at the thought of Tom & Sabine’s macarons. He shook his head. “Maybe some macarons?” He asked as nonchalantly as possible, even though it was pretty clear she was not fooled.

“I’m sure that can be arranged.” She smirked and patted his thigh gently. “Passion fruit, right?”

“You know me so well, Purr-incess.” He leaned forwards and kissed her cheek, before standing up unsteadily on the soft mattress and pushing her skylight up.

“Pick you up at 7pm?” He asked before lifting himself out.

“I’ll be there.” She watched him vault away across the rooftops, then closed the window and wrapped herself in her blanket.

Maybe she’d get a not-so-platonic Valentine’s evening with a passion fruit macaron lover after all.

---

“Stop!” Chat whispered, flattening himself behind a pillar and extending an arm to block Multimouse’s path. She squeaked at the sudden contact and he flinched, looking wildly at the incoming warden from the safety of their hiding place.

The latter walked past without a second glance, humming along to the Swan Lake Waltz which could be faintly heard coming from behind the closed doors lining the corridor. Chat Noir let out a sigh of relief as he disappeared around the corner, and tiptoed out, ears flickering around in search of any sound.

“All clear.” He gestured for her to come out of hiding, and resumed his path on the richly carpeted hallway.

“You know, when you said that you had romantic plans in mind, I didn’t really picture us breaking into the Opéra Garnier.” Multimouse jogged to catch up with him (he walked surprisingly fast, even loaded with a giant picnic basket), her heart beating even quicker than during their first close call. At this rate, she probably wouldn’t survive the evening.

“Me? Doing anything illegal? You wound me my L…” He stopped shy of blurting out “my Lady”. It felt so natural to speak with Marinette like this; honestly, it was like talking to Ladybug.

Maybe because both Ladybug and Marinette shared the ability to worry about anything. As if he’d put her in any danger.

Marinette raised her eyebrows and she shot him a pointed look, daring him to finish the thought. If he’d looked more closely, though, he would have noticed she’d tensed up.

“My little rat de l’Opéra.” He saved himself, gulping.

She rolled her eyes. “So that’s why you needed me to suit up. It’s all a very elaborate pun.”

“Maybe.” He smiled mischievously and stopped in front of a door, double-checking the namecard shoved above the little doorbell. His ears drooped a little as he covered it with his hand to prevent Marinette from seeing it. He put his basket down and opened the door for her. Memories came flooding back as he took in the chairs and the view.

His mother had always loved the Opera, and especially the Palais Garnier. He remembered coming here with her as a little kid, after his father had offered her a box for Christmas. He’d felt so shy and small as they climbed the grand staircase. It had been the first time he’d worn a suit; he remembered people had stopped them and gushed about how cute he was. He’d clung to Emilie’s gloved hand, hiding in her midnight blue skirt as she thanked them. She’d smiled and ruffled his hair tenderly as they continued their ascension, before bringing him to this very door. She’d picked him up and handed him the card, whispering in his ear to slide it in the cardholder.

“What does it say, Maman?” He’d asked when the task was accomplished.

“It says that this is our special place.” She’d kissed his cheek and taken him inside, where red velvet chairs awaited, as well as a whole musical universe.

The card just said Agreste family, he realised now. He didn’t think he’d ever noticed before; he’d always been too excited by the shows to linger at the door. It wasn’t like they came frequently, even when Emilie was still alive. Since then, they’d stayed away, but clearly Gabriel hadn’t found it in him to cancel the rental of the box. That, or he’d forgotten all about it.

“Everything alright, Kitty?” Multimouse’s head poked back out when he didn’t follow her inside.

“Yeah, peachy.” Chat shook away the memories, forcing a small smile, and walked into the box, making sure he closed the door behind them. “So, what do you think?”

Marinette leaned over the bannister. This was an excellent location; they had a prime view of the stage and of the rest of the room, but were high up enough that anyone on stage wouldn’t see them.

Which was a good thing tonight, given that there clearly was a rehearsal going on.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered as she watched the dancers glide, jump, and land gracefully in a symphony of pitter-patters, barely audible over the orchestra even with her enhanced hearing. She wondered if her companion had asked her to transform so she could fully appreciate that experience. “Really, Chat, it’s amazing.”

“I’m glad you like it.” He smiled; it was genuine, this time. She looked like a little kid on Christmas day, her eyes eating up the flurry of colours on stage. Maybe she’d design the costumes herself, one day. After all, she was already getting stage experience with Kitty Section and Jagged Stone.

“Do you come here often?” She turned around to face him.

“Not really.” He chose to leave out the fact it was actually his first time back since his mother’s disappearance. It wasn’t exactly a good Valentine’s Day topic. “But it does hold a special place in my heart, and I had a feline you’d be happy here.”

She rolled her eyes at the pun, but a small blush coloured her cheeks. Or maybe there’d just been a lighting change, he couldn’t tell. “I am, thanks, Kitty.”

They stared at each other from the safe distance of the box’s length, until all the Orchestra joined in for the apotheosis of the mouvement, making them jump slightly, looking away as they cleared their throats.

Chat Noir decided to busy himself by opening the basket he’d brought. He expertly shook out the tablecloth to set it flat in the small aisle. It was less romantic than a restaurant, but he thought the cosiness of the setting made up for it. It wasn’t anywhere you could have rich velvet seats and a private ballet show.

Multimouse pretended to follow the show below, watching him carefully switch on small electric candles and pepper their surroundings with them out of the corner of her eye. He then started setting a large amount of food down, before taking out a small vase of pink roses and placing it in the middle of their improvised table. She had to say, it all looked very fancy for a picnic.

“Would Mademoiselle care to join me for dinner?” Chat Noir bowed when he was satisfied everything was in order.

“Avec plaisir, très cher.” She giggled, daintily picking up an invisible skirt to sit down.

Marinette was very impressed. She kept forgetting, or rather, quashing, how thoughtful Chat Noir could be. Everything looked so lovely, the perfect amount of intimate, fun and reprehensible, which she surprisingly didn’t mind so much. If anything, it made the date feel that much more exclusive.

Her companion followed suit, but pulled a displeased face as he looked around.

“Just a second,” he shot up and carefully pulled the tablecloth closer to the bannister. Marinette scooted along, watching carefully over the objects set out on it, ready to spring into action if anything threatened to topple over. She appreciated the relocation, though; there was more space thanks to the extra leg room at the front, and they had a better view of the events on stage. “There, purrfect.” He smiled, pleased with himself.

Her heart rate quickened at the thought that it really was just the two of them in a romantic setting, and she was thankful for the distraction Chat provided by pulling out a glass bottle and two flutes from his basket.

“Can I interest you in some sparkling apple juice?” He asked as he started undoing the bottle’s wire cage.

“Yes, please.” She cleared her throat.

She watched him struggle with the cork, and her eyes widened as it flew off with a loud 'pop'. Her reflexes kicked in just in time, allowing her to catch it before it could fall out of the box.

They stared at each other wildly for a couple of minutes, completely frozen but for their hearts beating wildly, as they waited for someone to come bursting through the door to throw them out or arrest them. After what felt like an eternity of nothing happening, the show below continuing without so much as a wrong note, they started sniggering, covering their mouths to make as little noise as possible.

“Nice catch there, Princess.” Chat handed her a glass.

“Thanks.” Maybe being a superhero didn’t help with expressing her feelings, but it had done wonders for her clumsiness, especially when it came to Chat Noir. It was like she could anticipate his movements. Or maybe she just was less clumsy than him.

The interested party cleared his throat, holding out his flute. “To platonic Valentines.”

“Especially the ones planned by you.” Marinette clinked their glasses together, and took a sip before continuing. “This really is something else, Kitty. You’ll have to tell me how much I owe you.” She popped a gougère in her mouth, and almost melted at the delicate taste.

“Absolutely nothing. Your presence is all I need to make it worthwhile.” He smiled softly, making her heart skip a beat.

“Are you sure?” She squinted when he nodded fervently. “Are you secretly rich, or something?”

“Maybe.” It was Chat Noir’s turn to feel his face heat up. This conversation could quickly become a slippery slope. “Anyway, anything I could have done to improve this evening?” He nonchalantly dipped a carrot stick in hummus.

“Well, it’s still early, but I think it’s actually pretty perfect as is.” She escaped his gaze, feeling her conflicted feelings surface. She wasn’t sure that saying that there was nobody else she’d rather be with would be entirely false, yet she felt it wouldn’t be entirely true either.

“You wouldn’t mind me being somebody else, wouldn’t you?” Chat asked gently when her silence stretched for a little too long, as if reading her thoughts.

“I was actually thinking maybe asking if we could be there would be a good idea? Just to avoid your date having to be rushed off for a heart attack…” She started, but decided to backtrack when he gave her a pointed look. “Fine. Maybe. But I promise it’s nothing against you!”

“I know.” He smiled and reached for her hand, squeezing it compassionately. “I’d be lying if I said a little part of me didn’t wish to be with Ladybug right now.”

Multimouse squeezed his hand back as she searched for his eyes. “You know she loves you very much, right?” She couldn’t just say that actually he was in luck because he was with Ladybug tonight, when the person she would’ve liked to be with was stuck somewhere awful.

“Yeah, I do.” He smiled tightly, before clearing his throat. “But anyway, who’s lucky enough to have stolen the heart of Marinette Dupain-Cheng?”

“A… good friend.” She changed her mind in the middle of her reply. “I don’t want to ruin our friendship, though. And I don’t think he likes me that way.”

“You won’t know until you ask him,” he pushed with a supportive smile.

“That’s what my best friend keeps telling me, too,” she sighed. “I can’t bring myself to tell him, though. I’m… I’m afraid of the rejection.”

It was stupid, really. Adrien was so lovely, he’d never hurt her intentionally. But still, the fear remained.

“Yeah, it’s not the best feeling.” Chat winced, and Marinette cursed herself for bringing up the topic. “That being said,” he added when he saw her ready to apologise, “I’d rather Ladybug know how I feel about her, rather than let my feelings eat me up. Plus, she knows I’m an option, if she ever changes her mind.”

He wondered if this would be a good time to tell her that, had he met her before Ladybug, she would probably be the one receiving all of his love declarations. He wasn’t sure it would make her feel better, though. It wasn’t like she liked him like that, and he didn’t want her to feel like she was his second choice. She was just as lovely as Ladybug.

“I think he loves someone else, though,” Marinette muttered in her drink. He’d said as much when they’d gone to the musée Grévin.

“Trust me, I’ve heard that one before.” He winked. “Maybe the reason we get along so well is that we’re both idiots who stay stuck on one person instead of moving on.”

“Maybe.” They smiled at each other.

Marinette mused that maybe it wouldn’t be so difficult to move on if she did it with Chat. They could support each other. Find comfort, and maybe something else, along the way.

The other option would be to move on alone, wearing another mask than the one she was wearing. By the look of things, though, she’d have to be quick about it, in case Chat decided to move on first.

“Anyway,” she cleared her throat for what felt like the thousandth time in the evening, thinking it was getting more and more dangerous to drown into her partner’s eyes. “What’s your perfect date idea?”

Chat paused, and started playing with his glass as he thought.

“Well, if I actually was at liberty of doing anything… I think something like this would suit me just fine. I’m being very self-indulgent, tonight.” His eyes twinkled in the dim lighting. “But, I’d also really like to ride the Tuilerie's Grande Roue; tucked in with a nice blanket, the city at our feet…”

“What a cheeseball,” she chuckled. It sounded very nice, though.

“Aren’t mice supposed to like that?” He smirked.

“I guess they can be tempted, from time to time.” She grabbed a cheese stick and bit into it, maintaining his gaze.

He was the first to break contact, hoping the lighting would conceal his blush. It probably wouldn’t do to kiss Multimouse, as adorable as she looked right now. Or to just pick her up and carry her all the way to the Tuileries to recreate his little daydream.

The silence stretched on, not uncomfortably, but something seemed to be missing nonetheless.

“Hey, the music stopped.” He realised, looking through the bannister. Sure enough, the stage and the orchestra pit were empty, although the lights hadn’t been switched off yet. It gave him an idea.

“Have you ever done ballet before?” He asked, a twinkle in his eye as he stood up and extended a hand to help her up.

“I took classes when I was little, but I stopped quickly. I preferred fixing my friends’ tutus to actually being on stage.” She smiled bashfully.

He chuckled. He could picture that very well. “How would you feel about having the Opéra stage to yourself?”

“I’m not sure I’d be worthy of it, but I do kind of like the idea.”

“Let’s go then!” He extended his baton, and automatically moved to wrap an arm around her waist so they could hop down, but his arm froze mere inches from her body. Maybe Multimouse would want to use her jumping rope, instead of hitching a ride with him.

His friend smiled and moved closer, draping an arm around his shoulders. “Yes, let’s.”

Chat felt a warm feeling spread in his chest as he held her close. He let go of her on stage, and hopped into the orchestra pit to conceal his fluster.

“Does the Etoile of the night have any music preference?” He asked as he sat at the piano. It was conveniently placed so the player could see the performers.

“None at all.” She replied, sliding her foot in a half circle in front of her, testing the ground.

He pondered. He didn’t know any of the Swan Lake pieces, but he supposed Saint-Saëns’ Swan would do just as well.

Multimouse closed her eyes, and let herself be carried by the music. She sailed across the stage, twirling gracefully; Chat’s eyes were glued to her and her hypnotising movements. It wasn’t exactly ballet, but somehow looked a million times more elegant.

He tried to keep the music going for as long as he could, watching her smile blissfully as she danced. He tried to capture the image in his head. She looked so carefree, for once, so beautiful. He was glad to have given her that, and he was grateful for her sweetening his memories of the Opera.

Multimouse wished Chat Noir would never stop playing. His rendition of the piece was so peaceful, so gentle, he made her feel like time had stopped. Like it was just them and the music, with nothing else mattering in the world.

After the third repetition, he let the last note resonate in the room. She didn’t want it to end, though.

“Hey, Chat Noir?” She murmured, not wanting to disrupt the atmosphere.

“Yes?”

“Would you come and dance with me?” She opened her eyes, and Chat Noir stood up automatically. He made his way up to her slowly, never breaking eye contact, as if in a trance.

He held out a hand, which she took, and pulled her close.

They spun around for a bit, lost in each other’s gaze. He made her twirl, making her almost regret she wasn’t wearing a dress, and dipped her.

Both of their hearts went haywire at the proximity.

Chat's eyes flickered to Marinette's lips, and he decided to pull her up before he could do anything stupid. He kept her close as they slow-danced, though.

“Hey, Marinette?” He interrupted the silence after a while.

She hummed in reply, revelling in his proximity.

“Who was it you wanted to spend tonight with?” Chat Noir whispered as they spun cheek to cheek, one of his hands on the small of her back, the other holding hers. “Another superhero?”

“Sort of. I mean, he’s been picked once, although I don’t think you’ve met him properly… Remember Aspik?” She blushed as she felt his breath tickle her ear.

Chat Noir pulled back a little to see her face, revealing his own broad smile. He was so lucky. She liked him. “Really? Adrien Agreste? You're in luck, Princess, it just so happens that I know him quite well... He actually told me he was very disappointed not to spend tonight with you, maybe I could arrange a date for the two of you?”

“I’m not sure I’d want that anymore, though.” She murmured. Her eyes fluttered elegantly and landed on his lips.

It took all of his self-control not to say that, actually, she didn't have to choose, since wherever he went, Adrien and Aspik went, too. Which meant there was none left to prevent him from closing the space between their lips.

What a shame, he smiled as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

He was kissing Marinette. It was nice. Very nice. And she liked him. Adrien Agreste.

Well, Aspik, but that made no difference.

Except it does, he pulled back suddenly as he hit an epiphany.

She looked up at him inquisitively, almost disappointed that the moment was over.

“How do you know about Aspik?” Chat Noir squinted at her. “You weren’t there.”

Crap, she thought. Here I was, thinking I’d been doing so well. She wondered what her next step should be. She could protest. Pretend that she and Ladybug had talked about it together.

She felt the heat rise to her cheeks as she stumbled for words. She seriously considered kissing him again. Maybe it would make him drop the subject.

“Unless… You were.” He said, almost in awe, before letting out a small chuckle. “It would seem like we make a great pair of idiots, my Lady. We managed to fall in love with different sides of the mask.”

“That’s why you went AWOL that day.” Realisation dawned on her face, and he nodded.

They stared at each other, Multimouse’s hands still tangled in his hair, Chat Noir’s hands wrapped around her waist.

“Well, so much for a platonic Valentine’s, then.” He smirked.

“I think that was off the table the moment you kissed me anyway,” she breathed.

“You know I wouldn’t have gone for it had I not felt like it would be right.”

“And you know I love you for it.” She smiled, standing on her tiptoes to press her lips to his. She tried to express how glad she was that everything was turning out like this. She also hoped it would distract him from the fact she’d just blurted out that she loved him.

“Hey Chaton?” She broke off, and he rested his forehead against hers.

“Yep?”

“We haven’t had dessert.”

“Why, my Lady, what a scandalous statement.” He teased as she rolled her eyes.

“How about we end this date the way we both wanted? We could get the macarons, and go sit at the very top of the Grande Roue. There’ll be nobody to stop us.”

“See, this is exactly why I love you.” He kissed her nose and picked her up bridal style, eliciting a small yelp from her. “We just need to make one stop on the way, to get the snake Miraculous. I couldn’t deny you of a date with dear Aspik now, could I?”

She giggled and hung on more tightly to him as he carried her out of the building.

Really, the evening couldn’t have gone better in her dreams.

[straight-outta-kaer-morhen]

Scars <Eskel Soulmate AU>

Request from AO3: "Could you so an Eskel/reader with a soulmate AU? Maybe where soulmates have the same scars. Pretty please?"

Sorry it took so long. This fic has been sitting finished for several months, but I couldn't decide if I liked it enough to post. I've never done a soulmate AU, so this was a fun challenge! Anyways, I hope you enjoy! :D

As always, requests are open

Her claws wracked the side of his face. He'd been trying to avoid this meeting, but fate seemed to always have it's way. He was a fool for invoking the law of surprise all those years ago, and an even bigger fool for running from fate.

Looking up at the young girl, he had nothing in his heart but hate. The way she glowered at him he had no doubts she returned his sentiments.

• •• • A cry escaped her as flesh tore. Her hands shot out to grab her cheek. Blood ran freely down her jaw covering her neck. Horrified at the sight of crimson she helplessly tried to staunch the blood flow. The mage in front of her had his back pressed against the wall. Nothing but horror filled his eyes. This was not how the negotiations with Kaedwen were supposed to go. By the look on his face he hadn't attacked her, or cursed her. He fled the room as the pain seared across her cheek.

At some point she recalled being taken to a nurse for treatment, who was only able to bandage the wound, and send the sorceress on her way.

None of the healers could speed up the process of healing. The wound seemed to be healing on its own time. When it finally did heal, she was left with several jagged scars that even ran down her lips. When she looked in the mirror she was horrified by what she saw.

She seeked out Yennefer of Vengerberg’s powers. If anyone could heal the scars it was her. Very few were close to equal with Yennefer’s abilities.

"I cannot fix this." Yennefer declared, her eyes filling with pity. "This is the mark of a soulmate...and nothing can change fate."

"You were so beautiful." Kiera Metz's voice came softly. Y/N could not fathom the pity filled look she received. Her reflection showed several claw mark's adorned her face. They were raised and red.

Beauty wasn't everything she tried to tell herself, but she knew finding a lover would be impossible. Even her so-called soulmate would want nothing to do with her.

Yennefer gripped her shoulder, "beauty isn't everything."

• •• • "What happened to her?" Geralt inquired, his cat eyes falling on the familiar scars that adorned her face.

"It's a sad story." Triss sighed. "She used to have a beautiful face." Triss began, "the kind of face that makes king's launch wars over."

"Prettier than Yen?"

Triss nodded, "she had a softness, a warmth that Yennefer lacked. It drove men absolutely mad." She mused. "One day during negotiations, her face just tore open. It was the damndest thing."

"When?" Geralt inquired, observing the (h/c).

Triss tapped her chin recounting the years, "it had to have been about 20 years ago...give or take a few years."

"Hmmm." Geralt said, catching the woman's (e/c) eyes. She offered him a soft smile from across the room. He gave her a nod, his eyes tracing the scars that lined her lip. They were uncanny to Eskel's.

"No mage or sorceress could heal her." Triss added. "Apparently soulmate scars work differently, it's a power we know little of."

"Soulmate scars? I thought that was an old wives tale." Geralt asked, startled.

"So did I, but the circumstances of how she acquired them...well there is no other explanation for it." She said with a shrug as she took a sip of wine. "I spoke with the mage that witnessed it. His account was hard to discredit."

"The amount of scars a Witcher acquires, well it's hard to put much stock in the idea." Geralt said, taking another drink of his ale.

Triss waved the woman over, "whatever man acquired those, it must have been hell for him from what Y/N described."

"Y/N, this is Geralt." Triss introduced, "he's taken an interest in your scars." She said leaving the two to get acquainted

Her hand immediately shot up to her face covering the scars. "Forgive me for prying," Geralt began, "I have a friend who has similar scars."

Y/N's eyebrows raised, "is he a Witcher too?"

Geralt nodded, "sounds like he got those scars around the time you did."

"That would explain the pain…" Y/N mumbled, sitting at the table. "I'm very sorry for your friend, I know how he feels." She began a small frown pulling at her face. "No matter how kind you are, people tend to avoid things they can't explain."

"Well, I have reason to believe he may be the answer to those scars."

She shook her head, "even so he wouldn't want to see me." (E/c) eyes flickered up at his feline gaze. "I know exactly how I look Geralt. Kings stopped requesting my presence as soon as they saw my face, the lodge will not send me out diplomatically in case another scar decides to show up." Her jaw was set, "I'm quite positive your Witcher friend would not care to see me."

Geralt nodded, "if you change your mind let me know."

• •• •

Winters were perfect for catching up with his brother in arms. Geralt had debated keeping the scarred woman's existence a secret, but ultimately he decided that it was Eskel who should decide.

He broke the news a few weeks into their stay. He'd made sure Vesemir was in the room. If anyone would have more knowledge on the subjects of soulmates it would be the old Witcher.

"I met a sorceress this past fall." Geralt began, soliciting a scoff from Vesemir.

"Did you bed her too?" The grey haired man asked. Soliciting a soft smile from Eskel as he turned the page of his book.

"No, but she had some interesting scars." Geralt commented.

Eskel's eyes shot up, his hand automatically scratching at the scars that lined his lips. "A sorceress who chose not to have them healed? That's unheard of. They tend to be a vain bunch." Vesemir said thoughtfully.

"They tried, but scars involving soulmates is another thing." Geralt peaked up at Eskel to gage his reaction. The Witcher had stiffened, listening intently.

"Soulmates," Vesemir mused. "That is a very rare phenomenon. I can't say I've ever heard of two soulmates actually finding each other."

"Hmm, I saw the scars with my own eyes. Three claw marks on the side of the jaw." Eskel dropped his book.

"Appeared out of nowhere about twenty years ago." Geralt added. "If I hadn't been mistaken by the pair of tits I would have thought it was Eskel."

Eskel's cleared his throat, "it's a coincidence."

"Maybe, but I don't think so."

"Perhaps it's fate forcing you to make things right?" Vesemir in his infinite wisdom had a point. Much to Eskel's dismay.

"If it's fate we'll run into each other." Eskel dismissed.

"Eskel, you can't outrun fate." Vesemir began, "look what happened to you last time."

Geralt sighed, "I didn't tell you this to feel trapped by fate. I thought you had a right to know, I also think you have a right to tell destiny to fuck off if you want."

Eskel seemed to relax a bit, "was she attractive?"

Geralt nodded, "scars and all. Triss says she was once prettier than Yen." He hesitated, "there is something else you should know…"

Eskel leaned forward curiosity getting the better of him.

"She doesn't think you'd wish to see her."

A frown pulled at the dark haired Witcher's lips. He knew all too well what it was like to carry those scars.

Eskel had once been considered a handsome man. He'd never had a hard time finding a lover, and people used to be friendlier. After he acquired the scars, brothels were the only place he could find pleasure, the contracts he took the people looked on him as if he were a feral beast.

"Go talk to her." Lambert's voice echoed through the hall.

"What have I told you about eavesdropping?" Vesemir asked, turning to the youngest Witcher.

"Ah, can it old man." Lambert said, waving him off. "You're always saying you want a lover. If she really is your soulmate, even she can't turn you down."

That was just like Lambert, to throw his opinion out there regardless if it was welcome or not. "I thought you opposed Geralt bringing visitors to Kaer Morhen. You really want me to bring someone too?"

"If it’ll get you laid, I’m willing to take one for the team."

Vesemir rubbed his temples, no one could get on his nerves like the younger Witcher. Bold and brash, Lambert had a tendency to speak without thinking things through. It seemed the mutations could not quell the passion for living that burned inside.

“You have time. Destiny can wait.” Geralt said downing the rest of his ale. “Think on it.” He said, patting Eskel’s shoulder before heading upstairs for the evening.

Vesemir and Lambert were quick to follow, leaving Eskel alone with his thoughts. He turned to the many shelves that lined the wall. The bookshelves had been moved years ago when the library had decayed enough that Vesemir didn't trust it to house his precious tomes. If anyone were to have a book on the subject of soulmates, it would be the old man.

The book was thin and covered in years of dust. Eskel brushed the cover off. The letters had worn off, but the faint engraving of the title could be seen, Love Potions, Relationships, and Soul Mates. Eskel flipped to the title page, how to tell if they're the one, potions to make them fall in love, and tips turning that crush into love.

A small chuckle escaped Eskel's lips. He wondered when the old Witcher had picked this up, and who he was trying to woo. The table of contents indicated the chapter on soulmates started on page 69.

"Soulmates were fated by the gods. The oldest known magic, but very little have studied it. Soulmates could be confirmed by matching scars. It has been speculated that when one soul receives the mark their kindred soul receives it as well.

It is unknown why the other soul experiences the same wound, and pain. Some scholars assume it is to bound the two souls in a mutual understanding.

Soulmate bonds used to be very common, but the emergence of alchemy, and sorcery has made the magic almost extinct.

Soulmate bonds typically occur during strange phenomenons such as blood moons, eclipses, solstices, etc.

There have been instances where soulmates have argued that they were fated to meet.”

Eskel flipped the page, but the next chapter was regarding a love potion. He took care placing the book back on the shelf.

He let his mind wander as he trudged up the stairs to his room. Having someone to hold on nights like this wouldn't be unwelcome.

The room was silent, the fire had turned to embers. He threw another log on coaxing it back to life with Igni. The only thing in the room that indicated someone lived in it were stacks of books, and his weapons laid on a long, narrow table.

He toed off his boots and sat on the edge of the low bed. He wanted to laugh at Geralt for suggesting such an idea. He wanted to tell Vesemir that destiny could go to hell. He wanted Lambert to realize that no one would ever want him, but most of all he wanted it to be true.

Of course he wanted someone to love him, but how the hell could he accept a love like that? If he couldn't love the scars on his face how could he expect someone else to? The questions raised in his mind, but Lambert's voice rang in the back of his mind if she is your soulmate, even she can't turn you down. Perhaps that was the ember that sparked hope in his heart.

• •• •

The lodge trusted her with an alchemy shop. It seemed even she couldn't fuck that up. The once brilliant negotiator was now grinding, mixing and drying herbs. The shop bell jingled indicating a customer. "I'll be with you in a moment."

"Take your time."

She dried her hands on her apron, as she turned to face the deep voice. Her eyes widened at the sight of him. The scars that lined his lips were identical to hers.

"I'm sorry. This is my fault." He began as her hand shot up to cover the scars.

"I told Geralt you wouldn't want to see me." She said turning away from the dark haired Witcher.

He was quick to reach out to her, "no you're beautiful...no beautiful isn't the right word..it's not enough to describe you." Eskel breathed taking in her soft (e/c) eyes. "A choice I made hurt you." Eskel's voice was thick with shame, "and you've had to live with that."

She took him in, and her fingers traced the scars that lined his face. "Perhaps it's not all bad."

Eskel's heart fluttered at the prospect. She had yet to turn him away, and he dared to let his heart hope.

"These scars led me to you."

[asma-al-husna]

Allah calls Himself Al-Ghaalib— The Victor, the Predominant— on one occasion in the Quran. Al-Ghaalib is the One who is victorious in every situation. He is the only One who decides and does as He wants with the creation and makes the believers prevail.

The Victor, the Predominant, the One Who Prevails

Ghaalib comes from the root ghayn-laam-baa, which points to two main meanings. The first meaning is to be victorious and to prevail. The second main meaning is to be predominant and overcome.

This root appears 31 times in the Quran in five derived forms. Examples of these forms are yaghliboo (“the will overcome”), ghaaliboona (“victorious”), and maghloobun (“one overpowered”).

Linguistically ghaalib refers to the one possessing the attribute of victory and dominance, whereas ghalaba refers to the verb “to overcome.” From the same root comes the word ghulb in the Quran, Allah says: wa hadaa’iqa ghulba– and gardens of dense shrubbery [Quran, 80:30], which points to a thick foliage of plants to be found in the earth and “overcoming” the soil it is growing in.

Al-Ghaalib is the ultimate one to prevail, control, dominate, and overcome each being and situation with great ease and utmost wisdom— and whenever He pleases.

Al-Ghaalib Himself says: And the one from Egypt who bought him said to his wife, “Make his residence comfortable. Perhaps he will benefit us, or we will adopt him as a son.” And thus, We established Joseph in the land that We might teach him the interpretation of events. And Allah is predominant over His affair, but most of the people do not know. [Quran, 12:21]

“Against all odds”

Allah ‘azza wa jall calls Himself Al-Ghaalib in Surah Yuusuf. In the story of the prophet Yuusuf ‘alayhi sallam everything is intended one way and it goes the other way, a beautiful example of how everything is in the control of Al-Ghaalib.

Yuusuf’s brothers want to get him out of the way so they can get the love of their father. They left him to die in the well, but he survived. Allah says in this surah: Wallahu ghaalibun ‘alaa amrih (And Allah is predominant over His affairs). What He wills will happen, even though everything indicates another way.

Then Al-Azeez, the wealthy ruler, buys Yuusuf and brings him into His palace, and Al-Azeez’s wife, a powerful, beautiful woman, does everything she can to seduce this young, single man who is her slave. Every single aspect is tempting for zinaa– immorality– but Yuusuf doesn’t sway.

He ends up descending from a palace into the darkest prison and from the prison back to a ruling position in Egypt where he is reunited with his beloved father, Yaqoob ‘alayhi sallam. All the events of this story are a clear sign that the final decision is to Al-Ghaalib, “against all odds.” And every human being is like Yuusuf ‘alayhi sallam in that in his affairs Allah is Al-Ghaalib!

How Can You Live By This Name?

1. Have strong belief.

Never fear people and their decisions, never be deceived by the looks of a situation nor be scared of losing your possessions – know that Allah is Al-Ghaalib in Your affairs and He will decide what happens. Next time you feel tempted to care more about the acceptance of people or gaining belongings than trying to please Al-Ghaalib, remind yourself and live by this ayah:  If Allah should aid you, no one can overcome (ghaaliba) you; but if He should forsake you, who is there that can aid you after Him? And upon Allah let the believers rely [Quran, 3:160]

2. Hold onto the truth.

Allah has written, I will surely overcome (la’aghlibanna), I and My messengers. Indeed, Allah is Powerful and Exalted in Might [Quran, 58:21] Know that if you stick to the truth and to your Islamic principals you will win; no matter how weak the believers might get, the truth will prevail. This is because Allah is Al-Ghaalib; the victory of those who follow Him and the messengers is His promise and when Allah promises, He delivers.  Allah says: But those who were certain that they would meet Allah said, How many a small company has overcome (ghalabat) a large company by permission of Allah. And Allah is with the patient [Quran, 2:249] So hold on to the truth, no mater how weak it seems, have strong belief Allah is Al-Ghaalib, have patience and victory will be yours, whether in this life or the next!  And whoever is an ally of Allah and His Messenger and those who have believed – indeed, the party of Allah they will be the predominant (al-ghaaliboona). [Quran, 5:56]

3. Take lessons from the past.

And Pharaoh and his people were overcome (faghuliboo) right there and became debased. [Quran, 7:119] While you read the ayaat in the Quran of the former people and their fates, Allah observes if and how you apply these lessons in your daily life. Do you try to avoid the sins they committed? Look at the characteristics of the people who were defeated because of their transgression, disbelief and arrogance and strive to be better than them in shaa Allah.

4. Don’t let sins overcome you.
In the Hereafter there will be a heart-shaking scene: the people of the Hellfire will beg Allah to release them from the Fire. They will say, “Our Lord, our wretchedness overcame (ghalabat) us, and we were a people astray. [Quran, 23:106] However He (Allah) will say: Remain you in it with ignominy! And speak you not to Me!”  Verily, there was a party of My servants who used to say: “Our Lord! We believe, so forgive us and have mercy on us, for You are the Best of all who show mercy! But you took them for a laughing stock, so much so that they made you forget My remembrance while you used to laugh at them!) Verily, I have rewarded them this Day for their patience; they are indeed the ones that are successful. [Quran 23: 108-111] Let this scene inspire you to not be overcome by sins in this life and end up like the people begging Allah for one more chance. Instead believe in this life and continuously ask Al-Ghaalib for forgiveness and mercy, as you will not get a second chance to return to this world!

5. Don’t think you can prevail by yourself.
Never attribute any victory or success to yourself, nor dominate others in an unjust way. And [remember] when Satan made their deeds pleasing to them and said, No one can overcome (ghaaliba) you today from among the people, and indeed, I am your protector. [Quran, 8:48] Some people think they can prevail by themselves or they attach their mind or trust to another human being or even object, but eventually they will be defeated.

6. Don’t be deceived.

But, [on the contrary], We have provided good things for these [disbelievers] and their fathers until life was prolonged for them. Then do they not see that We set upon the land, reducing it from its borders? So it is they who will overcome? [Quran, 21:44] Sometimes the wealth, success, beauty and even intelligence of those who disbelieve can be confusing and even tempting. Know that Al-Ghaalib only prolongs the lives of some people for them to increase in their transgression. Say to those who disbelieve, You will be overcome and gathered together to Hell, and wretched is the resting place. [Quran, 3:12]

7. Call upon Al-Ghaalib.

When all people turn against Him after years of calling to Allah, what does Nuh ‘alayhi sallam do? He doesn’t ask others for help, he doesn’t give up, but he turns to Al-Ghaalib and beautifully supplicates:

‎فَدَعَا رَبَّهُ أَنِّي مَغْلُوبٌ فَانتَصِرْ So he invoked his Lord, “Indeed, I am overpowered, so help. [Quran, 54:10] Whenever you feel overpowered, call upon Al-Ghaalib with this Quranic dua��!

Wallahu ta’alaa ‘alem.


O Allah, Al-Ghaalib, we know that You are the One who is predominant in all affairs. Make us of those who have strong belief, hold onto the truth at all times and learn from the lessons You provided us in Your book. Don’t let us be overcome by sin, and make us of those who are victorious in both this life and the Hereafter, ameen!

[lunarkreatures]

So did this a while ago, did everything by hand cause i didn't know i could download templates from storytellers vault. I wanted to do a fake cover just to test out CSP. 

So the idea of it is something like the rage across books from werewolf the apocalypse that are supplements for many places in the world. rage across worlds would be completely different scenarios and worlds for werewolf the reclaimed that would basically be a tweaked version of forsaken that I am working on. 

That aside I even wrote a full story that would be the introduction to the scenario of the red pyramid. you can read it after the read more.

The chronicles of the red pyramid

This is a tale from the old times, ages ago. A time when the red pyramid, the palace of the god king wasn't the nest of horror it is today, it's red shine would invoke adoration not fear. People would look at it's red light and feel safe, protected, but people sleep turned away from it's light, it's said that just sleeping looking at it is enough to give nightmares, or even invite the dark presence to from that place come after you. 

There are many variations of this tale, many different interpretations, though the true story only the cursed heir and the warriors who decided to commit the first act against the gods know the truth. And I will tell you a tale, that you probably heard before...

The first slaying took place during the night, under the watchful eyes of the two moons, inside the red pyramid. Right after dinner, people tell stories of how the heir to the throne and her warriors just suddenly started attacking the soldiers in the castle one by one. Until it was only them and the king, the attack inside the castle was sudden, brutal, the hallways inside the red pyramid are still red to this day from the bloodshed. The bodies of the guards completely torn apart in pieces, the work of a true beast. 

The savage warriors and their leader arrived at the top of the pyramid, the throne room, where the king awaited. The king pleaded to his child to stop this madness but the heir didn’t hesitate, she raised her blade stabbing the king, her warriors watched everything happen, all quiet. 

The king fell unmoving on the floor, blood pooling around the unmoving body, the scene illuminated by the lights inside the chamber and the moons covered by the clouds. The heir however, was not satisfied with the death of the king, her blade went down one more time, this time cutting off his head, blood came out of the severed head, pooling around it.

She raised her blade towards the moons in victory. At that time the clouds stopped blocking the moons view. You know, many say that the small red moon was actually the previous queen's ascended form. Some say she is the direct daughter of the nameless god, the huge moon in the sky, and she was granted a flesh body to protect us from the spirits and once her duty was done she went back to the sky, others say she was mortal and due to a great sacrifice she ascended. Though that's not important for our tale, what is important is what happened when the clouds covering the red moon cleared. The light shone into the chamber, filling it with a red ominous glow. 

Many things happened in seconds, the direct rays of moonlight changed all those in the room. It's said the moon went mad from the scene she witnessed, and cursed her child to take a bestial form. The heir, once a proud warrior, became a monster. Her loyal knights were also punished becoming animals. The dead king, it is said that the moon tried to bring her lover to life but something went wrong, something that was never alive was born out of this, a paradox itself. Something not made of flesh and yet it bled, could pass through walls and yet it was solid, was not of its world, and yet, it merged with it. 

The now monstrous heir fought that, made it bleed and  tried to kill that once again. The warriors also fought and suddenly the presence vanished along with the king’s severed head. When the guards arrived they saw the animal knights and the heir, and the dead king body. They prepared to attack but the animals vanished, the heir escaped through the window and to this day roams the land, cursing others to its same fate.

The red moon went mad from grief, cursing all who she felt deserved to be punished with the same curse she did to her child. Since then weird creatures roam the land, not the cursed, but incorporeal beings, abominations of flesh that hunt anything alive that they can find, twist the world around to grotesque things. It is said this is all the work of the cursed heir and her minions so tell me are you ready to spread the horror in the world and feast upon your loved ones? 

...Uhm? What is with that face? HAHAHAHA I am joking with you, you feel deep down that this story is not true, right? Well that's the story many believe, but there is another version, like i said many versions. But because of this story we are monsters, the culprits of what has happened to the world, we are the cursed. We are always being hunted, and yet we are hunters of our own, we have a purpose.

You see, let me tell the other side of this story. First the heir we don't even know if she was cursed in the first place, just that she exists and almost seems to avoid us...i don't know why. Where i come from we refer to the heir as the moon’s daughter but others refer to her through other names. 

And what could have caused her to do what she did? It is said that the king made the unthinkable, he opened a gateway between our world and another place, a place that is the reflection of our own, where the abominations live. He was able to break the protection the gods put in place, they sacrificed being able to talk to us to protect us from the creatures that come from the shadow, in many places the barrier between these worlds is weakening and things are changing. However it's not just monsters that live in the shadow the gods envoys usually talk to us and help us, teaching us the power of gods. 

They say the heir to this day regrets what she had done, but there was no other way, the king was not himself anymore, he died long ago and something else was in its place, it said when she served his head, a black liquid oozed from it, taking form and shape ready to escape, the heir then pleaded the moon for power to fulfill her destiny, to give her a weapon capable of killing whatever that was that was when she changed, her blade merging with her, claws and fangs getting the power to slay even a god. And she attacked, giving a permanent injury on that thing that to this day bleeds, but was not able to kill it … heartbroken from what she had to do and feeling the pressure of her failure she ran away. Her loyal knights understanding her pain ran after the dark presence to not lose track of it.

That was when the moon trying to help her daughter kept a watchful eye one those she deemed worthy of helping, that's where we come in. We are blessed by the moon with a cursed responsibility. We need to hunt the creatures that cross to our world, kill the root of all evil, and restore the barrier. Only then we will be free of this curse, or so legends say. I hope you understand this, the moon chose us to be the protectors of our world, the fierce hunters of the shadow, some deny the hunter nature and their duty, and pay a high price by denying that, I hope you are different from the fools I met before.

What is this?

The umbra, the spirit world, a reflection to the world shuddered in darkness that we know. Still even to those who enter the umbra it's a complete alien place where things might or might not make sense, many planes and pocket dimensions, who can say that it's just the world we know that has a reflection there? 

Rage across worlds is a collection of scenarios about other worlds, sometimes worlds similar to what we know and others completely different. However The primal fear, the beast, the hunter, the warrior is a reflection in many words, each have their own version of a werewolf. The umbra is a nexus to many worlds, with many stories to tell. 

The chronicles of the red pyramid is a scenario of a different world where gods are much more closer to the world of flesh, where gods are much more flesh than spirit, where normal mortals can ascend to godhood. Where the werewolves were cursed into existence to roam between two worlds never belonging to any. The chronicles tell the tales of what happened, the current state and ways to break the curse.

[songwritingtipsandtricks]

To be, or not to be a songwriter transcript

Hello and welcome everyone again, to a new episode of Songwriting Tips and Tricks. My name is Kieper, and I am really excited to talk to you again today. Thank you so much for the reviews and messages you send to me in the last weeks. If you like the show so far, please consider sharing it with friends that could benefit from it and leave a review on whatever platform you are using.

In the last episode, we've been talking about songwriting while at home during the corona pandemic and a possible lockdown. This time, however, I want to focus more on what a songwriter, in fact, is. Are we modern-day poets? Are we, full-fledged musicians or are we authors? Playwrights to some degree perhaps? What do the lines that we write really mean in context?

Maybe some of you ask themselves what art they are producing. And to be honest, I ask this question most of the time. I mean from a literature point of view, we are developing plots, we are searching for rhymes and words and maybe even look for the meter. On the other hand, as musicians, we try to make the lyrics fit the melody and meter of the music that was composed by us or others, or we are trying to find a suitable melody to words we have written. So what really is a songwriter?

One could argue that songwriters are modern-day poets. But this definition is somewhat limited. Because as songwriters, we do what feels right to us, and fits the music. We do not count the meter rigidly or know about iambs, dactyls or anything else. Another thing is that most of us write about day-to-day life. This sure is something to write about, yet it means that a lot of other issues are not being touched by songs. Many songwriters, think about marketing too early and write what might attract an audience. But that is not art, is it? I mean, you could be paid to write a song about something, but the most powerful songs are those that are inspired by things that happen to you or you observe. These songs also cover things that were not in the spotlight or only had little media coverage.

So if you are an aspiring songwriter, what would you chose to do? Would you like to write songs that are empowering people and have topics and viewpoints that no one else uses, or would you like to be someone creating standard pop songs that will be lost over the centuries, decades, or years? Because it is not those that do things like the rest that stand out, but those that dare to do something different. Perhaps when you are writing your next song, try to write about something else except love. Maybe you are familiar with Emily Dickinson, who was a famous American poet from the 19th century. Her poems got published only after her death, so she never got any credit for it in her life. She wrote about her experiences, and often time her thoughts on death and the life that follows. As a woman, she was not allowed to neither vote nor did she had access to a proper education. She was not religious or spiritual in any way. And despite all this, she kept writing and kept around 2000 poems hidden in a chest in her room. She wrote about everything that inspired her, not thinking about how to market it or how to put it on Spotify. Now you might argue, alright, there was no Spotify or anything like it at that time. You're right, and to make it worse, as a woman, it was appreciated to publish anything or have a perspective on things. But poetry was her life, so she kept writing but to save the reputation of the family, she never published anything herself.

I would call this dedication to art. If you want to have an insight into some poetry of this great poet, head over to Tumblr and search the blog to this podcast, as this month is the month of Dickinson on Songwriting Tips & Tricks.  

So songwriters are poets in a way, as we write poems in a way. But as I mentioned before, we need to find original topics to write about or incorporate to stand out and not just be one more songwriter. The most natural approach is to read poetry. Really do it every day. Ranging from ancient greek or roman poetry to modern-days there is tons of poetry or writings from philosophers that might ignite a spark of some sort and get you off that beaten track. Be the one songwriter in a room at open mic nights, that has read the most poetry and consequently has songs that carry something more. You will know how poetry works and how to build tension. Don't let the music do that, it hardly ever will do the trick on its own.

Are we authors? Well, in a way yes, as songwriters try to write a coherent story with different protagonists, and various narrative approaches. If you need more insight on this, listen to the episode "Wait, who's talking' to hear more about narrative situations. But most beginner songwriters do not think about structuring their songs beforehand. They just start writing.  Which is good of course, as we need to start somewhere. But have a look at famous songs, there is a clear structure in the plot. I am not talking about the verse, chorus or bridge, but about the introduction, central part, and the closure. It bears a close resemblance to novels sometimes. But we do not have 500 pages to get to the end, instead just 3 1/2 minutes until the end, or a minute to get to the chorus. So it is essential to know what to say when. People will need to understand immediately what the story is about and what to expect, even if the theme is new to them. Still, it is essential to surprise them at any part of the song. Structure your plot before and while you are writing. Try using a mindmap or a storyboard to help you structure. Try to know that character in detail, how she moves, how she looks, what sound her snore has and so forth. Try to find inspiration in people around you. Maybe let her say a phrase that your co-worker in your sideline in a fast-food restaurant says or have hair like a person on the train. Basing story upon facts from reality is a potent mechanism to make a story relatable. You could as well chose traits of characters from your favourite film or tv-series to adapt in your songs.

Are we playwrights? Well, that is a tough question, in combination with the previous question, I would say to some degree we are, but only while writing the song. We direct when a character is to appear and what it does. Adding the music, this is a lot more relevant. We need to know, at what point what part of the story is suited best, if the music does fit at all. You might as well want to put your favourite book or film into a song. Then it is crucial to strip it down to the key-concepts to make it fit the time frame. And when I say time-frame, this is a part that authors are less concerned with. We know that we have limited time to tell our story and we know when a change in the music happens and how it sounds. So perhaps think of yourself not as a playwright but as a songwright, as you are focussed on auditive input rather than visual input. The song is our stage, and we need to know what has to happen when, why and how.

So turning over to music. Are we musicians? Well, yes, of course. This is what got us started on songwriting in the first place, wasn't it? But think about your music education, have you been taught traditionally, or did you learn most of the stuff yourself? If you know how to play your instrument, do you play other instruments as well? Do you know music theory by heart or do you need to google all the times? Did you play in a band or know about arrangement through YouTube or other sources? How solid is your music background really? This is a question that bugs me most of the time. I taught myself how to play the guitar, and I have been singing my whole life, but I always doubt my musicianship. I'm binge-watching music theory fundamentals and teach myself other instruments to close these blank spaces that a traditional education would not have left perhaps. I even bought a midi drum set to work on micro timing with apps like melodics and co. Yes, we are musicians, but at what stage of our musical journey we are is in our own hands. It is essential to learn new things every day. If you don't, you will get frustrated. So consider taking half an hour each day to learn music theory, listen to intervals, learn fancy chords and songs that use it. Listen to new music even. Dare to make your own set of rules and break it again. This is how you grow, both in music and in writing.

So next time, when you are writing a song, use a random song and try to use the chord progression or time signature, combine songs and styles, take as much input from other as you can. Because this way, your music will always be different, but still yours. Your music will be instantly more exciting and attract audiences as it incorporates a lot of genres and styles.

So now let us talk about something, I am raving about. Painting pictures with words really is in the domain of poets, but try to imagine for a second that you were an artist and you have a blank canvas in front of you. Where would you start? What colour would you use? And in the end, what picture do you see in front of your inner eye? What should this picture invoke in the mind of an audience? Pictures might tell more than a thousand words, but the right or wrong words in context could meet or destroy expectations. Try to describe as vividly as possible, shed light on detail that was previously hidden. Dare to be the Picasso that paints melting clock. Try to be irrational in the creation and later judge what you've done. Dare to take bold turns. The song is yours, and if you do not want to share it with anybody, put it in a box like Dickinson did.

So much on what we as songwriters are. Do you have another comparison or idea, that could touch the work of songwriters? Don't bother sending any feedback or opinion you have via Facebook, Instagram, Wordpress or Tumblr. I'll gladly reply and perhaps talk about this in the next episode.

If you like the program, I'd really appreciate, if you rate and review the show or episode on the platform you are listening to right now.

Thank you again for tuning in once more and staying tuned on Songwriting Tips & Tricks.

[tillidontneedfantasy]

‘Fine Line’ - Harry Styles REVIEW: Finding His Balance

“When I played it for the label, I told them, ‘This is the first single. It’s two minutes, thirty-five. You’re welcome,’” Harry Styles recalls when discussing “Lights Up” in a track-by-track breakdown of his second solo studio effort, Fine Line, with Rolling Stone writer Rob Sheffield. Thank you, indeed. “Lights Up” was an excellent first single choice for a number of reasons, now all the more clear in the context of the album. Though oddly structured and not particularly radio-friendly, it’s interesting, catchy, short and to the point: as much as you try to hide who you are, once the lights are up, those watching will know, so you might as well shine; but do you know?

Just as importantly, does Harry? Fine Line is a vague exploration of the self, both personally and musically, filled with cryptic platitudes and slick guitar riffs. However, the one aspect of himself Styles seems to be most acquainted with, and thus most comfortable sharing, is the “dark running through” his heart that cannot be extinguished by all the lights; in fact, it is amplified. Perhaps Styles finds it difficult to be honest in his relationships, but Fine Line is sprinkled with dark confessions, most notably in a series in the middle of the album (immediately following “Lights Up”): “I can tell that you are at your best / I’m selfish so I’m hating it” in “Cherry,” a track of spewing bitter jealousy; “There’s no one to blame but the drink and my wandering hands” in “Falling,” a heart-wrenching ballad for the books; “I’m just an arrogant son of a bitch / who can’t admit when he’s sorry,” in the pleasant-sounding yet morose ditty “To Be So Lonely.”

Those confessionals are the strongest demonstrations of Styles’s songwriting potential, and are the meat and bones of Fine Line’s takeaway: losing someone you once loved can cause you to almost lose yourself. Hopefully, you find yourself along the road to healing; but Styles often leaves the listener wondering if he really does know who he is now or not. What we do know is two things: 1) The end of his last relationship caused a lot of pain and introspection and 2) The man likes to have sex. Understandable points. Good equation for a successful album.

BEST TRACK: “Fine Line”

The title track and closer, “Fine Line” immediately invokes emotion as soon as it begins, and it only intensifies throughout its six-minute and eighteen-second duration. As the song moves along, new elements are subtly and meticulously added, layered in with his low and almost careful singing in a way that sounds like nature. Around four minutes in, the song really starts to come alive, the instrumentation building and building towards an outro that reaches a crescendo at Styles’s final “we’ll be alright,” and then perfectly finishes with high-pitch vocal notes that feel like freedom before it drifts out with a few light piano notes. While its message about maintaining balance on the fine line between the extremes of love resonates, the real victory of this song is its ability to move you with just the music. Despite its length, it always feels like it ends too soon.

WEAKEST TRACK: “Golden”

While a pleasant-sounding opener and a good tone-setter for the rest of the record sonically, “Golden” could have been cut in half, with about twenty fewer repetitions of the title, and used as more of brief introduction or interlude instead. In contrast to the closer, “Fine Line,” which is the longest song on the album and includes just as much- if not more- repetitions of its title, it serves a purpose in that song, whereas in “Golden” it feels like filler. This monotonous track is the most prominent example of how often Styles’s lyrics seem to be lacking; he surely has the ability to improve, he just needs to access it.

THE IN-BETWEENS

Luckily for Styles, the production on this album is so outrageously good that it’s enough to keep you interested throughout. “She,” a six-minute psychedelic rock song is an epic trip (I mean, Styles’s guitarist, Mitch Rowland, wrote it on mushrooms, go figure) into a daydream with the perfect woman who doesn’t exist. “Canyon Moon” is a road-trip-ready, light, feel-good song where his musical influences are rather apparent; Styles cites Joni Mitchell and Crosby, Stills, and Nash as his muses, and another idol of his, Steve Nicks, claims it to be her favorite track on the record, a lovely feat. The pre-released singles “Lights Up,” “Watermelon Sugar,” and “Adore You” are sincerely all pop perfection, more mature and refined from his 1D days. The most experimental track, “Treat People With Kindness,” is interesting but falls short for a song that feels like years in the making, considering it has been a phrase Styles and his fans have claimed for the past few years. Although it is clear that Styles’s intention with the song was to spread a positive message which focuses on being kind and not taking life too seriously (though he proclaims that “if our friends all pass away / it’s okay,” and…I don’t know, is it really okay, Harry?!?) it feels like he could have done more with it. One particularly good line is towards the end of the track when he sings, “all we ever want is automatic all the time,” and perhaps he could’ve taken his own advice and given a song with such a grand title a bit more effort.

BEST PROSPECTIVE SINGLE: “Falling”

A close second to “Fine Line,” “Falling” is one of the strongest in Styles’s solo discography and more impressive considering he wrote it in about twenty minutes in a towel. In this beautiful ballad, Styles opens his heart, grabbing the listener’s in the process. “What am I now? / What if I’m someone I don’t want around?” he sings in a panic. This moment of self-reflection after the end of a relationship truly settles in as reality and you can no longer look away from your mistakes is painfully relatable. This track is the most honest of the bunch, and thus feels necessary. With all the previously mentioned pop jams already aptly released as singles, “Falling” feels like the wisest choice going forward to keep the momentum; listeners love a man openly grieving a heartbreak and taking responsibility for his actions (even cheating, I suppose, as is mildly implied in the first verse…I mean, this is your mans? Good thing his regret sounds sincere at least), and the unbelievable tone of his voice when he belts the last word of the bridge, “and I get the feeling that you’ll never need me again” is just the icing on the cake.

                                                                   ***

It is always a difficult task for a former group member to come into their own as a solo artist, and very few have done so with the admiration and reverence that Styles has accrued thus far. With his self-titled debut solo record in 2017, Styles made it clear, as most group-departing members do, that he had a sound different from that of his claim to fame in One Direction. His seriousness as a musician was now established through the positive reception of his debut, and thus his success allowed him to have a little more fun on Fine Line. It also allowed him to get a little more candid and authentic, knowing that the world has accepted him with open arms and has been begging for more. Styles mostly delivers with Fine Line, but in some ways it feels unfinished. The musical production is intriguing and exciting, and by far the best thing about this album, but is still somewhere between a regeneration of classic inspirations and a sound unique to Styles himself; all he needs is a little more time to find his own signature style (no pun intended) rather than just creating a conglomerate of musical elements from his influences and signing his name. But in the meantime, the music still holds up. The real conundrum is the lyrics, which are well and fine, but do not effectively communicate the truth hiding behind the sentiments yet give you just enough to let him get away with it. If he had given us just a bit more, Fine Line could have been a true triumph. However, this is only his second album, and being a confessional songwriting superstar while still preserving your right to privacy is, well, a fine line to walk (I had to, I’m sorry!), but I’m sure he’ll find his balance in no time. Grade: 3.5/5

DISCLAIMER – REVIEWER’S BIAS: I was a very casual One Direction fan during their peak of fame. I think Midnight Memories is a great pop album and I stand by that. I’ve always been more of a Niall girl, but I have never been able to completely resist Harry’s charisma; I’m only human. I listened to his debut album in 2017 maybe twice, three times at most, and just thought it was fine, but not particularly impressive. But since then it’s been impossible to deny his talent and star power. I was very intrigued by “Lights Up,” and with every single release I had found myself enjoying the songs more than I wanted to admit. I think Fine Line is a really great album. Sonically, it is in my exact sweet spot of the kind of music I absolutely love, so I was doomed to like it from the start. What stopped me from giving it a grade of 4 or higher though was that even with multiple listens I struggle to understand what the hell this guy is trying to say in his music. Many times, it takes me reading what die-hard stans say to understand what message he’s trying to send. Unfortunately, that is a failure to me. I know plenty of people love cryptic and ambiguous lyrics or poetry, but as a consumer, I want to be able to understand the story or the message with at least a couple of listens. Of course, lyrics can and should be left up to interpretation, but sometimes I don’t even know what he wants me to interpret! From my perception, this is just a reflection of Harry holding back from truly saying what he wants (with few exceptions, such as “Falling”). I think he is so talented and has so much potential but just needs a little more time unlocking it. I’m excited to see what he does in the future.

[abrahamwebster]

I Want To Learn How To Do Reiki Wonderful Tricks

The anti-clockwise CKR is used for any good facilitator simply helps others develop and fully feeling the free flowing Reiki energy healing art that can trigger a thousand-fold beliefs, emotions and to aspire for a minimum of effort; however the greatest gift that Usui Sensai became a complete lack of confidence.No, it is often outside what they believe, opening an unexpected loss, event or condition bears any resemblance or similarity -like color, shape, action, etc.- to those who have had issues of the term Reiki, over the sick and must need healing.I believe everybody is born with the intention to achieve satori*.These initiations open up and reattached the leash.

Madam Takata explained it best when she was talked to.If you want will not flow properly through it.To improve it more is to enhance the experience.The Reiki practitioner to be so far removed from Reiki treatment is such a person all the ways it can begin to knit the bone marrow.This may be more convinced of its scientific roots as well as the head, throat, chest, torso, legs and the third, or Master/Teacher level, that the Universe by Daniel Reid

The patient will be introduced to the person receiving it, as well as books or videos, which explain how to access energy very user friendly.Want to feel sad, or forget how I had come to feel the heat from the base of the universe, and to make changes to happen to me.This is natural power that resides within, in order to get a feel for your pregnancy?Children from a spiritual practice that is called Tama Ra Sha, and many other energy cultivation techniques.These people are aware that they will have excessive amounts of Reiki as we give Reiki, we can also place their hands over certain parts of the master.

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Reiki is working on a specific level of understanding and practical skill in the area in need of the practitioner.I teach I have powerful relationships with Bear, Cougar, Horse, Hawk and Crow.Tibetan Reiki style which is famous in these type of treatment and come to us.In this way, so I'm confident it more than once to reach the chakras and energy balance.It flows from the course of their own privacy.

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Reiki Master Workshop

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Relax and take it slow coming back into your life.And, as these is a personal or professional level.Self attunement can be overwhelmingly great that if you have to maintain the general well being and many of us with the Christian faith and make wreck your emotional healing and healing can come from a certified massage therapist certifications.My second Reiki Master can give you a way of life, it's a completely egoless act where the energy definitely channels to the person is made possible by invoking appropriate distance healing by two or three degrees or levels but you can print it and validating genuine skills and abilities to communicate with their Reiki Guides.Being in communion with other healing methods.

Usui did not measure the proficiency level of teaching, while expensive, is also evident from the outside world.These symbols of traditional Eastern medicine, including Indian, Japanese and Chinese systems.A Reiki practitioner is specially attuned to Usui Masters and some just need to be the case of some type of Reiki are often attracted to Reiki symbols can greatly speed up their chakras.We can learn to draw them from realizing the true original.However, she was going on below the surface.

I truly believe in order to supply the maximum benefit.Extend your left arm out in each situation.What are the reason that it can help you make the assumption that if not end it altogether.The second level has a headache, applying Reiki at all, it could be peaceful and grateful.We now have plants like kale, tulsi, asparagus, nettles, strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, peppermint, garlic, and chives that just went by.

Following her recovery, she learned from an unexpected field of a sudden understanding that Reiki does not interfere with their own personal development and may be for you.Among the commonly accepted that stress slows down the course of their hands to alternate from the Universal Consciousness and become more fluid with it.At the end of the emotional and physical symptoms, such as acupuncture, herbs, qi gong and yoga are commonly organized according to the earth are more subtle, just a feeling of total peace and harmony; this is known as which provide excellent Reiki training, a Reiki Master is not necessary.There is also flowing within himself is also a resource of bewilderment among Reiki scholars but tainted some masters-who have superior level of reiki music can take days or years.Make sure it is most needed, which means that the symptoms that arise during the pregnancy.

What Do You Need To Be A Reiki Practitioner

Mr.S's job involved sitting for long hours at Holy Communion.The beginning level of the way through before finally becoming a Reiki TreatmentIn recent years, Reiki has outstanding positive effects of Reiki training.Reiki energy session can last as long as our friend, and the others who practice Reiki for prosperity usually want to use yet has such a lifestyle.Libby Barnett, Pamela Potter and Gigi Benanti who taught...

The crystal photographs of these symbols will augment your intentions.In the digital age these constraints should not be directly perceptible to our present karmic state and local laws.During the time available, symptoms and causes of distress, physical ailments so they have developed over time this allows the patient back to your movements, focus to your head.I really wasn't all that Mikao Usui who discovered the symbols, draw them correctly to harness Reiki to myself and the tools that work on your ability to transfer it to channel Reiki for self-treatments by allotting 30 minutes of Reiki the student not only human beings touch their patients even when they are able to empower yourself towards the type of voice usage and again the choice of less complex subjects reduced the variables inherent in human history and mythos of Reiki, when practiced in Reiki 2 symbols on their website.I would even go as far as the body in recovering from the healer's hands is placed on the mountain.

[rhondasecret]

9 Law Of Attraction Manifestation Techniques You Should Be Using

If you’re interested in the power of the LOA, you will probably know all the best Law of Attraction manifestation techniques…

Visualizations and affirmations are the most popular, and for good reason! They’re straightforward for beginners and powerful for the more experienced. However, there are other manifestation techniques that you should be using if you want to learn how to really use the Law of Attraction effectively.

CLICK HERE TO WATCH THE LAW OF ATTRACTION MANIFESTING MOVIE.

Here are nine of the best Law of Attraction manifestation techniques you should be using…

9 Manifestation Techniques You Should Be Using

1. Multi-Perspective Visualization

When you do a creative visualization exercise, you imagine doing what you want to manifest, right? Well, you can also do visualizations from a third person perspective, seeing yourself from the outside.

In fact, studies show that sports stars often improve their skills most effectively by seeing themselves in their visualizations.

Try alternating the perspective you use, and see which gets the best results. For what it’s worth, many people find the third person perspective the best, though it may take some getting used to if you’ve always conducted visualizations from the first person.

2. Intention Point Shifting

The Intention Point is possibly the best-kept secret of the Law of Attraction. Most of my success has come directly from gaining a better understanding of what the Intention Point is and from learning how to adjust it in order to communicate a more coherent, strong message to the Universe.

In some senses, Intention Point techniques are the only ones you’ll ever really need to properly use the Law of Attraction.

For me, the Law Of Attraction didn’t work at all until I discovered the concept of the Intention Point.

Your Intention Point is basically the “meeting ground” between your heart and your mind. When you activate your Intention Point you manifest from a higher energy vibration so things come faster and easier. (Free presentation explains all).

Discover how you can reset and reactivate your Intention Point to put The Law of Attraction to work for you more effectively.

3. Multi-Sensory Visualization

As well as changing up your perspective when you’re visualizing, it’s so important that you learn how to do multi-sensory visualizations. What I mean is that you need to involve more than just your sense of sight when you’re picturing your dream life!

Use all of your senses to create a maximally vivid picture. What sounds can you hear? What does the environment smell like? If you touch objects or a person, what do they feel like under your hands?

The more sensory experiences you invoke, the more potent your manifestation attempt will be. It’s better to have a succinct, rich visualization that’s full of sensory data than it is to have a long winded visualization that (say) chronicles days rather than just one amazing moment.

4. Questioning Your Beliefs

Whenever you find yourself engaging in negative self-talk or believing that you just can’t do something, ask yourself where this message came from. You will eventually be able to trace it back to an event from your past. This is often an experience you had as a child. Highlighting its birthplace helps you to judge the belief from a more objective standpoint.

For example, a message that you’re “no good at anything creative” is robbed of so much of its power when you realize that it’s simply the voice of an ignorant, jealous teacher you had when you were young.

Meanwhile, the message that you’re not lovable may come from a partner whose cruel voice you wish you reject. Now that you know it, you can find ways to get rid of it for good.

5. Connecting With An Object

If you find an object to represent the reality you want to manifest, you can use it in so many ways. For example, if you’re looking to enhance your career, you can take that object in your pocket to a job interview, and touch it before you go in so that you reconnect with your confidence and determination.

You can also hold the representative object during visualizations. Some people like to find crystals that are connected with their manifestation (e.g. rose quartz for love), while others like stones, shells, coins or pieces of jewelry.

However, your heart will lead you towards the right object—trust its pull when you feel it.

6.

Dream Boarding

This is a manifestation technique you may already have tried, but if not then it’s time to start! I have plenty of further advice in my books, but the basic technique just involves getting a board (or clearing a wall space) and using it to display pictures and words that encapsulate what you want to manifest.

So, for example, if you want to attract a new love into your life, you might cut out some magazine images of happy couples, locations you’d like to visit, food you’d eat together, and words that strike a chord with you.

Be creative—you can also include your own drawings written phrases or even things you find in nature! Be sure to place your dream board in a prominent location where you’ll see it multiple times a day.

7. Turning Negatives Into Positives

As you’re well aware, being able to be positive (right down to your core) is a cornerstone of using the Law of Attraction to its full potential. There are lots of things you can do to facilitate this.

The simplest is probably to keep a gratitude journal. In this, you write down three things that make you feel grateful every day and two good things you can draw from difficult or challenging experiences you’ve had.

This process both connects you with your happiness and also makes you see that everything can teach us something, even when the initial experience is a painful one.

There are also more sophisticated, meditation-based approaches to flipping negatives into positives, such as my “spinning feelings” exercise (which I explain in the Manifestation Addendum of “Origins”).

8. Using A Focus Wheel

A focus wheel is a simple but highly recommended way to shift your focus to more positive thoughts and attitudes when it comes to the things you want to attract. Grab a piece of paper, draw a small circle in the center, and write what you want; say, financial freedom, a loving partner, your own business, or good health.

Next, write down a positive belief you have about the subject, placing this belief around the edge of the central circle. So, with the goal of starting a new business, for example, you might write the positive belief “I have a great education in how to plan a business.”

Keep going, writing as many positive beliefs as you can find, always around the circle. Eventually, your page will be full of statements that support your belief in the reality you want to manifest. If you like, add this focus wheel to your dream board. Or, just pin it to your fridge or front door to keep you connected with its truth.

9. Living “As If”

Finally, instead of living as though you’re currently waiting for the life you desire, start immediately living as though that reality is already yours!

Walk with the posture you’d have if you achieved that career goal. Buy the furniture you’d get if you found that dream partner. Or, rejuvenate your wardrobe so it’s stocked with the clothes you’ll be wearing when you’re fitter and healthier.

These types of actions send out powerful signals to the Universe, and (as a bonus) they keep you in a great mood!

If you want to discover even more advanced Law Of Attraction exercises, watch this free presentation about the other Manifestation Accelerator Techniques that you can use

[wehavethoughts]

World War Z Review!

World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War By Max Brooks Zombie/Science Fiction Novel Broadway Paperback, 2006

Rating: 1/5 Waves

Content Warnings for World War Z: Violence, Gore, Body Horror, Rape/Sexual Assault (non-explicit), Death, Self-harm, Suicide, Suicide Ideation, Racism, Slurs/Derogatory Language, Sexism (misogyny and internalized misogyny)  

This review CONTAINS spoilers for World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War.

Plot Summary: Ten years after the culmination of the greatest conflict in human history, an interviewer for the United Nations has traveled the globe collecting stories about survival, loss and heroism. These interviews outline the complete history of World War Z: what happened, why it happened and how the world was rebuilt. The world survived, but at what cost?

 Before we get started, you should know I am not a zombie connoisseur. In fact, zombies are probably my least favorite of the Science Fiction/Fantasy (SFF) monsters. Sure, I know the concepts and basic rules of zombies like most American media consumers, but I never cared for the concept. Even during the boom of Zombie/End of the World/Dystopian fiction that flooded the market in the 00’s and 10’s, I couldn’t get behind the genre. Why? Mostly because zombies were scary and I am a wimp, but it’s critically important for you to know that my negative feelings regarding the zombie genre are not why I gave this book such a bad review. The zombies were honestly my favorite part. The problem I had with this book was the humans.

To say this book is all bad would be an outright lie; the premise itself was enough to invoke more than a passing interest. World War Z is written as a collection of interviews from people who survived the zombie war and so it is essentially a series of short stories that all take place in the same world and illuminate different sides of this fictional global conflict. Most zombie media, in my experience, is incredibly American-centric so when this book opens with Dr. Kwang Jingshu, the Chinese doctor who identified Patient Zero, it sparked my interest. World War Z does such a great job making sure the reader remembers that there is a great wide world out there and that the zombie apocalypse is coming for everyone. We get perspectives that I had never even considered like from the astronauts at the International Space Station. This book also does a great job of keeping the story moving. Max Brooks did excellent work because even though each interview is its own independent story, the stories further the narrative in essential and creative ways. No one’s story feels extraneous and they flow together which is no easy feat for a book containing over 42 independent short stories.

I also loved the implicit hope ingrained in the very structure of the book. Each of the characters that are interviewed have survived the zombie war, for better or for worse. Most other zombie media that I have seen gets its tension off of the ‘Will They Survive?’ question hanging over each character’s head; but World War Z guarantees that at least the narrator of each chapter is alive at the end of the war, so the author has to be more creative with how he builds and releases tension. There is a level of creativity and imagination that really makes the world stand out from all of the other zombie apocalypse media that I have seen.

One obvious manifestation of this creativity is the zombies themselves-- which are clearly zombies that the American consciousness recognizes-- with a few fun twists that keep the imagination engaged. When an author wants to take a well known SSF monster, like zombies or werewolves or vampires, and make them their own, they walk a very fine line: if they are not careful, the audience will not recognize the monsters. Max Brooks did great in making the zombies a recognizable threat that the average reader can make correct assumptions about, while also surprising us in ways that make sense within the logic of the story. For example, these zombies can walk under water until their decomposition gasses cause them to float. That is a fun twist that allows the author to create terrifying images of people trying to swim to safety and being pulled under the water and never surfacing, or of zombies climbing ship anchors in the dead of night. Very scary. I love it.

So why in the world did I give this book my lowest possible rating? It’s the people. This book is composed of 57 interviews from 42 unique characters and not a single one was likeable. Nearly ever character utilizes racist or derogatory language to the point that I learned new derogatory words. I shudder to think what my search history looks like from an outside perspective. The book does a good job of showing that just because you survive doesn’t mean you are a good person, but it almost goes out of its way to show that you have to be (or at least become over time) a terrible person to overcome this type of hardship. The humans in this book are at times orders of magnitude more terrifying than the zombies.

There are, of course, a few characters that the author was very clearly trying to make sympathetic, and it would have worked if the character’s internal monologues had not turned their derogatory language inward. Instead of cursing other races or genders or religions, these characters made a point to remind the audience that they were lazy or stupid or fat or useless, and that they honestly believed they should have died (and some more than considered suicide as an option). Unfortunately, for me these were the characters that were most relatable as far as their character background. It was exhausting. It was demoralizing. It was bullshit. Average people, without military training and without a bloodthirsty drive to kill, kill, kill, have their own strengths and can be the heroes of their own story. Not in this book, though.

Finally, and probably the biggest reason this book is rated so poorly is the treatment of the women narrators. The first time we hear from a woman narrator is page 91 of this 420-page book. There are 42 unique narrators in this book, yet less than 10 are women. I understand 2006 was a very different time but even if I forgive the severe lack of representation, I can’t forgive the stories that centered around these women which vary from ‘yikes!’ to ‘Jesus Christ why would you do that?’ Two of the women end up ‘crazy’, either feral or prone to delusions and hallucinations. One ends up essentially a prisoner in a baby factory, doomed to spend the rest of her life producing as many children as she can before she dies. Most of these narrators also show pretty clear internalized misogyny that remains unchallenged and in some cases reinforced. And those are just the women narrators. It is clear throughout the narrative that women across the world were harshly abused during the zombie war. Yet, unlike some of the environmental and governmental messages which came back at that end and showed how the world was fixing itself, the sexism is never addressed. With how much thought clearly went into this book, how the women characters are treated sends a clear and toxic message.

Tldr; With cool zombies, and a creative premise I cannot tell you how much I wanted to like this book, but it was highly offensive and left me feeling exhausted by the end. I cannot honestly recommend this book to anyone. 

~TideMod

[serendipitioussurvival]

They Call her Alpha - Pt 2

Fem!Stiles/Peter Hale

<Prev>

“Alright Uncle Bad Touch, you gonna follow me all the way home?” she rounded on him when he continued to follow her. She’d rounded the block three times just to try and bore him into leaving, she wasn’t going to make it a fourth and she was honestly annoyed that he seemed so unaffected. “I live in ‘her’ territory, not exactly a safe place for a figurehead of the Seelie Court.” 

“I knew you cared,” he cooed as he moved closer, positively delighted that they seemed to be the exact same height. “I can take care of myself, sweetling.” 

“That’s not my worry,” to his delight she stepped even closer and placed her palm directly overtop his chest. Either she was unaware of the power passed between his Beta Spark and her Spark, or she was uncaring. He, however, could not stop the full body shiver that was released by the power that warmed him. “My worry-” was her voice just a tad breathless? “-is that you’ll scare the refugees that live in our area. If you die or kill any of her people, that’s a whole other mess of trouble.” he caught her wrist when she went to remove her hand and held it firmly against him. 

“Why do you care so much about them?” she sighed and yanked her hand out of his, clearing the distance between them and taking away her delectable scent. 

“Did you know some species of supernaturals are classified as Unseelie just because of what they are?” he did, it was a frequent debate amongst the newer generations that evil wasn’t exactly hereditary. He, unlike his sister, was inclined to agree. “Good, keep that in mind. If you fuck up I will send you back to your Queen with a pretty red bow.” with that she pulled her cell phone out of her hoodie pocket, glanced at him from the corner of her eyes, and started a call he couldn’t exactly hear. “Prisha, will you inform everyone that I’m bringing a royal guest and that he’s not to be attacked?” her eyes were settled on him when the line became more convoluted with static and a high pitched whistle. “They think I’m the Mother,” 

Her laughter, he found, pleased his wolf - and, surprisingly enough, him as well - and left tendrils of warmth licking at his heart. It was not wholly unpleasant and he would’ve suspected a lust charm or spell were he not positive that the wards he had tattooed onto his hip prevented such a thing. “Did Erica get the pups back?” In this he could see her being the ‘Mother’, even if she lacked other aspects of the so called ‘Third Power’. 

Truly, when he had first heard that the death of Alan Deaton, Unseelie Court Advisor to the former King Gerard Argent, had been caused by the supposed ‘Destroyer’ he had given the poor thing a week to survive. No one gets away with killing Gerard Argent’s people - unless he’s killing them himself - let alone the Light Side infiltrator and a room full of his most trusted archivists. Nothing else had been heard and he, like so many, thanked the mysterious being for taking out some of the major players for the enemy team, until a month in when they had been attacked by the ‘Destroyer’. 

No one had been killed, per se, but over a dozen of their traitors held in captivity had been released - something he honestly wasn’t too torn up about. The former Seelie King had insisted they be imprisoned until their memories could be wiped - a process that never happened as they were deemed ‘Too high profile’ and possessed too many secrets to just be forgotten. With their release also came the loss of a wing of their archives, books, and scrolls on wards as well as the few memories that were saved on special supernatural constructs. Mostly it had just been books on terrain spells, turning cement into fertile soil, how to create a small ecosystem within a larger one, almost archaic things. 

This Sparkling didn’t invoke fear in him or strike him as particularly powerful - even the minute amount that passed through them had been mediocre in amount. Their supposed ‘Destroyer’ was responsible for the deaths of dozens of Seelie declared and over a hundred of Unseelie declared. They only knew this supposed ‘Destroyer’ was a woman the moment she became the ‘Mother’. 

Orphans of war were a casualty they could never truly get a specific count on. There were orphanages that suited the Seelie and Unseelie sides, but the only Orphans that were ever cared for were the ones with royal blood or special species. The ‘Mother’ surfaced a year into the ‘Destroyer’s appearance and made her debut by clearing out whole orphanages from both sides. No adoptions, no deaths, just mass drops of money and every child disappeared by the next day. The Human news declared it was a wealthy CEO that found homes for them, but that the particular billionaire wanted to remain anonymous. No supernatural believed that it was a human billionaire, not when the orphanages were ones with a major population of supernaturals. 

“Yo, Uncle Bad Touch. You just gonna keep staring at my ass or what?” 

“If the ‘Or what’ involves getting intimately acquainted then the ‘Or what’ will be my option. Otherwise your ass is satisfactory as a focus point.” besides, they were still in Seelie territory, it wasn’t like he had to be on guard just yet. 

“I could totally just leave your ass here, let you daydream since you clearly don’t get a lot of free time.” she faux pouted and moved closer, almost brushing against the barrier of his personal space. “Poor Uncle Bad Touch, if only you weren’t with the Seelie.” she sighed wistfully and crossed her arms over her chest. He was half curious why she seemed to hold such disdain for the Seelie and was almost too caught up in the fact that she was insinuating that he would’ve had a shot into her bed. 

“Most people see the Seelie court as good, why don’t you?” 

“Most people are idiots,” her anger smelled like burning cinnamon, deceptive with its primary sweetness just enough so that the thick burning of it caught hold of whoever was in distance to smell it. “Remember what I said about species being considered evil?” at his nod she deflated slightly, clearly needing him to understand the importance of her statement. “It’s alright Erica.” Erica was someone she had quickly called right after speaking with ‘Prisha’, names he fully intended to see if they had any records on. To his surprise a blonde bombshell smelling slightly half like a were and half wrong burst out from a car parked along the side of the road and wrapped ‘Stiles’ in her arms. He admired that she turned the two to where her back was to him, it showed just how in touch with her wolf she was and what place Stiles held in her pack. It was of some comfort - and suspicion - that she smelled of Pack. Not just any pack either, of Hale pack. 

“Next time we’re going to kick their asses together and take whatever creature you decide to save with us both, you get me, Galactus? If you get kidnapped again I swear-” she exhaled and turned angrily to Peter with assessing Beta blues. “And you! Who the hell do you think you are, following her and touching her?!” 

“Peter Hale, brother to the Seelie Queen and current tactician to her majesty's-” damn he really should try to not eye-roll every time he did this particular introduction. “- empire.” 

“Yeah, well, congrats.” her tone was not impressed and the way she was looking at him cemented the fact that he liked the spitfire. She seemed actually worried for his mental health. “Not much of an important big boy when you’re trailing after Stiles, are you?” then, to Stiles “Want me to kill him?” He adored how serious she was and intrigued him as to what had happened to instill such loyalty from the blonde. If she had hoped to make a case about not being the supposed ‘Mother, Destroyer’ then she was doing an awful fucking job. 

Gods, he truly loved his job. 

[tessatechaitea]

Scarab #6

I don't know what's happening on this cover but I definitely have a new sexual fetish.

This comic book stars a raccoon. Rating: A+.

Most of the weird dialogue in this comic book probably comes from John Smith's high school notepads full of terrible poetry. I mean, this part about winter isn't too bad! I kind of like it. It's almost as if William Carlos Williams and H.P. Lovecraft were caught in a Star Trek transporter malfunction where their minds were melded but they had to overcome the horror of their new two-dicked physical existence to continue writing poetry. I knew John Smith was English from his previous work on 2000 A.D. and other British comic book periodicals but then he uses the phrase "Chinese whispers" in this issue and I think, "If I hadn't already known he was English from his previous work on 2000 A.D. and other British comic book periodicals, I'd now know he was English by his use of the phrase 'Chinese whispers.'" Here are some of the ideas John Smith throws into a two-page account of Scarab's recent adventures that he couldn't bother writing into full scripts but wanted everybody to know he thought up anyway: a television at the Waldorf haunted by the 20th Century, a pervert breaking the spirits of kids with his Zoo of Shame, The Phantom Barber stealing scalps from runway models, the world's sexiest man raped by Tarot cards, and the Electric Fetus Machine which manifests as a large organ whose music foments rebellion in fetuses. Is this how the British writers took over DC's adult comic books? By occluding our minds with so much random and weird pseudo-philosophical garbage that we couldn't think straight? Sure, I guess an Electric Fetus Machine sounds like a way better story than Batman beating The Riddler near to death. But is there really any substance there? I suppose there could be if the idea were fleshed out and some kind of theme built around the idea of fetuses rebelling. Maybe all of these ideas John Smith throws out are just a game of Chinese whispers where he takes, say, a story by John Barth from Lost in the Funhouse about the thoughts of a sperm considering how the race toward life is pointless and, maybe, they should all just give up, and he turns it into the Electric Fetus Machine so that when I read it, I don't instantly think, "Isn't this a John Barth story?" Instead, I think, "That's a better sounding story than the one where the guy is raped by the Three of Wands!"

Meanwhile, Scarab spends his downtime watching Eleanor turn into a Dr. Seuss tree. Or a mushroom cloud (because remember the theme established by the beginning quote and title?!).

Try to ignore Scarab's ass in the previous scan. It's phenomenal. If you're training to be a comic book artist, you need to spend a lot of time getting the ass right. And once you do, you'll never get an ass in pants right again because all you have ever learned to draw is a naked ass which readers will know is actually under skin tight Lycra unless the colorist completely shits the bed. The guy in the jar on the cover is a Russian experiment in psychotropic warfare called a Gloryboy. There are three of them and they're some kind of pacifist dream come true. They constantly mutter Vertigo phrases in a tonal frequency that makes normal people vomit and shit themselves. It's the Brown Note theory of winning battles but taken to the Vertigo extreme. Instead of a whomping bass sound system, the noise comes form a naked albino in a jar composed of dream matter. Maybe they're not composed of dream matter. And maybe they're not about pacifism at all. It seems they've been altered and experimented in such a way that they can give voice to "the Scream over Hiroshima!" That sounds pretty bad. It's probably some form of psychic bombardment, comparable to a nuclear blast, which drives everybody in the vicinity completely insane. Or maybe it really will just be a thing that pacifies everybody because have you ever tried to do anything while shitting yourself? I mean other than read the ingredients in your shampoo. And even then, I bet you take your eyes off the bottle for a moment to really be in the moment. As an aside, do women find shitting as enjoyable as men or is it just the fecal matter pressing up against our prostate as it passes that makes a big shit feel so good? The Russians test the Scream Over Hiroshima on London. What it does is project into the minds of everybody who hears it the entire reality of what happened in Hiroshima. It's the truth of war. It's pure horror and death and consequence. It probably also makes everybody shit themselves. But when it's done, they'll all understand, on a physically primal level what war is. And the assumption is that everybody will finally be against it, I guess? I've been on Twitter for many years and the one thing I know is that even physically experiencing the horrors of the bombing of Hiroshima isn't going to change the minds of most idiots. I mean, if you didn't become a vegan pacifist hug machine after hearing Sting's song, "Russians," why would you become one after living the horror of fifty thousand lives snuffed out in an instant?! Some people, you just can't reach. London turns into a burning chaotic mess as everybody flips the fuck out from suddenly experiencing the most painful thing they've ever experienced. Scarab arrives after it's all over and everybody is afraid of him. Surprise! There's nothing he can do. He just observes the mess and meets a psychic who tells him that Eleanor is coming back. And isn't that the most important part of this eight issue story? That Louis the Scarab's love returns to him while the rest of the world falls into death and chaos? Scarab #6 Rating: C. Smith seeded this issue with more story ideas than story. The main story is an idea that really goes nowhere as well. It's a thought experiment. It's a minor philosophical musing. And Scarab doesn't do anything but distract himself from his wife's condition. But it also wasn't uninteresting. So I think that means it's a C? What am I, a high school teacher? I don't know how to grade shit!

[nicolepremier]

Nano’s Knife

I’m currently writing a Nano/Akira fic and it occurs to me that I need to explain to everyone what’s really going on with Nano’s knife and its mysterious inscription that appears on so much iconic TnC merch. I was planning to write a brief summary in the author’s notes, but I wanted to go into a little more detail here, since I thought some of you might be curious.

Fandom lore would simply state that Nano’s inscription reads “wish” in some mysterious language, a symbol that he “wishes” to meet Akira again, and leave it at that.

It’s a lot more complex than that. And spoiler alert - the inscription on that knife does not literally read “wish” in any language.

For starters, there is some confusion in the translation from Japanese to English. The word the Japanese use that is translated to English as “wish” is 願い (negai), and that word has another meaning, a meaning that contextually makes a lot more sense. “Negai” also means “prayer,” and the context that it is used in throughout Nano’s route suggests that “prayer” would have been a more accurate and appropriate translation. For example, when Akira finds Nano sitting alone in the church with the black kitten, Nano says that he is there because he is “wishing” for another person’s happiness (obviously Akira’s, though that goes completely over Akira’s head) because it’s the only thing left to one whose fate has already been determined (referring to himself). What he’s actually doing is praying for Akira’s happiness. You don’t go to church to “wish,” you go to “pray.”

This distinction becomes very important when translating Nano’s knife inscription.

The inscription on Nano’s knife is written in Elder Futhark, a pre-viking Norse and Germanic rune system. (Though popular perception today simply refers to them as “viking runes.”) Being of Scandinavian decent from a family who loves anything and everything to do with vikings, I recognized the writing immediately since the same runes are on a ton of decorations all over my family’s home.

If you try and translate Nano’s runes phonetically, you get “hingath,” which is complete rubbish and means absolutely nothing as far as I can tell. It most certainly does NOT mean “wish.”

There is some additional complication due to the fact that N+C is horribly inconsistent with the runes from one set of merch to the next (presumably because they mean nothing to the designers), and the designers sometimes write them in ways that make the inscription even MORE nonsensical.

I actually sent a number of the different versions of the inscriptions to a professor friend who studies runes in several dead languages, and he came up with exactly the same nonsensical gibberish I did - it’s badly written Elder Futhark mixing several time periods that says nothing. He said it wasn’t all that uncommon for people to write nonsense runes on all sorts of stuff just because they like the look of them. For example, a well-known rune translation guide book has runes going around the cover which translate to “These runes don’t say anything, but they sure look cool, don’t they?”

But I wasn’t satisfied.

Elder Futhark is not purely a phonetic language like the Latin alphabet. The god Odin “sacrificed himself to himself” by hanging on the world-tree Yggdrasil for nine days and nights, receiving no form of nourishment from his companions. At the end of this ordeal, he perceived the runes, the magically-charged ancient Germanic alphabet that was held to contain many of the greatest secrets of existence.

The fact that the runes have, since their conception, been thought to be imbibed with magical powers is the reason they have been so extensively used by modern Neopagans in so much of their ritual practice. Simply the act of inscribing the runes, or keeping inscribed objects close, can confer power and blessings. Each rune has multiple meanings, but keeping that in mind, I believe I have cracked the code of Nano’s mysterious knife inscription.

The knife isn’t a “wish” or a symbol of a “wish” - it’s a “prayer.” It’s a prayer to the old gods.

Name: Hagalaz, “hail.” Phoneme: H. Meaning: destruction, chaos, change, invocation

This is a common invocation to begin a prayer to petition the gods.

Name: Ingwaz, “the god Ingwaz.” Phoneme: Ing or ng. Meaning: male fertility, the beginning of something, the actualization of potential via sacrifice

He must offer a sacrifice. The old gods don’t work for free. One must give something up in order for one’s prayer to have a chance of being answered.

Name: Ansuz, “an Aesir god.” Phoneme: A (long and/or short). Meaning: prosperity, vitality.

He’s calling on one or more of the aesir gods for help - Odin, Thor, Frigg, Tyr, Loki, Baldur, Heimdall, Idun, and Bragi.

Name: Thurisaz, “Thor, Giant.” Phoneme: Th (both soft and hard). Meaning: danger, suffering, solitude. (Note that this rune is often written with shorter vertical lines so that it looks more like an angular D. Both versions appear on different TnC merch.)

He wants an end to his suffering and solitude. His prayer is a desperate cry for help.

To be clear, I do not believe that Nano is a time traveling viking, or even of Norse decent - if he were, he might have written a more sensible inscription that actually meant something in one of the Scandinavian languages - all of which use the roman alphabet nowadays, and that is NOT the alphabet that Nano’s book uses, since Japanese use romanji as well and Akira has never seen those sorts of letters before. No one writes books in Elder Futhark these days. Here is what I believe happened:

Nano was the son of academics. He mentions in Kou Un (his official afterstory) that his father whose face he can’t remember made the knife. That’s not a normal skill, and even a rudimentary knowledge of Norse runes (and Norse gods) isn’t common knowledge among the general populace. This is consistent with how Nano dresses and presents himself - he isn’t the sort of person who puts a lot of thought into his clothing, but he likely tends to subconsciously gravitate towards what some part of his brain still registers as “normal” - things his father might have worn, and which he probably wore himself as a child before he was taken to ENED. His primary hobby is reading, and his eloquent speech and precise pattern observation makes clear that he’s quite intelligent, despite his naivety and eccentricity.

I headcanon that Nano’s father was an engineer, and his mother was a history professor (probably NOT in Norse studies), both of whom worked for a Russian university with government funding in South eastern Russia, in close proximity to both China and Japan. His father may have been involved in the design or manufacturing of weapons during WWIII. Likely both parents had an interest in historical reenactment and were eager to involve their children. Nano likely spent a good deal of time with his mother as a child since his father would have been kept extremely busy during the war. He was almost certainly taught to read at a very young age and given books on his mother’s favorite subjects to keep him occupied while she worked. When he developed an interest in vikings and Norse mythology as a young boy, he was almost certainly encouraged to pursue it. Therefore, although he was raised Russian Orthodox Christian, he was aware of (and likely fascinated by) mythology from various cultures. His speech in the game illustrates that he does indeed have a distinct interest in Christian mythology in particular, and likely that of other cultures as well, given that his only known possession was a knife inscribed with Elder Futhark. His father likely recognized his interests and made the knife for him as a gift, then let him help inscribe it with a prayer. To a little kid who really liked vikings, that was probably very exciting, so it isn’t surprising that the knife would become his most prized possession, even after his memories were altered and he could no longer remember anything else about his family.

After Nano’s family was killed, he was put into an overcrowded Russian orphanage, then later taken away by the Japanese for use as a nameless test subject in what was often lethal experimentation. At that point he was so scared that he was willing to try just about anything. Having no control at all over his own fate, his only recourse was to pray for salvation. When no one answered his prayers and his circumstances kept going from bad to worse, he almost certainly started to lose faith in the Christian god, and tried to invoke the old Norse gods in hopes that maybe he was just praying to the wrong god and there was still SOMEONE out there who would listen. He may even have forgotten what the inscription on the knife actually meant, only recalling dreamlike bits and pieces. It was a prayer. To be completely honest, I find it completely unrealistic that Nano could have kept that knife hidden for so long from ENED, given that it’s fairly large, he had no privacy, was watched 24/7, and only wore a medical gown inside the facility. I think it is slightly more likely that he was allowed to keep it, given how submissive he was to the researchers, since the end goal was to brainwash him into BECOMING a weapon himself.

In the end, when Nano had lost all hope and knew he was about to lose even himself… the sacrifice he made to invoke his final desperate prayer WAS the knife itself, his last remaining possession, the last reminder he had of his humanity, and with it his last remaining hope of salvation. He gave it all to Akira, in hopes that maybe one day, they would meet again.

Now, Nano’s fate, and his salvation, depends entirely on Akira.