#now mod let me tell you how long i pondered this response

[itoshit]

Time slowly went by, days turning to nights. And nights turning to days. That day, when I left Vee, I didn't think it would have been the last time I saw her. But she left. My men found her quickly of course, some even offered me to bring her back to me. But the whole point was to not be in contact anymore. I refused to see any picture of her, to see what she was up to. Ran's reports were enough for me. My heart was hurting me, especially when I learnt the existence of her friend, Darren. I was in the private room of one of our clubs, and Ran showed me a picture of them together. She seemed happy, healthy. And I was glad to be out of her life at that moment because honestly, I shattered everything and everyone that I touched.

It was not too long after I cut our strings. I remember that night vividly because that was my very first step to hell. Drinking to forget what I saw, I apparently passed out. Sanzu was the one bringing me back home. My place didn't look good anymore, but I didn't care. No one would stay here except me anyway. I wasn't even sleeping in my bed anymore, not that I was sleeping in the first place. But I couldn't do it. Too hard. Her scent lingered everywhere in my room, in her room. The small amount of sleep that I had was spent on my couch. Christmas went by too, and nothing happened. Her coat and the concert ticket were left untouched in my bedroom, in a random drawer. That evening, I stayed alone in my apartment, trying to imagine what it would have been with Vee around. We would have probably been drinking and laughing, making out on my couch. I'm sure she would have wanted me to buy a Christmas tree, and we would have decorated it together. And the night would have finished somewhere in my apartment, both naked and drowning in each other's touch.

Six months have passed. I tried so hard to forget her face with the many girls trying to get into my pants. I tried so, so hard. But I've never been able to touch someone else. Vee was like a drug, and I was experiencing it. But I was so content for her, she looked like she was finally balancing everything in her life, and she was probably grateful for that. She probably didn't want me back in her life, and I would never dare to enter hers anyway. She must felt relief after all that ended up.

I went back to the Mikey I was before meeting Vee, the cold; heartless man I used to be. My black hair was the only different thing from that past.

Every night I recalled our moment spent together, the only vestige of her was in mind.

Well, my vision seemed to be quite subjective and false, because on few occasions, the guys talked to me. Kakucho, Sanzu, Takeomi and Ran were the ones telling me how I changed, in a bad way. To them, I was more reckless. There were probably right, not that it mattered anyway.

Dante and La Cosa Nostra became close allies, the first trying his best to ease my heart. He presented me to his wife and children, and they were probably the ones who helped me getting through all that shit.

My life didn't make sense anymore. Without Vee by my side, I could finally say it, I was nothing. A dead man walking. While she looked so... full of life.

I saw Senju multiple times, and what I said to Vee was obviously completely false. I've never let myself be tempted with her flirt. The Yamaguchi-gumi stayed on the low for a while too, making their presence known from time to time.

They attacked one of our clubs once, and I almost died in the process. That's maybe what the guys reproached me when they said that I was reckless. Luckily though, Sanzu helped me. Got shot close to the heart, would have died if he didn't push me at the last minute.

The not so discreet scar that I had on my chest was a daily reminder that life was, even for me, something ephemeral.

Tonight was no different than the other nights. Would drown myself in work, files, alcohol and memories of Vee. That scared me because I was slowly starting to forget the sound of her voice.

Mikey.

Hm?

You can't keep doing that

Doing what?

You're not living, you're just... surviving. Amico mio, it's not good. Even Luka noticed your pain, shall I remind you he's only 8? You need to do something.

Look Dante, I appreciate your concern but I'm working right now. Did you call me to say something else?

Your girl has been-

She's not mine anymore. I lost her long ago.

... Venus is going outside tonight. Ran told me and as requested from you, my men keep an eye on her. She hasn't been outside since you stopped talking. You should come and-

Scoffing at him, I rolled my eyes, forehead pressed against my hand.

Dante, just... don't. She's clearly better off without me, and the Yamaguchi-gumi understood she wasn't someone who counted for -

But that was a lie! Manjiro. You could try again with her! We could finish them off, and you two could be happy together. It's just-

No we won't. They got the message when we blew their hideout up. No needs to start something big like this once again, especially when we all know the finality of it.

And what is if if you're so sure of yourself? You know what? I'm gonna bring her to you tonight. You're always staying at your office, expect her and I to be here.

... Venus doesn't need me. She realised she didn't miss me, and that I was only a cancer in her life. I need to go, don't call me again. Thank you for what you did back then.

Hanging up, I left my phone on my desk, leaving my office, but not before asking my executives to meet me in our meeting room.

What's up Mikey?

All sat around me, I looked at them first, before speaking.

Just, thanks for what you did for me.

Snorting, Sanzu stared at me, pupils dilated.

Why does it look like farewells though?

You can leave, you have your evening off. Find some pussy to fuck, get drunk, get high. Do what you want. I want you all to be here tomorrow before 8am.

Groaning, Sanzu stood up, and was the first to leave the room.

You okay?

Of course I am Ran.

Nodding, he patted my shoulder while Rindou simply smiled at me.

Koko had an eyebrow raised.

What's up with you Mikey?

Nothing. You can go Hajime.

Eh? First time you're saying my name. But alright, goodnight Mikey

Now alone with Mochizuku and Takeomi, I turned to them.

Guess I'll head to the strip club then.

Go ahead Kanji

Door closing, I felt Takeomi's eyes on me.

What?

What are you up to Mikey?

Nothing, just need a night away from work. Why aren't you leaving?

Raising his hands in defeat, Takeomi stood up, and as he was going to exit the meeting's room, he stilled.

Manjiro. Don't do anything stupid yeah?

No worries.

Eventually alone, I sat back on the chair, chin on my crossed hands. Would I regret what I was about to do? Probably not. Vee gave me hope, showing me some good time. But I wasn't destined to happiness. My place was in darkness, in hell.

An hour passed, and directing myself to my office, I checked the security cameras. It was 9pm, everyone left the building, as I requested beforehand.

Turning one last time to my office, I suddenly imagined Vee here, with me. Taking my gun off my hoster, I put it on my desk. Closing the door behind me, I went to the roof.

The last time that I've been here was when Sanzu surprised me, and when I said to him that if I happened to die, he would take the lead.

Guess nothing has changed since then.

Approaching my feet from the edge, I looked behind, a flash blinding me for a while. The good old days, when I was Toman's leader, Ken-chin by my side. Takemichi, Mitsuya, Chifuyu, the Kawata twins and the others were below, acclaiming me.

How were they doing now? Did they find happiness? I hope so. Vee crossed my mind too, leaving a warm feeling in my heart.

Throwing a glance at the concrete, I felt cold sweat on my forehead.

I'm sorry, Venus

-Mikey

TO EXPLAIN MYSELF - I wanted to keep the final scene from the manga, when Bonten Mikey is with Takemichi. It's not to destroy the good mood at all, but I do think Mikey is someone who's extremely tortured in his life (as everyone knows lmao) so in this case, where him and you were an item and he had strong feelings toward you, obviously it will destroy him more. Hopefully it's not a triggering subject for you, if it is, I'm sorry bby 😔

see now mod… *exhales*

Yeah, I don’t know about this, Dee.

We stood outside the bar, which from the outside, looked pack to capacity already. Apprehension consumed me. Darren noticed, taking my hand into his and squeezing it.

Do you wanna go home? he asked gently. We don’t have to go in if you don’t want to.

I shook my head. If I couldn’t do this, with my best friend no less, I probably wouldn’t be able to do any social event.

No, I’m fine. But we are leaving before 11.

He winked at me.

Fuck yeah we are.

We walked in together at that, arm in arm. Eyes flitted to us and then away when they realized we weren’t anybody of importance. A few lingered on me, recognizing me from the news maybe. I ignored them, allowing Darren to introduce me to his friends. He was right, they were nice. We shared a few drinks, me only having one beer to the others four. After Natalie, I just didn’t trust drinking anymore. Or people in general, always looking outside of people’s actions for their hidden motives.

We left at ten as promised. I shoved Darren and a couple of his friends into separate Ubers since they were way too drunk for me to even trust them driving. After I managed to get transportation for the final drunkard that I was with that night, I started walking toward my own car. But I noticed something. Somebody was following me. Clutching onto the pocketknife I started carrying ever since I got back home, I steeled myself with the thought of pulling it out and taking a life if needed be.

As the person neared, my grip on the hilt was knuckle-white and tight, with little to no chance of slipping off. When they touched me, I spun around fast, placing the knife right beneath their throat. I was smart enough to avoid streetlights.

Who the fuck are you? I snarled, pressing the knife closer with each word I spoke.

The man threw up his hands quickly, but made no move to disarm me. I’m with Dante of La Casa Nostra.

Who?

Me, somebody spoke from our left. I chanced a look and found a man sitting in the back of a heavily tinted jeep. My heart sunk. I learned a long time ago that tinted jeeps were the poster cars for criminal organization and gang leaders to move around in. My name is Dante, Venus, and I came to you requesting help.

Funny way of asking for it, I bit, throwing a look to the man who was following me. And besides, I don’t think I can help you.

It’s about Mikey.

I froze, unsure how to answer for a few seconds, then eventually came up with a, I don’t know a Mikey.

We were there with the Yamaguchis, Venus. La Casa Nostra was a big help in aiding Bonten in that victory. Our sniper was the one that saved your life. So technically, you owe me.

Could I even argue that? I had a feeling that even if I wanted to, there was only stalling I could do before he lost his patience and just forced me to do what he wanted. Powerful men weren’t used to being challenged, after all. Slowly, I placed my knife in my pocket, but always kept it ready to grab in case I had to run. I walked up to the Jeep and hopped in beside Dante, keeping my distance at the same time.

What do you want?

I wanted to get straight to the point, go home if possible.

It’s Mikey, he sighed, pinching his nose as if even the thought of the man pained him to talk about. He’s… not doing so well. Not sleeping, barely eating, wasting away.

Have you ever stopped to consider he was always like that?

It honestly sounded like he was behaving just as he was—

But that was before you met him, Venus.

I clenched my jaw, remembering how he had started eating and sleeping at my request, soon not even needing me to tell him to do either at all. A certain beach date flashed into my mind and I shook my head to rid myself of the memory. Dante observed my reaction, and I wanted to pinch myself for giving an observable one.

Either way, I’m worried, Venus. Mikey is a good guy, an extraordinary ally, but with the way things are looking…I don’t think he’s going to survive much longer to be any of both. Which is why I offered to take you to him as a last resort.

Without my consent?

With or without, he admitted with a laugh. I’m that desperate. He’s not well, Venus. Even my children are concerned.

I gnawed on my thumbnail.

Bringing me to him might not fix him. They might make things worse. For both of us, I wanted to say.

Or they might make them better, he argued.

You couldn’t possibly know that.

I’m willing to take that risk.

I couldn’t answer that. Few things could talk down a stubborn man. I wasn’t one of them.

You know, I really think you and Manjiro belong together. You’re both just too stubborn to see that.

I didn’t reply to that, either. I would’ve agreed once. Manjiro made sure I couldn’t.

We arrived to the building and I was astounded by how distinctly I remembered it despite being away from it from so long. My mind went on that nurse who helped me escape. I wondered if they fired her.

Dante hopped out of the car the same time I did, using a fancy keycard to gain access into the building. Walking through it, I realized I never took the time to appreciate how large the space was. We reached the room where Dante said he’d be— the meeting room.

Mikey, I’m here as promised, Dante announced and I held my breath. I hadn’t the slightest clue what to say when I saw him, or whether what I’d say would be the right thing. Probably not, considering I wanted to curse him like a dog.

I still had time to think of something though. When Dante opened the door, nobody was there.

Am I being pranked? I asked Dante whose eyebrows were furrowed.

That’s strange. He hasn’t checked out of the building at all today so he’s still in here.

I looked around for a bit, feeling something amiss, and then I found the window looking out over the city. Dante, is there any room in this place that has a better view than this one?

No, this is the highest floor in the building. No view comes close. Why do you ask?

They all had something in common. This room, Mikey’s house’s design, the hotels he booked, down to the dates he scheduled— there was one common denominator.

The view. I snapped my fingers. Mikey likes the views!

But there’s no better view than… the roof. He’s on the roof.

I wasted no time, bolting out of the door. The elevator stopped just to the meeting room floor. Only stairs could take you up to the roof. I sprinted up them by God’s grace, barely even winded by the time I opened the door.

Good thing too, because the sight of Mikey took my breath away. It was only his back, the same black hair I had seen him in the last time fluttering in the wind. What worried me most was not where he was standing, feet firmly planted on the ledge. What worried me most was how relaxed he was on the ledge, as if he wasn’t staring a certain death right in the face. A strong enough wind would send him right to it. I couldn’t witness that. My feet moved on their own, fueled by adrenaline. I had barely reached him when he started to push himself over the ledge, but I caught him in time, gripping my shirt between his fingers and snatching him back with all my might. He fell back easily, too startled by the fact somebody was there to catch him to brace himself. He landed right atop of me in a heap of limbs. My hands were trembling. It was as if I had just realized how close I was to missing that chance to grab him. Tears came into my eyes, but I didn’t know if they were from anger or from fear.

You idiot, I whispered harshly through sobs. You fucking idiot.

[satonthelotuspier]

Day 8 of Xichengclipse, and we’re done! It’s been a blast, six fics over eight chapters, 21.7k words, one emperor seduced, three feral youngsters ‘rescued’, a pregnancy and a second chance at love for a special jade bunny.

Thanks to all the mods and organisers, the readers/art fans and contibutors.

That being said here’s day 8. (This will be a fic I finish outside of the event, still a lot of story left here).

Part 1 and Part 2 are available at the links.

Lotuses Are Tenacious Plants - Part 3

As the bathwater was brought in Lan Xichen wondered if he should press Jiang Cheng on what he had seen on the way back to the Hanshi.

He didn’t know yet how truthful the young man from the Burial Mounds would be, how much value he placed on honesty. They were concepts that came naturally to a man like Lan Xichen, brought up by his clan to speak them as second nature, but he was aware that it wasn’t the case for everyone outside the walls of Cloud Recesses.

He had sent a short note of enquiry and warning to his Shufu and Lan Wangji both, about the intrusion, and to find out if Jiang Cheng’s spirit...friend?...had tripped any of their warnings when she entered.

His musings were interrupted by the realisation that the other was stripping himself bare in preparation for the bath that had just been drawn for him.

“Wait a moment,” Lan Xichen had procured some ointment from the sect physicians to help with the scratches and cuts on Jiang Cheng’s face and forearms, and he handed the jar over to the half-dressed young man, “use this on your scrapes after you bathe, it will help heal them.”

“Thank you.” It was automatic, like the other had had it drilled into him to be polite. Was that from his early childhood, or something that had been a part of their existence in the Burial Mounds?

He shook himself from the thought; there was so much he would like to know about Jiang Cheng and his siblings, and how they had survived in Yiling. But Jiang Cheng wouldn’t speak to him of anything so private until he trusted him. Even then it might be a subject he didn’t wish to talk of; Jiang Cheng struck him as uncommunicative of the things he considered personal, from what he had seen so far. “I’ll give you some privacy,” Lan Xichen folded his hands into his sleeves, and Jiang Cheng looked at him and shrugged, like the notion of privacy was unusual and unnecessary.

“Fine, but it’s not like I’m a girl. I haven’t got anything you haven’t seen before.”

He bent to begin to skim his patched pants down, and Lan Xichen hurried out of the Hanshi.

As he sat on the verandah outside attempting to meditate, a disciple brought him a stack of correspondence that he would have to deal with at some point, and handed him a note from Wangji, that also held a cinnabar drawn talisman.

His brother claimed there had been something that had registered breaching the wards, but that the tracking talisman that automatically attached itself to anything that passed the barrier had vanished.

Lan Xichen knew he would have to speak to Jiang Cheng about it; he thought his sect members would be safe, that the woman’s concern would be Jiang Cheng, that she would see he wasn’t in danger, and that she wouldn’t act without his say so, but if the other’s answers weren’t acceptable he would have to take action and deal with her. He wouldn’t put his disciples at risk.

Some time later he heard Jiang Cheng’s voice calling to him from inside the Hanshi, “Lan Xichen!”

He rose, and moved to the open doorway, “May I come in?”

“Yes, I need help,” there was a wealth of confusion and frustration in his voice, so Lan Xichen stepped inside.

The other looked up, his brown eyes stormy; a child on the verge of tantrum.

“What’s the matter, Jiang Cheng?” he automatically fell into using his older brother voice.

“I don’t know how these stupid things tie,” He held out his arms, pushed through the pure white robes of young Lan sect disciples.

“Here, let me show you.” Lan Xichen stepped forward, “May I?”

Jiang Cheng gestured with his arms again, which Lan Xichen took as permission.

He demonstrated which ribbons needed tying together, and how to layer the robes and sashes, Jiang Cheng watched him carefully, intelligent eyes taking in every move and storing it in the back of his mind. He wouldn’t need showing again.

Lan Xichen stepped back out of the other’s space as the last tie was made, and gestured, “And now you’re dressed.”

The other looked down at himself, and again held his arms out.

“It’s too hot,” he said eventually, then looked up at Lan Xichen, who was struck again by how very much like Yu-furen her son was, especially now, scrubbed clean with gleaming, fair skin, with only a trace of a deeper scratch on his jaw left of the wounds from before.

He was a handsome man, and better care, which Lan Xichen was going to ensure they all received, would only improve on that.

“It’s cold on the mountain in autumn, Jiang Cheng, you’ll be glad of the layers.”

The other sneered.

“I know, you lived in the Burial Mounds,” Lan Xichen supplied for him, and Jiang Cheng bared his teeth in response to the tease, although the effect was lessened by the frame of his loose hair.

The other had undone all his braids to wash it, and now it hung, mostly dry, around his shoulders, and softened the harsh lines of his face.

Lan Xichen had to stop a subconscious move to reach out and brush it behind his ear. The big brother in him, no doubt.

Jiang Cheng lowered his gaze again, and plucked at the sleeves of robes.

“How do you move in all this?” he demanded, and Lan Xichen pondered the question. Obviously he was used to it, you naturally learned to adjust and account for the flow of sleeves, the sweeping of hems, but it wasn’t something Jiang Cheng would have had to become used to.

“With practice,” he said, because it was the truth.

Jiang Cheng looked up again then, and there was an unusual expression of uncertainty in his eyes, “How should I tie up my hair?”

The question threw Lan Xichen, not least because it seemed very out of character for the younger man to be worrying about something so mundane for Lan Xichen.

“How would you like to? What about your braids?”

Jiang Cheng shook his head, “A-Jie said it helps keep our hair cleaner for longer, but it takes so long. And my arms would ache.”

Lan Xichen thought for a moment, then moved over to the mirror kept behind a screen, and beckoned to Jiang Cheng to come with him.

The other moved over and followed Lan Xichen’s gesture.

He turned, and startled. Then stepped closer. “A mirror,” he said, almost breathlessly. He examined himself, turning his face this way and that, “this is much clearer than a murky puddle,” he said, and Lan Xichen berated himself for being so careless as to spring it on Jiang Cheng like that. He hadn’t thought that the other might not have had access to simple things he took for granted, like mirrors, easy options to bathe, warm clothes, the list was endless.

He raised a finger to touch the scratch still visible on his jawline, “It would have been easier using the ointment if I’d known of the mirror.” he said it casually, without censure in his voice, just a fact.

“I’m sorry, I never thought,” Lan Xichen apologised, and Jiang Cheng’s fingers stilled, and he met his gaze in their reflections.

“Why would you?” then he was moving on to the next burning issue in his mind, “Show me how I should tie up my hair.”

They spent a while experimenting, and Lan Xichen had to find an ornament that met with the other’s approval (that being one that wasn’t automatically so pretty it had to be saved for A-Jie). Eventually the task was done, however. They had gone something simple that Jiang Cheng would have little trouble recreating.

Lan Xichen moved away.

It was nearly dinner time, but he thought it would be better to have their meal brought to the Hanshi. He didn’t think it was fair yet to put Jiang Cheng amongst such a crowd, considering he wasn’t used to other people yet. Therefore eating in the hall with the rest of the sect was out.

Perhaps he could arrange a small family meal with his Shufu and Wangji tomorrow, to help Jiang Cheng become more used to dealing with others. Lan Xichen was still the only person, outside of his small family unit from the Burial Mounds, who Jiang Cheng had been exposed to for anything but a passing glance.

“Do you trust me, Jiang Cheng?” he asked suddenly, and the other turned away from the mirror, where he had still been examining himself out of interest.

Jiang Cheng considered the question. “A little. I don’t think you want me dead. And I think you’re telling me the truth about the Wens.” He walked over to perch on the edge of the bed, still moving awkwardly in the Lan sect robes. “But I don’t know what you want from me, yet, or why you wouldn’t just leave us be at the Burial Mounds.”

Lan Xichen tilted his head and considered the other’s comment, “I went to search because there were rumours of necromancy that my sect wished to look into. Cultivators have a responsibility to keep normal people safe from the unnatural.”

“That would have been us. Protecting our home. With the unnatural.”

Lan Xichen realised he would have to tread cautiously, while he sympathised with their plight, and understood why they had turned to the methods they had, it was still a  power that was considered unnatural, immoral, and was reviled by wider society.

“I was there to investigate,” he repeated, keeping his voice light and devoid of any censure, “and I found the missing Jiang children. Of course I was going to bring you back to Cloud Recesses. You will recall you attacked me. You could have approached me to talk, but you attacked. If it hadn’t been me, it would have been someone like me. And you were living on the edge of starvation.”

“You were in my home, why would I not attack? We were fine. Surviving. Safe. The best thing you can do for us is to let us go back, seal that place to the world, and leave us be, we’ll hurt no one, and no one will hurt us.”

“You have a life waiting for you outside of the Burial Mounds. Identities, legacies, sect lands…”

“That left us behind years ago. I don’t know that life. I don’t know you. I know that place, and I know my A-Jie and Wei Wuxian.”

It was a low blow, but by now Lan Xichen knew what tile to play.

Do you really wish that life for your A-jie? The struggle, the having nothing, the living hand to mouth?”

An enraged flush ran up the other’s face at his words, and he leapt up from the bed. Lan Xichen prepared to receive his attack, but it didn’t get that far, as the other stumbled on the long hem of the robes he wasn’t used to.

There was a clear measure of time while they stared at each other, Jiang Cheng having caught himself on his hands and knees on the floor, and Lan Xichen staring down at him in surprise.

There was another period where the reaction could have gone any way, he swore he saw something like self-mockery flash in Jiang Cheng’s eyes, and his mouth twitched as if into a smile, but then his eyes fixed in the doorway behind Lan Xichen, and he let out an animal snarl, leaping into another attack.

Lan Xichen was guilty of reacting to the embryo of a smile on his face, and Jiang Cheng switched to the second emotion so quickly he wasn’t quite ready to follow the change, and was hit by the full force of a small, skinny, wild animal.

He was much stronger than the other, his clan’s training regimen, all those handstands, meant he was physically stronger than most cultivators of his level, never mind a malnourished boy who hadn’t even begun qi refining stage cultivation, but he was at a disadvantage, because he had to greatly temper his strength, as he didn’t wish to hurt Jiang Cheng, whereas the other was showing him no such mercy.

A glancing blow hit him in the jaw and made him see stars briefly.

It was a wild struggle; he no sooner caught one limb than another swung at him, and he felt the air move behind him. He threw himself to one side, just in time to avoid the swipe of clawed fingers from the red-clad evil spirit that had followed Jiang Cheng from the Burial Mounds, but that let Jiang Cheng swing at his throat again. He stepped back to avoid the blow, but felt his shoulders hit the wall. He had nowhere else to retreat to under the dual assault. If retreat was impossible, attack was the only other option; he had to apply some force of his own; he didn’t know whether Jiang Cheng’s intent was to kill, but if Lan Xichen didn’t fight back he was likely going to find out.

He formed a sword seal with his hand, and summoned Shuoyue from her scabbard, then pulled the talisman that had come with Wangji’s note about the barrier breach from his sleeve.

He caught Shuoyue’s hilt, infused the talisman with his qi, and sent it at the red-clad spirit. She froze, unable to move even a little as the talisman attached itself to her lush chest, a look of intense, bloodthirsty rage in her eyes was the only reaction she could make.

He would have stabbed with Shuoyue but Jiang Cheng threw himself at Lan Xichen one last time, both hands wrapping around the wrist of the hand that held his sword, pulling with all his might, a sound of distress escaping his lips.

“Please! Please don’t, Lan Xichen, it’s my fault, I was wrong. I made the mistake. Please don’t kill her.” All his weight was hanging from Lan Xichen’s raised arm.

“She’s a spirit. She’s already dead.” His voice was tight, annoyed, and Jiang Cheng looked up, dark eyes enormous, and incredibly full of fear for his companion, something he hadn’t allowed Lan Xichen to see in him before. “If I don’t deal with her, how am I to know you won’t attack me again the next time you don’t feel like keeping your promise?”

“Don’t hurt her, please. I know I was wrong. Punish me, not her. Tie me up, use your magic silencing spell of me again, I’ll submit to anything.”

“You mean, you promise?” Jiang Cheng’s head ducked, but there was nothing he could say. Jiang Cheng’s reaction was of a child caught out, he was only sorry because his gambit had failed and he’d been discovered.

“I know you won’t believe me again, but I did intend to keep my promise. I just-” his eyes darted to the spirit of the woman.

“Because you were presented with an opportunity, doesn’t make it acceptable to go against your word. We’re left in a quandary. How can I believe anything you say to me now?”

Jiang Cheng’s gaze returned to his, angry again, “I know,” he hissed, “that’s why I said you can tie me up.”

They both turned to the door as soft footsteps heralded an arrival.

“Xiongzhang,” Lan Wangji paused on the threshold, taking in the odd tableau before him.

“Wangji, please take this spirit to the Mingshi. Just for containment, at the moment.” Lan Xichen gave Jiang Cheng a hard look. The relief that washed over the other’s face was palpable.

“Die-er, her name is Die-er.” His voice was small, unusually meek.

Butterfly.

Lan Wangji nodded, and turned to the disciple accompanying him to deal with it. Die-er was taken away, and Lan Wangji moved into the Hanshi, catching hold of Jiang Cheng’s upper arm and pulling him away from Lan Xichen.

He hadn’t realised they were still frozen in their odd pose, Shuoyue poised and Jiang Cheng clinging on to him.

“Be careful with him, Wangji.”

“Xiongzhang, you’re hurt.” Lan Wangji’s voice was calm, flat, but there was a look of worry in his eyes, and Lan Xichen glanced down, blood seeped through his robes at the side. It looked like he hadn’t been as fast to dodge as he had thought when Die-er had sliced at him.

As if acknowledging the wound had given it power, his head suddenly spun alarmingly, and the world faded to black.

[shinjukuspiritcommittee]

Sick Time HCs

Hello, guess who was sick for the whole day prior. This mod, haha- (coughs)

Since I had received multiple Headcanon requests for this topic but different characters I decided to just wrap it into one post I hope you all don’t mind. Regardless, please enjoy~

~~~

Sick Day

Kengo

~“Okay…” Kengo breathed as you two stared one another down. You gripped your sword as tight as you could and steadied your breathing as you were anticipating his next move. Kengo moved with impressive speed but you parried his punch with your blade. However it was just a feint as Kengo’s true intention was to strike you from the side. Due to your sluggish movements and hazy vision he completely blind sided you and sent you spiraling on the ground. You coughed and wheezed as you struggled to pick yourself back up. Kengo quickly caught on and rushed over. “Hey, what’s the matter!?” You tried to tell him you were fine but you coughed again, this time from your sickness. “I knew somethin’ was off.” You sniffled a bit and sneezed in response which finally gave you away. “You’re sick ain’tcha?” You grimaced. “Yep. C’mere.” Kengo suddenly picked you up carrying you bridal style. You tried to argue that you could walk on your own just fine. Silently Kengo lifted your shirt which you would have raised an opinion about but he revealed the bruise he left on you given your weakened state. You couldn’t really hide it anymore at that point so you fell silent and couldn’t look him in the eyes with shame. “I’ll take you, got that?”

~Much to your displeasure he carried you all the way back to your room cradled in his arms. It was a little embarrassing but you were relieved none of your other friends saw you. Once you were back in your bed you did your best to feign wellness and attempted to shoo Kengo away. “What’s with you? There’s no way you’re alright!” You tried to argue that you fine once more but a sneeze prevented you from doing so. “See?” You grumbled with embarrassment. You didn’t like the idea on appearing so vulnerable in front of your partner when he relies on you. “What’re you talkin’ about? You’re just sick, that’s all.” Still, it was embarrassing to get sick when it seems Kengo almost never gets sick. “Yeah I’m pretty healthy year round and- wait, no.” Kengo snapped his attention at you. “I won’t think you’re weak. Promise.” You crossed your arms in defeat and sighed. “Now, what do you do when you get sick…” He pondered aloud. “Uh, right.” Kengo tossed your covers over you. “Stay in these, I’ll be right back!” First he insisted on staying, then he leaves!? “It’ll just take a second.” With that you were alone like you initially wanted. You breathed out a sigh while you reflected back on earlier. You could’ve been a little nicer and gave him a bit of a heads up that you weren’t in fighting form today. Then again you can’t let yourself get sick so easily. Everyone depends on you and you can’t rest while everyone else does the heavy lifting. You just wanna do your part…

~Your thoughts were interrupted abruptly by Kengo swinging the door open. He seemed to have extra blankets for you and what looked to be bottled water. “I’m back!” He declared happily. “Shiro told me that when someone gets sick you’re supposed to keep em warm and hydrated! Yep, that’s what he said!” You asked if he told Shiro while you were concerned your cover was blown. “Nah, cuz then he would get all fussy over you. So… you’re my little secret. Well, our little secret but… uh…” Kengo scratched the back of his head while you both breathed a sigh of relief and looked at him with a bit of contempt. “Hey, what’s with the dirty look for? I thought you didn’t want him fussin’. That’s why I didn’t tell him.” You let loose another cough as your throat begins to feel irritated and you instead thanked him for doing all of that. “No prob!” He chuckled. “But, I don’t think these sheets are gonna keep you warm.” Before you could ask what he meant, Kengo slipped out of his sandals and got into your bed with you. You told him that someone might get the wrong idea or he could get sick himself. “Hmm, nope. I locked the door (I think) and I’m pretty good at stuff like this.” While you two were wrapped under the same blankets you could feel how warm your partner really was. You shivered and subconsciously scooted closer to him until your bodies were pressed against one another. You comment on how pleasant his body heat is and how the cold seemingly disappeared. “Thanks, but… you’re really burning up. Try to drink some water and relax, ‘kay?” You did so and the cold drink felt refreshing for a change, but even then you shivered which Kengo laughed at.

Wakan Tanka

~You couldn’t hide anything from Wakan Tanka. Not a thing in the world he couldn’t see past. “Hey, you feeling alright?” You tried to play it off as a little head cold and that it wouldn’t interrupt your planned day out but you couldn’t hold back a serious cough that left your throat feeling scratchy. There was no denying the chills you were starting to develop either as you started to shiver in your jacket. “You don’t look that well.” He commented. “I think something happened like this before to my Gunzo. I believe the instructors said there was an illness going around… it seems you’ve caught it, my summoner.” You were dreading the prospect but couldn’t deny that to be the case as your chills began to escalate and you letting out a comment on how cold it was. Wakan Tanka took hold of your hand and the heat from his hand was relieving to say the least. “Here, come with me.” Wakan practically tugged on your arm as you were dragged off towards the dorms at his school.

~“You can use my room.” He said as he guided you in. Not surprising at all everything was disorganized. You commented on the state of his room and all the garments he leaves about. “Oh, don’t worry! None of them have been worn yet. I was just looking for my lost jersey!” You sighed and commented that he should take better care of his room while you proceeded to shiver and cough more. You sniffled as your cold began to reach peak chills and shivers. Your joints felt incredibly stiff as you continued to stand. “Here, have a seat.” The football player guided you to his bed and undressed you in most of your clothes except for your under shirt and pants. Then he helped you to get into a cozy enough position in bed as your breathing became harder. Everything felt worse because you were still chilly. “Give me one moment. I’ll let the nurse know and to call your school.” He said that as he jogged off, leaving you to curl up under his sheets. They definitely smelled like Wakan after a long day of practice to the point where you began to wonder if he showered enough. He may be more absent minded but he does care a lot for others so maybe that devotion leads him to neglect his own needs…

~Wakan Tanka came back sniffling with his face looking flushed. “Okay my summoner. The nurse said you can rest here while he contacts your school but it may be a while.” You took notice of his complextion and runny nose. “Oh, this?” He questioned as he wiped his face. “This is probably-” He coughed. “Scratch that- definitely the same cold as you and my Gunzo…” He was starting to shiver and you couldn’t bear to see him like that, so you told him to get into the covers with you. “Oh, do you mean it?” He seemed pretty ecstatic most likely because it meant he could be closer with you. He quickly removed his jersey and tossed it to the side (at least you now know how he loses it) as he crawled into the bed with you. His normally warm body felt like an inferno since he was coming down with the same cold. You welcomed the warmth of course because it meant you were no longer freezing. “Wow my summoner… you feel as though you’re on fire…” He stated, huddling closer to you. “I know it’s because you’re ill, but… I like it…” He yawned. “It’s kind of… relaxing…” Yawns were contagious because you too were beginning to feel dreary. “Maybe… we could…” The two of you trailed off to sleep together within moments, now somewhat comfortable despite your shared illness. When Monobe came over to pick you up he decided to let you sleep for a bit longer with your friend since you both looked “at peace”.

Tsathoggua

~You were chatting away on the phone with Tsathoggua now that classes were done for the day. He was going off about how certain classics will never go out of style and you gave him your honest opinion on the topic. While he was interested in your perspective he seemed dead set in his own ideas and you commented that was totally fine and that he should have fun his way. “Right!? It’s like most gamers nowadays wanna shove their opinions down your throat and you just want em to-” During his rant you let loose a cough that wasn’t very severe. “Hm?” You tried to explain it as a tickle in your throat but a much nastier one came through. “You’re getting sick.” You tried to assure him it wasn’t serious as the sick pains began to set in. “One sec.” With that he disconnected, leaving you to wonder what he meant by that.

~That was until he warped himself right into your room. You let out a hoarse shriek as Tsathoggua’s huge frame startled you. “What!? That’s like, not a way to greet a guest yeah!?” You apologized and explained you weren’t expecting him to just poof on over. “Well what else was I gonna do? Just let you sit all alone? C’mere.” He replied while holding a hand out to you. Hesitantly you grab it and in an instant you were taken to his den of sloth. He brought you over to a bean bag chair he often uses to relax and play games on. Tsath rests himself on the chair and pulls you onto his lap while his minions wrapped you both in a blanket. “Uh… are you comfortable?” You told him you were very comfortable like that, but if he really had to drag you all the way out to his room. “Yes, otherwise we wouldn’t be able to watch movies.” Tsathoggua did seem genuinely concerned with your well-being in his own way. “I just want you to relax, yeah?”

~So giving into Tsathoggua’s offer rather quickly proved good for you in the end. His body was quite soft and cozy which helped you ease up. The movie more served as white noise for you as you quickly became exhausted due to your sickness and fell asleep cozied up in your friend’s fur. “H-Hey…” Tsathoggua grumbled as you were a bit too relaxed. But he eased up when he saw on your sleeping face. Rather than try to put you to rest elsewhere he figured it’d be better (and less work) to adjust you slightly on his frame and using him like a bed. While you weren’t lucid enough to remember what exactly happened, you were happy it did and slept incredibly soundly.

[bisexualray]

Yooseven Week - Day 7

Free Day

Good Ending

Note: Ending the week on a happy note! I’d like to thank the mods of yooseven week for putting this event together, and the people who read and helped out with this story. I couldn’t have done this without you!

Pairing: Yoosung/707

Word Count: 1k+

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ao3 | masterpost

@yoo7week

He wanted to cherish every moment with him.

He wanted to hold him in his arms.

He wanted to live in that love forever, and fall for him all over again with each passing day, for the rest of his life.

Saeyoung’s decision was crucial, and at that point he had fully made up his mind.

/

Repeating, repeating, repeating the four words in his head, eyes able to stay open from the excitement that came when he anticipated the situation, while he parked his car at the familiar hill under the familiar canvas painted with stars. He unbuckled his seatbelt and pushed the car door open before Yoosung could ask why he was smiling so much.

He closed his eyes and let out a sigh before opening them and taking in the scenery, the stars glowing against the sky, and the place he used to call his own, a place that now only made him think of Yoosung.

He looked up to the array of stars, and he was floating, his feet lifting off the ground and taking him to outer space, where he could be lost in those four words every second and shine in the darkness like the stars.

Saeyoung’s decision was crucial, and at that point he had fully made up his mind.

The sound of a car door slamming shut, footsteps towards him, one arm around his shoulder and pulling him into a side hug, bringing him back to reality, back down to earth. He laughed as another arm wrapped around his neck, and he hugged Yoosung’s waist, listening as Yoosung spoke between laughs into his ear.

“I dare you to carry me to the top.”

“Is that the only reason why you hugged me?”

“No!” Yoosung laughed again, tightening his hold around Saeyoung. “I love you, but my legs are tired.”

“I’m tired,” he said, and the new round of laughter that came with it only made him fly higher, floating on the surface of an ocean, through all the waves, with Yoosung. He wanted this feeling to overcome him with every second they spent together, the most overwhelmingly beautiful and golden feeling he’d ever experienced.

“Then I’ll race you to the top.”

“Oh my god, Yoosung.”

Yoosung pulled away and began to walk backwards, hugging himself, laughter too much to contain. Saeyoung smiled, rubbing his temples in mock aggravation. “You literally just said your legs were tired.” He ended his sentence with another breathy laugh.

“I’m still gonna win.”

“I will fight you.”

This, the joking, the laughter, filled him with more happiness than his past jokes ever could, and he felt like he could fly out of the ocean and walk on the water, the shining sun guiding his way across the sea.

“Then you better not let me get a head start, Saeyoung.”

With Saeyoung’s blink, Yoosung was gone, starting his journey up the hill, and Saeyoung smiled at the competition his boyfriend set, legs moving on their own to catch up to him.

He powered through the exhaustion in an attempt to win the race, moving with the elation from the thought of what was to come when they reached the top of the hill.

/

Saeyoung ran.

He ran without knowing how long he could keep it up, how long before exhaustion took over him. Each step up the hill was another closer to the stars, that high, heavenly feeling of flying through space and floating on water. He pushed himself over his limit, falling to his knees when he reached the top, two seconds behind Yoosung, and let himself collapse onto the dry grass and lay on his back.

His chest rose and fell with each heavy, exhausted breath, eyes locked on the stars above him, shining in every corner of his eye.

Yoosung fell next to him. Saeyoung rolled his head to the side to look at him, and focused on his smile, his voice happy, joking, yet breathless.

“I win.”

“Congratulations. You get...” he took in a long breath, still panting in exhaustion from the run. “... a prize.”

“What’s my prize?”

“It’ll arrive... in five to ten business days.”

Yoosung let out a contagious laugh, leaving the both of them gasping for air before Saeyoung let his eyes fall shut, feeling his heart finally beat normally. He opened his eyes and moved his head to stare back up at the sky.

The silence sat between them, filling the air, before Saeyoung heard Yoosung’s voice take over.

“I love looking at the stars.”

Yoosung’s hand found Saeyoung’s.

Saeyoung rolled his head to the side again, having done it enough times that his neck was starting to hurt, and glanced down at Yoosung’s hand over his, noticing the glimmer in his eyes. Yoosung shifted closer to him, and he moved to wrap both arms around him, laying in that familiar position.

Saeyoung’s decision was crucial, and at that point he had fully made up his mind.

He repeated it in his head and he knew he was sure of it, because of the way that feeling was brought up again, and it was as if he was flying when he kissed the top of Yoosung’s head. It was different, in ways he couldn’t comprehend, and he pondered on it in silence.

He closed his eyes and rubbed Yoosung’s back, taking note of the way Yoosung’s clothes felt against his skin, his warmth pressed against his chest. The sensation sent his mind running again.

He focused on a single constellation and said the first thing that came to his mind.

“You’re just like the stars.”

Yoosung hummed. “I am?”

“But you’re brighter than stars, and you’re... so close to me.”

We’ll probably die if we get too close.

He thought back to those fears, the anxiousness from falling in love with Yoosung and the hacking, god, that fake persona, the wall he’d built. The joking and laughter, the ones before Yoosung stole his heart, were all connected back to 707. But when he was with Yoosung, driving to the hill and laughing too much, he was sent up towards the sky and he was...

He was himself.

My name is Saeyoung Choi.

“You make me feel... like I can be Saeyoung.”

This is real.

It was different, different, different, real, amazing, perfect.

The thought brought a smile to his face.

Yoosung tightened his grip around Saeyoung’s chest, cuddling closer to him, and he spoke in whispers that Saeyoung could barely hear.

“You can always be Saeyoung,” he said. “You don’t have to be anyone else with me.”

Saeyoung took that in, remembering his notorious old facade and the thought that he had to be someone else, anyone else, for safety, protection from the dangers of his past job. Months and months ago, even a consideration of telling an RFA member his real name would’ve made him terrified.

Saeyoung Choi.

“I love you for who you are.”

He was Saeyoung, and he was satisfied with Yoosung knowing that, making him feel like he can be nothing but himself.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re you, Saeyoung.”

“This... this is real...”

“You deserve to be loved like that.” Yoosung’s voice was like a soft melody to send him to sleep. “It’s real.”

Real.

Yoosung went quiet.

But his words that stayed in the air reinforced Saeyoung’s decision, and his heart beat quicker when the question, along with nervousness, resurfaced. He smiled, moving his hand to run his fingers through Yoosung’s hair, the words falling out.

The way he loved Yoosung was real.

“Will you marry me?”

He wanted to live in that love forever, and fall for him all over again with each passing day, for the rest of his life.

/

Saeyoung’s head was spinning and his thoughts were blurred when Yoosung immediately sat up in response to his question, hands covering his face, sobs muffled. Saeyoung found himself sitting up, too, given only a second before Yoosung turned towards him and pulled him into a hug, crying into his shoulder.

Tears fell out of Saeyoung’s own eyes, and he hugged Yoosung back, arms tight around his waist.

“S-Saeyoung—”

He was shaking as he gasped for air, his breathing uncontrolled, and Saeyoung hugged him tighter and calmed him down, head pounding as he heard Yoosung’s response.

“Y-yes... yes, yes, I- I’m in love with you, that’s all- that’s all I’ve- I’ve ever—”

“Shhh, it’s okay...”

It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.

“I love you, Yoosung.”

He said yes.

“I love you like all the stars in the sky.”

He said yes!

/

Saeyoung wanted to love Yoosung forever, live in a love that was amazing and beautiful and real, and Yoosung accepted.

He gained a crush on him for the worse, and fell in love with him for the better, the fears of that past crush taken over by the love the two shared, the love Saeyoung never thought he’d experience, now with him for the rest of his life.

He wouldn’t rather do this with anyone but Yoosung.

The thought of spending every moment with him, as his husband, sent Saeyoung flying again, higher than the stars.

He was so, so happy, happier than he’d ever been, and more in love with Yoosung in that moment than any other.

Saeyoung’s decision was crucial, and the myriad of love he had with Yoosung could melt winter snow, and bring summer days.

[wasneeplus]

Responding to the Alt-Right playbook, part 1

Disclaimer: I wrote this after seeing the first four minutes of the video. While watching the rest I noticed a few things I bring up are addressed later, though in such a way as to lead to even more questions. Still, I think most of it stands, and it’s still useful as a kind of stream of consciousness response, so I’ll leave it untouched.

Sometimes, in the wee hours of the morning when I just finished reading my newspaper, I will enjoy myself with a few infuriating youtube videos. Lately I’ve been quite disillusioned by the part of youtube calling itself liberal spouting nationalist propaganda at my beloved European project, so I’ve switched to some corners of the website which are friendlier to my blood pressure. That’s how I came across a video called "The Alt-Right Playbook: The Card Says Moops” by Innuendo Studios. Apparently he is somewhat of a big deal with his 150k plus subscribers, though I never heard of him. Just two minutes into the video though I knew I was going to write this response. While it didn’t make me angry the way I might have been in the past, there’s just so much wrong here, I cant bottle this up any longer.

Say, for the sake of argument, you’re online blogging about a black journalists’ commentary on marketing trends in video games, movies and comic books and you’re saying how the vitriol in response to her fairly benign opinions reveals the deep seated racism and misogyny in a number of fan communities, most especially those that lean right,...

Quite an unlikely scenario since I’m not in the business of assuming ones leanings on race, gender or politics based on their opinions on movies, games or comic books, but let’s roll with it I guess.

...When a right leaning commenter pops in to say: “Or maybe they just actually disagree with her about marketing trends! For Christs sake, there’s no mystery here. People aren’t speaking in coded language. They are telling you wat they believe. She had a bad opinion. Why do you have to make it bigger than that? Why can’t you ever take people at their word?”

Here’s where I feel validated in making this response, because while I don’t consider myself right leaning, as hard as that might be to believe for some, this is exactly the kind of response I might have given. So props to Innuendo Studios for accurately portraying an argument of one of his opponents. Unfortunately he then continues:

You pause and ponder this for a moment. Hmmm. Uh heck with it! You’re in a discoursing mood. Let’s do this! Mister conservative, in order for me to take you at your word your words would have to show some consistency. Let me just lightning-round a few questions about the reactionary web’s positions on marketing trends.

The first major problem should be obvious to anyone right about now. How is anyone supposed to answer for the “reactionary web”? Hell, I don’t even know what that’s supposed to be. The caricature in the video wears a 4chan logo on its chest, so maybe he’s referring to the /pol/ imageboard. Well, I don’t hang out there, and I’m pretty sure most of the people who would have been critical of that opinion piece don’t either. Therefore I feel justified in ignoring that particular remark and just give my own answers to these questions. After all:  the people on /pol/ are clearly not the only ones he’s talking to at this point.

Do you believe that having the option to romance same sex characters in an rpg turns the game into queer propaganda...

No. On a side note though: the video at this point shows an image of the game Mass Effect. I remember when that game came out there was some controversy over the game showing sex scenes between the characters. Remember that this was but a few years sine the GTA hot coffee mod upheaval, so people where a bit more sensitive about such things. But never have I heard anyone complain about the same sex romance options. I can imagine there were a few disapproving voices but I never came across them, even though I followed the launch very closely at the time.

...or do you believe that killing strippers in an action game can’t be sexist because no one’s making you do it?

I believe it can be sexist, but I never seen an example of it actually being sexist. Not because no one makes you do it, though. It’s because the amount of strippers killed in video games pales in comparison to the amount of other people killed. I’m willing to bet that video games depict more men being killed by women than the other way around, with the vast majority being male on male killings. The fact that there’s one or two games where a man has the option to kill some female sex workers hardly seems significant in that light.

Do you believe that the pervasiveness of sexualised young women in pop culture is just there because it sells and that’s capitalism and we all need to deal with it...

Yes, for the most part. I guess one can add a few nuances here and there, but that about covers the gist of it.

...or do yo believe that a franchise has an obligation to cater to its core audience even if diversifying beyond that audience is more profitable?

Ooh boy, where do I start? Okay, first of all: those two are not mutually exclusive. I know there is this pervasive idea in some parts of western culture that people can only identify with others of the same sex, race and/or cultural background, but that’s just not true. As such it’s perfectly possible to be both diverse and give your core audience what they want. Criticism of a failure to do the second does not automatically translate to criticism of succeeding at the first. Where the two usually meet is when creators use the first as an excuse to take away from the second, either because of their own incompetence or their disinterest in the franchise they are working on. 

Which brings us to our second point: while diversity does not have to hurt a franchise, too often creators are too lazy to put effort in making sure it doesn’t because they haven’t got their priorities straight. They think that covering their bases in terms of diversity is the most important thing and everything else is an afterthought. The movie Star Wars: The Last Jedi, who’s cast is partly depicted in the video at this point, is actually a perfect example of this. No one thought Finn and Rose were such interesting characters that audiences wanted to see an entire subplot devoted exclusively to them. They were clearly there just to tick some boxes, not because of a creative spark that led an artist to lovingly craft these characters. The result was perhaps the most universally despised part of the movie, at least among hardcore fans. And yeah, they do deserve a bit more consideration than any other demographic, don’t you think? They are the ones who made this into a franchise to begin with. Without them this movie wouldn’t even have been made.

Lastly: there is a reason the saying “get woke, go broke” exists. If Rose was just there to appeal to Asian markets that would be one thing. I do think there’s something to the idea that putting characters of the same race as the target audience in your movie makes them easier to market. The thing is though: it didn’t work! The movie bombed in China, and I think that’s also because of the messages the creators were trying to send. To take a timeless hero’s journey narrative like Star Wars and try to insert current events and political messages in it just can’t end well. Yet, the creators persisted, and this is reflective of a lot of the culture behind those narratives. When a political message becomes the driving force behind the creative process it’s almost certain to produce sub par results. A creator has to be extremely talented to pull this off, and lets face it: most aren’t up to the task. Instead the art devolves into soulless political propaganda, and this is what stings people who love the franchise so much. Me personally, I am a big fan of making the political personal when you want to convey a political message. We can identify with personal struggles much more than with abstract political ideas. So characters should always be the focus, even if you want to make a statement.

Do you think words are inherently harmless and only oversensitive snowflakes would care about racialised language...

Words? Yes. The ideas expressed by those words? No. That’s why intention is so important to me, and the “oversensitive snowflakes” who focus on just the words are so not helping the debate in my opinion.

...or do you think it’s racist if someone calls you mayonaise boy?

Probably, yes. Though I can’t think of any reason why someone would call me that, other than to insult me by way of my race. On the other hand, I do really like mayonaise...

And as long as I’ve got your ear: are you the party that believes in the right to keep and bear arms because you’re distrustful of all authority and what if we need to overthrow the government some day...

No, no and no. I am not a party, nor am I affiliated with any party that espouses those kinds of opinions on the possession of arms. I personally do not believe in the right to bear arms, though I’m not especially passionate about it one way or the other. I guess being Dutch means I'm not really caught up in any debate surrounding arms, since it’s a bit of a non-issue here. Also: while I think authority should always be scrutinised, I wouldn’t characterise this as distrust.

...or do you believe that cops are civil servants and we should trust their account of events whenever they shoot a black man for looking like he might have a gun.

Well, aren’t cops civil servants? I seem to remember so. Anyway, I don’t think “looking like they might have a gun” is ever a good excuse to shoot anyone, so there you have it. Do keep in mind that we send cops out on the street partly to use force in neutralising dangerous individuals, so we shouldn’t be surprised when that gets out of hand sometimes. But honestly, I am not well informed enough on this topic to know how much trust to put in any side of this issue. I think looking at this on a case by case basis is the only thing we can do.

Does optional content reveal a game’s ideology, or doesn’t it?

Not necessarily, no

Is capitalism a defence for decisions you don’t agree with, or isn’t it?

That’s a rather broad statement. Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn’t. It depends on what you are trying to defend.

Is language harmful, or not?

If you use it to promote harmful ideas, then yes.

Do you hate authority, or love cops and the troops?

Neither, really. I don’t hate authority just for being authority, and if anything soldiers and cops invoke pity in me. I guess that comes from growing up with  a PTSD ridden veteran for a father.

Well, that’s the end of the questions. One might think I wasted a lot of time going through that, because shortly afterwards he goes on to say:

Now, I know the right is not a monolith and maybe these arguments are contradictory because they’re coming from different people.

Gee, you think? However, what then follows is an excuse to lump al these people together anyway.

We’ll call them Engelbert and Charlemagne. Maybe Engelbert’s the one who thinks any institution funded by tax money is socialist and therefore bad, and Charlemagne’s the one who says we should dump even more tax money into the military and thinking otherwise is unamerican.

I happen to hold neither of those opinions. Yes, it is actually possible to completely stand behind the hypothetical statement you made in the beginning of the video, and not subscribe to typical right wing convictions like that. But I know that there are people who do, so let’s see where his is going.

But here’s the thing: y’all have have very fundamentally different beliefs and you’re so passionate bout them that you’re entering search terms into twitter to find people you don’t even follow and aggressively disagree with them...

That’s quite a lot of assumptions there mate. I don’t think this is even a remotely fair representation of your opposition. Certainly not true for me. I don’t even have a twitter account (no, I wasn’t kicked off. I never had an account there to begin with), let alone do I ever browse that website. Putting that aside though, how do you know if there’s anyone who actually does this? People can retweet things after all; maybe that’s how they find the contentious twitter users. I found your video because youtube recommended it, and I clicked on it because the title intrigued me. I didn’t set out to look for things to disagree with, despite my quips at the beginning of this piece.

...and yet you’re always yelling at me, and never yelling at each other.

Certainly not true either. I've had quite a few online arguments with alt-righters, who in my opinion differ from actual Nazi’s in only slight and insignificant ways, and fervent nationalists. Of course that’s never going to garner the kind of attention as when Sargon of Akkad sends a mean tweet to a female politician. Speaking of Carl, his vicious disagreement with the alt-right is well documented, and their hatred for him caused quite a few equally vicious attacks against him and his family. But I don’t blame you for not knowing that. The majority of both of their vitriol is still directed at the extreme left, and why shouldn’t it? I don’t think there is an extremist position so pervasive in the western media these days. Again: there is no alt-right equivalent of Star Wars: the Last Jedi, because none of those people work in Hollywood, or anywhere else of note (with the possible and unfortunate exception of the white house).

...and I can’t say how often it happens, but I know if I let Engelbert go on long enough he sometimes makes a Charlemagne argument and vise versa.

Either you’re saying that both of them contradict themselves while framing it in quite an unnecessarily suggestive way, or you’re displaying a rather tribalist mindset in which worldviews can never overlap. Either way, I don’t think the following statement is justified...

See, I don’t take you at your word because I cannot form a coherent worldview out of the things you say.

The fault might lie with you in this case I’m afraid. The reason I went over those questions in the beginning is to show that it is perfectly possible to have consistent views on all of those issues and still be counted among those who would oppose you on this one. I don’t think you really know who it is that you’re projecting all this on. You think my worldview has to have inconsistencies if I disagree with you on the nature of the discourse surrounding popular media, but you’ve yet to correctly identify any. I think the saying “truth resists simplicity” is one you should tale to heart a lot more. Case in point:

Why are you so capable of respecting disagreement between each other yet so incapable of respecting me, or, for that matter, a black woman.

While that may seem like a coherent statement at a first glance, it actually betrays an incredibly simplistic way of looking at things. You see, you’re comparing three entirely different things one can respect: the fact of genuine disagreement between two parties, you, an individual person, and any given black woman, that is: a demographic. The first has to be respected, otherwise discourse is impossible. Though it must be said that me and the alt-right probably have very little respect for each others motivations, but unlike you the alt-right doesn’t ever really ask for my respect. The second deserves respect only when earned, and the third deserves neither respect nor disparagement, because it’s an incredibly varied group of people, some of whom deserve respect and some of whom don’t.

It kinda seems like you’re playing games and I’m the opposing team, and anyone who’s against me is your ally...

That entirely depends on what we’re talking about, doesn’t it? If we’re talking about diversity in media and the issues surrounding it, I will find myself on one side of the board surrounded by people I would usually disagree with, and you would find yourself on the other side, presumably only surrounded by people who agree with you one hundred percent of the time. It seems you think it a bad thing that people can temporarily overcome their differences when faced with a common problem. That’s why some call you radical: you cannot ally with anyone who isn’t in complete lockstep with you, because they are not pure enough in their conviction. But that’s what fracturing societies are made of, so if you don’t mind I’ll stick to my methods. If that leaves you outnumbered on your side of the board it’s because you chose to champion a very unpopular opinion, and I can’t help that.

...and you’re not really taking a position, but claiming to believe in whatever would need to be true in order to score points against me.

If I did that then why even bother engaging with me? Clearly I don’t actually believe anything I say, so there’s no need to convince me otherwise. Are you sure it’s me who is supposed to have contradictory opinions? But in all seriousness, I don’t see why I would ever adopt such a strategy unless I’m either just a troll or addicted to arguments, and hey: there are people like that, but they don’t represent your entire political opposition. Get a grip.

After that we get the title drop, which, I have to admit, was really clever and amusing. I never watched Seinfeld, but maybe I should. Anyway, my free Saturday is passing me by like a speeding train, so I will continue this later.... maybe.

[kenzieam]

The Reaper and the Vixen - Chapter One (Eric X Fox)

Rating: M

Genre: Drama, Eventual Angst

Thanks everyone for the re-blogs and support!!! IT IS SO AWESOME!!!

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A huge thank you to my right hand and Jai-sister @iammarylastar ! Quelle equipe!

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A new AU story featuring Biker Eric and Fox, I hope you enjoy!

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Eric cursed loudly as the wrench in his hand slipped and he barked his knuckle hard enough to draw blood.

"Motherfucker!"

He pointedly ignored the snickering coming from behind the Fatboy a few feet away and sucked irritably at the offended knuckle. Grabbing the dropped wrench Eric contemplated throwing it at the happy bastard still laughing at him when he heard his name called.

"Hey, Eric?"

He turned to see a petite blond walking towards them and couldn't stop an answering grin. Tris stopped and leaned against the other bike, smiling down at the happy bastard, her husband Four, when he looked up at her from where he was sitting beside it.

"What are you doing?" She asked.

"Your dickhead old man keeps laughing at me," Eric grumbled.

Tris rolled her eyes at Four. "Behave Tobias."

Now it was Four's turn to grumble, drawing an smug grin from Eric.

"What do you need?" Eric asked, turning back to his own bike and it’s knuckle-busting engine.

"My cousin's coming down for a few weeks, I was hoping to bring her over."

"Yeah, no problem. She belong to anyone?" There were certain rules to follow when another club's old lady came by, even for a family visit.

"No, she's never really even been around bikes, certainly not any MCs." At Eric's incredulous stare Tris laughed.

"How the hell is she even related to you?"

"You knew my dad had a brother."

"Yeah, Hound had a twin. Identical, right?"

"Yeah. Uncle Tommy took off to university just as daddy started prospecting, became a structural engineer. He's worked all over the world and took his wife and kids with him. Well, now my cousin’s graduated herself and moved to Seattle. She's an architect but isn’t really feeling it in the city."

Eric whistled. "Architect, huh?"

"She did tattooing and body mod on the side for extra scratch during university, and I know Beasley is thinking about retiring; maybe she'll buy the parlour and move down here. She said all she needs for her job is Wifi, so she doesn't need to stay in Seattle."

Eric pondered this quietly. He'd only been the President of The Hessians for a few months, and was still settling into the role. Four was his vice-president and best friend, and Tris' was Four's old lady; even though members of motorcycle clubs were like family, and called each other brother, Eric was especially close to Four and Tris, if anything went awry with her cousin, he'd feel responsible.

"What's her name?"

"Fox. My aunt is kind of a hippy."

Eric nodded. "I'll spread the word, she'll be under my protection when she's here, Four's too. No one will hassle her."

Tris grinned, "she can handle herself, don't worry." Four mumbled something and Tris glanced down at him and nodded.

"I'm sure she'll want some privacy when she's here, would she be able to rent that last unit for a month or so?"

The Hessians owned and ran a number of local businesses for revenue, and one was an apartment complex on the edge of town.

"Pretty sure, just double check with Shaggy that he doesn't have anyone else lined up first."

Tris nodded, pushing gently off the bike she was leaning on and stepped over to Eric. Reaching down she pressed a quick kiss to the top of his head. "Thanks, Eric."

"No problem Cricket, when she getting in?"

"I'll call her and tell her everything's a go. She's driving down, so sometime in the next few days."

Eric chewed his lip and nodded. They were in Northern California, so it wouldn't take long for Fox to drive once she started out.

After Tris left Four poked his head out from behind his bike, his deep-set brown eyes twinkling with merriment. “You’ll have to behave yourself, Reaper.”

"What?" Eric replied, distracted; this motherfucking bolt just wouldn't let go.

"Good genes man. Tris is smokin’ and so’s her cousin. Fox.... is a fox.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re not even listening, okay; but just wait until you see her. And you need to settle down, you’re President now, need an old lady.”

Eric snorted, there was no law that the President needed to be committed to one woman, and he’d never felt the impulse or desire to attach himself to any girl in particular. He had a few preferred house mouses, but none he felt strongly enough about to put his patch on. Four had been on his back to settle down ever since he’d married Tris and Eric didn’t even bother to pay attention anymore. A wrench thumped against his shoulder and Eric snapped his head to glare at Four, knowing instantly that he was responsible. A maniacal grin was his only answer and Eric rolled his eyes with a grunt, turning back to his bike.

***************************************************************************************************************************************************** The clubhouse was noisy, but that was nothing new. Eric was seated at a wooden booth, going over his agenda for tomorrow’s Church. Brothers and their old ladies drifted in and out constantly, and club bunnies moved from lap to lap; the roar and growl of Harley’s outside was a constant, soothing white noise. Doc and Denver were playing some loud car racing game on the Xbox and had attracted a few enthusiastic spectators, while Panhead, Dropkick, Skrill and Busted were around one of the massive flat screens, watching what looked like ’Bridge Over the River Kwai’. Sky was busy behind the bar, popping tops and pouring doubles almost without pause and Eric signalled her for another beer when she had a spare second.

It had been a few days since Tris had spoken to Eric about her cousin, and Eric would have completely forgotten that she was coming if not for Four’s constant yapping. He reminded Eric right now of a Chihuahua darting around and nipping at ankles. His VP had it in his pointed head that Eric and Fox were perfect for each other, but Eric wasn’t convinced. She’d never been around a Motorcycle Club before, and the lifestyle definitely wasn’t for everybody. Fox had travelled the world almost from birth, and according to Tris she spoke like six languages or something; Eric and his modest aspirations weren’t going to impress her any, and to be honest, she sounded a little high maintenance to him anyway. He’d refused to look at any pictures Four tried to show him and rejected any attempts to describe her appearance to him, half to piss Four off and half because he didn’t want to get his hopes up, Four had said that Fox was a fox, but his type was petite blondes and Eric’s jeans didn’t tighten for that, more than likely Fox was going to be a doll-like waif like Tris. In other words, not Eric’s flavour.  

Eric’s thoughts had almost completely returned to the agenda in front of him when he heard the clubhouse door open and Four call his name. There was a singsong quality to the peckerwood’s voice and that could only mean that Tris’ cousin was finally here. Better to get this over with, introduce himself and welcome her politely then go back to his business before Four could orchestrate any matchmaking shit.

Dropping his pen Eric pushed off the table to stand, bending backwards for a moment to the chorus of his spine popping satisfactorily; shit, he needed to drop this paperwork and go for a long ride to loosen up. Taking a deep breath he turned and froze. Standing beside Tris, looking around the clubhouse with curious eyes was an angel, and Eric felt like he’d suddenly been kicked in the guts.

Eric was so immediately taken with Fox that he didn’t even react to Four’s smug ‘I told you so’ expression. His heart hammered painfully in his chest and he went instantly, almost painfully hard in his jeans. Thank god there was enough going on around the clubhouse that probably no one would look down and notice his raging hard-on. Eric was mesmerized by Fox, the attraction only growing as she and Tris moved closer; it seemed others had noticed the stunning visitor as well and Eric felt a sudden violent possessiveness, a flare of jealousy that others were eyeing Fox up like starving men at a banquet. He wanted to whirl towards his brothers and snarl like a wolf, staking his claim.

Her hair was a vibrant auburn, cascading in a long, wavy mane down her back and her cat-like eyes reminded him of kaleidoscopes, a captivating mix of brown and amber, framed by lush lashes. His fingers itched to cup her heart-shaped face, to reach out and trace along her curves. Dressed in a simple pair of skinny jeans and tank top, Eric could see that she was absolutely his type, curvy and tall; a modern Marilyn Monroe, generous ass and breasts to fill his hands and he felt a visceral shiver down his spine. Jesus Christ. Four bobbed into his line of sight behind them, grinning like the cat that got the canary.

What really got Eric though, what really hooked him was the flash of fire in her gaze. He saw intelligence and spirit in her mysterious eyes, the beginnings of an excited grin on her luscious lips as she took in all the activity around her. Her eyes lingered especially long on the bookshelves in the reading corner; a space admittedly used more for fooling around on the armchairs than actual reading. Her eyes met Eric’s finally and widened, surprise flickering through them. She glanced at Tris and said something, making Tris grin in return, nodding her head. Eric wondered briefly if Fox had been hearing the same about him from Tris, the same matchmaking rubbish he’d been getting from Four.  

His palms were sweating and Eric couldn’t remember ever feeling this nervous around a girl before, even when he’d been a boasting, posturing man-child trying to charm his way into his first pair of jeans he’d never been this affected; what the fuck?

Tris quirked her mouth as she watched him, knowing him well enough to see these emotions on his face, while to those that didn’t know Eric he looked expressionless and almost impassive, Eric knew by the flicker in Tris’ eyes that she could see exactly how he was currently being affected by her cousin. Her doofus husband, currently appearing and reappearing behind her and Fox like a Whack-A-Mole could see it too. Eric needed to get himself under control before any of his brothers could look too closely at him either. He drew in a deep breath as the women reached him.

“Eric, this is my cousin, Fox. Fox, this is our friend and the club president, Eric Coulter.” Amusement sparkled in her eyes and she bit her bottom lip in anticipation.

Fox glanced at her cousin then looked back at Eric. She was even more breathtaking up close, her eyes like gemstones, smouldering with trapped fire. Eric saw a tiny nose stud winking in her right nostril, and a small labret was just visible beneath her full bottom lip; he’d always had a thing for piercings.

Realizing he’d yet to say anything, that he probably looked like installation art standing here Eric jolted slightly, clearing his throat and extended his hand. “Uh, hi.” Smooth, Reaper, smooth.

Fox’s hand was warm and strong, her touch igniting a thrill of heat in Eric’s muscles; she bit her bottom lip somewhat nervously and Eric had to fight the sudden impulse to bite it for her.

“Hello. Thank you for letting me come by.”

“No problem.”

Fox glanced around; the boys had mostly gone back to their activities but the air was charged with male energy; Eric definitely wasn’t the only one in the clubhouse who’d noticed Fox and Eric could see her slight trepidation.

“You’re safe,” he hurried to calm her. “You’re under mine and Four’s protection when you’re here, no one will bother you.”

“Four?”

“Me, dahling,” Four chirped, moving to Tris’ side.

Fox looked back to Eric and asked, “why do you call him Four?”

“It’s this handsome idiot’s road name,” Tris explained, jerking a thumb at her husband. “Here in the club we usually go by our road names. I’m Cricket, Tobias is Four and Eric is Reaper.”

“Why Four though?”

Eric couldn’t stop a smirk. “Because Toby here thought he was so tough when we were prospecting, he picked a fight with Jellyroll, one of our more uh..... rotund brothers and got four teeth knocked out for his trouble.”

Fox looked startled, turning back towards Four with a raised eyebrow. Tris, although she knew the story already, grinned and matched her, rounded on him too, both women eyeballing Four now.

Four had the grace to blush. “Yeah,” his hand came up and rubbed his jaw reflectively. “Thank Christ ol’ Doc Stevin’s was still around then, grabbed my chin and stabbed all four back up into my gums, told me down a glass of whiskey and quit picking fights like a jackass. Saved all four of them.” He flashed a dazzling grin at the women, earning an dual eye roll.

Eric cleared his throat, reluctantly drawing his eyes away from Fox’s face. “So, you get settled in the apartment yet?”

Fox shook her head. “No, Tris and uh... Four brought me straight here.”

“Why don’t you take Fox over and show her the apartment?” Four grinned.

A sudden flash of heat shot through Eric, he’d like nothing better right now, but the faint flicker of fear in Fox’s eyes gave him pause, hurt him far worse than it should have. She was afraid? What... of him?

Tris elbowed Four irritably and wrapped her arm around Fox’s waist. “I’ll take you over, honey. Four the asshat can stay here and calm the hell down.” She glared daggers at her husband and he raised his hands in surrender.

“Sorry Foxy,” he grinned, trying to charm his way back in. “Didn’t mean to scare you. Tris’ll take you over, then you’re invited over for supper at our place; I’m thinking barbeque.” His dancing brown eyes swiveled to Eric. “You’re invited too.”

Another pang shot through Eric. “Only if that’s okay with Fox.”

Fear flickered in her eyes again, but Eric was comforted to see relief as well. “Sure uh, I mean, if you want to.... you probably have something planned here,” her eyes flickered over the circling club bunnies, one was currently being welcomed to sit on Panhead’s lap and Eric felt a jerk of near panic, she didn’t think that was all he did, right? She didn’t think he just sat around letting loose women grind on him? In truth, he’d had his fair share of the bunnies but it had never meant anything before, to him or the bunnies; he was a brother and they made the rounds, that was just how MCs worked.

The Hessians weren’t a club that abused or exploited their women though, not like some clubs out there, the bunnies were free to mingle and draw their own lines and any brother that crossed that line was dealt with harshly; respect for women and children was paramount here, many of the brothers had old ladies and kids and in many ways, the clubhouse itself was like Vegas, what happened there never went out the doors. Inside it was only consenting adults and no-strings-attached fun. A sudden bolt of realization hit Eric, he would cheerfully never touch another bunny again, or even look their way if Fox stayed, if she stopped glancing at him with fear in her eyes and looked at him with attraction instead. The insight made something akin to butterflies dance in his stomach.

He shook his head, managed an easy grin, belying the anxiety glowing in his chest. “Nothing here, I’d love to.”

***************************************************************************************************************************************************** Eric rolled over the next morning with a groan.

Supper last night had been exquisite torture. One thing Four could do extremely well was barbeque, so the food was awesome but Eric had been a bundle of nerves all night. Fox was clearly fighting some sort of battle about him, but Eric had no idea if it was attraction as strong as his or not. She’d been reserved and hesitant all evening, answering his questions easily enough but not relaxing fully either.

Eric had stayed a gentleman all night, clamping down hard on his desires, his want, shit, his need to feel if Fox’s skin was as soft as it looked, if her lips were as luscious tasting as they appeared. His body ached to pull her against him, feel her pressed to him and bury his head in her throat, nip along her pulse point and see if that freed the animal he sensed lurked beneath. He’d never wanted someone so badly before and it had taken all his strength not to make a move last night, to try and nudge Fox into something more, but he’d held off, not wanting to screw this up before it had a chance to grow.

It had taken an endless cold shower when he’d gotten home to calm his throbbing cock, his thoughts clouded with Fox writhing beneath him, riding him rough as he’d stroked himself to the most powerful orgasm he’d ever had, his seed spilling over his hand and onto the shower floor in strong pulses. It hadn’t worked, hadn’t bled off his want, if anything, Eric wanted Fox even more now, just knowing she’d be even hotter in bed than his fantasies.

He was in trouble.

***************************************************************************************************************************************************** The next few weeks were like death of a thousand cuts. Fox didn’t come by the clubhouse very often, and only with Tris in tow. She spent a lot of time down at Beasley’s tattoo parlour, doing the occasional body mod and tattoo. It sounded like she was seriously considering buying the business and Eric’s heart hammered with the thought that she might be moving down here permanently. But she stayed distant with him, eyeing him quietly with that same glimmer of fear and Eric made himself stay away from her. Four and Tris were equally puzzled, both by Fox’s apparent fear and Eric’s restraint.

“Why is she afraid of me?” Eric finally asked one afternoon down at the clubhouse. He’d pulled an Adirondack chair into the shade of one of the larger trees and was trying to relax, sipping a beer and letting the cheerful noise of the club surround him. Many of the families were over today, and children squealed and laughed with delight as they raced around, as their leather-clad fathers and uncles chased them teasingly, men with tattooed knuckles and knives in their boots, who turned to mush around children, who were members of the local Boys and Girls club, guiding the newest generation when they had no one else to look up to. First Hammer and now Eric had worked hard to preserve the club’s reputation in the town. If you were family, you were safe; if you tried to harm said family, you got hurt. A spontaneous family picnic had sprung up today and it looked like Tris and a few other old ladies were gathering a lunch together.

Four shrugged from his own chair, a bottle of beer held loosely in his hand; he and Tris’ own four-year old son Evan was racing around with his buddies, stopping by sporadically to dive bomb either his father or uncle Eric before dashing off again with a squeal.

“I don’t know. Tris has asked her outright, and she won’t say why; just gets red-faced and changes the subject.”

“Someone treat her wrong?” Eric’s blood boiled at the very thought.

Another shrug. “I don’t know, it was hard to keep up with that family, they were forever moving from country to country, from new project to new project, I mean her dad’s like one of the top engineers in the world and always getting called to consult on or build something, and then Fox was so busy once she hit university Tris barely heard from her at all. How the hell they’ve managed to stay so close is a goddamn woman’s mystery to me.” He stared contemplatively at his beer for a beat. “You got it bad for her?” It wasn’t really a question.

Eric exhaled hard. “Yeah, and it’s tearing me the fuck apart. It’s like she’s afraid I’m going to go all caveman on her and start knocking her around. I’ve tried to talk to her, but I don’t want to push too much and make it worse.... maybe it’s just not meant to be.”

Four sighed, “I’m sorry man, I got your hopes up with her. I really thought you’d hit it off; I mean, she’s always been so fun and carefree until now.... come to think about though, I’ve never really heard of her with anyone, maybe she is gun-shy because of something.” He picked idly at his beer label. “If Tris can’t even get it out of her though, I don’t think you ever will.”

Eric nodded heavily, swallowing a mouthful of beer. Nothing would soothe the current ache in his heart and he wondered, not for the first time, why he cared so goddamn much. He’d never lack for bed-mates, not being president and possessing a body that the bunnies couldn’t seem to stop drooling over, but he didn’t want that anymore. He wanted Fox and the sudden clarification of his desire stole his breath. It was like his life had a line of demarcation now, Before Fox and After Fox.

Four watched him, reading Eric’s thoughts clearly and looked back down at his hands.

“Uncle Eric!” Evan shrieked, leaping in the air towards his hulking uncle. Although not blood related, Evan had always called Eric uncle; and with ease born of practise, Eric stood up rapidly and caught the little munchkin mid-leap, spinning them in a circle and roaring like a lion, making the boy squirm in his grip and howl with laughter. Coming to a stop Eric gently crushed Evan to his chest, forever mindful of his strength, and ruffled the boy’s hair.

“Uncle, stop!” Evan yelled, small grubby hands clawing at Eric’s.

“Hey,” Eric chuckled. “You attacked me, remember.” He set the struggling boy down and grinned, resting his fists on his hips.

The boy mirrored him, scowling. “No!”

“No what?” Eric laughed, seeing Four chuckling behind his pint-sized son.

“No messin’ hairs!”

“No messin’ hairs?”

“No!”

“Okay.”

Jerking his chin up Evan nodded. “Okay.”

Eric held his serious expression for as long as he could, about 1.4 seconds, then dropped into a crouch and started laughing, pulling Evan into his arms again. Evan never could resist Eric’s laugh and he started giggling too. Eric stood again, resting Evan on his hip and grinned at him.

“You having fun?”

“Yeah! Stormy and Jason and Mackenzie and I are playing!”

Eric set him down again gently and gave him a soft push towards the other children. “Well, go play then!”

With a whoop Evan took off and Eric collapsed back in the chair with a groan.

“You’re good with him.” Four remarked. “You always have been.”

“You’re surprised?”

Four shook his head. “Not at all, I just hope you get some of your own soon, they’ll be lucky kids.”

Rarely was Four this serious or introspective and it struck Eric right in the feels. To cover up his brother’s sudden kindness he nodded to him and raised his beer, hoping Four would stop with this sudden meditation before he made him fuckin’ cry.

[despair-vs-hope]

(spoiler warning) don't know if this went through but i'll try again, could i have Kokichi's s/o steps in to take Gonta's place for his execution because they couldn't believe Kokichi would do that to Gonta so they make kokichi choose between them or Gonta to be executed.

I will not deny that I got a bit carried away with writing this, but still hope that you enjoy it! - Mod Kiibo

After a long trial, in an attempt to reveal the blackened killer of Miu Iruma, the truth was finally revealed by none other than Kokichi. To which of course was rejected by everyone that believed it to be a sinister lie of Kokichi’s. But much to their dismay, it was a sickening truth that exposed the friendly giant demeanor of Gonta to be conflicting with the group’s decisions for action in regards to the trial.

His confession made your heart sink to what felt like your stomach. You had gotten so used to his tendency to lie, that you had almost brushed it off as another of Kokichi’s lies, but you had known it was a fact after considering the behaviour of Gonta in the virtual reality suspicious.

The fact that Gonta never recalled what happened in the virtual reality, only made the truth more clear. The moment when Kokichi had yelled at Gonta to defend himself, to prove that he wasn’t the culprit made the tension of the trial room to emit such emotion that everyone felt that they were reaching the climax of the trial. But with such approaching, emotions were high. Kaito and Kokichi butting heads over the survival of the class, to which made you feel overwhelmed.

When Gonta expressed his guilt of making everyone angry and him not being able to provide evidence or knowledge to what happened made you process something. You think that Shuichi had the same gears turning in his head.

“Hold on a moment!” You interjected, everyone looked at you, “Gonta saying that he doesn’t know anything from the virtual world may be something to do with how he was acting in the virtual world.” You explained your train of thought.

“What do you mean, S/O?” Kiibo questioned, in an almost becking for you to continue on.

“Well something seemed to be off when Gonta volunteered to watch over Kokichi, leaving him more susceptible to being manipulated to Kokichi. Then after the whole bridge thing and in the chapel, something was different about Gonta, I thought it was just me, but now I’m thinking that something caused such a difference in Gonta.” You continued your explanation, to which triggered Shuichi to realize something.

“Then that would mean something happened between the time before and after Gonta had logged onto the virtual world.” Shuichi added, then pondered to himself. “No, it was when he was logging in, when there was an ‘avatar log in error’. So that would explain his forgetfulness of the virtual world and the behaviour change that S/O noticed.”

“The memory and consciousness cords!” You exclaimed.

“If he mixed the consciousness and memory cords, then there’d be an error with memory.” Kokichi chimed in, understanding what the new evidence meant, “Like…an error that won’t let you bring your avatar’s memories to the real world…”

Then all came together when Gonta confessed that he confused his left and right directions, and that he was in a sleeping trance when he logged into the virtual world. But the questions still  remained: what was Kokichi’s motive and why did Gonta do it?

With some arguing and begging, Kokichi finally agreed that he would explain why it had to only be Gonta through the process of elimination. As he gave the names and made Shuichi explain why they couldn’t be possible suspects, to which Kokichi added on and ran the show.

As Kokichi got to himself, and Gonta as the remaining suspects, Kaito accused Kokichi again of being the blackened, to which you annoyingly yelled at him to shut up.

“Kokichi explained so many times that he couldn’t kill Miu, get it through your head that he isn’t the killer.” You were harsh with your words, but they were of good intent.

Kokichi grinned at you, “Seeee? Now if some of you understood how this killing game works like S/O and Shuichi, you would have seen who the culprit is. Now tell me, who’s left on the list?” His grin turned sinister when he looked at Shuichi.

“I…it’s Gonta.” Shuichi answered in hesitance.

Even after Kaito tried to provide some sort of evidence to prove Gonta innocent, Shuichi proved him wrong and everyone could feel the betrayal.

“That can’t be true..” Kaito sighed in resistance to defeat.

“Enough!” You shouted, gathering everyone’s attention. “You all don’t want Gonta to be the killer, right? So, I may as well offer myself up, there isn’t a rule about not doing that.”

“Just like in the Hunger Games!” Tsumugi exclaimed.

“S/O.. what are you doing?” Kokichi questioned, staring at you in a way that made you feel hesitant.

You smiled sadly, “Nobody feels that Gonta is responsible and I don’t want you to die. I’m partially responsible for Gonta’s actions for not saying anything about his situation, so it makes sense.”

“S/O, we already discussed that the person who carried out the action is the blackened. I’m the one who planned it, so we aren’t the blackened.” Kokichi argued in a tone that sounded hurt, conflicting with your response.

“So what?! In a way, I forced him hand, I was the action for not stepping up and telling anyone!” You defended yourself then looked at Monokuma, “Can it be allowed, just this once? Please? I volunteer to die in place of Gonta Gokuhara.” Your voice sounded strong and sure of what you were doing.

“S/O..” Gonta whimpered.

“Okay stop being stupid! You can’t do that, we proved Gonta to be the culprit and now he has to die!” Kokichi sounded desperate and frustrated, just like when was telling everyone the truth that they so adored.

“Hmmm..” Monokuma pondered as he considered the sudden suggestion. When he had a malicious grin, he let out a signature laugh. “It seems that everyone is feeling such despair, I wouldn’t be opposed to it! Phuu Phuu Phuu! Let’s have a vote, to execute Gonta Gokuhara or S/O?”

Kokichi was in utter disbelief, not like the others, but he felt utter despair in this situation. He was forced to vote between the actual culprit and the person he cared for most. Now he may lose them due to a plan to win the killing game, he wanted them to survive at least. He knew very well that he and S/O were alienated from the rest of the group and that they cared for Gonta more. They would execute S/O, he knew they would, they pretended to be good people.

“Kokichi.” He heard his beloved S/O call to him, “Please vote.” They begged, making his lips to tug down into a frown.

“It isn’t fair.” He gritted his teeth, “Why should you pay for Gonta’s crimes, when you were busy being nice to those idiots who were going to betray you in the end when given the choice!” He could feel the tears sting his eyes as they threatened to spill.

There were only four votes yet to be placed, those belonging to Shuichi, Gonta, you and Kokichi. Only 3 of the already published 5 of the votes were to you being executed, sure it hurt a bit, but you asked to be executed.

Kokichi was choked up that he was forced to vote, yes he would vote for Gonta, only after convincing you to vote for him as well. Shuichi was hesitant to vote, due to there not being a wrong answer and someone would die no matter. Gonta himself didn’t want to vote entirely.

“Guys, just vote for me, you’re better off. Gonta is more useful and cherished, you get the answer you fought for. Just let him live, c’mon.” You tried to reason with the remaining voters.“You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself too.” Kokichi pointed out, “Why would you sacrifice yourself when you’re afraid to die yourself? And you’d be… leaving me!” At that very moment, you thought that Kokichi would crumble right before everyone. The way he clutched the railing in front of him and sent a look at you that gave you impression that he was breaking down.

He was right, you were the only one who accepted him and comforted him. You were about throw it all away in his eyes.

You then noticed that you were crying, making you avoid all eye contact with the class.

That made Gonta break down.

“Gonta can not let S/O die for Gonta, when S/O did not…. kill Miu!” He sobbed and voted for himself.

Now the voting was all equal with three left.

“Kokichi it’s better f-for everyone else if this happens.” You argued, trying to convince him, but he began to yell again.

“But what about YOU?! You’re always concerned for everyone else, that’s what got us into this mess! Gonta’s right, you didn’t kill Miu.”

“But I’m still a cause, it could have been prevented!” You fought back, but then contradicted yourself, “In a way, I’m glad Miu died instead of you. The fact that I am glad that some died is inhumane and deserving of death myself!”

At that moment, you voted for yourself to die.

Kokichi was taken aback that he couldn’t convince you to vote for Gonta. In that very moment, Kokichi knew that Shuichi was his only way of saving your life.

“Is it really fair for someone to die for a crime they didn’t commit?” He asked Shuichi in a quiet tone, then pressed the button to vote for Gonta.

Nobody spoke a word, as Shuichi felt the pressure. Whoever he voted for, would die and their fate was in his hands.

Shuichi put himself in the shoes of someone who didn’t know Gonta and S/O and who they would vote for.

“I’m sorry Gonta.”“LET THE EXECUTION BEGIN!”

——–

The aftermath of the trial was filled with hurt feelings and betrayal.

Before anyone could leave the trial room, Kokichi ran towards you and hugged you.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” He shouted, the tears he tried to hold back beginning to spill from his violet eyes.

You rubbed his back and apologized for causing him such grief and promised to not take their life together for granted again, all with a heavy heart.

[longlivefeedback]

hey! so, i'm sure this is something that's been discussed, but i can't find any discourse on your blog. i'm a fic writer and NOTHING annoys me more than the "don't say anything negative" attitude toward fanfiction. if someone leaves a comment that says "i loved your fic but i'm curious as to why character didn't do [x] since it seems a little inconsistent..." or "loved it! just wanted to point out a couple small inaccuracies that most people won't notice but since i work in this field..." (1/?)

it shows me that the commentor was paying attention and thinking about my writing, and isn’t that the ENTIRE point of posting your writing online? i’ve run across quite a few writers who will criticise any criticism or less-than-effusive comments, and it just really, really annoys me. the main reason i think is bc i legitimately LOVE fanfiction—it’s my preferred thing to write/read over original fiction bc it allows me to focus on just exploring the characters since people are already(2/?)

familiar with them/the canon verse. it’s why i hate that it isn’t taken as seriously as original fic, and i really think this culture of “don’t engage unless you only have good things to say” is one of the reasons it just isn’t taken seriously. ofc, not saying that you should just point out all the flaws, but some polite, helpful concrit or probing questions in addition to praise?? makes me really happy tbh. idk maybe i just take it too seriously but (¾)

it REALLY bothers me, and so i wanted to read some debate on this matter from both sides — not just writers, not just readers. this my extremely long-winded way of asking: do you guys have any posts like this?? (4/4)

LLF response: Hi Anon! We do have some posts about commenting culture and a brief guide to supporting authors, as well as reblogs on a guide to reviews and an overview of fandom commenting. Assuming you’ve looked through those posts, the reason why you cannot find anything that addresses your specific concern (i.e. questions in comments bringing up inconsistencies or trying to understand why a character appears to be acting OOC) is probably because LLF has been primarily concerned with broad structural changes and feedback initiatives thus far and the topic you raise, while valid and important to feedback culture, is a bit too nuanced for the current focus of this blog.That being said, I think that your ask brings up some interesting assumptions and perceptions that are critical for fandom health and which I can give my personal opinion on under the jump.

Full disclaimer, the following is my (mod dragonling’s) personal opinion and interpretation of the ask.

1. i’m a fic writer and NOTHING annoys me more than the “don’t say anything negative” attitude toward fanfiction.

This to me is indicative of differing expectations for fandom. Let’s say that instead of fic writing, we’re all chefs (or people who make food) here. We each make a dish and now we want to share it with the world. Do you (A) take it to your friend’s house where they are holding a potluck celebration; (B) set up a stall at the state fair; or © enter it into a cooking/baking competition ala Chopped where 5 star judges and food critics will sample your food? Depending on where you take you food, you would expect very different reactions.

Generally speaking, you would probably want your friends at the potluck to thank you for bringing something and compliment you for how delicious your dish is. If you were still fine tuning your recipe, you could let them know and maybe they would be able to say one or two things they liked or didn’t like about it which you would file away for the evening, to be looked at for the next time you made something.

However, if you were at a state fair, even getting your dish looked at by the crowds of people milling around would be an achievement. If someone bought some of your food, that would be fantastic! If they bought it, took a bite, and then told you how tasty it was, even better! Those people that bought your food, went away, and then came back to tell you how much they enjoyed it or came back to buy some more and brought all their friends with them are heaven sent angels. You probably wouldn’t expect anyone to say anything negative about your food because even if you were still fine tuning the recipe, a state fair is neither the time or place where any sort of meaningful culinary discussion can really take place on a consistent basis.

The situation would be different if you were at a cooking competition. There, you would expect these food experts to pick apart your food. Maybe not steamroll and chew you out ala Gordon Ramsey, but even then if that’s what you were expecting and the kind of feedback you respond best to, then sign up for a competition he is judging at. Perhaps you don’t want to just be yelled at, but would actually like to be coached, then maybe enter a competition with more of a mentoring element versus cutthroat competition.

This all really boils down to knowing who your audience is and your expectations for them. I would say that posting to ao3 is closest to the state fair, and is why the “don’t say anything negative” attitude is perfectly acceptable and even encouraged. The fact that this annoys you indicates that there is some disconnect between what you really want and where you’re going in order to get it. I think that we can all agree that going to the state fair and expecting Gordon Ramsey to show up and tell you why your dish sucks is just…not going to happen. Even more, it’s something that shouldn’t happen. What if you were at the state fair to raise money for charity? No well meaning person is going to tell you that your food sucks and that you should do better and if they do, they don’t mean you well.

So, rather than get hung up on the “don’t say anything negative” attitude in fandom (which, I may add, is there and has been cultivated for a reason), take another look at your audience and your expectations. If you want criticism that is helpful and of good quality, go to an editor or join a writing group. If you want to give criticism, find someone to beta for where you can cultivate a relationship that is mutually beneficial. Don’t be a Gordon Ramsey walking around at the charity fair of home baked goods giving tips to the local families trying to raise funds to repair their schools. Be conscious of the fact that people write for different reasons, and that while some may be okay with great advice being shouted at them, for others, it is a nightmare. Be kind and don’t show up at the wrong party.

2. “i loved your fic but i’m curious as to why character didn’t do [x] since it seems a little inconsistent…” or “loved it! just wanted to point out a couple small inaccuracies that most people won’t notice but since i work in this field…”

I understand where you’re coming from, Anon, and the two examples you mentioned evoke an important point of why it is so difficult to give criticism online. Your questions attempt to illustrate how one might leave a comment that shows that the reader was paying attention and thinking about your writing, and from your ask, I can only assume that you would be thrilled to personally receive either of those comments. To assume that others would be similarly thrilled, however, is fallacious and a dangerous assumption. What works for you, may be hurtful to others. You pointing out “a couple [of] small inaccuracies” may be you being genuinely helpful, but to the author, it may come off as a reader assuming that they didn’t do their research, a reader being a know-it-all, or a reader missing the forest for the trees, especially if this is your one and only comment in a long multi-chaptered work.

Of course, things get even more nuanced when we consider context. Your comment about inaccuracies may be the best thing ever if the author specifically asked for guidance on this matter, or if you have a long standing relationship with this author and somehow commenting in ao3 is the way you beta for each other, or maybe this small inaccuracy is actually a big inaccuracy and you’re just trying to be super tactful about it… I could go on an on and on about it, but how you say things is often just as important as what you say, and in writing, where we do not have the benefit of verbal and visual cues, expressing what you mean becomes even more complicated.

Which is another reason why “don’t say anything negative” is the default. It’s harder to ruin someone’s day with only positive statements, especially when you don’t have the time or platform to really explain yourself and have a meaningful conversation with the author. This Anon’s view on concrit is worth pondering. If you don’t understand or agree with this sentiment, then the conversation we should be having is not “why doesn’t anyone leave concrit” but rather “what is concrit?” 

3. i’ve run across quite a few writers who will criticise any criticism or less-than-effusive comments, and it just really, really annoys me.

Going back to expectations and audiences; remember which party you’re going to. Also, what may seem like just a less-than-effusive comment to you, an outsider who stumbled upon this one comment thread, may actually be a long antagonistic war of words between author and commenter spanning many years, fandoms, and fics. I don’t know. It could happen. Maybe you just have a higher tolerance of trolls and criticism than the rest of us.

It’s certainly happened to me and Rose here on the LLF blog. Either we read the same ask differently or just have different reactions and ways of responding to things that tick us off. Even if we have a shared goal and have known each other for awhile, we’re both different people. It’s not reasonable for me to try to change Rose’s responses to match my own exactly. Just because you care about fanfiction so much doesn’t mean that everyone else does or should as well. If this is something that really truly annoys you and you are trying to see both sides of this issue, I think that you’re on the right track and want to encourage you to keep learning and thinking about it.

4. it isn’t taken as seriously as original fic, i really think this culture of “don’t engage unless you only have good things to say” is one of the reasons it just isn’t taken seriously.

I am not a literary expert, and cannot really opine on how fanfiction is viewed by traditional literature or whether a fantasy AU is better/worse than a published fantasy book or how they relate to the writings of Homer. I also am not sure what you mean by fanfiction not being taken “as seriously as original fic.” Certainly you take it seriously. I take it seriously enough to spend my free time on it, and I take fandom seriously enough that I am spending time I could be using to write fanfiction to help run this blog. If you mean that publishing houses will not pay any attention to a fanfiction story, I would agree because why would they? Fanfiction is, by definition, derived from original fiction. Publishing houses are after new and original content because copyright is a real thing.

Even then, let’s look at Fifty Shades of Grey. It’s Twilight fan fiction. Is it taken more seriously than Twilight? Why or why not? How does it compare to Harry Potter, or Pride or Prejudice? Reading and writing are such personal experiences that I hesitate to say that one piece of writing is inherently better than the other. Hence, I do not think that fan fiction’s audience who “don’t engage unless you only have good things to say” is a problem. To me, that’s like saying “anime isn’t as good as non-anime cartoons because people who watch anime don’t speak English.”

5. not saying that you should just point out all the flaws, but some polite, helpful concrit or probing questions in addition to praise…

Yes, agreed; and if this is what the author has asked for, please go ahead! However, please also remember that not everyone knows how to ask probing questions, give helpful concrit, or even be polite. Sometimes, they aren’t even trying to be rude. It just comes off as such. Maybe the commenter is having a bad day and can’t word right. Maybe the author is having a bad day and can’t read anything without their own personal negative bias clouding their perceptions.

It’s one of the things that we are trying to address at LLF so that these barriers are lower. It’s one of the reasons why some things (native comment templates) just will not work for AO3, because tone is hard to convey, nevermind that your audience probably numbers in the millions, each with their own personal biases and understanding of language. We know that even with giving kudos, people mean different things. Think about how difficult it is to convey sarcasm in writing. AO3 already receives flack for their kudos message, which is the way it is because can you come up with something better that will not tick off anyone? Maybe people want to be polite, maybe they want to be helpful, maybe they just don’t know how. We’re trying to change that and trying to give people the tools to help them comment: LLF Comment Builder, LLF Comment Project, in-line commenting (these tools are mostly focused on how to give positive comments because from the feedback we’ve gotten, people have a hard enough time doing that as is.)

But hey, if you want something for concrit or how to ask probing questions, don’t wait for us. Look up a good guide and reblog it. Encourage your followers to ask you questions about your writing. Write your own guide to commenting. Go. Be the change you want to see.

6. do you guys have any posts like this

So, after all that, LLF may not be the blog for you if you are interested in hearing as many opinions as possible about this topic. However, I would highly encourage you to check out @ao3commentoftheday, which has already hosted quite a few asks about this:

sometimes-i-dont-comment-because-im-a

actually-i-have-a-question-about-commenting

do-writers-like-constructive-criticism-in-reviews

about-the-leaving-only-glowing-praise-comments

about-concrit-i-dont-explicitly-discourage-it

its-not-about-wanting-concrit-its-about-wanting

1-with-concrit-i-think-the-question-is-not

Don’t forget to check the notes on those threads!

[seenashwrite]

See you thought it was fun, and now I’ve gone and done some pondering #prayers for Sal

salvachester replied to your post “Hello, new Nashooligans!”

but NASH, it's fun to see you lecture when you are actually right (srsly, what part of "don't steal from others, Stealing IS BAD" ppl don't get??)

@salvachester I’ve actually given this some thought, Sal, and - other than it not being addressed formally by parents and/or in school - my guess is it’s the knee-jerk thought process of “Well if it’s not for sale, it must be free.”

This was likely a rhetorical comment, but it’s Monday and I’m avoiding Monday adulting, so here we are. Feel free to ignore. Or hey, waste time with me, it can be a group activity.

And I don’t know if the opposite - being almost wary of stuff that’s not got clear parentage - is my knee-jerk due to having gone to school for a thousand years (citations! proper biblio! what does the literature say! footnotes! robust sources! gaaaah!), or if it has to do with age. I already had one foot into adulthood when social media exploded. I’m sure I’ve failed in the past, but now-a-days, I try not to pass along things that appear to have been slapped on here/the Twits without being “shared” as appropriately as possible.

Which, I tell you, the way I was “raised” in terms of leadership style/management style is to train your brain - in a situation where a subordinate has made a mistake - not to immediately blame them, but to first consider were they in any way set up for failure? Meaning: was this related to a systems issue/supply issue/staff support issue/etc. 100% incompetence and/or willful malice should be the conclusion when all else is eliminated. 

So most of these sites - the ones with broader focus than sharing quick thoughts or life updates (like, Twitter’s primary function wasn’t about sharing artwork, Facebook’s jam was supposed to be non-business networking, I know things evolve, but you get my point) - in particular play a big part in this, too. Specifically for the lack of share buttons with every popular media site listed, which should then alert the creator to the publishing of their thing on an outside site. It’s nigh impossible to track, just for plain ol’ metrics, but also because if I were able to see an uptick on Instagram, I’ll know to keep an eye out for folks who do the ol’ screencap and pass-a-long thing.

I’ve thought about locking this blog down to the “nth” degree possible (it’s currently viewable by anyone), and making a side blog for CASPN that’s public. I know that won’t prevent 100%, but maybe it’ll shave off the top.

I also am really convicted regarding naming names, if a thief (or accidental re-posters who can turn themselves into thieves) has been informed and given a link to follow and asked to kindly delete their post, then does not do it. I give them about a week, depending on if it’s evident they post multiple times a day, and then if not? I think the given fandom should be told.

But.

That garbage overtook my blog and drew out a handful of cranky folks who were apparently having a bad day and needed to process it aloud and it fell at the NashHole Inc doorstep (and, hey - they lucked out, they could’ve done it to a dragon slayer instead of someone who decided a loooong time ago to go the educational windbag route with those types of folks), and it really wasn’t my intent. I *am* thankful that nobody piled on that kid, that people did as I asked and just reported the post/spoke bluntly but not rage-y in messages, but lord have mercy, I wish I could shut it down and let folks know this particular one is over, and there’s no need for anyone to waste their time going over there, or clog up their blog.

So here’s my thought: Should there be a blog that’s focused on SPN thievery, story plagiarists, etc., exclusively? Kinda like how Canon SPN gifs is just.... well, canon SPN gifs. And it’d have a whole slew of mods who’ve been around forever, who live in a variety of continents/countries/time zones so that the mailbox 24hr coverage so to speak, and ideally a good chunk of whom have had things stolen from them. And it would have a process similar to what I describe: the request to take down; some standard time period with flexibility based on whatever circumstances (say, if they’ve noted somewhere that they’re on a hiatus); if that time period passes with no response, or they block the rightful owner or behave rudely, then comes the report to the site in question followed by the “report to the fandom” via this blog in an agreed-upon simply formatted post; tag the post with the thief’s name so that people can come back and search for updates; and of course, update the fam along the way.

I figure that way people can follow or subscribe for alerts, and then reblog at their discretion, or could make a tiny post of their own with a link back to a certain post at the theft blog being like “Y’all need to look at this post if you’re a writer, the SPN Thief Alert blog found a Wattpad user with a ton of stolen stories”. 

Anyway. Hmmmmm..... Okay, sorry my brain droppings fell on you, you lucky victim! MWAH!

[funkymbtifiction]

Hello, I always enjoy the work on this Tumblr. It's informative, interesting, and satisfying. Anyway, being an Ne dom like yourself, do you have any tips to not be overwhelmed by Ne a.k.a. How to Train Your Ne? I admit there are times when the ideas are buzzing and I yearn for stimulation then I become drained to the point of being physically tired.

Good timing, since I was just reading about Si-grips last night and realizing I basically live in one six months out of the year. :P

I’m not sure exactly what you mean, so I’ll cover all the bases I can think of.

There’s pretty much four stages in my life:

Ne-dom Extraordinaire: this is when you are the unbeatable monarch in your field, when you are on such a roll that not only do you finish your project ahead of the damn deadline, you went ahead and did sixteen other magnificent things that day too, just because your brain was on such a rush of SO MANY IDEAS. For example: you felt good about finishing your essay, so you wrote six movie reviews, four e-mails, 26 blog posts, and worked on your book to boot. And then you went to bed with a smile on your face because damn, I’m so fine.

Ne-dom Uninspired: this is when you feel “meh.” Not awesomesauce, not the lowest of the low, just plain MEH. Meh for a Ne-dom equals: semi-bored, semi-uninspired, semi-annoyed about it. Now, a sane person on this day goes and watches 24 episodes of ALIAS in a row to chill. Me, I FORCE myself to be ‘creative.’ And because I’m generally good at what I do, it comes out fine. Not knock your socks off stupendous, not awful, not even average, just fine. But it feels like dragging my brain through a cheese grater and I go to bed mad that my Ne-brain was lazy as hell today. Like, it’s supposed to be AMAZING all the time!!! What’s up with this?!

Ne-dom Bored-as-Hell: generally, this happens when your life is stagnant, or you are stuck on the same god-awful project for weeks, or your friends have not spoken to you in days, and you are so bored you can hardly stand it, but NOTHING appeals to you. You crave something, but don’t know what it is. You drag yourself through the work / school day like a fish on dry land, you scope the depths of depression, you maybe force yourself to do stuff, but it’s a clear indication that your Ne is STARVING TO DEATH. You must feed it. How? That’s up to you. Get in the car and drive. Go hang out with someone. Start learning something new. Read a book that you know you’ll hate, and blow your own mind by loving it. Try something totally, radically different.

Don’t be like me, and dye your hair purple and cut into a punk rock style. Although, God knows I looked adorable.

Ne-dom Work-a-Holic: also known as tunnel vision, also known as inferior Si grip, also known as the perfect way to make yourself exhausted at the end of the day. Picture a nice normal Ne being a freight train barreling through a tunnel at 976 miles per hour. Now picture a peasant maiden (or peasant lad, if that’s you’re thing) running out onto the tracks, and holding it in place for about 15 hours. It grinds to a halt, its wheels start to smoke, and the peasant maiden/lad is inching forward at, oh, about 6 miles per hour. Fast by her standards, slow by yours. Now imagine that’s what happens to your Ne, when you develop tunnel vision. All that power, going nowhere fast. Imagine the tremendous energy that just ground to a halt. The creeping subconscious despair of the engineer. You are both the peasant maiden/lad and the freight train. See the problem? You are ripping yourself apart. How’s that peasant maiden/lad going to feel at the end of the day?

Yup. Exhausted.

Now, what if that peasant maiden does this day after day for about a week?

Exhausted. Mental exhaustion, from holding back the train, forcing Ne to stay on one topic, or focus on “boring” things for days on end. Where’s the fun? Where’s the zany? Where’s the sarcasm and jokes and random connections? Hello, inferior Si. Obsessive compulsive, aren’t you? Fixated. BAD.

How to Train Your Ne:

1) Give yourself permission to stick to one idea for awhile.

I get it. You will have thousands of great ideas in a single lifetime, or maybe even a week. If you follow all of them right now, you will never finish anything. Do what I do: think about them, ponder them, don’t let them get too developed, and write down the ones you want to hold onto, put them in a jar, and… walk away with the biggest, shiniest, most exciting idea you just had. The others will keep. Let them stew in their juices. Focus on THIS IDEA.

2) Reward yourself for finishing things.

If you want to accomplish something, give your Ne what it wants – a challenge, and a reward. I used to motivate myself through “boring” tasks by setting time deadlines and writing like a bat out of hell, or dividing the task up into separate shorter parts that I can cross off after I do them. That shows me I am making progress. Right now, I’m sitting next to a half-crossed-off list of chapters in my book, which I am proof-reading / editing. Each time a pink line goes through someone’s name, I know I’m THIS MUCH CLOSER to finishing. THIS MUCH CLOSER to starting a NEW project. THIS MUCH CLOSER TO THAT PIECE OF CHOCOLATE I PROMISED MYSELF.

Ahem.

3) Accept that you cannot be at 110% all the time.

This may be hard for you to hear, but you’re a normal human being. You need sleep. You need rest. You need food. You need days off, and dates, and to go places, and be with people, and do things other than your job or your school or writing or whatever it is that occupies 90% of your time. Those normal things that a sensor can do without much fuss, wear you out. Tedious details wear you out. Planning wears you out. Keeping track of things wears you out. The temptation when this happens is to under-estimate what you, as a low Si, needs – which is a break. You tend to way overestimate what you can do in a single week, and sometimes you get way too much on your plate… so, if you know about things in advance that are going to “drain” your Ne, because it requires other, lower functions to be heavily used in your stack, plan to limit your interaction with those functions in excess of your responsibilities.

In other words, if you (me) have to do a bunch of tedious line-editing at work, it is not a good idea for me to come home and do… a bunch of tedious line-editing on my novel at the same time. That’s all Te/Si stuff.

Ne-stuff is… new ideas, new people, new philosophies, reading things that excite your mind and imagination and help you see things in a different way, or watching something new, or going somewhere where you can just be yourself. Your Ne cannot run on full power all the time, especially when you’re trying to hold back the freight train – so give yourself permission to take time off.

4) Pace yourself.

This piggybacks on the above, but as a Ne-dom, you way over-estimate how much you can do physically. Things like going places, driving for hours, being in crowds, walking long distances, etc., are tiring to someone with minimal sensing. Ne-doms need down time, to process their experiences. You are an introverted extrovert. Remember that, and give yourself down time. Try not to be out and about 24/7. But don’t stay home all the time either. That’s a cesspool of Ne-draining boredom waiting to happen.

5) Either do it right now or write it down.

My usual pattern is: get a good thought about 10pm. Then springboard into another idea. Then zip over that way for more ideas. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, telling myself to go to sleep, while thinking about everything I should talk about, investigate, or do in the morning. By morning, of course, either the ideas are all gone or I have lost any motivation to do them. Some of my best work is from dropping everything and doing it RIGHT NOW. Strike while the iron is hot, my dander is up, whatever. Some of my best short stories or articles came from getting up at 5am and pounding the keyboard. So, do it NOW… or write it down. If you write it down, you won’t have to try and remember it (also a chore for Ne).

The best things you can do for your Ne are the following:

Accept that this is who I am, and it’s okay.

Realize that mundane or tedious tasks drain your Ne

Let your mind wander

Give yourself permission to fantasize

Reward periods of the mundane with fun activities

Never let a week go by without planning something ‘fun’

Stimulate yourself with constant NEW things (books, movies, music)

Read a wide variety of things on a continual basis

Give yourself challenges and deadlines to beat

Make sure they are SHORT-TERM (you cannot stay too long)

Always have something in the immediate future to look forward to

Hope that helps.

(This week on tumblr has been DULL. Is it just me or is it dead?! Thank God for a new Doctor Who tomorrow! I need me some NEW Capaldi + Bill Potts. I totally want to be her best friend and hang out in space and eat blue cubes together.)

- ENFP Mod

[entergamingxp]

Let your mind wander with 40 of our best reads • Eurogamer.net

We’ve been lucky enough to publish some wonderful work on Eurogamer over the years, written by some wonderful writers, and we thought pulling some of it together at a time like this would be a nice thing to do.

If you see something you like, scroll down to the bottom of the piece and click on the author’s name to see what else they’ve written. There are some real treats I haven’t been able to include here – it’s a long enough list as it is!

Thank you everyone who contributes to Eurogamer and helps make it what it is, and thank you for reading it. Have a nice Easter weekend.

How Age of Empires 2 got some Scottish kids into RTS – Here’s a question: How do you get a bunch of disillusioned kids in the arse end of Scotland into real-time strategy games? Sam Greer remembers the 90s in Scotland and an unlikely gaming champion.

Petscop, the internet’s favourite haunted video game – Last March, a YouTube channel titled Petscop began releasing Let’s Play-style videos of what appeared to be a bargain-bin Playstation One game designed to entice undiscerning children. But things quickly took a darker turn, as Sara Elsam finds out.

An ode to video game doors – It’s easy to underestimate doors, Andreas Inderwildi writes, and yet they are also imbued with a kind of magic. If you’ve ever wanted to see a lot of lovely video game doors, now’s your chance.

After half my life, Ace Attorney’s re-release brought me full circle – Some games can have profound influences on our lives. Jay Castello grew up with the Ace Attorney series and wanted to be a lawyer – but life doesn’t always go the way it was planned.

I went Christmas carolling in Rust with a real piano, and got shot a hell of a lot – When Emma Kent heard that craftable pianos were coming to Rust (with MIDI support) and she could plug a microphone in too, there was only one thing she wanted to do. But would her fellow Rust players share in her festive spirit?

The story behind the Oblivion mod Terry Pratchett worked on – Imagine one day getting an email thanking you for the companion you made for Oblivion, signed by someone claiming to be author Terry Pratchett. Then imagine discovering, many letters later, it really was him. Cian Maher tells an unlikely story of friendship and collaboration.

The Lords of Midnight: on the legacy of a truly epic wargame – Even now, there’s little else remotely like it. Jennifer Allen remembers a cruel but magical adventure for Commodore 64. And thanks to devoted fans, there is now a way to play it.

Red Dead Redemption 2 and XCOM 2 have one crucial thing in common – companionship – From perishable squad mates to tales around a camp fire, Vivek Gohil digs into what makes companions in Red Dead Redemption 2 and XCOM 2 so special.

I was in Football Manager and I don’t know how to feel about it – Imagine our surprise when writer Chris Tapsell turns around and announces he was once in a Football Manager game, a series he loves – but as a football player. If it weren’t for a shoulder injury he may well have been a professional footballer today. But something always bothered him about his FM representation: his stats weren’t right. His height, his birthday, his eccentricity. This is the story of him getting to the bottom of it.

Roleplaying across the internet – It doesn’t have to be people sitting around a table. In its purest form, roleplaying is when a person says, “Let me tell you a story,” and the other person says, “Me too.” Giada Zavarise takes into the world of forum roleplaying.

If Ubisoft wants to cling on to Clancy, it’s time to talk politics – Tom Clancy relished a political drama so why does Ubisoft try to avoid it in his name? Is such a thing even possible? Edwin Evans-Thirlwell takes a closer look at Clancy and the legacy he left behind.

I owe everything I am to Buck Rogers: Countdown to Doomsday – You’re in a game shop in the mid-1990s and you have £15 to spend, and that’s a lot – you’re a kid and you’re poor. Jennifer Allen had a choice on her hands. What to choose? Pele? Streets of Rage? Or how about this box with the hero and the aliens on…?

Kazunori’s War: the world of Gran Turismo’s creator – He keeps a selection of pre-packed bags by his desk so he can leave at a moment’s notice. He’s an occasional racing driver. And he spun out a car at 200km/h as a very naughty youth. He is Kazunori Yamauchi, creator of Gran Turismo, and Martin Robinson travels to Japan to meet him.

It’s not easy being green: a brief history of orcs in video games – Who invented orcs, how did they get their green colour, and when did they start being more than dumb enemies? Nic Reuben seeks answers.

Why did ancient Egypt spend 3000 years playing a game nobody else liked? – Here’s a game responsible for one of the first ever instances of trash talk, a game played by pharaohs, but even after 3000 years of play, Senet went the way of the disonaur. Christian Donlan tries to find out what happened.

The boy who stole Half-Life 2 – In May 2004, a German boy wakes to find his bed surrounded by armed police officers. Seven months earlier, the source code to the in-development-and-late Half-Life 2 leaks onto the internet. Simon Parkin tells the story of a global hacker hunt, from both sides.

The six-year story of GTA Online’s long-vacant casino – When GTA Online launched, the Vinewood Casino was there. It wasn’t open but it was “opening soon”, according to a sign on the door. One year later, still closed; two years later, still closed. Nearly six years later, still closed. Why did it take so long? Jordan Oloman digs into a troubled development.

The cult of Hideo Kojima – What is it about Hideo Kojima that has crowds turn out in their hundreds to meet him? Khee Hoon Chan waits among one such crowd in Singapore, and then all of a sudden, spotlight on, Kojima is there.

Hearts and minds – Tom Bramwell puts on his best suit for the WWE Hall of Fame ceremony, and it leaves him wondering why there aren’t more heroes in games.

The US town ruled by an AI storyteller – Great storytellers talk about creative partnerships with all kinds of things, from drugs to religion to half-awake states of mind. Can artificial intelligence now be added to the list? Emily Gera shines a light on a fascinating storytelling experiment.

The God who Peter Molyneux forgot – Do you remember Curiosity and the promise of a life-changing prize for whoever tapped the last block? Brayn Henderson does – he tapped it. But did it change his life? Wesley Yin-Poole travels to Scotland to find out.

The Wind Waker inspired me to build a boat – Ever decided to build a boat because you really liked a game about sailing around? No of course not. Nor, I bet, have you ever bought an ocarina instrument because of a game, or fashioned your hair to look like Nathan Drake. Or have you? Omar Hafeez-Bore ponders the influence of games.

Animal Crossing: Pocket Camp and the feud that keeps on running – This time he’s demanding a single coconut. Philippa Warr tells the a hilarious story of two lifelong friends falling out over a valentine.

Brando and Bowie: The amazing stories of a man you’ve never heard about – He alone witnessed Marlon Brando’s last ever performance, and David Bowie kissed him on the lips. He held high positions in the video game world and directed big games for big companies. And yet, he never quite found success as we know it. Or did he? Bertie tells a long story.

Why can’t video games get shoulders right? What an inspired question! And it turns out it’s all in the shoulder blades. Alan Wen investigates.

Viva Piñata places a brutal lens on late-stage capitalism – Don’t be fooled by its cutesy looks. Viva Piñata is, as Hazel Southwell tells us, maybe the only game where the kind of business psychopathy preached on Huel-based wellness retreats outside San Francisco will actually work.

The promise of a game world you can touch – James Holland puts his hands in front of him and as the on-screen bubbles start to pop, he feels them popping on his skin, on his bare skin – he’s not wearing gloves or equipment of any kind. Is this the tech of the future?

Inside Tomb of Horrors, the hardest D&D module ever made – Just getting inside can be an ordeal, as two of the entrances lead to certain death, and losing a character level 10 or higher – all that time invested – really hurts. Why would someone make something like that? Malindy Hetfield takes a closer look.

PS2: The Insiders’ Story – The PlayStation 2 is still the best-selling console in the world. It was a landmark machine and its success made Sony feel invincible. Ellie Gibson takes us back to a time of David Lynch adverts and wild parties.

VR has already taken people with dementia to the seaside, and now video games are exploring neurological disease itself – Watching a participant literally cry with happiness as they remove the headset is not a sight writer Luke Kemp will soon forget.

Decoding Shenzhen: The Chinese city that makes the world’s tech – Known as the mecca of manufacturing, Shenzhen is a fishing city turned megatropolis, where an idea can be made a reality and sold in a market stall in two weeks. Arshiya Khullar investigates.

The human cost of Red Dead Redemption 2 – In October 2018, Red Dead Redemption set a new benchmark for the kind of production values a video game could reach. Technically, it was a marvel. But at what cost?

The folklore roots of Sekiro’s anus-ball snatching enemies – Why does an enemy in Sekiro grab a pale fleshy thing from your behind, hold it up like a trophy, then devour it in its own behind? It’s all to do with some disturbing monsters in Japanese folklore, as Ewan Wilson finds out.

Why I play video games – Dr Omar Hafeez-Bore believes a good part of why he chose to pursue medicine was because of video games, and not for the reasons you may think.

Stories with dice: the thrill of old-school D&D – Even 40 years on, video games have a lot to learn from Dungeons & Dragons. Oli Welsh discovers the joy of pen-and-paper role-playing games.

A horse named Gizmondo: The inside story of the world’s greatest failed console – It’s like it never existed now, but for a while Gizmondo – a handheld gaming machine – was going to conquer the world. The 2005 launch party even featured Pharrell Williams and Sting. But less than a year later, the company behind Gizmondo collapsed into bankruptcy. Ellie Gibson hears the whole shady story from the people who were there.

Passing on the gift of games – Have you ever passed the gift of gaming on and watched someone come to terms with it like you once did? Oh the tantrums I used to throw playing Street Fighter! Emad Ahmed has a niece and nephew to pass the gift onto, with surprising effects.

After I stepped into Yakuza’s world, Yakuza’s world seeped into mine – Wish you were there, in Japan? Well, there are few games better than the Yakuza series for taking you there. They helped Malindy remember happy years studying there, and overcome a painful memory.

The quest for Shadow of the Colossus’ last big secret – What if everything in Fumito Ueda’s renowned game had not been found? Could there be a 17th colossi hidden somewhere, waiting to be discovered? Craig Owens takes us into a world of unsolved mysteries and secret hunters.

The secrets of Dark Souls lore explained and explored – It’s not easy to get at the story in Dark Souls because unlike in other games, it’s scattered and hidden away. Richard Stanton connects the dots for us.

from EnterGamingXP https://entergamingxp.com/2020/04/let-your-mind-wander-with-40-of-our-best-reads-%e2%80%a2-eurogamer-net/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=let-your-mind-wander-with-40-of-our-best-reads-%25e2%2580%25a2-eurogamer-net

[mathematicianadda]

That which we call an identity

I’m grateful to Jemma Sherwood and Rob Low for reading an early draft of this and for their comments thereon. All opinions are, of course, my own.

This post is inspired by something that I see crop up now and again in discussions with other Maths teachers. It usually manifests itself as a rallying cry to use ≡ in place of = in identities and reserve = for equations. My standard response is to mutter something about identities being equations and leave it at that. But in the latest round, Jemma Sherwood challenged me, in the nicest possible way, to explain a bit further. This is that explanation.

Although I’m going to state my case here, I’m well aware that there are different opinions. In matters of opinion, such as this, agreement and disagreement is less important than that all sides think. So if what I write seems to you wrong, that’s fine so long as it makes you think about why you think that it is wrong.

I’m actually going to give two answers to the question “Should we use ≡ for identities?”. Both are “No”, but for different reasons:

No, because it is trying to solve the wrong problem.

No, because, in the words of Inigo Montoya: “You keep using that word. I don’t think it means what you think it means.”

The second answer is the one that I usually mutter about when I come across this idea of using ≡ but it’s the first that is the important one.

In preparation for writing this I posted a poll on Twitter with four mathematical statements and asked which of them were identities. The four statements were:

$\sin (180 n) = 0$,

$a^{2} + b^{2} = c^{2}$,

$ (x + y)^{2} = x^{2} + 2 x y + y^{2}$,

if $2 x + 6 = 10$ then $x = 2$.

You may wish to ponder what your answer would be before continuing.

For Some Values of True

From the discussion that ensues whenever anyone posts about ≡, the rationale for insisting on it would seem to be that students find it difficult to distinguish between identities and equations so using notation to clarify the difference would be a good idea.

Seems reasonable. But to my mind, it’s trying to solve the wrong problem.

In the comments around my twitter poll, someone linked to the Wikipedia entry on Mathematical Identity which starts (emphasis mine):

In mathematics an identity is an equality relation $A = B$, such that $A$ and $B$ contain some variables and $A$ and $B$ produce the same value as each other regardless of what values (usually numbers) are substituted for the variables.

Another person gave a similar criterion for an identity which involved, as I understood it, putting “$\forall x$” at the start (or whatever unbound variables existed in the expressions).

The poll wasn’t long published before someone made a comment that slightly let the cat out of the bag. They queried the $\sin (180 n) = 0$ and said that it would be okay if $n$ was an integer but that I hadn’t made that clear. (Actually, they also queried the fact that I’d written $180$ rather than $180^{\circ }$; I must confess that one was due to me not being bothered to hunt down a unicode degree symbol but it really just underlines my point.) After that, some others remarked that they wanted to change their vote as they hadn’t noticed that.

So just putting $\forall x$ or $\forall n$ in front of an expression and seeing if it is still true isn’t a valid test of anything. We have to provide a context for the variables, and that allows me the freedom to make any of my equations into an identity or not.

$\sin (180^{\circ }n) = 0$ is an identity with $\forall n \in \mathbb{N}$ but not with $\forall n \in \mathbb{R}$.

$a^{2} + b^{2} = c^{2}$ is an identity with “$\forall a,b,c \in \mathbb{R}$ where $a$, $b$, $c$ are the sides of a right-angled triangle with $c$ the hypotenuse”, but is not an identity with just $\forall a,b,c \in \mathbb{R}$.

$(x + y)^{2} = x^{2} + 2 x y + y^{2}$ is an identity with $\forall x,y \in \mathbb{R}$, but is not an identity with $\forall x, y \in M_{2}(\mathbb{R})$, the space of $2 \times 2$–matrices.

“If $2 x + 6 = 10$ then $x = 2$” might surprise you: it is actually an identity with $\forall x \in \mathbb{R}$ since it then asserts that for any real number $x$, if $x$ satisfies $2 x + 6 = 10$ then $x = 2$. However, it is not an identity in $\mathbb{Z}/12\mathbb{Z}$ since both $2$ and $8$ satisfy $2 x + 6 = 10$.

To be a valid mathematical sentence, an identity requires a context. My contention is that the real problem behind the equation vs identity debate is that students are filling in the missing context for themselves and often getting it wrong. And once the context is made explicit, we no longer think of the identity as anything special and no longer need special notation for it.

I would also contend that the distinction between a double and triple line is not sufficient. If someone is having difficulty with the difference between an equation and an identity then an extra horizontal line will not make it clear.

None other than the great Don Knuth once said that in a mathematical document it should be possible to replace all the bits of maths by “blah” and for it to still make grammatical sense. I strongly suspect that my students do the opposite and replace all non-maths by “blah”. For example, fill in the “blah”s in these two questions and consider how the different possibilities would lead you down different routes to an answer:

Blah $x^{2} + 5 x + 6 = 0$

Blah $x^{2} + 5 x + 6$

Then add in the fact that a novice learner is likely to overlook the fact that the second doesn’t have an “$= 0$” in it and try to “solve” that quadratic.

If we make the context clearer, we are lessening the work that the student has to do to understand what they are being asked to do. And this is not an artificial weakening: context becomes more and more important the deeper one goes into mathematics. In school, certainly pre-16, it is a safe assumption that the context is “numbers”. It is only later that students learn that the context could be vectors, functions, matrices, sets, objects, morphisms, groups, rings, fields, manifolds, sheaves, schemes, … if I missed your favourite, I apologise.

But even a context of “numbers” can be misconstrued. How many students look at an answer with extreme puzzlement when it turns out to be a fraction? They were expecting a whole number.

And wouldn’t it set up expectations for quadratics and trigonometry much better if we consistently said “Find all (real) numbers $x$ for which …” instead of just “Solve”? And “Show that for all real numbers $x$ …” instead of just “Show that”?

The language doesn’t even have to be that formal, we don’t need $\forall $ or $\exists $ in Y7, but it should make clear the context. It can even be something like “I’m thinking of a real number, call it $x$; it satisfies $2 x + 6 = 10$. What is it?”

So What, Exactly, is an Identity?

I have very few memories of my own time at school, but one that I do recall very vividly is my A-level Chemistry teacher announcing at the start of the course that everything we’d been told up to then had been a lie. “Sodium,” he declared, “doesn’t want to lose an electron. It doesn’t want anything.”

It was dramatic, I’ll give him that, but it did make me lose a bit of faith in Chemistry. For all I knew, everything I was going to be told in A-level would also be a lie (spoiler: it was).

I try my utmost not to do the same in my own teaching.

Of course, I can’t tell my students the whole truth. When teaching about negative integers, for example, I don’t set up an equivalence relation on pairs of positive integers and prove that the operations of arithmetic descend through the relation. What I aim for is the following thought experiment: suppose that one of my students did go on to do a mathematics degree, possibly even further, and encountered some fancy part of mathematics that recast something that they’d learnt in school. What I would hope is that they would feel that the recasting fitted in with the story that they already knew. That if they ever came back to visit, they’d say, “Now I understand why you told the story that way.”

So when I consider something like identities, I think about how the concept is used later on and try to use that to inform how I talk about it in school.

And that’s a bit tricky with identities because, in my mathematical experience, they all but disappear. The Wikipedia page does rather give the game away when it says (emphasis mine):

In other words, $A = B$ is an identity if $A$ and $B$ define the same functions. This means that an identity is an equality between functions that are differently defined.

Thus once we are happy talking about functions, the need for the word identity disappears.

When I think of the word identity, the first concept that springs to mind is the identity function (or, rather, the identity functions since there are rather a lot of them), which might happen to be representable by the identity matrix. There’s also the identity element in a group or ring.

The closest I get to the concept of identity under discussion here is in a topic called universal algebra. Very briefly, this is the area of mathematics that studies operations like $+$ or $\times $ in the abstract. Such operations satisfy relations which are sometimes called identities. These are things like $x + y = y + x$. The catch is that in this area, the identities are imposed. They don’t occur by accident but by design.

This idea of imposing identities also chimes with where I see the ≡ sign used. I don’t think of it as “is identically equal to” but as “is equivalent to in this context”. The classic situation is in modular arithmetic, where I will happily write things like $4 \equiv 1 \mod 3$, by which I mean that in the context where I ignore multiples of $3$ then I can view $4$ as equivalent to $1$. In the wider context of integers then I know that $4$ and $1$ are different, but in the smaller context of modular arithmetic then I can consider them equivalent.

So I feel that I should exercise caution in using the term “identity” to refer to what is an equality of functions, and where the term is used differently later on. Particularly because, as I argue above, using ≡ is unlikely to solve the underlying issue of establishing context.

from The Aperiodical https://ift.tt/2rwuGAm from Blogger https://ift.tt/2DlXWwn

[rejectedusername-trashfics]

Minequest- Ender Eyes: Chapter 1- The New Quest

Summary: Despite Achievement Hunter collectively agreeing to never touch the Minequest mod again, Ryan decided one day to try and explore the mod again. Before he officially starts, the mod literally calls out to him and asks for his return. He accepts thinking it was just a new quest, passes out, and awakes again literally back in the Kingdom of Achievement. The rest of the hunters discover Ryan’s passed out body at his desk with Minequest up on the screen. They need to go back into the mod after him to bring him back. But, Ryan will not be the same when they find him. 

Sequel to Minequest

Chapters: 1/15

Word Count: 1,247

Next / AO3

It had been a couple years since Achievement Hunter played the Minequest mod that Ryan had found. Lots of things had changed for the group since then. Achievement Hunter had grown, adding new people to help with editing and streaming. Ray had left Achievement Hunter to pursue streaming on twitch fulltime, and Jeremy had joined the main six guys. The group was currently dabbling in the Sky Factory set of Minecraft mods, so they had continued to play around with other mods.

It had been a typical Tuesday when Ryan arrived back at his townhouse from work that evening. The team had worked on filming from Rainbow Six Siege, as well as some Sea of Thieves; nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Ryan open up his front door and entered his home. He placed his keys on the front counter and hung his coat up by the front door. He didn’t even notice the loud sound of furry stomps coming his way.

Before he knew it, a large force came barreling into him, knocking him over. When he was lying on the floor, he saw an enormous, fluffy, St. Bernard that had knocked him over. “Wulfie, that was rude,” he scolded the dog as he sat up. The dog whimpered in response.

Ryan sighed, “Did you need to go to the bathroom so bad, that you felt the need to knock me over?” he asked. The dog nodded his head to answer.

Ryan sighed once more, “Alright, then let’s go. Cause you already know how I feel about you taking care of your business in the front.” The dog yipped, happily as he bounced over to the back door.

After Ryan took his dog out, the two of them came back inside. “Now, tonight’s stream night. I should probably message Meg to see if she’s up for Dead by Daylight,” he said to himself. The dog stared at Ryan with judgmental eyes.

Ryan glanced over to his dog to see his judgmental face. “Look, I have a ‘Mad King’ persona to keep up with,” he reasoned to his dog. The dog continued to give him a judgmental look. “Just remember who’s paying for your food and lodging before you judge.”

The dog looked sorry after that. Ryan rolled his eyes and leaned down to give the dog hug. “You’re lucky I love you.” When his was finished cuddling his dog, he stood back up. “Come on, I’m gonna go talk to Meg.”

Ryan walked to his office and sat down at his computer. He booted it up and logged into Skype. He saw that Meg was online, so he opened a DM with her.

Ryan H: Hey Meg, you up for streaming some Dead by Daylight tonight?

After a minute or two, she messaged him back.

Meg T: No, I’m not up for it. Meg T: I don’t even know why I’m still up. It’s late and I have an early day tomorrow.

Ryan looked at the clock on his computer, it said it was just after 6 pm.

Ryan H: I’m pretty sure 6 pm isn’t late. Meg T: Honey, it’s 1 am. Ryan H: Is your watch broken? Meg T: I came to Berlin early cause I got convention coming up this weekend.

Ryan’s eye’s widened in shock, then softened as he remembered hearing about this.

Ryan H: Shit, I think I remember Gavin mentioning something about that. Ryan H: I completely forgot. Sorry. Meg T: Don’t apologize for that. Ryan H: Go to bed. You probably have a big day ahead of you, touring Berlin, or a photoshoot or whatever. Meg T: Thanks. Night. Ryan H: Goodnight.

--Meg Turney has logged off Skype—

“Well, shit,” he said as he leaned back in his chair. Then, he looked over to his dog, sitting calmly next to him. “Well, the Dead by Daylight plan is out, what do you think I should do, Wulfie?” he asked his dog. The dog tilted his, as if to ponder the question. Ryan sat back up in his chair as he thought of a possible solution, “I got it, I can browse my computer to see if I could stream something that I haven’t done before; give everyone something completely new!’ the dog let out a soft bark.

He opened up his coke can and began browsing the stream store. He saw what the most popular titles that he didn’t already have were, be he decided against them. he then thought of looking at the games that Rooster Teeth and ScrewAttack had made, but decided that those were probably overdone. He thought about searching for the games that Rooster Teeth had put in the RT Double Gold boxes, but decided against any games that may be related to the company.

“UUUUUUGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!” he groaned, he had to think of something else. Then he thought maybe he could browse his computer to see if there was any game he had that he hadn’t streamed yet. He looked over his steam library and he had already streamed it all. Then he searched the rest of his computer to see if there were any non-steam games. He browsed, and decided to check to see if there were any Minecraft mods that he hadn’t streamed yet.

Underneath the other mods that he had, he stumbled upon the Minequest mod. “God, I completely forgot about that mod,” he commented. His mind flooded with memories of Achievement hunter literally being sucked into the mod and having to travel around a continent to find knights and going to face the Ender Dragon. It had all been surreal and all of the knights had been based of people at Rooster Teeth. He could have gone looking for other mods that he had, but he had a feeling that nobody had seen Minequest on twitch before. After all, it technically was created to call Achievement Hunter in for a knightly quest.

“God, it’s been such a long time. But we defeated the dragon so it probably won’t suck me back in, right?” he asked his dog. The dog barked.

“Right, it will probably be fine,” he reasoned as he started the mod up. He took a sip of his diet coke as the mod booted up. After a few minutes a title screen appeared. “I’m gonna test to see if this is still playable before I tell any of my stream mods that I’m playing a new game,” he told the dog.

He clicked the start button and the screen turned black. Text began to appear on the screen.

Sir Haywood,

“Ooh, this thing still remembers my name,” he commented.

The Kingdom of Achievement is in crisis yet again. This crisis is in dire need of your assistance. Would you please lend a hand to the kingdom in our time of need?

YES / NO

Ryan, thinking it was nothing, moved his mouse over to click YES. The screen warped and twisted into a familiar hypnotic screen. “Oh no…,” he whined. He tried not to stare to deeply into the screen. He tried to exit out of the program, but the program refused to close. He got caught up in staring into the screen. “Oh no… no, no, no, no, no…” he yawned. He closed his, “No, no, no,” he groaned as he laid his head down on his desk. “No…,” he mumbled as he passed out at his desk.

Whether he wanted to or not, he was going back.

[four-moms-tragedy]

Title: Stranded - Lonely at the Top

Author: Mod Square

Characters: Obsidian

"C-Commander Ammolite?....L-Lieutenant Agna?.....Brother?"

Obsidian weakly lifted his head up to get a good look at his surroundings. It was dark. Incredibly dark. The room smelt of rusted metal and damp soil. The Homeworld soldier could discern neither how much time had passed nor where he was. All he knew was that he was alone. And that he hated it.

He tried moving his arms, only to hear the faint clink sound of steel chains. "Oh...of course. Now I remember."

All the events that had led up to his imprisonment flashed in Obsidian's mind, giving him a headache that outweighed the aching soreness in his body. They had been led straight into a trap, set by those accursed rebels. He had volunteered to scout out the area ahead of the legion, in the hopes that Commander Ammolite would promote him to a higher rank.

That was, until everything had went horribly awry. And before he could finish his warning to the rest of the legion, he'd been knocked out and dragged to who-knows-where and held for who-knows-how-long in this blasted cell. He wasn't even sure if the rest of his legion was alive or not.

"Hey, lookit that. Looks like he's woken up. How's about it, bud? You ready to turn over a new leaf? Finally? Come on, man. We've kinda been at this for a while now..."

The sound of a friendly, yet mocking voice made Obsidian look towards its owner. A tall, thin Gem with light silver skin, illuminated with orange hues from the small torch that he held. "...I'll even tell you the location of some of your buddies we captured. Maybe you can help us...I dunno...convince them to join our cause?.", the Gem continued, absentmindedly twirling a strand of his grey locks as he did so.

The knight pondered the offer as he gazed on the emblem on his captor's uniform. A five-pointed star. Symbol of the Crystal Gems. Obsidian opened his mouth to let out a sharp retort, but instead, it warped into a saddened frown.

"Yes.", he replied, his voice dry from exhaustion.

The silver Gem looked at him quizzically, as if gauging the sincerity of Obsidian's response.

"I am through being at the mercy of the Diamonds.", the knight continued, "I have been a slave to their army for long enough. I have seen...loyal, good Gems in their prime struck down for petty reasons. I realize now that the Homeworld is lost. I have had enough of war. Enough of seeing loyal Gems die."

The knight's words sounded sincere, and tears began to flow from his eyes as he remembered all the friends he had lost. And the legion he wanted to go back to.

"All I want is...peace. Peace for me. For my legion. I would do anything to see them again...to save them. Please, brother. Allow me to repent."

The Gem looked at Obsidian for a moment. Then, he simply shrugged his shoulders and immediately opened the cell door. "Good enough for me. But just to be sure, I'll take you to Rose first. Come on, new buddy. Lemme just help you outta those chains there…."

Obsidian fell to the floor with a dull thud. Thankfully, his 'new buddy' helped him to his feet. Once the two Gems left the scouting outpost, Obsidian had to shield his eyes from the blinding sunlight. "Wh-where is the rest of my legion?"

"Thatta way,", the silver Gem replied, pointing to northeast of their current position, "About a few miles. And probably not all of them. All's I know is that the next outpost's not in this forest anyhow. But I'm takin' you to Rose first. You in a hurry to see your old pals again?"

"I suppose you could say that…."

"....Idiot."

Obsidian looked at the gemstone he held in front of him. Then he turned his gaze to the burning forest a few miles behind him. The very same forest that had once hidden the Crystal Gem outpost. "I am the light that guides.", Obsidian whispered, "And the flame that purges. Tell me, traitor, am I not merciful?"

As he watched the forest, the outpost, and all the Crystal Gems who were inside it burn to ash, Obsidian felt as if he was...losing a part of himself. He shook his head at the thought as he turned his back to the fire and continued his journey.

It wasn't long until he found a rocky outcropping that provided some cover. After scanning the area, the soldier leaned against a nearby boulder and activated his wrist communicator. The Crystal Gem that freed him was kind enough to give Obsidian back his equipment...that was, before the traitor had a flaming sword run through him.

After pressing a few buttons, a holographic screen appeared, showing that Obsidian was now able to send a message. He took a few minutes to collect himself, and finally, he spoke, the weariness he felt evident in his voice.

"To all surviving members of Commander Ammolite's legion, this is Obsidian. I have escaped captivity....and I am alone. Sergeant Chrysolite is dead. He perished during the initial stages of the ambush. The status of Lieutenant Agna and the commander is….unknown to me. As of right now, any high-ranking officers of the legion are….absent."

Obsidian paused as a feeling of dread began rising from his stomach. "I...I am currently the most senior member of the legion. Henceforth, I will be assuming temporary command, until relieved by either Lieutenant Agna or Commander Ammolite."

Another pause. This time, followed by a hardened scowl. "The Rebels will pay in blood for this, mark my words. We will repay this treachery in kind, and sow the fields of this planet with their shattered gemstones! By the sword shall we bring peace to this world!"

"But...leave the humans of this planet alone. We cannot fight a war on two fronts. Rally to the pre-established rendezvous point, and wait for me. Then we will march on these traitors and slay them to the last Gem! We shall let none survive! We are the light that guides! We are the flame that purges!"

The soldier took a moment to calm himself, and soon the anger in his eyes softened into a heartfelt expression.

"....To Commander Ammolite, Lieutenant Agna, and to my Brother Aqua, as well as the other lost members of the legion, wherever you may be....my prayers are with you. Strength and honor. The Diamonds protect."

He stared at the holo-screen intently, as if he was trying to find someone he trusted on the other side. "Have hope. And let your faith endure. For I shall never abandon you."

As he ended the transmission, Obsidian finally allowed his eyes to grow wet. And soon, tears began to fall. He had gotten what he wanted. A chance to exercise his leadership skills. A chance to have real power. To impart his knowledge on fellow Gems. But, like earning his knighthood, all it did was leave him with a bitter taste in his mouth. And an aching feeling in his heart.

"N-Not like this...not like this…"

Obisidian's Journal - Entry #917

Hope is the first step on the road to disappointment.

Hatred is your surest weapon.