#skyrim came out when I was an adult so I have payed it way way less

[maintitle]

The Elder Scrolls games are honestly prime comedy. 'You are now our last hope, our hero. You must perform this task, for your own sake, and for the world's sake. It is your duty."

"...but what if I got heavily involved with a crime syndicate and a murder cult instead? Surely the world won't fall to chaos if I spend the next six months creating an empire of crime, right?"

and then it doesn't. brilliant. 12/10. no notes.

[guarmommy]

Characters & Family Dynamics

I've been thinking about my Skyrim characters lately and want to explore their backstories more. Their families and their dynamics are an interesting start so I made these portraits.

Agnetha Goldenbraid (She/Her) was a happy child with a mother, father, and baby brother. She was born in Cyrodiil and raised on a small farm in Bruma, living the traditional Nord lifestyle.

Her father, Erland Goldenbraid, was a proud Nord who lived by the sword and valued family above everything else. He married his childhood sweetheart, a half-Imperial, half-Nord woman named Cassia Spada, and soon conceived their first child. Erland and Cassia were considerably easy-going with Agne but imbued Nordic customs and homesteading chores on her as soon as she began to walk. Her chores included helping her mother with domestic tasks, tending to animals, feeding chickens, and sometimes having run-ins with Folki, the grumpy goat that terrorized the townsfolk. Like any typical child, Agne played with other children and got in trouble when the adults weren't around.

When her mother got pregnant, Agne was exhilarated. Having a little sibling to play with tickled her little heart. After her brother Gunnar was born, Agne adored him and proudly accepted her new role as the protective big sister.

As the Great House Dres dictates, family, honor, and tradition weighed heavily on every household member's shoulders. Lorthyn and Favani imposed merciless cruelty on their rivals and slaves. None of their three children were spared from the whips and chains, both figuratively and literally.

To say Zalyn Dres (He/Him) grew up in a strict household would be an understatement. At a young age, Zalyn was forced to undergo grueling tasks. His father Lorthyn would drag him on slave raids in the dangerous swampland to mold him into a warrior like his older brother Thalyn, as per Dres tradition. Zalyn was no stranger to being the brunt of his father's wrath. In response, he became more rebellious as he got older.

Zalyn's relationship with his mother Favani was cold and distant. He barely received motherly love from her. In fact, anytime Zalyn came to her for anything, she would either ignore him or harshly shoo him away, paying him no attention. She enabled her husband's ways of disciplining the children, especially on Zalyn, and took her cruelty out on servants and Dresla, her youngest daughter.

Despite the venomous relationship with his parents, Zalyn enjoyed all the riches and privileges that came with being a Great House-born dunmer. He got along with Dresla and was protective of her, shielding her from their mother's whip on several occasions. As for his relationship with Thalyn, Zalyn revered him and sometimes felt envious of him since he was the oldest and favorite child.

Marlyn Rulvani (She/Her) was born a clone. Her "mother" Hekatah created her by accident via meddling in Daedric magic, giving her the mockery of a "failed clone". As powerful as she's beautiful, madness inevitably consumed her amid the experiments. Rumors say her mind was corrupted by the Daedric Prince of Madness himself.

Hekatah despised Marlyn, often berating and punishing her for every minor thing, whether it's wearing the wrong dress or growing her hair too long. She did everything she could to ensure that her clone daughter looked nothing like her.

There were softer moments, however. Marlyn was naturally a curious child so Hekatah facilitated this by allowing her free-reign to the library (mostly because Hekatah wanted nothing to do with her and wanted an excuse to whisk her away somewhere where she was out of sight and mind). Marlyn had the best tutors a young Telvanni apprentice could ever want and spent hours burying her nose in dusty tomes and books.

Nalin (They/Them) was born as Nauriel Silarume by an Alinor-born artisan and noblewoman. Anthea, whom Nalin thought was the most beautiful mer, was the daughter of a wealthy family that arranged a marriage for her with a captain of the Altmeri Dominion Navy. Much to her family's dismay, she ran off with the young, charismatic Corelas instead. Their marriage was progressive, even by Altmeri standards, and driven by genuine love, not wealth or elven purity.

Being only one child, Nalin grew up carefree and explored many hobbies and opportunities their heart desired, viewing the world as their oyster. Anthea and Corelas welcomed their child's adventurous spirit, encouraging them to pursue their passions to the ultimate extent of their capabilities. When Nalin proclaimed they wanted to be a performer, they fully supported that endeavor.

[fireintheforest]

Behind the Blue, chapter 23, part 1

The day was shining with a promising sun, a cool wind that blew now and then and teased some of Saufinril’s hairstrands as he combed his hair. It’d been a while since he’d sent a message to Lillandril and Rialas; they’d be bound to have received the previous one by now. They hadn’t busted into the area in all their sassy, magic throwing, arrow shooting glory, so he guessed they were perfectly fine and happy that he’d communicated with them, busy believing he was fine and correcting the way he wrote his g’s.

“At your age,” Saufinril imitated Lillandril’s tone as he kept brushing his hair, clutching the leather strap with his teeth, “one was capable of writing letters to the Queen and the jarls of Skyrim with such fine writing that when Julianos himself saw it, he wept and it created the ocean. PAH!” He moved to tie his hair back, “Your h’s look like long-necked dogs- NO!” he cried out as the leather strap broke, “Fuck!” He sighed and moved his long long hair to the side and started to braid it, tying the end of the braid with one half of the leather strap. This is what he gets for mocking his elders.

Standing up from the dresser, he went to his luggage and ruffled through his clothes for something to wear for the lunch. After trifling for a while, though, he sighed and put his clothes aside. He needed to present Cyremin in a lunch with a Thalmor officer, Armellon and the target of this theft and sell it with the adequate clothes, but none felt quite right. And he couldn’t go back to Marley- so far not enough Altmer had been attracted to the clothes the way he’d promised they would, Marley might as well know by now that he was a con mer.

Maybe if he sold something of his and got another robe from another seamstress or tailor, at least for today…Saufinril rubbed his temple. He needed to go out. Reaching up to tie his braid into a bun, he threw on clothes from the top of his baggage and hurried out the door, walking out past the streets, past the flowerbeds and chattering people, until he reached the streets lined with businesses on either side and started to peer at the windows. Bakeries, flower shops, jewelry stores-

“Monsieur?”

Saufinril turned around and found Dean, Marley’s nephew, approaching from a short distance away, where Saufinril must’ve walked past him. Saufinril immediately gave him arched eyebrows.

“My uncle wants to see you at the store.”

“And you ran all the way here?” Saufinril tapped the boy’s head with two fingers, earning a puzzled (and somewhat mad) look. Saufinril just chuckled, “Lead the way.” He masked the resignment in his face as he followed the Breton boy. Fuck, here comes the ‘I haven’t received any clients, hold your side of the deal’, with what money would he pay him back?

Before he knew it, the store showed up ahead of him, open and awaiting customers. They stepped inside, and not long after Marley came from the back of the storefront. When his eyes found Saufinril, they lit up with a smile.

“Monsieur!” he exclaimed, his usual sunny demeanor shining through as he opened his arms.

“One’s been told you wanted one.” Saufinril purred with a wink. Dean gave Saufinril a disgusted look and walked to the back of the store as Marley laughed nervously.

“Indeed, I sent my nephew to find and fetch you.” Marley cleared his throat, smiling, “I called to thank you!”

The arched eyebrow Saufinril gave him was natural, “Thank one?”

“This morning,” Marley began, “a gentlemer came asking to see one’s robes, claiming he’d seen an Altmer wearing beautiful clothes and he’d been asking to see who made them, and he was directed here! To me!” Marley’s eyes were positively shining, almost like a puppy’s, Saufinril thought amused, “I-I had no idea it could be you until I asked them to describe you and-well he seemed confused that I did, but when he did I-I knew, I knew and you were right!”

Saufinril hid his own surprise with an eyeroll and a smile, “Of course it worked.” He forced a laugh, -“One told you it would, didn’t one?”

“You did, and-I-“ Marley passed a hand through his hair, “I-I had my doubts, monsieur. I haven’t had that many clients since I moved from Dunlain, it was looking grim but…but it worked!”

Saufinril gave him a sweet smile, “Of course it worked. You didn’t need to bring one here to tell you that.”

Marley paused, and then scratched the back of his head, offering an embarrassed smile. “I guess I was excited about the order and wanted to thank you in person, I hope I’m not interrupting your agenda. To be honest, it didn’t cross my mind that-”

“It’s quite forgiven, Marley.” Saufinril walked towards the tailor and traced a finger down his chest, “If, that is…” Marley’s smile faded as he observed the golden finger gently go down, then to his chin as Saufinril made him look up at his eyes, “you give one another of your creations for this afternoon.”

Marley blinked twice, “Th-this afternoon?”

“Mmm. One has a meeting with some officers, and one knows just how marvelously you can work.”

“My uncle is not a dressing servant!” both grownups turned to Dean, who both had forgotten was in the store. He was at the end of the counter, jaw tight and nostrils flaring, eyes set on Saufinril and fists curled tight.

No, holding tight. There was a parchment on his hand, where Saufinril could vaguely see the silhouette of a wolf holding what seemed to be a wet seed on his mouth.

“Don’t mingle in adult conversations, boy!” Marley exclaimed, his voice aiming for stern but only managing embarassment. Saufinril raised an eyebrow. He’d had plenty of dimwitted ideas in his past but at least he knew he’d NEVER butted in in an adult conversation. Unthinkable, both back in the Isles and living with Lillandril.

“But uncle!” the teen pushed, and Saufinril immediately understood why his younger years had been so amusing to Ria, “It’s the truth! You can’t let some-some outlander boss you around, expecting you halt your business and have everything ready for him!”

Annoyingly, the child had a point. But he had a job.

“’Tis fine, one can look for another tailor if this is too short notice.” Saufinril offered, arranging his face to one of disinterest and displeasure. He removed his finger from Marley’s jaw.

“Dean” Marley spoke, this time with an angrier edge, “Stop this at once.”

Dean’s face turned a rose color, mumbled an apology, and left to the back. Marley turned to Saufinril, face twisted with embarrassment.

“I am so sorry about him, monsieur, he’s my sister’s son. I took him in to show him the trade and help her- she has seven children, see. And he’s, he’s had his share of trouble back home, he doesn’t know how to hold back…”

He didn’t know what it was, but something about Marley’s speech bothered him. Still he just smiled.

“Nevermind that.” Saufinril said, “Back to the matter at hand. One might have to meet with more officials, and one will need clothes for such occasion.”

“Of course. If you give me some days-”

“Days?” Saufinril let out a short laugh, “One is due in hours! Good evening, monsieur.” He turned around and began to walk out the store.

“Wait!” Marley called, making Saufinril stop and turn, “I…I don’t have anything for right now.” Marley admitted, then sighed in defeat, “But, I know this seamstress. She might have something for you.”

Saufinril scratched the underside of his chin, arching an eyebrow, “Where is she?”

“Let me write the address for you.”

 Five twists and turns, two dead ends, a Breton girl stopped for directions and a brief stop at a bakery for a quick breakfast of chocolate-centered pastry and Saufinril was finally in front of MICETTE’S, as the sign outside of the store advertised.

Saufinril had been able to trick Marley into lending him clothes for free. Self-doubt started to creep in as he wondered if he’d be able to do the same to this Micette or if he was going to have to fork over money for robes he would wear only once.

He sighed. As much as he rolled his eyes at them, sometimes he really appreciated Rialas’s and Lillandril’s confidence in things.

“ ‘Onwards and upwards, as the mentally challenged would say’ ” Saufinril muttered to himself, while mentally he heard those words in Lillandril’s voice. Back straight, arrogant face, it’s showtime. He pushed the door and went in.

Saufinril immediately understood why Marley had accepted the deal of working for exposure when many others would’ve refused (Rialas, if proposed with this, would bite the person’s face): his store was empty. Every time he walked into Marley’s, there were orders getting made, but the store remained empty. Saufinril assumed that it was because his rich clients sent their servants to fetch their orders, and since not that many people were of the merchant middle class, not everyone could afford his creations.

Micette’s store, however, also had orders being made. And also had servants. But there were around four or five, waiting for their packages. And while Marley had the help of his loudmouth nephew, at Micette’s counter there were two other girls attending the servants. And these servants’s shirts and blouses were made of a nicer material than Toivon’s and Sorcise’s.

Micette’s was higher class, then. What the FUCK. Marley accepted the deal because he was desperate. Micette has high-profile clients. What would she have for him? How would he pull the same trick on her?

He didn’t have a chance to mull it over too much, because the blond girl at the counter spotted him. She gave two servants some parcels and sent them their way before approaching him.

“Good morning.” She said, giving him a cordial smile, “Are you here to see our wares?”

“One is here to see Micette.” Saufinril replied, slipping easily into the Cyremin act. For a second he thought this girl was going to look at him up and down and send him on his way, but instead she gave a brief nod and replied, “Right this way.” Before leading him up a set of stairs on the right. Once they reached the second floor, Saufinril was greeted with the sight of a waiting room with light blue, soft seats, a fur rug, various porcelain vases with roses and Mara’s tears, a table with a plate that had dainty strawberry tarts, cream puffs, mini rose sweet rolls and apple and lavender dumplings. As soon as Saufinril sat at the seat, the girl that brought him in served him some tea, leaving the mug and the clear teapot with the underwater blooming jasmine flower in the table.

“I’ll fetch her for you, monsieur.” And with that, she went to a door next to the stairs they’d come up from. Her steps indicated it was stairs. Once she was gone, Saufinril relaxed and looked around better. The smell of roses was starting to get to his nostrils, which meant in a little while it would impregnate the whole room. Lovely. If there was something he and Lillandril could probably agree, it was how tacky it is to leave a store with the stench of whatever scent the owner decided to bathe everyone in. No offense to perfumeries, of course, just-

He heard two sets of feet come down the stairs behind the door.

[its-kierce-sherman]

[What happened the day the DTI boys swapped personalities]

((I had 5 hours to do whatever so I did this. Warning it’s kinda longish))

So, Quinn was behind the idea of swaping personalities yesterday and was supported by Callum so it became a thing (this is how anything starts) They all drew names. Kierce got Francis. Francis got Quinn. Quinn got Kierce. Callum got Kent. Kent got Callum.

The rules to the game were simple: - They had to dress up as the person they got - They had to stay in character at all times - Everyone contributes $50 for the prize money - The last person to get eliminated gets the prize money - if there are two or more people standing the eliminated have to vote for who did the best and the winner gets the prize money

Mission 1: Dress the part.

Kierce: - Wore what he normal did around people - stole an eyepatch from Francis' collection - styled his hair to cover one of his eyes - Money spent: $0

Francis: - wore a ball cap - a bright yellow T-Shirt that said, "spreading happy :)" - blue jeans with splashes of different colors of paint - tied his hair back and got rid of the eyepatch - everyone liked that (but mostly Callum)

Quinn: - avoided formal clothes at all costs - raided Kierce's closet - wore a million accessories - shirt with obscure design on it - black jeans - yoiked Kierce's favorite jacket - Kierce did not like that

Callum: - sportswear - looked good - none were surprised - posted so many pictures of himself - his fans liked that

Kent: - Callum had to help him - $80 black dress shirt - $50 white designer pants - $65 grey Oxford boots - $70 ring - Total: $265.46 - Callum paid for all of it (:>) - Kent looked really good tho so it was all worth it

"They're group of good-looking men but something very wrong with all them." - Kierce's grandma 2016

The Tumblr stuff happened while they were waiting for everyone to get ready and start the day. Kierce will never say "Idiot baka, ever again.

So earlier on everyone picked out an activity they all liked doing. So Callum picked first.

Mission 2: Have a fashion show in Callum’s room.

Kierce: - said it was stupid - didn't do it - was a judge - 0's for everyone - took pictures of everyone - and laughed bitterly - enjoyed watching Francis suffer

Francis: - hated every minute of it - wanted to die - was stuck as the dj - fought the urge to play Last Resort - fought the urge to yell at Kent's stupidity

Quinn: - was a judge too - used big words - that he didn't know the meaning to - it was very adorable - "Sir your score is a 5+4." - beams with pride at his cleverness.

Callum: - lived and yet died - had to wear simple or mismatched outfits - oh the horror - still looked good

Kent: - wanted to try wearing high heels - failed - he tripped so badly - and so many times - but he really wanted to master walking in high heels - Kent pls stop you can't

Next thing!

Mission 3: Play at the park with kids. Quinn picked it after bungee jumping was shot down by Francis (who is afraid of heights.)

Kierce: - said it was stupid - did it anyway - Kei loves kids so dang much - he had so much fun telling them stories and helping the small ones on the monkey bars - said the kids made him do it - frowned on the outside - smiled on the inside - a tiny girl hugged him and he nearly hugged her back - he just patted her of the head awkwardly

Francis: - played on the merry-go-round - he spun it so fast and the kids loved him for it - he was smiling and laughing with all of them - fell off once and just laughed it off - everyone recorded it - Francis should act his age more often - he snuck his camera out every couple of minutes to take pictures of everyone - he mostly took pictures of Callum

Quinn: - told kids to stay in school and never do drugs - kept randomly saying things like, "1+1=2" - "Hey kid. Do you want some smarties? It's $20 a piece" - the kids found it funny - Kierce did not - pretended to take a nap on the bench

Callum: - played basketball with some boys - used to play basketball and hadn't done it in forever - everyone appreciated that - "How are you so tall mister?" "I have no idea I just," waves hands around, "grew one day." - his Kent impression was dead on - Kent went :O "I did that too!"

Kent: - played basketball with Callum and kids - he forgot he was Callum and couldn't help it - he was eliminated - but everyone expected that - Kent will and can only be Kent

Next!!!!

Mission 4: Play volleyball. Twas Kent’s idea so they went to the gym that the volleyball club use. The club members were there as usual and they played too.

Kierce: - Said it was stupid - Did it anyway - Had fun - Got hit in the face with the ball many times

Francis: - He was not a fan - He did jump around tho - and smiled no matter how fake it was - so he was safe - showed amazing team spirit - Lysander dropped by because he heard there was drama going on within the jock circle - happiness levels went up by millions - and smiled brighter than the sun - Ly was so confused but he liked seeing his bf happy as did everyone

(Side note: Francis is not single.)

Quinn: - You could tell he wanted to jump around and just be an energy ball - because that's what he did - he was eliminated - but he just shrugged it off and laughed - had too much fun missing the ball every time he tried to spike it

Callum: - CEO of getting hit in the face. - usually he'd just dodge them - but he was Kent now - he couldn't afford to break character - His nails suffered and he was in pain but he pushed through - had fun? - got hit in the stomach once - nearly died

Kent: - just an normal day with the bois - kept forgetting that most of the boys has never played volleyball before - he was the one behind all the times Callum and Kierce got hit in the face

Mission 5: Read books. Kierce's activity was originally doing a job one of the teachers had hired him to do, which was clean out one of the storage rooms. No one but Kierce liked that. So he had to pick again. 

Kierce: - complained about such a stupid activity - read, "How to be British 101," and, "The Tea for Me Might Be the Tea for You” - enjoyed it

Francis: - enjoyed the peace and quiet - until he realized he was suppose to be disturbing it - looked over at Kierce - who looked back at him with a smug smile and then went back to his book - the urge to strangle was strong with this one - in the end he just bounced around looking at books - talked loudly about whatever - got kicked out of the library - danced all the way out - wanted to die

Quinn: - knew he was eliminated but was having too much fun to stop - randomly shushed people - found a math book - it was big so he assume it was complicated - it was and he understood nothing but he felt smart - "Quinn what are you reading?" "Advanced Engineering Mathematics; the 7th edition." - when he got tired of it he found a book with math puns - math puns for the rest of the day

Callum: - avoided the fashion magazines - wouldn't even go anywhere near it - instead he just walked around all bored like - bounced a ball off the wall - accidentally hit himself in the face with the ball - blacked out for a minute - when he finally came to - Kent: "Hey, you. You're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there." - Callum: "Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been half way to Hammerfell. You there. You and me - we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants." - Quinn: "We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief." - Kierce: "Shut up back there!" - Francis recorded the whole thing

Kent: - was bored - kept pulling books off the shelves and putting them back where they didn't belong - danced out with Francis

The last mission: Go to Francis' favorite tea shop.

Kierce: - first thing he did was order Francis' favorite tea - "Hmm, this doesn't taste as good as it usually does." - got assaulted by napkins

Francis: - assaulted Kierce with napkins - tried to run away - Kierce threw a fork at him - he died from shock - eliminated - ordered his favorite tea - proceeded to go on a rant about how stupid the day has been - chewed out Kent for being stupid and told him to never try wearing high heels beacuse he'll only hurt himself - told Quinn that offering candy to kids was a bad idea even if it is a joke because adults can take it the wrong way and that his math puns were the worst - told Callum that he should play basketball more often - glared at Kierce

Quinn: - makes a math pun - but it's not just any math pun - it's the worst math pun - had countless hot chocolates because Callum was paying - tried to make Francis and Kierce apologize to each other - Francis: "No, I'm not apologizing. He said something stupid and deserved everything he got." - Kierce: "I'm not apologizing to someone as stupid as him that's just stupid." - Quinn: :( - Kent: "Could you two get along FOR FIVE MINUTES!"

Callum: - smiled at all the workers and told them they were all doing a great job - gave them all a $50 tip for their hard work - they were so busy dying they didn't notice Kierce and Francis fighting - the DTI boys avoided getting kicked out again - sadly that wasn't a very Kent thing to do - he did got eliminated - ordered an latte - there was a fancy heart in it - Cal took a picture - then he asked for the cafe worker who did it to thank them - "Thank you, you’re really talented with latte art. Next time I visit will you teach me how to do that?"

Kent: - he had a great time - had a smoothie or two - laughed at Quinn's bad math puns when no one else did

To end the day the five friends went to a karaoke and had a great time singing and talking about the events of the day. Francis showed off the pictures he took that day and promised that he'd print copies of the best ones and give them to everyone. Kierce won $250 which is always a good way to end the day. Callum swore to never play volleyball and posted on Instagram about the day. Quinn has a great time and learned many things, like how many math puns there are, something that is always very important to know. Kent was just happy to spend time with his friends and play volleyball. It was a wonderful day.

[sirfleurs]

i was sixteen years old when my hand was blue.

The grayscale pitch

Preface      

Life is not easy when you are high and alone watching television or pulling an all-nighter listening to Jimi Hendrix. The brain becomes dull. Overstimulated by genius. You stop thinking and overthink at the same time. I guess that’s what some people call daydreaming. All your bad thoughts get loose and all your inhibitions disappear. I figure this is right before the moment you are most likely to kill yourself. I’ll give it an hour before my Manic-Depression shows its ugly face. As I haven’t killed myself yet in an age of 23 I think I’ve done pretty well. I was sitting in my room in some Woodstock apartment writing on my first ever soon to be book. I had decided to call it ‘The Pitch’. It would be about some witty guy who had a great idea and he would be trying to sell his ‘pitch’ to everyone who’d listen. I had thought the rest of the story through. To be honest I didn’t know more than that. As I was about to sit down I had a beer, smoked a cig and 5 minutes beforehand I had masturbated to a busty forest nymph. Believe me was I tired.

A week ago I was checked-in at Fitzroy Hostel in New York City. It had been insane. My supposedly friends and I were drinking cheap wine in our room during this pandemic across the country. Geez after two bottles of wine I somehow managed to pay for- and eat two caps of MDMA and it blew my mind. I sat on the floor to cool my ass but everything began to spin and it hit me hard like a jolt. Andrew said “hey dude, maybe you should go to the bathroom and stick two fingers in your throat you don’t look too good”. But he was just too late. I burst like a water balloon, vomiting on the floor of Duncans room. Duncan was this nice guy that played XBOX and drank occasionally. Geez was I sorry. I locked myself in the bathroom to get the caps out. I was trying to vomit and I began to feel heated. The MDMA had already kicked in and it was too late to reverse it. I would have to wait this one out. Everything started to feel nice all around the body. My eyes became big as small plates and my teeth began to clench. I got an strange urge to stick my hand in the toilet to cool my body. Something I am not very proud of. On the small shelf I found a shampoo that I emptied in the toilet too just for the hell of it. Minutes later people would lock the door up with a coin and find me covered in shampoo. The helped me in the shower and I went to bed shortly after. Hours later I woke up. Two guys invited me for a joint. Something I couldn’t decline. It was only the second time I had ever tried drugs. While we smoked this cat, Alex told me “you know this only happened because you drank too much. You can never be too careful with mixing alcohol and MD. It doesn’t help that you hadn’t eaten anything either.” “Geez, I was not in control at all. I’d better stick to weed and drinking. That’s something I know”. Always do drugs with very good pals of yours.

So I went to the street and couldn’t make any money. I was to make something one way or the other. Which isn’t always easy when you don’t know what profession you want to be in. All I knew was that I didn’t need any tiresome busy work in my life. I like to feel needed but not so much that I can’t laugh and have breaks during the day. Life is life you know. But I would dance down the street like drums banging through the air. Long time ago I would have taken every job offered to me now I’m not so sure. I went to a fruit parlor in the New Habor Market in near Manhatten in princess St. I asked the first guy :” how much are these avocados.” “two fifty for three piece”. Fruit in the markets are much cheaper than everywhere else and the life is strong on the street which I thought couldn’t be bad. Everyone just running back and forth doing their bussinnes as usual. The markets was one of the places that hadn’t closed due to the pandemic. Nice, I thought to myself. I handed the guy three dollars and told him to keep the rest. “ hey man, how you get a job here standing here selling fruit, I’d really like to know”. “ah young man, I could take a look at your resume if you’d like”. Problem was I didn’t have much to offer him, so I stalled him trying to promote myself in person. I can be a very persuasive guy sometimes. When I’m in the right mood and I felt it crippling in my fingers my mood was good for this situation. “Hey man, I don’t exactly have a written resume. But I’ll tell you everything you’ll need to know. Im good at shouting and a quick learner give me a shot and ill prove to you, you didn’t waste your time”. I sounded like a sucker. But I couldn’t eat my words. The guy didn’t seem interested. I said “I promise give me a shot and I will not blow it.” He looked me in the eye and we stood for a few seconds staring at each other. “come down tomorrow at 6 sharp I’ll see what you can do. You won’t be paid for your three first shifts and from thereon you’ll be paid commission on how much you sell”. Sounded good to me so I nodded “you betcha” I said with a coy smile I sounded like a dork geez. Anyhow that’s how I got my first job. It went fairly well. I continued down the street. I still had something else to do before my first shift. Let me stand next to your fire I thought to myself. I was excited as hell. Down the road I saw a green balloon it was helium filled balloons. A clown was giving them out to kids. Everything was nice the weather was good and you could hear the wind sweep from central park. I needed to buy some weed for the next time coming. So I got up my phone and rang my friend Alex who had a connection. “O boyy I got a job fix me up with some of that green”. I met him outside the hostel and bought a quarter ounce for 50 dollars which is a fine price for nugs like these. Then I went home and lit a blunt. Just a small one while I sat at my outside porch. We had a giant tree and a lot of ungroomed weeds in our garden. We also had a cat I personally named Pysser in the name of my favourite old person who recently died. He was a sergent Knud Romer was his name. He once wrote an article about me when I was fifteen going to summer camp for young boys with no other places to go for their vacation. God was I sad to see him go. When I was done with the blunt I went up to my room and opened my book. It was called Pimp and the author went by the moniker Iceberg Slim. What kind of badass shit was that. It was kind of interesting the way he proclaimed the pimp life. And he was a real gangster. His bottom whore at the end of her mileage. Meaning the whore who kept every other whore in his house in line. When she goes everything always goes to hell for a pimp. He conend her. He made a whole setup with actors to con her into thinking she killed a rich motherfucker. She would be in the hotel room and this guy would collapse on her. Slim would come up to the room and call a doctor and get the guy collected. Slim conned her into thinking he bribed the police. That way his bottom whore was good to go for more tricks. That’s some cold shit. My thought whirled reading about the cocaine snorting and his nose hurting feelings of something scraping at the roof of his brain made me dizzy. I closed the book and stared at the ceiling. Dreaming. Aw man what do I do now. My head bounced like a bass line I felt slick. Breathing heavily but still relaxed. I went down for a cig to clear my thoughts. Sitting there I couldn’t stop looking at all the animals we had in this household. Cat and two dogs just lying freely whenever wherever.

The next morning I came back 6 sharp. A long 10 hours shift. My legs were aching and my head spiining. I wasn’t used to long as shifts. I was only used to lying around doing nothing chilling with friends. But it would come to me In time oso I ekpt coming there shouting like the others. Loud and confident keeping my back steady trying to pull in costumers in. At the end of each shift you would get paid a percentage of what you’ve sold. The first day I sold I couple of vegetables to this old lady who though I was cute and some couples wanting watermelon smoothies. It didn’t go so well. And I sure as hell didn’t want those pity purchases from old ladies. I made two fifty. It really wasn’t much. But at least I was paid the first day. Something I wasn’t expecting. I went to home sat on the couch with the other living there. We sat there chilling drinking beer and playing chess. And some girl that was visiting was playing skyrim.

Dreamers day

I remember when I was a small kid. I would look at the ocean and dream of being a bird. I would be on the moon. I was a gay kid, really. So much that my mother and sister thought I was actually gay. I remember the beach of Turkey. The warm ocean on my limbs under the moonlight. The salt burning in your eyes. Those were the days of happiness and good rest. Father would show us to surf the water on our stomachs whenever a wave came. Also the days of Levanto were nice. Father and I would hike the mountains at daybreak. We would struggle to find a parking spot and Father would cuss. Sister and I would get mojitos and look at the natives. The parties were everywhere. We would bathe in the clear water by the cliff. I remember many young adults would jump in. Everyone wearing speedos except one skinny langy kid. A couple kissing. The guy would get a boner and the girl would cover his little man with her belly. They kissed passionately. People would jump in from 5 meters and even more. Chances were one day they wouldn’t jump far enough into the water and they would hit the sharp rocks at the cliffs bottom. I picked small black clams from the rock and lurked it open. Levanto was a trip through forests cussing. We were in Italy. Driving a big bad car. I would lie across the extra three seats in the behind. I would push my bare feet against the cold glass of the window. I would see the damp print of my feet and the water drops on the other side of the window. I was glad I was inside the warmth of the car. My sisters friend was along. I liked her. She must have been sisters best friend. Not anymore.. I would lie in the bed reading. I was afraid of small gold fish. We would see the colosseum. I would ask “is it real”. Father would laugh for 10 years. I am now here in bed. On the other side of the world. Mother was different. We would be inside. I would care about her. She would be weaker. Depressed. I would be worried sick. I am still worried. But I am also smarter. She can care for herself. She stopped smoking now for the seventeenth time. She says one day she will make it. I hope it for her sake. I am not sure. The price of cigarettes went up. I would watch television. I would come out and talk to her she would listen and I would cry. This pretty much sums up our relationship. I still love her though. I was a dreamer. My English teacher told my sister I lived on the moon. That was fine with me. Not anymore. I want to be in this world now. I want to do good.

The days when we were friends we would go around your backyard make silly films. Scream like small girls. But we were small boys. Guess there is not that big of a difference. We would draw silly faces in class. We would play on the smartboard. We didn’t care about anything but fun. We would be older and try to learn music. Try to do good in school. People break apart and new people find each other. Right now I don’t find anyone. I am alone with the people I live with. The are polite and we drink together. But we are not friends. Not yet but we could be., I think things can happen. “Don’t think twice it’s alright”. You can get everything down the first time you try. You see poetry and stories are written in the haze in the bottom of your mind. You have to write it now not think too much. Know what you want to write and hurry up. Times against you. You have to run or it will be dull or you will be drowsy. Don’t let anything walk up behind your back. Keep your ears and eyes open for everything. This is not the time for storytelling. Open your eyes open your ears. You didn’t see the best minds of your generation starving hysterical naked.

Three small kittens

The day came after the weekend to go back to work at the fruit parlor., The guy seemed to be very contend with my abilities. I would make at least ten dollars for my self each shift. And I would have just enough for food for the day. Not that it was enough. I still had rent to cover. So I seeked my boss for help asking “how do you make a living out of this. Whats the catch.” He responded “the catch is catch 22 anyone who wants to get out of combat duty isn’t really crazy”. “would you have to be crazy to want to be in combat?” he nodded “and it works the other way around too”. I pondered it over “you would have to be rationel to want to come out of combat?” “exactly”. It didn’t make any sense to me. What did that have to do with anything. After the shift my chef handed my a fairly small red book with the title Catch-22. I had only made eight dollars this day. It felt lousy. At least I was able to take as much leftover I wanted. That would cover my hunger, but the money wouldn’t cover my rent. Soon I would run out of money and I had no idea as to what to do. I came home and fell down the stinking madras on the floor of my room. I opened the first page of the book he had handed to me. Whatever it was about I was kind of excited to dick in. Every two hours I would go down for a cig and occasionally a glass of water. Didn’t eat anything except avocados. They sustain you for a long time and are delicious with salt. Just be careful some of the avocados are bad inside and will give you diarrhea. It isn’t very comfortable to go to the bathroom every ten minutes during a shift with your boss around. Next I had collected 330 dollars earning eleven dollars for myself. Which is a personal record of mine. I knew I could do better. Catch 22 was a real witty book I didn’t know what I had to learn from it. Each day I would come back to work my boss wouldn’t mention the book. He would just keep yelling for ten 12 hours straight like a muezzin standing on the top of the tower calling to prayer. He was insane. During the day his temple would pulsate like an angry cat who had catched syphilis. Sometimes his lips would be blue and he would have to sit down. Whenever that occurred shortly after he would pull up a small orange container from his pocket and down some pills. He must have had a heart disease or something. I wouldn’t get involved though. He never brought it up himself. So I figured he must have had a good reason to keep low profile. It wasn’t my fight to fight. Four times a day I would go further away with some of the other youngsters trying to make it as a fruit parlor. I was doing the worst but who really cares. It was no competition. I was just trying to make a living.

[adventuresofninnaly]

The adventure begins!

Ninnaly woke up in cold sweat. Nightmares again, this time about a giant, black dragon attacking Helgen. Why Helgen? Why Dragons?! There haven’t been any dragons in centuries, if there were any to being with! Only stories for children.

She noticed the sun had start to rise, so she sat up in the bed and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, stretched her stiff body and yawning. She grabbed her worktunic and headed out of her bedroom, and down the stairs. She threw some firewood on the firepit, and casted a simple fire-spell on it. “Being raised by a former battle-mage surely had it’s perks.” Ninnaly said quietly with a slight smile on her lips. She sat down and started heating some water for her tea and grabbed a piece of bread. “I will try to remember buying some food later, before I go home from work” she thought. “but knowing myself, I’ll probably forget.”.

Ninnaly sighed and dropped down some lavender, a few juniper berries cut in half and a few drops of honey in her cup and poured some water on top. She started thinking back to her time in Helgen. She hadn’t been there in four years, since she first arrived in Skyrim. The innkeeper Vilod was nice enough to let her stay for as long as she needed, in exchange for helping him with his inn. It was Vilod who had teached her how to make the Lavender and Juniper berry tea. The honey was her own idea, being a sucker for all things sweet. Well, almost everything. She disliked sweetrolls. They looked weird, and was too sweet. Taking a sip of her tea and relaxed a bit in her chair.

“I should take a week and go visit old Vilod” She thought. “Would be a nice surprise for the old fool”. Taking a sip of the tea. “But that will have to wait until next month. I have to travel to Falkreath and deliver some alchemy ingredients to ‘Grave Concoctions’.” she exhaled and took a big gulp from the cup. “After that, I should have enough coin to buy myself a horse. Which will make my job so much easier, and I can carry a greater shipment”.

She sat down the now empty cup, took her waterskin, coinpurse and headed out. She was greeted by an amazing weather, for once it wasn’t freezing cold and raining. The birds chirped and the town had started to move. Adrianne had already started to hammer away at some order from the Imperial Legion. The children of Whiterun was already running around and playing tag. A great day, with other words.

Ninnaly headed to Arcadia’s Cauldron, grabbed the supplies and headed towards the gate. The pouch was fairly lightweight for once. Unlike that time she had accepted a request to pick up a shipment for Adrianne last month, down in Riverwood. Adrianne had forgot to mention that Ninnaly was supposed to bring Ulfberth with her, for the extra muscle. Oh well. At least now on the way back from Falkreath she could maybe get a foot in the newly opened shop in Riverwood and get a customer there too.

The trip to Falkreath was awfully uneventful, only a small fight between the Legion and the Stormcloaks. Ninnaly helped heal the wounded Imperial soldiers after the battle had ended. Ninnaly, being a half-elf, she didn’t sympathize much with Ulfric and his thugs. The leader of the small group asked if she wanted to join the Legion, but answered that she didn’t quiet make the cut. Ninnaly was both skilled in swordsmanship and spellcasting, but not enough at the time. The captain said he would recommend her, which may give her some extra leverage. After healing the troops and sharing a meal and some stories, the captain asked where Ninnaly was heading. “To Falkreath, gotta deliver a shipment.” “Is that so?” he said. “We were heading there ourselves, and as you probably can tell, that there are Stormcloaks in the area.” “Do you want company, miss?” He asked politely. “Yes, on the condition you don’t call me miss again.” Ninnaly responded teasingly. Together with the small band of Legionnaires, Ninnaly continued towards Falkreath. They continued to share stories, but keeping their guards up.

Arriving to Falkreath, the group of Legionnaires went their own way towards the Jarls keep. And Ninnaly went to��‘Grave Concoctions’. Delivering the goods. She was amazed of just how many kinds of poisons and deadly concoctions there actually is.

Happily leaving the ‘Grave Concoctions’ with a heavier coin purse, she went to the local inn, Dead Man’s Drink, to rent a room for the slowly approaching night, and get something to eat. A plate of potatoes, leek and a steak was laying in front of her, as someone approached her, and asked to join her at the table. “If you are here to flirt, you can go where you came from.” she said mockingly. “Oh no no no, I’m not interested in that!” the person said, “I’m Lucien Flavius. Scientist, philosopher, amateur wizard, and somewhat of a musician... but that’s more of a hobby, I guess.”. Lucien continued. “I am looking for someone to guide me through Skyrim. For academic purposes mainly, but the province of Skyrim is so fascinating! The flora and fauna. All the ruins, both Dwemer and Nordic. It’s architecture and politics.. “ He interrupted himself. “But, I’m not much of a fighter. I know a few spells, and can just about swing a sword. I would of course pay you, more than enough! That of course, is if you are willing to part ways with your current work. Pay would be no issue, I’m coming from a wealthy family in Cyrodiil, so gold is of no shortage.”.

Ninnaly sat quiet for a while, nibbling on her grilled leek. “I will do it. I don’t have any more orders as of now, and I certainly could enjoy some time on the roads!” She said. “And it would be a perfect opportunity to visit Vilod back in helgen. It’s only a days travel from here.” She thought for herself. “Splendid! Would 300 Septims upfront be enough for now?” Lucien said excitingly. Ninnaly almost chocking on her leek. “And compensate you for anything useful to my research.” He continued, waiting for her answer. “Y-yes, that would be enough.” She answered. “I’m Ninnaly, by the way.” “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lily! Let us get some rest for now and get on our way tomorrow!” “Wha.. No, Ninnaly.” She said, with a look of confusion on her face. “Don’t worry Lily! I just like giving people nicknames. Unless of course you have a problem with that.” Lucien said, with a hint of sadness in his voice. Ninnaly had never had a nickname. So she agreed to letting him call her Lily. Feeling a strange happiness about the ordeal she went into her rented room for some needed sleep. The following morning she stepped out into the main hall of inn and asked for some lavender tea and a piece of bread. “Good morning, Lily!” Lucien said happily upon seeing her entering the inn. “I have arranged a carriage to take us where ever we want to go. How does that sound?” “Sounds great, I’ll just eat breakfast and then we can travel to Whiterun. I need some things from my house, if that’s okay?” “Certainly! I have heard about the alchemy shop in Whiterun. I would like to visit it to buy some supplies, so that’s perfect.” Lucien said. After breakfast they left Falkreath for Whiterun. The trip was uneventful, it was spent getting to know each other better. Lucien came from a wonderful home in Cyrodiil, just as Ninnaly. So they were excited they had that in common. Arriving in Whiterun, Ninnaly was greeted with hugs by Lars Battle-Born and Mila Valentina. Her “best friends” according to themselves. “Hey guys, where’s Braith? She got in trouble again?” Ninnaly said with a smile, but also concern. “No, she’s sick. Just a cold, so she wanted to stay home today.” “I see, let me just get a few things, and meet me outside Braith’s okay?” Ninnaly smiled. “Friends of yours?” Lucien said with a smile on his lips. “My ‘best’ friends!” Ninnaly responded. “I usually play tag with them once a week. They really appreciate it. Most the adults are busy doing their work, and don’t have the time. But they like that someone can take their time to play with them.” “I see,” Lucien said. “so where do you live?” “Right here!” she said, unlocking the door to Breezehome. It had cost her a lot of Septims to buy it, and to add furniture to it. But it had been worth it. “I’m just going to get my sword and bow. Will you be a dear and take some lavender, a few juniper berries and the bottle of honey from the table in the back?” “Of course!” Lucien responded. “What is it for?” “It’s for Braith, one of the kids here in the town. A few snips of lavender, two juniper berries and a spoon of hone-” “For tea? Sounds awfully sweet if you ask me.” Lucian interrupted. “Yes, for tea. But it works wonders, and gets a sick child up on it’s feet in no time!” Ninnaly said while walking down the stairs. Now donning a short sword and a bow in her back. After exiting the house, Lucien was directed to ‘Arcadia’s Cauldron’ and Ninnaly went to Braith’s house. Saffir opened the door and greeted them. “Oh Ninnaly, how good to see you!” Saffir said, and gave her a quick hug. “Braith has gotten such a cold you could almost mistake her for a man!” she giggled. “I see. good thing I brought my miracle tea for her then!” Ninnaly answered.

After giving Braith the tea and some chit chat with Saffir, she headed out. Telling Lars and Mila to keep an eye on her house while she was away. Promising to bring them a gift in return.

Lucien stood by the gate and waited for her, and waved when he saw Ninnaly.

“All good? Is Braith okay?” He asked. “She will be. Just need to rest until tomorrow and she should be up in no time.” “Great! So, whereto now?” “Helgen.” Ninnaly said. “To Helgen we go.” -> Be sure to join in on the adventures of Ninnaly over at twitch to take part in her development, and decide her future!

*Edit: Corrected a few mistakes. cuz.. I’m a pepega.

[the-rainbow-mafia-blog]

Y don't u care abt UsUm?

// Short answer; because I feel Nintendo doesn’t either.

And now a long answer because I’ve been sitting on this rant for ages and I bothered the Discord server enough with it. I want to put foward first that the opinions expressed here are my own. I am a big fan of Nintendo and this is something that bothers me. This is no way shape or form an attack to people who love these games to bits. This is also not meant to hate on a franchise or a company. The purpose of this rant is to put some arguments behind my statements.

Sources are linked in the text. I used Nintendo but I always meant everyone involved in the making of these games.

The reason I feel comfortable sharing it now is because people have their, rightful, concerns about the upcoming games; Pokemon Sword and Pokemon Shield, releasing in a few short weeks for the Nintendo Switch. Nintendo’s newest and most succesful baby. 

Why doesn’t Nintendo care about Pokemon, according to you?

First we need to ask ourselves;

How much does Nintendo make on Pokemon?

While I do think they care in a sense the numbers won’t lie. Pokemon has made around $95 billion US dollars since the franchise came to life in 1996. To put it in a way bigger number; they make about 4130434782.61 US dollars PER YEAR on Pokemon. (This is my own math, I do not know the exact numbers per year. I divded their total by the amount of years Pokemon has been alive.) That’s a lot of money and it’s with right the most financially succesful franchise to date. 

Only a part is made by the video games $17.138 billion. It’s merchandise makes more; $64.1 billion.

I could not find a reliable source on how much it takes to make a Pokemon game in monetary value.  What I could find however is that Pokemon is making less and less per game they release. Without counting Ultra Sun and Ultra Moon, Sun and Moon made LESS than X and Y.  

The only main series game that made less than Sun and Moon (again not counting UsUm) was Black/White.

Nintendo knows people will buy their games anyway;

Dropping sales or no, Pokemon still manages to fatten the piggy bank over at Nintendo because people will buy it anyway. The Pokemon craze of the 90′s should tell you that. People would buy it if it had Pokemon on it. Those people are now in an age group that has money to spend, hell some even have kids. So Nintendo is smart and releases commercials like this one or this one.  This marketing is beautiful (and no, not only Nintendo knows how to do this) because they play on your feelings. Who didn’ make a friend because you both liked Pokemon? And if you grew up with Pokemon like the person in the second commercial the whole feeling and setting is famillair to you, hell they could’ve casted you and it would’ve make sense.  They compare the whole bleakness of adult life, having to work to pay the bills, having less time for video games, to that warm familliar feeling of coming home and playing Pokemon. They feed on your nostalgia; your desire to relive those moments or if you have kids, to share the feeling those games gave you with your off spring. Or your younger siblings or other family memmbers.  I catch myself doing it! When a young one comes up to me, or I see a kid play the game on the bus I get that familiar feeling of ‘Hey I used to do that!’ It’s smart and it’s a thing Disney is good at too. It zooms in on what was precious to you and now resells that feeling to you. 

“Hey buy our game to feel something again. The world sucks anyway but Bulbasaur is still cute!” This isn’t a bad thing! Nintendo is a company and at the end of the day they need to make money. That is fair and I am in no way bagging on them over that. But it’s my belief that Nintendo keeps making money on the Pokemon games this way. Which leads me to my next point;

The Pokemon games come across as lazy.

Again, opinion but it feels like that. Which is also why I don’t care for UsUm; it’s lazy.

I truly believe Pokemon has some decent writers who don’t get their chance to shine. The beginnings of great stories and characters are there but it feels unfinished. Like someone bought the ingredients to a delicious dish but forgot to make them. Over the years Pokemon has a colorful bunch of characters, and the ones that stand out the most are the baddies. They usually get the coolest designs, the sickest themes, one way or another they are present in the climax but again. It’s lazy. How many of them pretend to be good or have a high moral standing and then turn out to be absolute dickbags? Almost all of them. Then they have characters (Ghetsis, Lusamine and Faba come to mind first) do something horrible (abuse of minors and playing God) and they get away with it what is basically a slap on the wrist. 

And after you beat them… for me the story stops. Yes you can go and beat some very powerful trainers and claim your title as whatever the thing in this game is and yes often that unlocks some post credit content but it’s bare. The big threat is gone.

“But,” I hear you say “It’s a DS/3DS game. There is only so much you can do.” Disagree. Phoenix Wright, Ghost Trick, Professor Layton and The Legend of Zelda OoT 3DS and Majora’s Mask all released on the same consoles and have a much richer story and even more characters. All games keep their pacing and the story really feels like it ends when the credits role. 

Then there is the overal quality. The main characters in Sun/Moon looks like someone forgot to progamme their soul in: /Screenshot take from THIS video/

I, again, easily could compare this other games who have much more expressions but let’s take one of Nintendo’s own;

There is so much more emotion in the Legend of Zelda one.  It released a few years earlier than Pokemon Sun/Moon too.

Second the frame rate drops like a hat. While some framerate drop is expected this much is a little too glaring to ignore.  To compare it to BoTW or Red Dead Redemption on the PS4, who both also have some frame rate issues at times it only happens in certain locations, usually a spot with lots of effects of NPCs. In my opinion, Pokemon does not have the luxery of that excuse. It would random drop in almost every location i was in.

The story

Every Pokemon has a story and I get that it’s basic. It’s a game for all ages after all. I get it won’t have a deep story like other games have. The basic gist of the game is to still enjoy catching all these mon’s with occasional story woven into it. But here is the thing that irks me; The little sneak peaks of story that we do get.. it’s good. It’s just so unfinished. It’s like there is a constant battle in the developers room betweeing writing a deep and interesting story (I’m not counting Pokemon Lore, just the story given in a game) and focussing on just the gameplay. There are many examples of rich story games with little gameplay (Grim Fandango, The Walking Dead, Almost every Visual Novel ever, Detroit; Become Human, just to name a few.) There are games with lots of gameplay and little story (Mobile games for example) and there are games that mix story and gameplay perfectly (Red Dead Redemption, Left 4 Dead 2, Persona 5 to name just a FEW examples) 

I feel Pokeon TRIES to be all three of these styles of games but ends up failing at everything.

Storywise they lured peopel in with Team Rainbow Rocket, like mentioned before this is for most people the reason they get drawn in; seeing their old baddies return and getting to interact with them again. It’s the same reason for me. But it feels unpolished, same with The Ultra Recon Squad. They seem like GREAT characters but again, so little is done with them that I feel there could be so much more.

Don’t change a winning team. 

Pokemon has been selling the same game to us for years. Again, I don’t blame them. Why bother. People like it, why change it? They try new gimmicks now and again and I respect them for trying. I personally like the Let’s Go Eevee/Pikachu versions. While they were FAR from perfect I can at least applaud them for doing something new and interesting. While at the same time trying to lure people who only played the mobile app into the main series by remake the first game all over again. Again, I understand. I would too if I were them.

But with Sword and Shield they are taking something away; Pokemon. And with that the whole thing comes undone. This is supposed to be THE Pokemon game, the big one, the game that will release on The Switch; home of BoTw and Mario Odyessy but also the upcoming Witcher 3, Skyrim. Games that are all much bigger than Pokemon and yet they took a vital part out of it.

The video is deleted now and I won’t link to the Chinese Bootleg game as it does steal user data, but the whole issue was the animations.  The animations in the bootleg were GOOD. And if we remember the amount of Pokemon makes per year they can afford themselves a team of good animators. This isn’t some indie studio who employs 20 people and have to live of Kickstarter donations, this is GAME FREAK, this is NINTENDO. And it’s not like they can’t, please remember Pokemon Stadium.  Look at the animation on that. Now remember that Legend of Zelda, Ocarina of Time, ALSO came out for the Nintendo 64 and got a beautiful update on the 3DS. If they can do that, surely they can port the animations.

And yes, I’m hearing you. You say that there are a lot of Pokemon.. but they’re taking a lot of them out of Sword and Shield. So there is no excuse for the battles to look like this. And remember this is the same console that has BoTW, one of the most applauded games in recent gaming history. A game with tons of content, tons of NPCs, tons of Items and has almost none of the issues Pokemon has.

I don’t care about USUM because it’s a lazy cash grab that adds nothing new to the table except some side story that doesn’t do anything to the main story. Play UsuM, Play SuMo, you’re basically getting the same game. Nintendo is smart and tries to sell you the same game twice due to a Pokemon being unique to a game. Meaning that if you want them all, you’re going to have to fork over 120 US dollars and guess what? That version is almost sold out where I live. So it’s working. And I don’t blame them. I am impressed.

Because I get the feeling that, with absolutely minimum effort they are forking in insane amounts of money.  Nintendo is a company. They need money. I don’t blame them for doing the things they do. I am however, entitled to my opinion and despite everything said above I will see myself getting a copy of Sword or Shield in the future. Because that is how it always is. Because I too, want to relive the moments of my youth when the biggest concern I had was chosing my starter.

[thatoneshadyshop]

You know I’m gonna win, right?

“You know I’m gonna win, right?”

“In your dreams, little brother. This one is all mine.”

“Ah, right of course. Like it was last time. And the time before that. And that time in Bravil…”

“You can’t use that one! It didn’t count. I was injured! It’s not like you can be seductive when you’re half wrapped in bandages!”

“Half wrapped in bandages, Arkay’s foot! You’d sprained your wrist, that was all, and if you’d just let me…”

Lillandril smiled to himself as he took a sip of his wine, watching his children bickering. No matter how old they got, they seemed destined to never stop teasing each other; at least now they were older, it was taken in the right spirit. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to stop them tearing seven shades of Oblivion out of each other if they started fighting like they used to.

The tavern was nearly full, which given the foul weather outside, was hardly a surprise. The slightly damp smell of drying clothes and soggy boots was mixing with the smoke the fire from the pit was producing, the hisses and pops of the logs burning mixing with the sounds of conversations, laughter, and drunken boasts. The Nords of Whiterun remained as they always had for as long as Lillandril had dwelt among them: open, honest, and full of life.

“Alright, alright, no need to go on about it!” Gwemba slammed her fist down on the table, grinning at her brother broadly. “That was before. Tonight is my night, little brother. I promise you that.”

“Oh, just like to promised to pay the tab back in Sentinel?” Birk laughed, his eyes glittering with humour. He leaned forward slightly to pick up his tankard of mead, his free hand scratching at the dirty blonde hairs on his chin. “But fine, fine, tonight is going to be your night. Except it won’t be. Because it will be my night. Again. Standard rules?”

“Standard rules,” Gwemba agreed. Where her brother was all handsome features, light with his blonde hair and blue eyes, she was all dark, broad and bristling with barely contained energy. Combined with the scars that crossed her brow and cheek, and the slight crook to her nose where it had never properly heeled, the effect made it clear that she was a woman used to looking after herself. If her brother was the image of a courtier, dressed in colourful doublets and soft materials, she was that of a brawler, and an unapologetic one at that. “But who calls the winner? Ma’Riahni isn’t here this time.”

Raising his brows, Lillandil coughed slightly. Both children turned to look at him blankly for a moment, before realisation dawned on them, a glance passing between them.

“Ah, so, erm,,, no offence, Atta,” Birk began, flashing Lillandril an apologetic smile, “but it seems, well, just a bit odd for you to call the winner. I mean, you did raise us after all, and well…”

“You can’t,” Gwemba interjected. “You wouldn’t know what makes a prize woman if she came up and pushed your face in her melons. If you had to choose between him pulling a burly Orc missing all his tusks, or me going off with the most gorgeous Altmer maiden this side of the Topal Bay, you’d call the Orc the winner every time.”

“Well!” Lillandril huffed, drawing himself up in his seat and doing his best to look unimpressed. “That is simply not true. One might not choose to indulge in the dubious joys of womenfolk oneself, yet tis hardly as if one cannot appreciate the female form! One can appreciate the art without having to touch it! Tis hardly as is…” He trailed off, noticing the look Birk and Gwemba exchanged again, an entire conversation between them.

To think. The two children he had taken in from the streets had managed to grow into the two adults opposite him. The pair of them had gone on the spend years wandering the length and breadth of Tamriel, taking on odd jobs as mercenaries and caravan guards, seeking out adventure and sights they had heard of in their parents’ stories, or that Birk had read about in his books. More than once they had taken to the ocean with the self styled Pirate Queen of the Topal Bay, reaving the waves at Ma’Riahni’s side.

Lillandril worried about them, of course, but he was also deeply proud. Gwemba had grown into an accomplished warrior and hunter, while Birk was as adept a human mage as Lillandril knew; moreover, his son simply had a way with people, a gift for speech and calming tempers that gave him some surety they could avoid any serious trouble. 

Not that they could avoid all trouble, of course. Gwemba had scars aplenty from near misses, and to hear the stories, had been saved more than once by Birk or Ma’Riahni being nearby to apply healing magics. Birk had his own injuries too, a faint line that followed his jawline from chin to ear, and a few burn marks here and there from spells gone awry. The pair of them had limped back home more than once to recover, clutching their aches and taking to their beds for weeks on end. The residents of the Den were well primed to expect their appearances, and knew that anything serious was to be reported to Lillandril immediately. 

“Alright, alright, it can’t be one,” Lillandril conceded, lowering himself back down in his chair. “But if not one, how about Sildras?” He waved his hand across the table where the young Dunmer had just taken a gulp of ale; as he realised that three pairs of eyes were suddenly turned on him, Sildras turned the gulp into a choke, and began coughing violently, waving his hand around in front of his face as if to ward off the very suggestion of his involvement. Lillandril sighed. “Never mind.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Birk said, turned his attention back to his father and sister. “We can decide ourselves who wins. We both will know, after all. And if we really can’t agree, then we roll it over to next time. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” Gwemba nodded emphatically, banging her fist on the table again for good measure. “Right then. Standard rules. One person only, male or female, race doesn’t matter. They have to stay until morning, or it doesn’t count. They can’t be too drunk to know better, or under some sort of charm or other magical rubbish. No money either. It doesn’t count if you pay them.”

“Or if they pay you.” Birk had half twisted in his seat, his eyes sweeping the tavern back and forth. “No matter how good it is.” The small Bosmer trader by the window who was gazing absentmindedly into space, the pair of Breton’s sat sharing a meal under the eaves, the cook’s assistant just visible beyond the bar, stopping to wipe sweat from her brow and readjust her apron.

“Right.” Gwemba grinned broadly, her eyes mirroring Birk’s as the leapt from person to person. The Nord with the black hair in the corner strumming the lute, the Imperial moneycounter with the close trimmed beard and rubies dancing on his fingers, the buxom tavern maid weaving between the patrons and their grabbing hands - for a moment, her eyes stopped on the knot of Companions by the door, stood in a tight circle while one of their number regaled them with tales of vapour, and then they swept on.

Lillandril smiled to himself, settling back into his chair and taking another sip of wine. They might only be passing through the area, stopping only for a couple of days out of duty to see their father, yet the old Mer was glad to see them both. He had thought them far to the south, seeing out the late autumn in the sun of Valenwood or Hammerfell; that they had found work as guards on a ship sailing from Anvil to Solitude had been pure chance. It did his old heart good to see them both. It felt like it had been decades since their last visit, and while he could not blame them - he hardly wanted to be in Skyrim himself, never mind expecting them to choose to return - it was good to see them safe and healthy. Good to see them at ease, relaxed, enjoying themselves, playing their games. It put him in mind of his youth, of time spent prowling docks and entertaining would be patrons, of camping under the stars and of being able to simply leave cares and worries behind.

“Right then.” Birk brought his attention back to his sister, pausing only to drain the remainders of his drink. “Shall we say six hours past sunrise? It seems fair with it being so late already, no?” He held his hand out to Gwemba, who reached out to firmly take it.

“Agreed. Six hours past sunrise.” She flashed another confident grin, squeezing her brother’s hand slightly. “You do know I am going to win, right?”

“In your dreams, older sister. In your dreams.”

[odderancyart]

AO3

A fucking Skyrim AU because why the hell not

The Night Mother's Listener sent Razz out on this mission, despite it being a beginner's assassination. There's got to be a reason for that. Or maybe not: who was he to question the Lady's motives?

Warnings: murder, abuse

“Sweet Mother, sweet Mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear.”

The whispered words seemed to echo between the walls of the house as Razz stepped in, his movements soundless. His black and red armour and hood made him melt right into the shadows. In the corner of the small attic room, a child sat bowed. No, wait. Not a child. A young adult, but they were so small they seemed a child at a first glance.

The effigy of the Black Sacrament was spread out on the floor in front of them. Candles stood in a half-circle around the assembled skeleton, heart and piece of flesh. He always wondered where the hell these people got those things. Razz knew where he’d get it, but more often than not, if they were asking the Night Mother for Her help, they were likely not up for murder themselves. Of course, a few were willing but not able, but then they should likely have issues getting their hands on a full human skeleton as well.

“Sweet mother, sweet mother…” Their voice was faint, dry, as though they’d been here for hours, at the very least. Which they had: the Listener had given Razz this contract as soon as the Mother told her, and yet his client was still kneeling on the floor.

The room itself was terrible. Wind slipped through the hay roof, causing a draft that made the candleflames flicker, and the floor was splintered. The only furniture was a thin bed with a thin blanket shoved in the corner, and a dresser. Which was quite strange, seeing how downstairs had been homely. Not fancy in any way, seeing how it was a mill house, but warm and lived in. This was worse than a prison cell. Not that Razz had ever been in one, but he had once broken into Solitude prison to kill a khajiit in for illegal gambling.

“-blood and fear.”

Oh, right. He rolled his eyes on himself. Nice going, Razz, getting distracted by interior design of all things. Straightening, he stepped out of the shadows. Now, the floor creaked beneath his boots. The client froze. A yelp escaped them as they twisted around, panic written on their face. “It’s not wha-”

They fell quiet as their gaze fell on Razz, widening. Razz took a better look at them. A skeleton, like him, with huge, pale blue eyelights. Their bones were ashen, evidence of malnutrition. And they were dressed in a torn, beige tunic and brown trousers, but no shoes. They must be freezing up here, Razz could feel the draft through his armour. Somehow, they seemed familiar. Their mouth fell open, and they let out a soft “Oh.”

“The Lady of Death has heard your pleas,” Razz announced solemnly through the red veil covering his face. Only his eyes were visible. “What services do you require from the Dark Brotherhood?”

“I-” A shiver overtook them, their bones rattling. They rose to their feet, swaying, and clenched their hands at their sides as they looked him into the eyes. But they did look him into the eyes, and that was incredibly brave in itself. “I’m- I’m Blue. And-” He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment before his expression set. “I want you to kill Ms Gullveig. Our- our guardian.”

“Our?” Razz raised an eyebrow.

Blue swallowed, nodding. “Me and my brother. She adopted us from Honorhall Orphanage years ago. We were ecstatic.” A faint smile appeared on his face, but then it turned into a grimace. “Turns out she wanted free workers in the mill. I want you to kill her.”

“And what will you pay me? Our services do not come cheap.” Despite his dispassionate words, Razz almost felt sorry for him. Not quite: he was an assassin raised in the Dark Brotherhood. He’d killed good people for good money, and never looked back. It wasn’t in his blood to feel pity.

“Ms Gullveig has at least a thousand septim hidden away,” Blue said. “You can take all of it, once she’s dead. I’ll show you where it is.”

Razz nodded. “Acceptable. The Brotherhood accepts your offer.”

The relief that lit up Blue’s face wasn’t in the least making his soul ache. “Thank you.” The words were hushed, so filled with gratitude it sounded nearly reverent. The corner of Razz’s mouth tilted upwards at it. Well. He had always enjoyed being adored. Without a word, he turned his back to Blue, stepping back into the narrow staircase.

The owner of the mill wasn’t inside, just like she hadn’t been when Razz arrived. A warm fire crackled in the hearth and something was boiling inside a pot hanging over it, spreading a delicious taste through the house. Somehow, he doubted Blue and his brother would get to share whatever was inside it. He opened the door just a tad, glancing around. The river rushed by outside, roaring loudly, and he could see Whiterun in the distance. Otherwise, it was empty.

Quiet, however, it was not. Yelling came from the mill. Slipping his Dwarven bow off his shoulders and pulling out a Dwarven arrow and placing it on the string, he crept toward the mill. His steps were careful over the gravel, and he hardly made a sound as he closed in on the mill.

“­-you useless little ant!” a shrill voice came, and Razz winced. By Sithis, what a horrible sound. “Can’t you do anything right?!”

“I’m- I’m sorry I-” A slapping noise cut the shaking voice off, and a pained yell followed. Razz slid in along the wall of the mill.

“Be quiet.”

Thumbing on the string of the bow, he stepped up to the entrance of the mill, and drew it.

The mill was white. Everything inside it was white, covered in flour splattered from the sack lying on the floor. A woman: a Nord, blonde and in a blue dress, had her fist balled around the collar of a much taller skeleton, his bones ashen just as Blue had been, and in similar clothes, though he was wearing boots. The skeleton’s eyes were wide in fear and their hand raised to their cheek, and despite being more than a head taller than her, he was cowering.

Both twisted their heads against them as he stepped into their view, and she immediately let go off the skeleton, staring at him. Despite the arrow pointed at her, she showed little fear. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Are you Gullveig?” Razz moved his gaze to the skeleton, Blue’s brother. “Is she?”

He nodded mutely, stumbling backwards. His eyelights flickered between Razz and his matron.

Razz grinned beneath his veil. “The Dark Brotherhood sends its regards.” He released the arrow, and it hit her throat. A low moan escaped her as she fell to the ground. Dead: he’d hit the spinal cord. It had been painless, since Blue hadn’t specified anything else. Pain cost extra, unless Razz was in a particular mood.

Nonetheless, just to be safe, he knelt down and pressed two fingers to her wrist. A short while after, her heartbeat disappeared. Yeah, definitely dead. It was almost disappointing: this was a beginner’s job. Why the Listener had sent him, one of their best, he had no idea, but who was he to question the one speaking for their Lady?

Standing straight, he put his bow back on his back and pulled the arrow out from her throat. Dwarven arrows were hard to come by, so he wasn’t about to leave it. He’d clean it once he came home to the Sanctuary. Blue’s brother was still standing in the back of the mill, back pressed against the wall. His eyelights flickered madly. Razz rolled his eyes. “Calm down, I am not here for you. My contract was to kill her only.”

Turning his back to the skeleton, he began making his way back over to the house. A shaky voice made him look over his shoulder.

“Where- where are you going?”

“To collect my payment.”

He ignored the other’s weak, fearful protests as he made his way into the house once more. Now followed by the brother, he made no effort to move unseen, since it would’ve taken much too much effort to lose the skeleton than it was worth. His steps were still silent, however. They always were. Up on the attic, Blue had blown out the candles and put them away and the heart and piece of flesh was no longer lying on the floor. The skeleton, however, was still there. It wasn’t entirely easy to dispose of something that size in an inconspicuous way.

Now sitting on the bed, Blue smiled as he saw him. “Is it done?”

“Obviously.”

The floorboards creaked behind him. “Is what done? Blue, what is going on?”

Blue’s gaze flicked over to his brother. A brief flash of regret came and went before his smile returned. “Ms. Gullveig. She’s- She won’t hurt us anymore, Rus. We’re free.”

“You hired a cutthroat?”

Nodding, Blue walked over and took his hands. “She wouldn’t have let us go, you know that. We couldn’t- It was the only way.”

Razz glared at ‘Rus’, crossing his arms. “I am no mere cutthroat, guard your tongue. I am a representative of the Dark Brotherhood; a servant of the Lady of Death, the Night Mother, the Blood Flower.” He turned to Blue, voice impassive. “My payment?”

He quickly nodded. “Yes, of course. Downstairs.”

As they descended the staircase, him in the lead, he listened to the brothers talk as he rested his hand on the handle of the knife hanging from his waist.

“What’re we going to do now, Blue?”

“I don’t know. But anything is better than that.”

“At least we had a home, we can’t stay here what if the guards find out?”

“We’ll figure something out, don’t worry. But she’s not hurting us anymore, that’s the only thing that matters.”

“It really isn’t we’re not even inheriting anything, her nieces are. I- I’m glad she can’t hurt us anymore but- is it really worth starving to death on the street?”

“We won’t.” Blue’s voice was sharp. “I’ll figure something out.”

Razz ignored his rising unease. Wow. No plan or anything. It’s what he could’ve expected from a child, but these two were undoubtedly adults, his age. And it wasn’t entirely unlikely, what Rus said. That the guards would figure out what had happened: the Black Sacrament wasn’t unknown, so if the pieces were found, it was quite easy to draw the conclusion that an assassin from the Brotherhood had been hired.

But he couldn’t figure out why he felt uneasy. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen unimaginable suffering before. Starvation, violence, poverty. He’d inflicted incredible pain himself: murdered a man in front of his sister, burned someone to death, killed an infant’s parents. Anything he was hired to do, he would do. If the Listener, and therefore their Lady, said he was to do something, he did, without hesitance or regret.

And yet…

He blinked, realization dawning on him. Just in time for them to reach the main room. Blue immediately dove in beneath the bed, moving away floorboards. By Sithis- “You said you were from Honorhall?” he asked, and Blue twitched, yelping as he hit his head on the underside of the bed.

Rus nodded, staring at him in suspicion. “Yes. Were ‘adopted’ when Blue was ten, I was nine. Ten years ago.”

Twenty years. Blue was twenty. His soul raced in his chest as he realized the implications. Twenty. And from Honorhall. That’s why he seemed familiar. Forcing himself to keep his calm, Razz leaned against the wall, watching as Blue crawled back out. He held a brown moneybag. “I have a… suggestion,” he said.”

Blue blinked, tilting his head. “Yes?”

“If you do not know where to go, I can offer you a place in our Sanctuary.” This was insane. The head of the Family was going to kill him – hopefully not literally. Probably not literally. Not only was he one of their best, but they called it the Family for a reason. “If you’re comfortable living with assassins, follow orders, and to work for your keep.” At the horror on their faces, he added, “Not necessarily as assassins – though I do believe you could do the job, seeing how you were willing to have your mistress killed.” It’d be quite nice to have someone to do some of the housekeeping for them, he was certain everyone would think that, or at least parts of it.

“Why?” Rus stared at him, suspicion and confusion shining in his eyes.

After a brief moment of hesitation, Razz raised a hand up to his veil. He undid one side of it inside the hood, pulling it off to reveal his face. “For old friendships’ sake.”

A few seconds passed as Blue stared at him through narrowed eyes. Then he gaped. “Razz?”

Refastening his veil, Razz nodded. “Indeed.” They’d been best friends back at the orphanage before he had… ended up in trouble by stabbing a man trying to lure his brother into an alley with a knife he’d stolen from the market in Riften. Soon after, the Brotherhood had adopted them both. He’d been seven. The Brotherhood had a talent for finding those fit for the job. “So? Will you come with me? Or would you prefer starving?”

As they hesitated, he looked them straight into the eyes. “And keep in mind, if you come, and as much as think of betraying the Family, old bonds won’t matter. I, or my siblings, will hunt you down.”

Both flinched. “Can we- can we think this over?” Blue carefully asked.

Razz nodded once. “I’ll return tomorrow. I recommend you keep the murder of your matron hidden until then, so you better clean up the body. Or pay me extra, and I will do it for you.”

“We’ll do it,” Rus interjected, stepping in-between them.

“Tomorrow, then.”

Without another word, he held out his hand, and Blue dropped the moneybag into it. After checking the money, he nodded and turned his back to them. A horse was waiting for him nearby. Now he just had to explain this to the Family’s master. Somehow.

…

“You want us to what?”

“Take them in. Let them care for the Sanctuary, and we feed and house them in return. It’s not unreasonable, Wingdings.”

“And what if they betray us?”

“We hunt them down before they can utter a word and kill them. I will personally take responsibility for them.”

“This is idiocy.”

“I do believe Blue could be a fine assassin. Let him do the contracts that deals with abusers and criminals once we’ve trained him.”

“Ey, let ‘em come! Sounds like it’d be fun. Plus it sounds like a damn good idea to get a housekeeper or two.”

“You’re ridiculously lazy, brother. But yes, I agree. The Sanctuary are so far away from everything else: if they try to run, we can easily stop them. After all, Father, do you truly doubt that Tamriel’s best assassins cannot stop two nobodies?”

“Fine. But you’re responsible for them, Razz. Their training and their ability to keep their mouths shut.”

“Of course.”

…

When he approached the mill the next day, dusk was falling. Shadows danced over the hills as the black horse thundered over them and rain sprinkled against his face. Standing up in the saddle, he hurried her on even more until he reached the main building itself. From a single signal, she stopped at once, throwing with her head as he dismounted. He simply tied the reins up so they wouldn’t fall over her head and left her. She wouldn’t go anywhere unless she had to, and if she did, she’d come at his whistle.

He glanced in through the window as he passed by. The house was warmly lit, and the brothers sat curled up in front of the flickering fire. They were still wearing rags. The door creaked as he slid it open, stepping inside. Their eyes flickered to him, and Blue smiled hesitantly. Rus’ expression was neutral, with the faintest hint of fear, as he regarded Razz.

“Well?” he asked, closing the door behind him.

“We’re coming with you.” Blue stood, followed by his brother, and doused the fire. After grabbing two sacks, which Razz assumed held their belongings, they stepped up to him. Rus still lingered behind. “We have nowhere else to go. But- We don’t want to kill people.”

Razz shrugged. “It’s your choice.” That opinion was unlikely to last, though, if they were going to survive in the Sanctuary. You couldn’t be uncomfortable with death there, where everyone bragged about their kills. “Let’s go. I don’t assume you can ride?”

They shook their heads, and he sighed. Of course they couldn’t. Lucky his horse, Myrkr, was both strong and steady. He swung himself up on her back and steered her to the stonewall nearby so they could climb up. Rus behind him, and Blue behind Rus. “Hold on tight. Scream if you’re about to fall off.”

Applying gentle pressure to Myrkr’s side, he put her straight into short gallop. Walking would take too long, and trot was certainly ten times harder to balance in, so faster was better in all ways. They both yelped. Razz couldn’t help but smirk as he felt them both cling into him like a lifeline.

The journey wasn’t incredibly long, but at two points he had to slow down to let Myrkr rest, and once stay by a river so she could drink. But the sun had yet to rise as they reached the other side of the mountain. Razz dismounted and grinned as he watched the other two more or less fall of the horse before taking off Myrkr’s harness and setting her on her way. The horses walked freely in the forest, and it wasn’t far to the barn where they found both warmth and food.

He waved for the two to follow. Their gazes flickered over the forest and they pressed their bags close to their chests as he led them down the hill, into the rocks where the door was hidden. A gasp escaped Rus as he saw the door. A stone door with a skull, a red handprint, and a skeleton sculptured into it. Razz remembered the first time they’d come here: he’d wondered if it was a door to Hell. He rapped two fingers against the door.

“What is the music of life?” a voice came from inside.

“Silence, my brother.”

“Welcome home.”

The door opened, and a grinning Red was revealed. Today, he wasn’t in his armour, but in simple trousers and a half-unbuttoned shirt. He straightened, glancing over Razz’s head. “Are these yer ol’ buddies from th’ orphanage?”

“Yes.” Razz rolled his eyes. “Obviously. Let us in.”

“Rude.” Grinning wider, Red stepped backwards and waved for them to come with him.

Closing the door behind them, Razz did, and the brothers came after. The narrow path soon led into the first chamber of Whiterun Sanctuary, a great stone room. The opposite wall was covered in an enormous mosaic depicting the Lady of Death. He nodded at multiple of the assassins as they passed, but first of all they had to see Wingdings. He was the master of this Family, after all. In the next room, down a huge stone staircase, he found the leader of the Sanctuary standing by the wall, nodding as Edge sent away shower after shower of arrows.

As they stepped in, Edge sent away a last arrow before turning around, studying them. Razz saw his eyes fall on Rus and widen. Huh. His eyes flickered to Razz. “I assume this is them?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “It is.”

Wingdings came up to them, looking as serious as ever as he regarded Blue and Rus. “Welcome to the Whiterun Sanctuary,” he finally said, just as Blue was beginning to look like he wanted to run away. Rus just stared at Wingdings in defiance, “and to the Dark Brotherhood. Serve us, and the Night Mother, well, and you will lack nothing. Betray us, and you will wish you were never born. I am Wingdings Gaster, head of this Sanctuary.” He turned to Razz. “Show them to the sleeping area, Razz. Edge, return to your practice. And Red, just because you’re having a lazy day does not mean you can dress like a farmer.”

Edge rolled his eyes as he stepped back to the dummies, picking up an arrow, putting it on the bow, drawing and releasing in one smooth movement. The air cut through the air, going straight through the dummy’s throat. A gasp escaped Blue, and as Razz looked at him, he seemed almost awed. The corner of Razz’s mouth tilted upwards. Yeah, they could likely mould him into a fine assassin with some time.

“Yer not my boss,” Red objected.

“Yes. I am. Both your master and your father.” Wingdings’ tone was unimpressed.

Red hummed. “Alright true. But ‘m still not changin’. ‘S not like ‘m doin’ anythin’ but lazyin’ around anyway.”

Wingdings sighed.

Chuckling, Razz gestured for Blue and Rus to follow. The sleeping area was a couple rooms in the second deepest part of the mountain, second only to the weapons chamber. Most of them shared communal sleeping spaces, unless they were married. The rooms were homely, however, with everyone’s personal belongings spread out. A couple beds were free already due to a failed mission. A failed attempt at killing the Jarl in Whiterun. “Here is where you will sleep. I sleep there.” He pointed five beds over from the free ones.

Dropping his bag to the ground, Blue stared in awe at the room, the beds and the chests at their foot, and the firepit spread out along the walls to keep the stone chambers warm. Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes as he turned around to look at Razz. He was smiling. “It’s perfect. Isn’t it, brother?”

Rus’ expression was odd, but he nodded. A small smile lit up his face as well. “Yeah. It is.”

“Good.” Razz couldn’t help but smile. Luckily they couldn’t see it under his veil. “I am certain you will enjoy it here.”

[farfromsugafanfic]

glitteringconstellations interview

Before we get started with the interview, do you mind introducing yourself (whatever name you are comfortable with) and telling us a little about yourself?

Hi everyone! I’m glitteringconstellations, Glitter or GC for short. I’ve been writing fanfiction for well over 15 years now, though I only started sharing it around 2005. I minored in Creative Writing in college and I love writing in pretty much any capacity! When I’m not headcanoning one new story or another, though, I’m either adulting (ugh, adulting) or playing video games. These days it’s mostly Skyrim. I’m fluent in Korean and passable in Japanese and Spanish. I drink way too much pop to be healthy and I hate most fruit (though, give me any kind of melon and I’ll be a happy girl). Oh, and I’m a fledgling figure skater! I’m just a hodgepodge of random hobbies haha!

Q1: What kind of fan fiction do you normally write? Have you ever written fan fiction for other fandoms other than your current one?

A1: I tend to gravitate toward angsty fics. It’s long been my outlet of frustration, to put the character I love in harm’s way. The more pain, the better, haha! Though I do love the hurt/comfort aspect of it. Recently (as in, the last year lmao) I’ve been writing for the Voltron fandom almost exclusively (and sometimes YURI!!! On Ice), but before that I was in the k-pop ficdom (Super Junior, for the most part) for a looooong time, nearly 10 years. I won’t be opening that particular can of worms, though--I have Feelings and Opinions lmao. Before that I jumped around from anime to anime.

Q2: I see in addition to fan fiction that you do commissioned fan art! I’m not an artist myself, so I find it really interesting and cool. Do you want to talk a bit about that? And, feel free to plug yourself!

A2: This is actually a common misconception--I can’t draw to save my life!! I took commissions for fan fiction back in late June as a last resort to pay my rent. Typically though I’m horrible on a deadline so I don’t like to do it too often because I feel terrible making my commissioners wait. The art you’re referring to is the comic spread for The Parting Glass, if I’m not mistaken? I actually commissioned another artist by the name of Cota (@ccooooostuff on tumblr, go check her out she’s amazing at what she does and super sweet!) for that comic with the money I got for my birthday this year.

Q3: Do you write anything outside of fan fiction?

A3: I do! I journal a lot, or I try to anyway. This year I’m hoping to tackle an original novel for Nanowrimo, but more than likely, that particular project will start as fanfiction and we’ll see if I turn it into original fiction or not. I spend more time thinking about the things I want to write than… actually… writing them lolsob. My notes will be this gigantic document but when it comes to putting things together in a cohesive manner? Haaaaaa….haha…. The blinking cursor mocks me, I swear.

Q4: I see on your profile that you are 26. I think when most people think of fan fiction writers they think of someone younger, usually a teenager. Do you encounter younger writers a lot? What do you think of this assumption?

A4: I do encounter younger writers a lot! Surprisingly, though, most writers I know are either in their late 20s or late late teens (say, 15~19). Most people tend to think I’m young anyway just because I look a lot younger than 26, but as far as fandom goes, it doesn’t really bother me if people think I’m younger than I am. Usually I’m pretty forward with how old I am on my profile anyway! But yeah, I’ve been around the fanfiction scene a while. The k-pop fandom in particular had a way of reminding me just how long on a pretty frequent basis lol.

Q5: Why did you begin writing fan fiction? If it was for a fandom, why did that particular thing make you begin writing? And, for your current fandoms?

A5: I used to tell myself stories to get to sleep or on long car trips as far back as I can remember, and most of the time they involved characters from my favorite shows of the day. Pokemon and Digimon were two big ones for me before I hit those fun preteen years. As far as what got me started actually putting those stories to paper, it was born of frustration with shows not going the way I wanted them to, so I’d write the ending I wanted to see. For Voltron in particular, it’s just SUCH a fun sandbox to play in, be it by utilizing the incredible world-building or the plethora of interesting characters to play around with. So many possibilities! *3*

Q6: Do you ever want to be published in a professional capacity one day?

A6: Yes and no. I flip flop on this ALL the time. I’d LOVE to see my stories on shelves, but I’m actually very insecure and sometimes the thought of people reading my stories makes me want to die of embarrassment and sink to the center of the earth. That said, if I win Nano this year, I may run it by some publishers, even if only to get feedback. (Although if you want to get TECHNICAL I am officially a published journalist; I was an assistant editor for one of The Big 3 kpop news sites for a while. The one that starts with S. Also another can of worms.)

Q7: Has writing fan fiction taught you anything? About writing? Reading? The fandom? Etc.

A7: Oh absolutely. I definitely would not be the writer I am today without fan fiction. I wouldn’t say I’m super skilled, but the critique I’ve received over the years has helped me more than I have words for, honestly. Not even just in the capacity of writing fiction; my academic and professional writing has improved too. Also, just like reading anything in high volume, reading fanfic has helped me learn to read like a writer, how to pick out things that authors do that I admire and try to emulate that, and conversely what doesn’t work for me so I can avoid those things.

As far as fandom goes, fanfiction can be quite polarizing, as I’m sure you’re well aware. Just in my experience by and large it can be kind of toxic, to be quite honest. The particular issue Voltron faces that I experienced to some extent in other fandoms but not quite to this degree, is fandom policing. I find that certain members of the fandom (which, in my experience, tends to actually be mostly among those younger demographics, though not exclusively so) see certain topics as morally wrong and therefore anyone who writes those topics are 1) romanticizing said topic and 2) automatically a disgusting, horrible person and they have no problems telling you about all about it. The number one thing I try to put out there in my interactions is live and let live, ship and let ship. If it makes you uncomfortable, that’s okay! But that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s wrong, and it’s definitely not okay to go around purporting hate in the name of “morality.” Sorry, didn’t mean to go off on a tangent there haha...

Q8: What is a piece you’ve written that you’re most proud of?

A8: Just in the Voltron fandom, I’d say the fic I’m most proud of is The Parting Glass, by far. Funny story about that one; I’d never heard the titular song before I came across a cover of it on Facebook one day around St. Patrick’s Day, and let me tell you something. The reaction I had was almost a spiritual experience, it was so visceral. I was in tears when I heard it, and the story came so hard and so fast that I wrote it in 2 days. It stayed with me until I got it down in writing. It was an interesting challenge for me, exploring the grief part of a character death fic while almost entirely omitting the actual dying part. It’s been a very long time since I’ve had such a vivid vision of exactly how a fic is going to go from start to finish and I’m quite happy with the way it turned out. Which is why, when I had the money to do so, I commissioned Cota to illustrate what had to be the hardest and yet my favorite part to write. She brought the scene to life so beautifully too, I’m really happy with how it turned out. Months later I still go back and stare at it!

Q9: Do you notice any stigma surrounding fan fiction or fan fiction writers?

A9: Without a doubt. People hear “fanfiction” and they think one of two things: the pudgy neckbeard who lives in his parents’ basement, or the rabid tween/teenage fangirl. It’s a rather unfortunate stereotype, because some works of fanfiction are truly works of art, more masterfully crafted than some novels I’ve seen published. Yet they get dismissed simply on the basis of being fanworks and not “original” (which, let’s be real, nothing is truly original anymore). One such example that comes to mind of a beautiful fic is those glittering instruments in the EXO fandom, which was based on the real-life destruction of the Library of Alexandria. If you can find a copy of it floating around the interwebs I HIGHLY recommend giving it a chance no matter what fandom you’re in!

Q10: If so, how do you feel about this stigma?

A10: Like I said, it’s really a shame. The thing, too, is that as young girls we’re often shamed for the things we’re passionate about, like boy bands and, well, fan fiction, while boys don’t get that kind of shame to such an intense degree (at least, not about the usual suspects, like sports and girls and such). Not to say that it doesn’t happen, but there’s something terribly sad about seeing more young people afraid to talk about a hobby that makes them happy because they’re afraid of being perceived as weird or gross or something like that. Hell, even to this day I have very few friends from outside the fandom sphere that know I write fanfiction, because they still talk bad and make mean jokes about fic writers. It’s such a silly thing, because a lot of famous works are derivative fiction and people don’t even realize it! So I hope the day comes soon that we can get over this silly stigma and just enjoy what people share (for free!! Seriously!! FULL NOVEL LENGTH WORKS. For FREE.)

Q11: Is there anything you’ve ever wanted to talk about or be asked that no one has asked you about or given you the opportunity to talk about? (And if so, feel free to answer/talk about it).

A11: I really had to think about this one! I couldn’t really pick one topic that I’ve really wanted to talk about that I haven’t already discussed, but no one has ever asked me if I was okay with having fanart of my work. Which I would answer with a resounding YES. I am more than okay with it QuQ

Oh, I guess I do have something!! It’s unrelated to writing (well, I guess it could be related, depending on how you look at it) but since I have your attention, if you’re an American citizen GO OUT AND VOTE. The midterm elections are one week from today in the USA and it’s important you go vote!! I won’t tell you who to vote for (a third can of worms I’m not opening up. WHY DO I HAVE SO MANY WORMS) but I assure you, your vote matters, now more than ever. I believe in you!! Go vote!!!

Q12: What is your prefered site for writing/posting fan fiction?

A12: These days I prefer to use AO3. It’s a work in progress, but it’s far and away the superior fic platform of the time. Back in ye olden days (circa 2010~2012) Livejournal was my platform of choice, and FF.net before that. A surprising number of people prefer to post their fic on tumblr, to which I say, are you out of your flipping MIND?!?! Tumblr is soooo temperamental, I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve had to restart a post or go into the HTML editor because the rich text editor decided to be stupid. Noooooo thank you. I’ll stick to AO3 thanks ahaha!

Check out Glitter’s Tumblr and AO3.

Interviewer Note: Glitter used her free question to encourage everyone to vote and I would just like to stress the importance of this, especially if live in the US. Young people are the demographic that votes the least, despite being the demographic that will have to live the longest with the outcome of the vote. If you are currently not registered, please register as it is important for all of our futures. And, remember the deadline for the upcoming US election is Nov. 6th, so make sure to get to those polls and/or turn/send in your ballot. If you need information on how to do any of these things, do not hesitate to reach out to my page and I will point you to trustworthy resources. 

[theomegakitty]

VSWID and Character Comedy

Playlist link:  https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlRceUcRZcK1zbWYtY6BZHQg4sE3_macD

Disclaimer: I’ve never met or spoken with Jim Sterling in any capacity. This is just an opinion/analysis I need to get off my chest.  

     I’ve seen most episodes of Jim Sterling’s brilliant series ‘The Video Game Show What I Done’ at least a half-dozen times, and the only reason that doesn’t apply to them all is because the ‘Nioh’ episode is too new for me to have repeat-watched as many times as the others. If life had many instances where jokes from this show could be fittingly quoted I would be the first one quoting them. Any time I watch an episode I marvel at the timing, technique, and invention displayed throughout it. It’s clear that Sterling has been honing his abilities over years and hundreds of scripted videos, and VSWID (as I will refer to it from now on) may be my second-for-second favorite work of his. If you’re willing to go along with the crude yet ultimately harmless sense of humor it’s a riotous, deceptively well-crafted series that takes less time to watch than an episode of ‘Twin Peaks’ and is just as bizarre.

     Yet I feel alone in this opinion. Maybe alone is a strong word, but the dislike bars on these videos are always proportionately higher than they are on the less controversial Jimquisitions, sometimes much more so, and dissenting comments are less comprised of the random fury that a lot of highly viewed (relatively speaking) videos get than they are made up of confusion and even frustration, questioning if the series is “centered around a private joke [they’re] not privy to” or feeling the joke just didn’t click, despite them noticing the “sarcasm” at play. And that’s cool. A series as intentionally malformed as this one is going to leave some people stumped, especially when done by someone who frequently comments on the business of video games. When he makes a joke involving ‘Overwatch’ it makes sense to assume that the joke is directed at ‘Overwatch’ itself, since criticisms have been made by Sterling toward the game’s loot crate system and other elements of the game and its business practices. It’s a logical way of thinking, but it’s not one I agree with. The joke of VSWID is not at the video games it is focusing on. The reason VSWID works is not because it’s satire, as some believe it is, but because of Rory Fingers.

    Rory Fingers is the fictional host of VSWID as played by Sterling. Rory, as a character, is difficult to summarize because of the dimensions present in the writing. At first glance Rory is rambling and unprofessional. He’ll stumble through a poor a capella version of Vampire Killer from ‘Castlevania’ for over forty seconds before being rudely interrupted by the death of Simon Belmont onscreen. His videos are slapdash (the zoomed in screen cutting off the score counter in ‘Mega Man’), his gameplay footage is terrible - he rarely understands anything about the games he plays - and his puns capping off videos/segments are given such half-hearted delivery that it’s as if he came up with them on the spot and isn’t sure if he should say them. This is to say nothing of how he gets names wrong and twists words around (Robot Nick is an example of both), but the main takeaway here is that Rory is not very good at making videos. That alone is probably enough to hang a video on. After all, many of us have tried our hand at making Let’s Plays or other types of videos without realizing how feigned our charisma is and how little polish the video itself has, and that can be easily parodied, which is what he frequently does. In the aforementioned Vampire Killer gag the joke runs longer than you expect it to, and it veers dangerously close to anti-humor before the end of the bit and the end of the player character’s life are connected. He was singing until he died, and by having that clear, motivated end point the joke hits. That’s Sterling’s attention to the principles of comedy but there’s more to Rory than parody. He’s a character, not a punching bag, and Sterling understands that the bar must be raised beyond concocted incompetence in order to keep the viewer watching for more than a single video. That’s why the dark side of VSWID is so crucial to its working as a series rather than a one-off.

     Rory is unwell. He throws tantrums, has to take “yellow pills for a year” to calm him down, and has a life coach - allegedly not assigned to him by the state. The videos imply much but only state the essentials, leaving the viewer to make up stories or piece together exactly what happened to, say, go from clarinet lessons to “many many scorpions so many scorpions”. The point is completely separate from the topic he was initially talking about (that being the requirement to pay for Skyrim DLC). It’s there for two reasons, the first being that implanting disturbing imagery in a semi-innocent way is a good way to get a reactionary laugh but its primary function is the second reason, which is to provide the viewer with understanding of how Rory sees the world around him. The incest joke in the ‘Doom’ video works as shock humor but what makes it land is that Rory genuinely seems like the kind of character who would believe that wanting to do “deep-kissing” with his mother is just another part of being a person. Him making the connection between violence in Street Fighter and his father’s violent assault (which I won’t spoil) is funny because the act itself is ludicrous but also because the connection makes sense in Rory’s head. But shock humor can become tiresome if not grounded in an attempt at empathy, which is why the third dimension to Rory’s character (the first being incompetence and the second being his disturbed nature) is the most important reason for why the show works as well as it does: Rory is an innocent .

    Whenever Rory does something wrong I’ve never felt it was out of ulterior motives or actual malice. If it were the character would sour the whole show. Instead, Rory is a creature of childlike instinct. He throws chicken legs at people when he’s “sad” (a perfect word choice to convey how simple and blunt the character is) and gets mad when his grandparents give him socks instead of video games for Christmas. None of this comes from a place of hatred, just a place of childish selfishness. He hurts others without realizing it because he hasn’t developed the empathy that Sterling’s adult voice (and therefore supposed adult age of the character) would suggest. And yet, though he speaks from a current perspective of PS4s and emulators, he still speaks as though he’s a child, despite the ‘Street Fighter II’ video stating that he’s been playing the game since at least 1998*. The way he both resents and idolizes his brother’s ability at video games. The way he’s seemingly cared after by others. The way he makes jokes that everyone on Earth has made with zero sense of irony (from the character, not Sterling). His penis is a constant source of enjoyment and he doesn’t care who knows it, and though that’s true of a good number of people the character’s obliviousness of that taboo (however mild) indicates Rory’s lack of understanding of the world around him. He’s Norman Bates with Open Broadcast Software and a microphone, and the unfiltered nature of the internet means he’s free to say whatever he wants without consequence.

     Rory reminds me of Mr. Plinkett, which considering Sterling has used RedLetterMedia content in his videos is not an unfair comparison to make. Both are disturbed personalities let loose via internet critique, but I think I prefer Sterling’s approach. Because Rory is (unwittingly) just as much as a victim as those affected by his condition Sterling invites the viewer to laugh at his behavior while finding his affliction pitiable. Plinkett, meanwhile, is disturbed without there being a point of empathetic entry for the viewer. He does such terrible things (and the RLM guys show enough disturbing imagery) that the viewer can’t understand his plight and the gag comes off as mean-spirited as a result**. He’s just too much of a monster. Conversely, Rory’s actions are unwitting, meaning that when Sterling asks the viewer to laugh at how pathetic this character is we are able to because Rory, though a victim, is a little shit. 

     And we’ve all been little shits at some point, right? We’ve all done stuff in our childhood that we’ve regretted, despite it being because we were kids, so Sterling uses that truth (at least for me) to invite us to laugh at ourselves. Though maybe not to the extent of Rory we’ve treated family members and friends like garbage at one point or another, and Sterling uses that fact as a jumping off point to create a character who is this inclination heightened to the point of ridiculousness. Because none of us are perfect, especially when we’re kids. Rory simply never grew out of that mindset because the world around him was so sickening, so he retreats into his comfort zone online and posts videos with the delusion of competence. If you’re reading this then maybe there’s some part of that idea that rings true, and Sterling understands that. We need to find humor in our natural awfulness lest we forget about it and pretend it doesn’t exist. VSWID is a show about an uninformed, disturbed, child-like, easily upset manchild who vents his frustrations through Youtube. Even if that’s not you then it’s likely you know someone like that. And, let’s be honest, that person is kinda funny. But Rory is a creation all his own, and Sterling knows that by heightening the awfulness to absurd levels it becomes easy to laugh at human folly. I can’t wait for the next episode.

* I realize that this may just be a continuity error or something. I still think it’s worth commenting on.

** I love RedLetterMedia to death and I’ve seen the Plinkett videos several times, but the story segments of those particular videos are my least favourite RLM content and I skip them when I can. Just wanted to clarify before people call me a hater.