#so I might modify it a touch so that it fits my standard and then actually finish it we'll see :v

[koa-z]

[wip] wasnt gonna finish this but nagito's expression was too fun :v so we'll see

[performativezippers]

Hello again!! :D i was wondering, what makes a story feel lifeless? i mean, not the plot but the text itself. My writing feels like a bunch of facts one after the other: the sky was blue, it smelled like cinnamon; This happened and then That happened, now they're doing This etc. Despite including sensory details and the protagonist's thoughts, it still feels monochromatic and devoid of personality :( and like? too quick?? in a bad way (not sure why). How can i change this?

Great question! I love this one! Here are three things that come to mind for me.

Based on what you've written, it seems like what you might be missing is emotionality--without the right emotion beats, it's no wonder its feeling lifeless to you. You've got the senses nailed -- the sky is blue (what they see), it smells like cinnamon (scent, evocative! curious: why does it smell like that, i wonder as the reader, that's good!). And you've got plot points coming one after the other, also good.

So maybe your paragraph looks like this (obviously I'm just making this up):

Jane followed Maura into the farmer's market. It was a hot day. The sky was bright blue and the air smelled like cinnamon. Maura took a long time looking at all of the vegetables. Jane bought a Red Sox onesie for Frankie's baby. Maura spent a lot of money, and Jane was ready to go long before Maura was.

Here are three things I'd do to make this seem more alive, more emotional, and take longer (if you want it to):

1. Vary the sentence length. This is a great an easy fix to writing that sounds wooden. Read it out loud. Notice the steady tempo of the sentences above; they're all relatively similar in length. Breaking that up can give a more unpredictable rhythm that makes the reader's breath catch in their chest. After you read the above paragraph out loud, read this one. Notice that none of the words have changed, only the punctuation (and things like "and"):

Jane followed Maura into the farmer's market on a hot day. The sky was bright blue, the air smelled like cinnamon. Maura took a long time looking at all of the vegetables, and Jane bought a Red Sox onesie for Frankie's baby. Maura spent a lot of money. Jane was ready to go long before Maura was.

That's a little more lively, a little more of an emphasis comes into "Maura spent a lot of money," and there's a bit of a dance to "the sky was bright blue, the air smelled like cinnamon" in a way there wasn't to the first version.

Okay, simple fix done. Now to the more complex ones.

2. Tie specific emotion and memory to each sensation. So it smells like cinnamon, so what? So the sky is blue, so what? What do those things mean for Jane? Why are we calling those out? What can we learn from/about Jane and the scene from her reactions to those things? Maybe now it looks like this (new/modified stuff in blue):

Jane followed Maura into the farmer's market. It wasn't until they were approaching the first fruit stand that Jane realized how long it had been since she'd been here. Jane was surprised to find that she missed it, missed watching Maura touch every single damn zucchini and then buy none of them. It was nice, actually. It was the hottest day of the summer so far; the sky was bright blue, and the air smelled like cinnamon. Maura took a long time looking at all of the vegetables, as always, and Jane wandered away in a fit of boredom, returning with a cheap Red Sox onesie for Frankie's baby that made Maura mutter something under her breath about synthetic fabrics and infant skin. Jane didn't bother not to smile. It felt like old times. Maura finally found some berries up to her standards and spent more money than even Jane expected her to, and Jane eventually had to drag her back to the car.

Okay, so that's very different, right? Thinking about each detail, each action, as something that's specific and makes Jane think of specific things, to compare and contrast to how it might have gone before. That's going to give you lots of life and emotionality. We learn, without you having to tell us, that Jane expected it to be boring, stilted, long, and not very hot outside. That tells us a lot about Jane. Plus, we learn that not only was nice and kind of emotional and hot and Maura spent so much money, but also how Jane feels about those things, those expectations she had gotten wrong. That tells us even more about Jane!

And then the final thing that comes to my mind right now is:

3. Connect what's happening to the broader plot or tension of this scene. Why are they at the farmer's market? What is Jane needing to happen, or hoping doesn't happen? Let's say Maura has dragged Jane out because Jane has been stuck inside the precinct for a week trying to find a clue that's evaded her on a tough case. The unsolved case is weighing on Jane, and Maura is a firm believer that fresh air and exercise will give Jane's brain the breath it needs to find the clue. Jane is very grumpy about it. So that's tension: Jane wants to be at work saving lives, and Maura has dragged her here, using Jane's love for Maura to manipulate her into coming to the market. So maybe now it looks like this (new/modified stuff in purple):

Jane reluctantly followed Maura into the farmer's market. It wasn't until they were approaching the first fruit stand that Jane realized how long it had been since she'd been here; Maura used to drag her here almost every weekend, but that was before Casey. Before everything with Maura's dad. Before their relationship was stretched taut like a rubber band and then very nearly snapped in two. Jane was surprised to find that she missed it, missed watching Maura touch every single damn zucchini and then buy none of them. It was nice, actually. It was the hottest day of the summer so far; the sky was bright blue, and the air smelled like cinnamon. Inside the precinct, at her desk, it was always dark and smelled like a gym locker. Maybe Maura was right, not that Jane would ever admit it to her. Seeing the sky, smelling the pastries and coffee and ripe peaches--maybe this was what Jane needed to crack the case. Maura took forever looking at all of the vegetables, as always, and Jane wandered away in a fit of boredom, returning with a cheap Red Sox onesie for Frankie's baby that made Maura mutter something under her breath about synthetic fabrics and infant skin. Jane didn't bother not to smile. It felt like old times, like maybe one day they'd get back to the banter and easy affection they'd used to have. Maura finally found some berries up to her standards and spent more money than even Jane expected her to, and Jane eventually had to drag her back to the car, because murder can only wait so long, after all. The sunshine and stone fruit and the hot, humid breezes of summer would all still be waiting for her once she'd solved this damn case.

So by (1) varying sentence length, (2) making things tied to specific memories and details, and comparing/contrasting with past experiences or current expectations, and (3) tying the entire situation into the broad tension of the scene/chapter/fic, we've been able to add a lot of liveliness, character depth, emotionality, and slow down the pace so that we're not rushing from one thing to the next.

What do you think? What do you all do to add life to your scenes?

[biitchcakes]

Ideas for a FALLOUT verse :

i'm gonna ramble here but i wanna get What I'm Thinking out.

OPTION 1 :

Jessica's Fallout story is very similar to how her life starts now ⸺ only, instead of Hydra that's employed her parents, it's the Institute. Researchers in genetics that would be very interested in some Big Brain Biologists like the Drews. Perhaps they're wanted for their research into irradiated spiders ( we don't see any mutated spiders iirc?? so like, maybe they survived pretty unaffected, stayed normal, and maybe that's why they're being researched on? 🤷‍♀️ ), or perhaps not and they're just normal biologists and one of them is more than willing to use their daughter as a genetic guinea pig.

She's poked and prodded at as a child, perhaps even still while she's developing within the womb. She's got a slight immunity to radiation ( decently so, but not entirely safe from it as i'm not looking to Ghoulify the gal ).

Does this make her some sort of mutant by Fallout standards? Just lacking the FEV? Something instead of the FEV, really. I suppose, sorta kinda. And I might touch on that.

OPTION 2 :

I mean, I mean, look at Fallout 4's main storyline and look at what's happening to her in her comics right now ⸺ her son is abducted by an evil organisation, goes on a wild hunt and stops at nothing to find him. ( Replaying the game rn with her as a character, and every time she sadly says something like "I need to find my son, they've abducted my boy" it's a GUT PUNCH ⸺ TOO REAL RN )

I'd make her married to someone random, and I'd rename Shaun to Gerry.

If I go this route, a more Fallout 4-esque story not a one for one, I'm gonna work her being a detective for Nick Valentine in there somehow. I can't not do that. Everything else is so perfect already, how can I leave that out too? ( in his Raggedy Ass Columbo Jacket and all <3 )

Either way, some KEY THINGS I wanna hit:

She's a bounty hunter.

Her weapons of choice? Modified biker gloves charged with fusion cells, looks like lil electrified balls firing as she uses them. As well as a pistol fitted with a laser attachment that she's affectionately named her Venom Blaster. ( Think Pew Pew from FO:NV. ) I was gonna go with knuckle dusters but I like the biker gloves more. Suits her. Plus that means she's got some sort of range on them like she would her real venom blasts. How do they work technically? I'll get there.

In lieu of her pheromones, she's got high as all hell charisma. Could charm the dew right off a honeysuckle. And, if possible, some way to work in the Black Widow perk from New Vegas, 3 & 4.

She'll be younger than she is now ⸺ instead of being typically 28 - 32, I'm taking her down to 24 - 28.

There's a brief, and I mean very brief, period of time in the comics where she smokes. I'm bringing that back for this verse. Pay her in caps, or depending on the job, a pack of smokes. If you wanna gain some points toward her good side, bring her a pack out of the blue.

Still from London, but her parents move to the States at some point before the bomb.

[fourseasonsfigs]

Concert Twirl

This beautiful fig is inspired by one of my favorite moments in one of my favorite things - the Word of Honor Concert.

To explain how much I love this twirling concert intro, I have my phone lock screen set to this image:

It looks beautiful on the phone with the gorgeous swirly colors and the gorgeous swirly men, just saying.

Zhehan swirling/dancing/swift moving steps during his whole concert intro (and also moonwalking in the BTS) is just a perfect encapsulation of his personality, Gong Jun's personality in being game for whatever his Zhang Laoshi throws at him (in front of 7,000 people notwithstanding), and their caring and trusting relationship. I love it so much. I woke up at 3:30am Pacific Standard Time to watch both days of the concert live, knowing I wouldn't understand a word but not caring - which, may I say, felt like the height of my fandom craziness at the time. What could possibly top that level of insanity??

Ahem, right, moving on.

I remember being so surprised and delighted that the two of them were showing so much fun and personality from the very start of the concert. What nerves? So charming and so fun. Also, it's an incredibly beautiful visual image.

Since Zhehan's the focus of this fig, let's check out the actual video here:

The main camera angle didn't give us a great view of the twirl (OR of Gong Jun twirling), so let's have some inspirational stills of him floating across the stage:

It's incredible how beautiful he is. I had to hold myself back from putting sparkles and glitter hearts all over my header pic, because he's just so bright and sparkly and alive. His whole personality just shines through.

Ah, no wonder this fig maker was so inspired by this. Who wouldn't be?

When the box arrived at the warehouse, the photos taken of the inside looked like this:

You can just imagine my expression when I saw the flowers just thrown on in there all together! There's no way those resin petals would survive the journey - it doesn't even bear thinking about. I paid 62 cents for the warehouse to wrap the flowers to protect them and called it a bargain.

And here it is! Mindful of the way the flowers had looked in the warehouse, I was still worried they might be broken, but they unwrapped - shockingly - perfect.

Here's the base and the flowers. Thrilled at my good luck, I pulled up the fig maker's photo so I could make sure I was putting all the pieces in the right place, and started flower arranging.

And - well, precious readers, if you've been with me through the Hanye with a Sword post, you'll know what I went through with modifying that fig's little hand. So you can imagine how my heart sank when I found that two of the flowers did not want to fit into their little holes in the clouds.

I tried gently wiggling them, rotating them, angling them...nope.

You can see this first one has the stem almost pre-trimmed down to fit, but it sure didn't work.

The good news, of course, was that I had just gone through all of this with Hanye and his sword, so I re-gathered up my nerves, and got to work. I carefully sanded down a small part of the stems verrrrry very slowly, turning it to try to make it even on all sides, constantly testing to make sure I wasn't over-sanding.

It ended up being way easier than Hanye's hand, plus something about it being a flower instead of, well, a hand, just mentally made it less stressful.

Ta da! Whew, so glad that's done. It's not perfect, but I will say that one of the many things that touched my heart from the concert was that I actually, for the first time in my whole life, saw with my own eyes and actually believed that things don't have to be perfect to be beautiful. In fact, things can be more unique and precious because they're not. Gong Jun's off key singing, Zhehan losing the key, Wang Ruo Lin slipping and falling, etc etc ... all the chaos and mayhem and sheer, utter delight. It's hard to undo a lifetime of programming that perfection is everything, but I will tell you that this concert cracked that wide open and a real and lasting way for me.

Zhehan attaches to the base via feet magnets, which I am a big fan of. I wish more figs had magnets! The little feet go on those circles there you can see on the base.

Since he's twirling, I'm going to treat this like my music box posts and do a 360 degree photo roll so you get all the angles:

Whew! Very tempted to invest in the USB rotating platform. If only it wouldn't use up my one-video-per-post slot, I would.

Not all resin figs come with printed boxes - a lot of times they are just a plain white box, but this one did. (The printed stickers are a reminder to film an unboxing video) It's very beautiful! The writing on the box says, Goodbye Jianghu, which is certainly apropos to the concert.

I didn't have a box card in my box, which is too bad, because it would have been lovely to have this a pic of the fig with this art in the background. So I kind of made one myself with the header pic. I think it turned out really nice, but you can be the judge!

Material: Resin

Fig Count: 205

Scene Count: 18

Rating: Endless Happiness

[link back to Master Fig Index for more posts]

[amentaldisasterzone]

TL;DR Scar should have touch-activated blowtorches in the handles of his wheelchair

I was minding my own business eating breakfast this fine evening, when this fun thought popped into my head. I was pondering an AU where scar is a supervillain because whatever hero governing body there is wouldn't hire him because he's disabled. out of a fit of rage(and because no one else will hire him) Scar decides the best course of action is to become a supervillain to prove to the heroes that he is fully capable of working in the field. While figuring out his gear and stuff, scar realizes that he can't get a new wheelchair for his villain activities, and is unfortunately stuck with one that has handles on the back, which could pose a problem in fights. The handles would be one of the first things a hero would try and go for in a fight with Scar, because it's hard for Scar to reach them, and they would have control of his mobility. So, to help combat the problem, he gets in contact with an underground engineer to help modify his current one(I imagine this is Cub, or maybe Etho, and they have this whole back and forth about "This is the mysterious day job you wouldn't tell me about?!?") The engineer and Scar brainstorm solutions and come to the conclusion that they can actually use the handles as a trap. If anyone tried to grab the handles while Scar was out being villainous, they would activate the blowtorches that are hidden within them. Depending on how fast the hero can move, they might get lucky and only have second degree burns, but third degree burns will be standard.

Oh, and for anyone who thinks "but what about people with fire powers?" I like worlds where powers have limitations or drawbacks, so unless a person's power is literally being fire proof, the blowtorches are still going to work just fine.

[wizard-of-interesting-failure]

One thing most people don't understand about aging and death is that the processes affect the soul as much as the body. This is why anti-aging and resurrection magic are so infamously difficult; modifying both at once is almost impossible due to having to cast multiple lifetime-of-study tier spells simultaneously, and if you only change one then the incompatibilities will tend to wreak havoc on the poor person in question. You might think having two casters would solve the issue, but I really do mean "simultaneously"; the slightest gap in the spell weave leads to desynchrony and somehow even worse outcomes.

The counterpoint to this is that a child's soul is still growing and changing rapidly alongside their body, and sometimes that capacity for adaptation lets you skirt the rules, just a little.

Like most wizards, I live a solitary life in a tower in the wilderness, providing for myself with magic and rarely needing to set foot outside for anything. Rarely isn't never, though; some reagents explicitly can't be mage-touched prior to their use, and I'm quite partial to honey but have no interest in becoming a magical apiarist. As such, I have something of a ritual: twice yearly, around the spring and autumnal equinoxes (not for magical reasons; the weather just tends to be nicer then), I'll head to a relatively nearby village to pick up supplies in bulk before retreating back to my demesne for the next six months.

Well, on one of these trips the local beekeepers were celebrating the birth of a daughter. I don't generally pay that much attention to local affairs, but I cast a few appropriate wards and left them with some charms in exchange for a little extra royal jelly. She grew slowly over the next few years, seeming sickly in spite of every effort (my own included) to improve her condition, and in a twist of irony worthy of a faerie curse turned out to be deathly allergic to bees. Not even just the stings; they discovered this when one flew into her room as she slept, and even that level of contact sent her into a convulsive fit.

This was...disheartening, to say the least. This family of beekeepers had kept me well supplied for generations, and she was an innocent girl besides. But I knew little biomancy, certainly not enough to do anything safely to a human. I pondered the problem for a few more years, not knowing how much time she had, and eventually decided that it would have to be soul magic first and foremost if I didn't want to leave her to her apparent fate.

What I came up with first, as quickly as I could since time seemed to be of the essence, was a simple necklace. Most of the design had been borrowed from my earlier phylactery studies, lichdom being one of the few reliable ways to truly cheat death, though of course there was no way to achieve it without the lich-to-be casting a litany of complex incantations themselves. No, all the necklace did was disguise itself as a part of her body such that the soul would passively grow into it. Not an area of particular interest to the aspiring lich, as they were generally too old to grow into anything like that, but a passable first step while I tried to think of what else I could possibly do. I gave it to her parents and told them to have her keep it on her person at all times, then set off to figure out what the hell my options were from here.

Six months later, she was dead.

It was too early. She'd seemed to deteriorate after my last visit, they said. I was certain the necklace wasn't at fault (it was scarcely more than having an extra finger in terms of soul strain), but the villagers mostly blamed me and I mostly let them. It seemed to help them feel better, and I certainly blamed myself. The girl's family, bless their hearts, thanked me for doing everything I could. I took my standard shipment, overpaid for it as much as I could spare, and slipped out in the night, head hung.

I resolved to visit a different village from then on. It was further away, harder to get to, and there were no local beekeepers, but I didn't want to keep reminding them (and myself) of my failure. I'd keep working on the problem, if only out of a sense of guilt-based obligation. Maybe next time I could do a little better, even if I didn't really believe it.

Only when I got there six months later, they had some very strange stories to tell about the merchant caravan that had sold them their honey. Sightings of a stuffed bear...not walking around, exactly, but scooting along while sitting with no apparent means of propulsion. I'd written it off as a curiosity at best, more likely someone making up stories or not noticing one of the merchant children kicking the toy from just out of sight. But then one of them mentioned that it had been wearing (or possibly carrying) a necklace whose description I recognised immediately.

I had very little idea what that could mean, but what idea I DID have suggested that I should drop everything, cast Alacritous Celerity until my nose bled, and then sprint 60 miles down a woodland road, robes flapping every which way as I did. Must've been a funny sight, in retrospect.

You'd think I'd arrive at the apiary and immediately collapse, but I was still hopped up on hyper-haste when I got there. I figured out a few things in short order: The girl's family had been taking the bear and the necklace with them on the caravan because they reminded them of her. The two mementos were sitting on the girl's bed; they still hadn't been able to bring themselves to clear out her old room. Most importantly, they were shifting around on top of the covers. Slowly, haltingly, almost as though they were practising.

I grabbed the necklace right away, intent on running diagnostics, but was immediately assaulted by an overwhelming sense of panic and a force wave of surprising power. I dropped it on the bed and stumbled back, watching as it propelled itself in fits and starts until it had landed back on the bear again.

It was at this point that the rest of the family caught up with me. I snapped out of my reverie long enough to gesture frantically at the bear and the necklace, speaking way too fast to be understood (and probably incoherently even if I hadn't been), notice the smashed doors I'd left in my wake, apologise weakly, then pass out.

When I came to, there was a bottle of honeyed milk in an ice bucket next to me...along with the bear and necklace (next to the bucket, not in it, mind you). I moved to grab the bottle gratefully, but the bear jumped with seeming excitement as soon as I stirred. I reached out towards it gingerly, taking care not to separate it from the necklace this time, and tried tapping into the jewel set into the pendant with object telepathy, half-convinced I'd just gone mad until a voice spoke out in my mind, bright, young, and achingly familiar.

She spoke about her past six months quickly and incoherently, as only a child can, words spilling out in a torrent I could barely swim against long enough to comprehend. I eventually pieced together most of the story: she'd woken up in a formless void with no sensory input to speak of, save for a sense that there was an immense quantity of something nearby, not oppressive particularly, just...there, in a pile, and very noticeable. She had assumed she was dead, until she decided to try grabbing a bit of the pile and throwing it. It didn't move in her perception, only diminished almost imperceptibly in size, but there was a flash of something else. Something shaped like an object she recognised. The face of her stuffed bear.

From there, she was possessed of a single-minded determination to live. Every feeling of helplessness she'd had lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, every lament at her lot in life that no child should ever have needed to feel, every regret born from dreams that should not have been impossible, and yet still were; she poured them all into doing something, anything, to keep going. She figured out how to use the pile (the magic reserve that had been powering the necklace, I realised) to move herself and the bear around, and to better map her surroundings. She tried alerting her family, but couldn't open the door and they never seemed to react to finding her in different positions or to the slight movements she could manage while being carried and without a proper reference frame. She tried getting their attention on the road, but they assumed it was the jostling of the wagon, and she had to be much more careful after almost falling out on one trip. She had resolved to keep working on her movement ability until she could either write a note or fly out the window when I showed up.

I downed the milk, slowly despite my racing mind, and we went to explain the situation to her family. Their reactions were a mix of disbelief, horror, and cautious optimism; eventually they agreed to let me take her back with me to my tower so we could figure out what to do next. That ended up being the easy part. Her control had gotten remarkable, and we ended up designing a golem of sorts for her to pilot with little miniaturised switches. She insisted on making it black, yellow, and bee-shaped; in spite of everything, she still loved bees, she said. We headed back into town a week later, her walking alongside me with confident strides (I hadn't figured out getting the thing to fly yet, much to her disappointment) and her voice carrying excitedly from a standard-built modulator usually used for communicating with magical beings that couldn't speak for themselves.

We kept working on improvements over the next few years; better integration for improved control, mostly, though we did eventually get the flight working and she had a few other requests that were...interesting, to say the least. Once her dexterity improved she made a fantastic beekeeper; she couldn't be stung, after all, and never had to worry about tiring. Eventually she had a fully integrated sensorium and multiple different "carapaces" (her word for them, not mine!) to switch between for different tasks, all in her favoured black-and-yellow style, of course. One she affectionately nicknamed "bumblebee" was even capable of transforming between a self-propelling wagon and a more humanoid form, ostensibly to minimise carapace-switching, but I think she just thought it was cool.

She ended up becoming something of a local legend; we've kept in contact and she visits her family often (especially around harvest season), but ultimately her spirit couldn't be contained to a life as small in scale as the one she'd been born into, as much as she loved and respected the village that had raised her. She even ended up fighting off a dragon for them...but that's another story.

Living a secluded life off the grid was also something you wanted to do and have been doing for the past 20 years, only heading to the nearest town 20miles away to get some odd supplies every 6 months. On your latest visit, you are greeted by the dead roaming the streets.

[naralanis]

My first pen was a Pilot Metro Retro. And was promptly broke by an E-2 I let borrow it to sign paperwork (i kept the cap so he would have to give it back, but alas). And then a couple years later I jumped to a TWSBI Vac700 Iris. Anyway, i have a few different pens, but I havent found even a basic instruction on how to tune tines or maintain them besides washing them out with distilled water. And suggestions?

Hi there! Sorry about your Metro, and hope you're happy with the TWSBI! I once let someone borrow my Décimo and they... mangled it. Heartbreaking! I was eventually able to fix it, but it took some doing, and it was also a last ditch effort -- I was already fully prepared to dish out the money for a brand new nib unit, so I figured there was no harm in trying.

I'll get to the easy stuff first: if your fountain pen is writing OK, it doesn't really require more maintenance than a good flush every now and then. You don't even have to use distilled water (unless the water in your area is like, exceedingly mineral-heavy) -- plain tap water and regular dish soap will do just fine.

As for nib tuning/readjustments, they are not part of a pen's general maintenance. Readjustments are done if there's a problem with how your pen is writing, and personally I view nib tuning as something done to improve the experience to the user -- mostly to smooth a scratchy nib.

Here's the short answer as to why info on making these adjustments is a little less widespread (though still relatively easy to find):

1) While often simple, these alterations can be a bit fiddly, and it's very easy to irreparably damage your pen.

2) These alterations, but especially tuning/otherwise modifying your nib/feed, will almost certainly automatically void your pen's warranty.

Keep that in mind if you decide to undertake any tuning -- it is always at your own (and your pen's) risk.

That's the short of it! For the (much, much) longer version, as always, see below the cut!

sorry this one took so long, I got really, really into it and it is stupidly long adalskjadhls

So, first things first. Your pen writes completely fine, you wash it every now and then or whenever you're changing inks, and have an overall pleasurable experience writing with it.

Congrats! Nothing else needs to be done. Enjoy your pen.

Now, let's say your pen isn't writing completely fine. Maybe it's skipping, maybe it feels scratchy, maybe it's laying down too much ink or not enough.

Before you go straight to tuning your nib, the first thing you do is: you clean it.

"But Nara, I already cleaned it." Clean it again. You'd be amazed how often a more thorough flush fixes simple flow problems -- do it with dish soap if you used only water the second time.

The next step? Try a different ink, if you have some. Then, try some different paper. It's good to have a paper/ink combo that you're familiar with to use as a standard. I like to use a Rhodia No. 19 Dot Pad and Waterman Serenity Blue to test all of my pens -- nearly every pen I buy writes an 'inauguration' page with that exact combination.

If your pen is a cartridge/converter, always make sure the cartridge or converter is the right fit and that it's seated properly. It should fit securely without a ton of pressure -- if you can basically bop it off without trying, it's probably the wrong fit. If the converter provided to you by the retailer doesn't fit, contact them -- maybe you got a defective pen.

Alright, so you've done all of the above, but your pen is still writing funky or not at all. Now it's time to take a closer look at the nib.

Enjoy this expertly made reference image I made on my phone before I realized I could just link you to a better one.

Before you start researching how to tune/grind your nib, let's check the nib and feed alignment -- the feed is what allows the ink to travel from reservoir to paper, and if cleaning your pen hasn't solved the problem, there's a good chance it is probably not seated correctly.

Here's what you should check for:

1) Make sure your feed is flush to the underside of your nib

If there's a major gap between the underside of your nib and the top of the feed (where the ink channel is), the ink simply can't get to where it needs to be (i.e. the tip of the nib). I

If there is a major gap, you can check if your nib and feed are seated correctly in the nib section. This depends a little bit on the pen and the model, but most of the time, you can try grasping nib and feed together and gently pushing down. Remember to never grab your nib by the shoulders/tines, as that will most likely ruin it.

2) Make sure your feed is properly centered with the nib.

This is easier to check if your pen has a breather hole, which most of them do. Basically, check to see if the ink channel at the top of your feed (you can see it through the breather hole) lines up with the ink slit. Here's a good example:

And here are... not so good ones. Coincidentally, both on Conklin pens.

This is usually a simple fit -- sometimes you can gently wriggle it back in place. Other times, you need to remove the nib and feed from the collar (basically the plastic thing that holds the nib unit together) or they are friction fit to the section altogether (like in the Lamy AL-Star). Do a bit of research on your pen model before you try disassembling it.

Feed is centered? All good to go? OK, now we move on to checking the metalworks, so to speak. I recommend using a magnifying glass or loupe for this part. Here's the one I use.

4) Check your tines for a) factory oopsies and b) misalignment.

Here's an example of tines that were just... cut very wrong (sorry for poo-poo pic quality, but you should be able to see the tine on the right just... ain't right)

In the case above, contact your retailer. I noticed this one before even inking my pen, but they should cover a replacement regardless.

DISCLAIMER: all adjustments from here on out may void your pen's warranty.

(maybe not a simple realignment, but don't risk it, or ask your retailer before you try anything).

Here's an example of slightly misaligned tines (ON THE SAME PEN AFTER EXCHANGE BTW).

I stupidly didn't get pictures of my Décimo or the Duragraph above looking straight at nib pointing up -- you could actually see one of the tines sloping slightly downward. That causes unbearable (to me) scratchiness and can tear off paper fibers. No fun.

There are better examples from JetPens' Fountain Pen Troubleshooting Guide (which you should absolutely check out!)

You can fix misaligned tines yourself. It requires patience, a little pressure, and a lot of finesse not to overdo it. You can manually bend the tines back into place, but before you try it yourself, I recommend going to YouTube to see how other pen people do it. My method is similar to this one, but there are several others. You can use your fingernail to push it down, just be very careful with how much force you use.

The one method I personally don't recommend is, ironically, the one JetPens recommend on their guide. It might work just fine, but I just think it is way too easy to overdo it and get splayed tines or create a major gap between nib and feed.

OK, seems like the tines on your pen are fine? Time to...

5) Check the distance between your tines.

Your tines should, ideally, be juuust a hair apart-- only enough for the ink and capillary action do their thing. They shouldn't be touching, since that would hinder ink flow, but there should not be a gulf of distance between them either. Let's revisit another Conklin

Yay. Fun.

This is also fairly simple to fix, but again: you have to be delicate about it. I manually manipulate my tines into position and kind of go by feel by now, always testing and checking with my loupe. Here's how PenBoyRoy does it:

Again, there are many different methods, and you will often hear different things from different pen people. It's down to preference and what works for you!

OK, now we've gone through an odyssey of troubleshooting (I AM SO SORRY), let's talk about nib tuning.

Yet another disclaimer: doing anything I describe below will 100% void your pen's warranty.

Tuning your nib isn't necessarily fixing it. It certainly can, if you've done pretty much all of the above and everything looks fine but the pen isn't writing the way you want it to. I use it to smooth down pens that are technically writing OK, but the experience of writing with them isn't entirely pleasant for me.

Essentially, you're using a rougher surface to basically... 'sand down' your nib. There's a wide variety of techniques (from using a rough paper bag all the way to actual fine-grit sanding blocks), but the most important detail you need to remember is you're removing tipping material (however little).

While tuning your nibs isn't necessarily hard, it's very, very easy to overdo it, and that will cause pretty much irreparable damage. If tuning nibs is something you're interested in, practice on inexpensive pens first -- I practiced on ye olde Pilot Varsity.

The Varsity is great to practice tuning because 1) it's super cheap, so even if you fuck it up completely, it's not the end of the world. 2) It has a medium tip.

The bigger the tip = the more tipping material = more room for error.

I mainly use two things to tune my pens: micromesh and mylar paper, which are both super fine abrasives. Goulet (and other pen retailers) sell entire nib-tuning kits with everything you might need to get started, but here's my own (plus a few extras that may look scary, but trust me, you don't need all of this):

In my pen kit above, you can see my newer sheets of micromesh and mylar and the scribbles I use to tune my nibs. I hold the pen the way I normally would when writing with it, and scribble over the abrasive, but I don't do it randomly. Figure 8s are usually the go-to for simple tuning; you can also go a particular direction if you know exactly which area of your nib needs to be smoothed.

Again, even micromesh and mylar paper (particularly the latter) are incredibly fine abrasives, it is still very easy to overdo it. I have fucked up nibs before, mostly on my practice pens, but also on a not-super-cheap pen, and I had to buy a whole new nib unit.

So, like I said, possible? Very! Simple? Sure! Finicky? Hell yeah.

Side note: tuning a nib is mostly just making it write more smoothly. If you'd like to change the shape of the tipping material entirely (and thus create line variation), that is totally something that can be done!

It is called nib grinding, and it is better left to the professionals, but it is super cool!

pOK, I didn't quite mean to go into a full nib troubleshooting post, but I should have known my brain could not be stopped. Hopefully, this (extremely) long-winded, tangent-riddled descent into the rabbit hole was at least a little bit useful!

Thanks for dropping by!

[iztarshi]

Space Bats

I am not a biologist, so this is more rambling than analysis. But I am interested in what’s implied about Hordak’s species and I did some reading on bats, so... *shrugs*. Enjoy my theorising?

Divided into three sections for convenience, the ancestral (more batlike) species, the species as it probably was pre-Prime and the clone army.

Ancestral Species

Hordak’s failed clones notably have wings, making me think this is an ancestral trait like a human tail that should disappear in embryo. This leads me to suspect that Hordak’s ancestral species was six-limbed and batlike, possibly resembling Imp more closely than Hordak.

Hordak’s facial features are also distinctively batlike. Interestingly, the reason those traits, the large, leaf-shaped ears and flat nose, are so distinctive to bats is because they are needed for echolocation. Fruit bats have longer snouts and smaller ears, looking more similar to other mammals.

Most echolocating bats are small insectivores, however the False Vampire Bats (megadermatidae) are larger and some prey on small animals, birds and other bats. Some species are ambush predators, locating prey from roost with echolocation and then dropping to take them in a short flight. The ancestral species being ambush predators would fit with Horde Prime’s eyes, if you assume they are closer to the original eyes of the species and the pupilless, glowing eyes of the clones are artificial or modified. Other species are gleaning species, making short flights over the ground and snatching up what they find, or they combine both methods. The gleaning behaviour is one where it is perhaps more likely the wings would become vestigial in the absence of larger predators.

While I’m not sure I’ve fully understood this, or how much mobility it would allow, bat talons have no tendons attached to muscles in the foreleg, instead they attach to the body itself where gravity will pull them down and “lock” the talons around a perch. Other muscles are flexed to release. This might explain the lack of musculature on Hordak’s forearm, although it could also be part of his condition.

While these bats hunt alone, they remain highly social at roost. Bats live fragile lives, the high metabolism needed for flight means missing a meal can be fatal so they often share with one another. Hordak’s species definitely shows the hallmarks of having been a highly social species once, they’re very expressive for a start.

Imp’s ability to fly while having relatively human proportions makes me think that, unlike bats which simply have very thin bones, this species had hollow or otherwise lighter bones more similar to birds.

Developed Species

The wings have disappeared and the metabolism has likely slowed now that it doesn’t need to power flight*. Echolocation has likely also been lost, Hordak’s ears are mobile but they don’t turn to follow sound even the way Catra’s do. Instead they seem to have an expressive function, especially broadcasting distress by turning fully down.

The species may well still have light bones adapted for flight, making their bodyweight less than a human of similar size.

The relatively fixed bipedal posture (once again, compare Catra who is far more agile and able to run on all fours) suggests gleaning behaviour replaced ambush behaviour. Later they may have hunted cooperatively rather than only socialising while at leisure. Possibly they also farmed, it seems likely at least some of their societies did.

It’s hard to make a guess at their societies when Horde Prime erased so much and when they likely had as many different ones as humans did. A tendency to form complex social bonds can go a lot of different ways.

*I wonder if this is part of Hordak’s issue, especially as his own failed clones show throwbacks to ancestral traits. Perhaps his metabolism is running at a rate his body can’t keep up with.

Clone Army

Genetically they’re identical to the developed species (to one specific member of it even) and any alteration in this would be a mutation. Physical changes to them are mostly technological, with ports attached directly to their nervous system and possibly mechanical eyes.

They seem to have the same ports on their bodies Hordak does. The neck ones are there for connection to Prime and we see Wrong Hordak plugged in by the ones in his back while in a pod. (Considering that the thing plugged in is the same green as the “nutrient rich amniotic fluid” this may be how they’re usually fed instead of actually eating. On the other hand Prime really likes that shade of green.) If the elbow ports are standard they may all be wearing some kind of armour under their outfits, possibly to compensate for the forearm gaps providing a weak point. Wrong Hordak has a white diamond shape on his uniform over where the forearm gap would be.

They still show the hallmarks of a highly social species, and probably one that would be physically affectionate. Even Hordak, who has his own reasons for being withdrawn and defensive of his body, quickly gets accustomed to Entrapta in his space and shows physical affection with Imp. With anything that would allow them to identify each other enough to form friendships forbidden they redirect most of these feelings to Prime and seem to welcome his touch.

[paubari]

the HALO: INFINITE gameplay preview was AMAZING!

*Disclaimer: This blog post is my opinion on the matter. If you have a different opinion on it, I respect it all the same. A large chunk of the screenshots used were from the Halo Infinite Gameplay Trailer*

MABUHAY everyone and welcome to my corner of the internet!

It finally dropped. After a year of waiting in baited breath. Microsoft dropped their Halo: Infinite gameplay. They did it during their XboxGamesShowcase which aired live on 24th July 2020. It wasn’t a surprise that the first thing they featured was Halo. Besides it being a console exclusive. Halo is one of the few games that dropped a trailer that revived my love for the game. If you’re not familiar with the announcement trailer, you can find it here.  

So before I fully geek out on this game, I’ll explain why the announcement trailer was a huge deal. You see after Bungie passed the torch onto 343 Industries, Halo was at it’s peak. (except for the failed MCC launch but we won’t go into that). For the longest time, Bungie was the sole proprietor of Halo and they called the shots. So it was a fond farewell when they announced that they were leaving, making Halo: Reach a heartfelt goodbye. Bungie pulled the cord by leaving us with a masterpiece. A game that goes full circle, a prologue to the entire series. Having played Halo CE (Combat Evolved), 2, and 3, it gave me such chills. I don’t care what people say with the gun design choices, Halo: Reach strikes a chord in my heart like no other game.

This is the reason why a lot of fans were skeptical about 343 industries touching such a precious project. Everyone felt like it was a fitting end but I guess money comes first for Microsoft. A majority of fans were disappointed with Halo 4. They revamped everything, EVERYTHING. From the armor choice to enemy design. It was like they tarnished the IP that Bungie curated so hard to perfect. You can argue that they were trying to make the game theirs but that’s moot. The game already has an established fanbase. If you suddenly change everything just to make it seem like the idea was yours, that’s disrespectful. I don’t even want to talk about Halo 5: Guardians. The lore was just thrown outta the window. Imagine putting the Arbiter in the game AND NOT HAVING HIM MEET CHIEF? Such a wasted opportunity.

If it wasn’t obvious yet, I no longer followed Halo after that abysmal display. I’m sure other people chose to not follow the timeline anymore which in turn would cause for sales to dip. That’s why I’m glad that when they released the Announcement Trailer, they managed to blend their design choices with Bungie’s. What came out was a “Old meets New” type of design and honestly, it brought a tear to my. Especially when the piano chords struck of the Halo CE theme. Plus, seeing that halo ring? CHILLS. I played the Original version of Halo CE so the callback was simply wicked. That’s why I’ll be comparing a lot of the released Halo Infinite gameplay to Halo CE. You’ll understand why soon enough.

“As Chief drops in, he immediately has his trusty Assault Rifle with him”

The Assault Rifle which has the same design as the Halo Reach one. That was a +1 in my book. Oh and this takes place on a Halo Ring so another 1000+ points in my book. 

The gun sounds were okay, they sound pretty standard and I’m fine with them.

“Chief opens a Map showing important locations, upgrades, and database.”

So I was a bit surprised when a map was pulled up. Idk about Halo 5 but the other Halo games had NO maps available. Mostly because the level design previous games had were more of a linear type of story telling. EXCEPT Halo Combat Evolved. I remember playing the first level of Halo CE and I was confused as hell. I mean, I almost kept running around in circles just trying to find where the next objective might be. By the looks of this map, it seems Halo Infinite might be going the same route as it’s ancestor (Halo CE and Halo 3: ODST). A semi-open world map where you can carry out objectives the way as you please. Keep in mind this is speculation my part but if it turns out to be like that then...

“Chief has a grappling apparatus and pulls himself towards an armored Brute.”

“Chief uses his grappling apparatus to reach high places and scale past obstacles like a steep mountain side”

“Chief uses his grappling apparatus to pull an explosive barrel towards himself and proceeds to toss it at a mounted plasma machine gun.”

This grappling apparatus is such a HUGE addition to Chief’s mobility. In partner with armor abilities, this can seriously open up wondrous new avenues at how you can tackle each objective. Not to mention it pushes you to think more outside the box and use the environment as your advantage. Of course, if something like this is added, there’s a possibility for the combat to be more stressful. It doesn’t matter tbh as long as it’s fun!

“Chief equipped with what seems to be a shotgun/bruteshot looking gun while activating an objective ping that alerts the location of objectives onto his HUD.”

The Shotgun/Bruteshot gun looks like a cool gun to play with! From my observation, it fires slugs rather than scatter shots. Making it more precise more precise than the standard UNSC shotgun. Also observed are small marks on the HUD that points where an objective might be accomplished.

“From this shot it seems that Chief activates a modified Z-4190 Temporal Protective Enfolder/Stationary Shield originally found in Halo 3.”

The reason why I speculate it’s a modified “bubble” shield is because of the shape of the device tossed onto the ground. Plus the main enemy of the game are called the “Banished”. Which are basically a covenant group that were shunned from the original crusade. A large portion of their ranks are allegedly Brutes and Brutes were the ones carrying the “bubble” shield in the third game.

“Chief melees a Brute”

I obviously won’t end the blog post without talking about this particular shot. A lot of people were egging on 343 Industries because of this scene right here. They kept talking about how the game is lacking in textures. There are multiple reasons why the insults aren’t justified and here’s some of them:

This gameplay trailer might be a demo reel from an earlier build. That means that 343 is currently developing the game and this is the left over content that they could show at the time. I’m half expecting them to suddenly wow us so I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt. 

This game needs to run with backwards compatibility and cross-platform AT THE SAME TIME. Aka, it wants to be three things at once; Be available for an older gen of consoles, run on the new gen, and perform well on PC. So I can excuse if the game doesn’t have groundbreaking graphics like TLOU2, RDR2, and Uncharted 4. It needs to be a decent shooter game and that’s what it’s trying to achieve.

As a Halo fan who lost faith in the franchise, I can honestly say Job Well Done to 343 Industries. They’ve managed to bring a spark back into my heart and I will surely play this one. I look forward to see what more they have to offer and I’m genuinely excited for when they release the game.

Thank you for taking the time to read my blog post! If you like what I do here, feel free to give me a follow to stay up to date with my other blogs.

Always remember to make something amazing~

[tisfan]

Flying My Way

Title: Flying my Way Written by: @tisfan Card: 3023 Square: S2 - AU: Star Wars Rating: teen Triggers/warnings: Tags: star wars au, spice runners, hutts, mechanic!Tony, flirting Created for: @tonystarkbingo Word count: 1484 

Pralla the Hutt was typical of her species; fat, slug-like, and an unappetizing shade of purple with green splotches that made her look rather like some fruit gone soft and rotten.

Tony hadn’t even realized Pralla was female until she spoke, and not even then, until the translator droid started yammering. As a point of honor, most Hutts spoke exclusively Huttese, even if they understood many languages. It was frequently the only such point.

Besides, the talk-droid made the Hutt look important. 

“The magnificent Pralla the Hutt gives you greetings, star captain,” the droid said, “and she hopes you will enjoy your stay at her palace. Make yourself comfortable, and she will be delighted to discuss business with you in the morning.”

She wasn’t, thank the Maker, talking to Tony.

Tony wasn’t the star captain. He wasn’t even a crewman on the ship. He was, in fact, a hired mechanic, brought in specifically to work on the specialized divan that Pralla used to move around her palace. Tony’s father had designed the thing, and been richly rewarded for it. But Hutts lived a lot longer than humans, so here was Tony, hoping he could fix it.

Because the Hutts did not like being disappointed. And there might have been that small incident with some damages in a bar fight -- totally not his fault, the other guy was cheating at Sabaac, and Tony did not like a cheater. He’d thrown Justin Hammer through a window. But it was Pralla’s casino, and she might still have been offended.

In either case, he needed to fix the divan. It was his only hope.

The space captain gave Pralla a quick bow, graceful and somehow sarcastic, like the Hutt didn’t deserve the respect she was demanding, but in such a flowing manner that Tony was pretty sure Pralla didn’t realize he was mocking her.

I like you already, Tony thought, watching him go, wearing all black and walking like people had damned well get out of his way. Tony wondered what ship he was flying. And why. And what cargo he was taking on.

And reminded himself that curiosity about a gangster’s business was likely to get him into trouble.

The line of petitioners moved forward, and Tony moved with it.

Finally, it was his turn. He presented his gifts and his best wishes, and allowed that he would be delighted to assist in the manner of mechanical difficulties with the repulsor tech that kept the divan floating.

“Her most excellent beauty, Pralla the Hutt, welcomes such a brilliant mind to her palace, and hopes you will be pleased to join the festivities this evening. She entreats you will stay behind as petitions are dismissed, to look over your father’s work.”

“Yeah, that’d be great,” Tony said, trusting the talk-droid to add all the accustomed flattery and honorifics. Since the talk-droids were the ones who bore the first brunt of disapproval from the Hutt, he was pretty sure the droid was doing its best.

When the room cleared of everyone except her magnificent slugness and the talk-droid, Tony was beckoned forward. Obviously, it was very difficult for the Hutt to move off the divan. At least Tony had thought ahead and brought his portable lifts. “If it won’t trouble you too much, I’ll just slide these under here--” Tony was already moving “--and take a look at what the problem is.”

The problem was a squashed Klatooine paddy frog -- honestly, the Hutts ate the most disgusting things, which was only made more revolting by the terrible liquor they drank. Perhaps Tony should feel grateful, since the Hutts ate things that most civilized races wouldn’t touch, and therefore rid the galaxy of it.

Didn’t matter. Pralla needed a maid, not a mechanic. But Tony could fix it, quick enough. Consider his debt to the Hutts paid, and then get the kriff back to his shop before anyone could say anything. Pack his stuff onto a couple of veractyls and make for the jungle. Get as far away as possible. Because paying off a debt with the Hutts was almost as dangerous as getting into debt in the first place.

Hutts collected power and favors; and there was nothing they liked better than to reel back in a sure winner.

Staying overnight, drinking Pralla’s wine, partying with the gangsters; Tony could almost guarantee he’d do something stupid, and end up owing the Hutts. And this time, more than was fixable with a bucket and a scraper.

Maybe he could dodge the party entirely. Go see what ships were in the Hutt’s hangar bays. Looking at new ships could distract him from drinking and playing cards, at least. Maybe he could even find a ship looking to leave the planet and needed a good mechanic.

There was an idea. Ships. Off world. Find a new life somewhere away from this stinking swamp.

He carefully lowered the divan to the floor. “There you go, your magnificence,” Tony said. “Go ahead, give her a test ride, see how she holds up.”

Pralla’s talkdroid expressed the Hutt to be pleased, and Tony let another droid take him out of the throne room. “You mind if I duck into the hanger a bit, there, Shiny?”

Tony didn’t know if the droid had an objection. He wasn’t listening. He walked away from the beeping mechanical, gazing around.

One Radiant VII, blue with yellow accents. Hideous, but a good workhorse of a ship. It could use a new landing gear. A few more bumps and hard landings, and that baby wasn’t getting off the ground again. But the ship didn’t really speak to him -- it had modified weapons that had been badly installed -- and the crew was almost entirely Gand, which meant Tony would probably need an atmo suit to live on their ship.

Two non-standard light freighters, and then--

“Holy hell, that’s beautiful,” Tony said, stopping dead to stare at the gleaming ship.

“Thanks,” the star captain Tony had seen earlier said. “She’s my pride and joy. The Winter Soldier. A HDR-32 Dynamic. With modifications.”

“Of course,” Tony said. “You… uh… looking for crew? I’m a top-rated mechanic. Starships as well as weapons and droids.”

“My name’s Captain Barnes,” the man said, offering a-- cyber arm. “Why don’t you come aboard, and we can talk about it?”

“Sure thing, Droideka.” Tony nodded before he remembered that this was the man who was captain of a starship and who worked for a Hutt, and who might not appreciate Tony’s sense of humor about nicknames. Too late now, and while he didn’t exactly brace to get shot, he noted a certain amount of tension in his shoulders.

“Most of my crew’s not currently here, taking advantage of the Hutt’s hospitality and doing some trade,” Barnes said. “But I’ve got a co-pilot, a gunner, a reclamation expert, a drop-trooper, and Peitro.”

“What’s his job?”

“He doesn’t have one, he’s the boss,” Barnes said. “We’re here at his word.”

“Yeah? So, sounds like you could use a mechanic,” Tony said. A reclamation expert was smuggler code for salvage. Usually illegal salvage. People who wouldn’t ask too many questions. “And I want to get off the planet. So--”

“Sure,” Barnes said. “We’ll do a test trip, we’re headed to Taris, and then a restock at Nar Shadda. If it doesn’t appeal, you can probably get on another freighter from Nar Shadda, and we’ll part ways.”

“Sounds good,” Tony agreed, not missing the sharp look that Barnes shot him. “We can discuss pay after I look at your ship.”

“You in trouble with the Hutts?” Barnes surmised.

“Not. Yet,” Tony said. “But I don’t hold out hopes for my chances, unless I get out of sight, and hopefully out of mind.”

“Well, we have trouble onboard already, so you’ll fit right in. Come on, I’ll show you your bunk.”

“You could show me yours,” Tony suggested, because his mouth just did that sometimes, whenever he was looking at someone who was attractive and just a little bit dangerous.

“I only cohabitate with people who can dance, and drink, and still fly a starship,” Barnes said. 

Tony’s eyebrow went up, because he was pretty sure Barnes was actually flirting with him. Which was… nice.

“I’ll buy the first round,” Tony offered. 

Barnes grinned. “In case you’re flying solo after dancing, this is your bunk--” he jerked a thumb at a fairly standard rack. “--and that one, at the end of the tube? That one’s mine.”

Tony stuck his head in through the hatch, just to be an ass. “Oh, that’s a nice bed. I definitely want to be sleeping in that.”

“Come on, then,” Barnes said. “Let’s see you put your money where your mouth is.”

“It’s a bargain, Captain,” Tony said, offering his hand.

“You can call me Bucky,” he said. “I only make people call me Captain when they’re under me.”

[holycowbrowniekitty]

Norwegian Ingrid is imprisoned in Japan for a crime she did not commit

Original text in Norwegian by Stian Smakic Sopp was published with the consent of the family. It has been slightly modified during translation to fit this format.Stian has now provided with his own translation in the original post: https://www.facebook.com/soppp/posts/10162553924190366

Norwegian student Ingrid from Ålgård in Rogaland was arrested by the Japanese authorities and is currently in detention for crimes she has not committed, without any incriminating proof against her case, and under brutal conditions that are human rights violating.

Her friend “Alexandra” was also put under similar conditions, but has been released. “Alexandra” describes her experiences as torture and highly traumatizing.  

Ingrid is a master student of Global Environment Studies at Sophia University in Tokyo, Japan. Ingrid is a good-hearted girl who loves people, animals and the environment, and she loves Japan. She has a pet parakeet and insects who means the world to her, and is currently writing her master’s thesis about the importance of the insects in our environment. She is not one to be sarcastic, as she worries about hurting people’s feelings, but she has the brightest smile. Ingrid also has autism.

Please donate if you can! For those who don’t know, the justice system in Japan is terrible and abusive, especially to those who are deemed “smugglers”.

More information on the actual events + the system beneath the cut.

What happened?

March 2019

Ingrid reached out to Association of Norwegian Students Abroad (hereby; ANSA) and asked if she could meet a representative to talk. I (author Stian) met Ingrid, and we had lunch together and stayed in touch with her frequently on Facebook from this point on. Ingrid told me she wanted to expand her network and get more friends. I gave her a list of organizations, clubs and networks I deemed it positive for her to be a part of, as well as encouraging her to join in on ANSA events so we could stay in touch. Ingrid joined these events from this point on. My wish was for her to join as a board member, but she doubted her capabilities for such a task. I told her that in ANSA we all support each other, and that there would never be a task we couldn’t conquer together.

8th November 2019

ANSA’s board meeting is held, and Ingrid is elected as a board member. In the following days a meeting to get to know each other is planned and decided through a poll in our private Facebook group.

22nd November 2019

The first board meeting is held, but Ingrid never showed. She had not been a part of the discussion in the previous days, and no one heard anything from her in the following days either. I thought she might have pulled back because the responsibilities seemed overwhelming on her, and I decided to give her a few days before I messaged her again to give her some space.

26th November 2019

I woke up to se a long message on my screen from a person not in my Facebook-contacts, but I recognized the surname. It was the same as Ingrid’s. In the message, it said that Ingrid had been arrested by the police.

Ingrid has a friend in Japan, “Alexandra”.

 April 2019

A parcel for “Alexandra” from abroad reaches the Japanese customs. They claimed it contained marijuana. Neither the parcel nor information about it has been passed on to us at this point.

Shortly after this, “Alexandra” travels to her home country on a vacation. She was still not stopped by the authorities at this point.

12th November 2019

“Alexandra” returns to Japan. When she arrives at the airport she is arrested, and she describes the conditions as brutal and ruthless, and claims the authorities destroyed most of her possessions when they ransacked her bags. They found nothing, but they still sent her to detention.

She describes the conditions during her detention as follows:

The cell was about 6m2 in total, where they would keep up to four people at the same time. It was so cold that the only way they could stay warm was by walking around in the room. She lost 5,5kg during this period. She was allowed to shower once every five days. You slept on the floor. Wakeup-time was at 6:00am.

Every time there was a questioning, she was dragged by two policemen who each had a strap that was fastened in a belt “Alexandra” had to wear into the interrogation room, and if she could not keep up with them, they would pull the straps so hard that she would be pained by it.

The questionings happened up to three times a day, where each session would last several hours on end. The belt, which “Alexandra” describes as a torture device, was tightened so hard that she had troubles breathing. With what little breath she had, she told the officers interrogating her that the belt was fastened too tightly and that she couldn’t breathe, where the response was “too bad for you” or a similarly, as they fastened the belt even more if they felt like it. She was handcuffed so tightly she got cuts on her hands.

Verbal humiliation was also practiced.

At times she was also locked inside a small box she describes as claustrophobic and especially traumatizing.

If the detainees screamed in pain or cried, they would be put in solitary confinement.

After her release, the smell of the detergent used on the prison clothes gives her such a strong reaction that she vomits.

The authorities confiscated her phone and computer. There was never found any transaction log, communication log, order log or anything else that could be related to a parcel from the USA containing narcotic drugs.

20th November 2019

After 8 days of detention, “Alexandra” is released after receiving threats from the police about telling about her experiences in their detention. The same day, Ingrid is arrested.

22nd November 2019

The family is informed about the arrest by the Norwegian Embassy

26th November 2019

I am informed by Ingrid’s sister about her situation

29th November 2019

The authorities decided to hold Ingrid for another 10 days

 Because of the legal and formal restrictions, we have not been allowed to publish this sooner. Through Ingrid’s lawyer, we have been told that Ingrid is crying a lot, but no more than that, even if we ask. Her family has expressed that she absolutely is not capable of going through such an experience given her mental state, and it has a potential of inflicting her with irreversible damage.

 Japanese police and justice system has been criticized for years for being very corrupt, for it’s irresponsible practice and for systematically violating the human rights. These complaints come from human rights organizations, activists, law professors, radio and TV stations, researchers, psychologists, doctors, newspapers, previous convicts who have later been proven innocent and those previously employed in the police force and justice system.

Japan claims to solve 99,9% of all criminal cases, something they are very proud of. However, the system never admits fault and system errors. The most common practice in the system is “Forced Confession”, where they force the detained to confess to have committed the crime they are accused for. The more one denies, the more and harder one will get punished.

If the police are unsuccessful in this, they will prolong the detention, something they can do in up to 23 days even without evidence, before they will have to release you if they don’t have any proof.

When you are released, it is common practice that the police will immediately detain you once more, and accuse you with something similar. For example, if you were first accused for “import of drugs”, the next on might be “participation in import of drugs”, the third “national threat of dangerous expressions related to drugs” and so on. They do not need any evidence to do this. Usually, this goes on until the detained breaks during questioning and admits to crimes they didn’t commit, just to escape from the torturous environment. This confession is brought to court, where the accused get their judgement. There is no need for evidence as this point to convict you of this crime.

For every criminal case in Japan, typically at least one person will always be charged. This is to “resolve” the case.

 What we know about Ingrid at this point is that she is not allowed to communicate with anyone but her lawyer. This lawyer was appointed to her by the police that detained her. According a European translator who has worked as a translator during several Japanese questionings, these lawyers are often without experience regarding criminal law. They are used purely symbolically to say you are allowed to have a lawyer, but in practice they have little to no influence as criminal defense lawyers, and are in several cases influenced by the police.

Normal practice at Japanese workplaces are preferably to follow the system without asking questions. In this case, with the police, an authoritarian hierarchy with physical, verbal and mental harassment is normalized and allowed if the orders come from the higher ups, and the public are held out of the know.

Furthermore, when you’re in a Japanese prison, it doesn’t matter if you have been convicted of something you committed or not. You are treated without respect, and under extreme conditions.

To this point, there has not been found any evidence to testify that Ingrid imported drugs to Japan. But because there are only two people involved in the case and the police are prolonging her detention, there is a possibility Ingrid will become the one the police intend to charge in this case.

Questions you might have at this point:

Isn’t Japan a civilized and developed country with high standards?

With all due respect to Japan and it’s population, this sadly is not the case on certain points. Crimes are statistically low, mainly because most criminal activity happens in the underground between gangs, and not to civilians in public. But innocent people are convicted every day here, and sadly Japan operates with systems that are technologically outdated, and an abuse of power. Our communication with Ingrid is exclusively through the lawyer that relays our messages to the police, which is only available through fax. E-mail and phone conversations are not available.

The Japanese justice system operates exclusively with judges and never with a jury. The mentality is to get a case solved as quick as possible, without much consideration to the justice. Judges are promoted based on how quick they can solve cases, without regard for the quality. This pressure creates and illusion that every case is investigated and solved correctly.

How serious is this?

Of all things, a drug conviction is one of the things Japan is the strictest about. The penalty is high for little, and if a case is first created, even if there was never any evidence from the start, practice is that at least one is convicted.

Can’t Foreign Affairs or the Embassy do something?

No. The police are legally responsible for Ingrid, so neither embassy nor any other organization can do anything legally. The Embassy can first open diplomatic negotiations when a person is convicted. However, there is no guarantee these will succeed, and Ingrid can risk several years of imprisonment for a crime she never committed. As of current, me and the family are in dialogue with the Norwegian embassy.

How can we know she is not guilty of what she’s been charged for?

Ingrid’s test results for drugs have not tested positively. No log exist that can verify any order, communication or anything else that indicate any request of such a package. The only “evidence” the police has is a parcel they claim was sent to “Alexandra”, even without her request to have it sent. Ingrid is detained for being a friend of “Alexandra”. ¨

Ingrid does not consume alcohol, tobacco, nicotine or narcotics, and has never done this previously. She has never had any friends or contacts within any criminal networks. According to her family, she is a person that has never wanted to or been in trouble, and could never challenge the law or other organizations, whether it be formally or informally. The family also claims Ingrid takes distance from drugs and other substances such as tobacco etc. and has done so her entire life.

Personally, Ingrid is the last person who could have done something like this out of everyone I know.

Another important thing to notice is that the autism diagnosis is not very well known in the Japanese society, comparatively to the west. A large portion of the population here, professionals and non-professionals alike don’t know the diagnose and its behavioral spectrum, and Japan is even known to treat most diagnoses chemically, for example is autism often treated by “Happy Spray”.

Ingrid has a different body language from most people, for example she gets easily shy and uncomfortable when it comes to direct eye-contact. We believe this to be much of the reason the authorities are keeping her, and that they are using her as bait.

What can we do?

From the family, and for me as Ingrid’s friend, we ask you on the deepest to share this. From activists, journalists, organizations and others that have previously been involved in similar cases have we been advised two things: to acquire a good, private and independent lawyer with good knowledge on criminal justice, and publish about this in social media and the newspapers. Our hope is that Ingrid’s case can get enough attention in social media and news media, so we can bring this to Japanese media and explain that this is an important case for those of us at home, and that people from all places care about these things, and we hope they will write about this. The consequences of the Japanese media writing about this can potentially have a huge influence and result in Ingrid’s freedom. We hope to get media on our side, so the authorities will be pressured to negotiate.

We have created a crowdfunding-page to finance a lawyer to defend Ingrid, since this will cost us several thousand kroner every hour (10kr is roughly 1$ or 100yen). In this case, the family will be able to communicate with the lawyer directly in English, as the current lawyer only speaks Japanese. We wish to document where the money went in the aftermath as a testament to our gratitude, and to testify that this money was not spent on anything else.

The police and the lawyer in Japan have denied documents sent by Ingrid’s father who is a docent at University of Stavanger where he teaches purchasing and contract law, with an education in law and trade. In these documents he also refers the international purchasing law, which both the country of origin of the parcel, Norway and Japan is a part of, and the father of Ingrid deems it irresponsible to accuse two people who have no knowledge of the sending of this parcel, when the police doesn’t have any other incriminating proof. This is also a human rights violation.

I have expressed a wish to support Ingrid’s family, in hopes that my social network can help to reach out with this story to any persons, politicians, institutions and others that might be willing to help, and that we from there could give this case bigger attention. At least this is my hope.

Ingrid’s detention has been prolonged for ten more days from November 30th 2019. According to her lawyer, it is likely that this process will continue for a long time coming, where they in practice will prolong the detainment for months in sequences of 23 days (10+10+3). He further expresses that Ingrid is risking at least 5 years in prison.

Ingrid has no knowledge of that there are people on the outside working day and night to help her, since we cannot reach her and have personal information relayed. All the family wants right now is for Ingrid to be treated fairly, and for her to come home from Christmas safe and sound.

We therefore ask you humbly to share this message, and hope as many as possible will be able to crowdfund a lawyer for Ingrid. All resources will be greatly appreciated.

 I have included some sources to describe the conditions told about in the text. From both Ingrid’s family and me, thank you so much for taking your time reading this!

Crowdfunding:

https://www.gofundme.com/f/aprep-ingrid?utm_source=facebook&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=m_pd+share-sheet&fbclid=IwAR0rVTZb3Qe0SYiG7XrovPxG0H8KZEi20UStIIlD-C3Q_-lsM0vHpQpCU9Y

 Guilty until proven innocent: A documentary about the Japanese justice system and its dark side

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yYJpc2y37oU&fbclid=IwAR3GaGkFYltVO1D2soHQ_IIHaQnvz5AplmhcFLai4B0nnaQVcFc0hQva7Sw

 Why Japan’s conviction rate is 99% | The Economist

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yFINmgSzK6E&t=0s&fbclid=IwAR06RgwVlOOd6vMYEtco9whVUs9bvKjMj9skUczh7vwBbJE9o50h-SVJXeA

 Research articles describing the interrogation process in Japan:

https://www.researchgate.net/publication/282617040_Japanese_Interrogation_Techniques_From_Prisoners'_Perspectives?fbclid=IwAR05ei4olZs7fPgweIbM6xLEbWMMos4FfJpMnFGUa02XK0Om2l8Pxtk3yCE

[toxicdogars]

((Hilbert +D&D because I'm curious about how this would turn out-))

Tumblr Meets D&D - Your Muse as a D&D Character

Hilbert Dean Bailey

So, Hilbert here is the male protagonist of Pokemon Black and White, though @luckynatured here decided to take the character in her own direction, basing the muse in its entirety on a Nuzlocke Challenge of Pokemon Black. One of the aspects of this particular challenge drew my attention- the fact that Rowan chose to implement a rule involving dice rolls or coin flips any time there was a choice to be made. Leaving things to the whim of fate, almost seems perfect for a D&D character. Let’s make that a goal, we need a little randomness. Reading through some of Hilbert’s interactions also points to evidence that he’s extremely determined and exceptionally lucky to get so far without losing core team members. Speaking of team members, let’s make sure we have varied damage types to account for any threats, paying special attention to Hilbert’s main, league-winning team. Once again, we’ll be using Dungeons and Dragons 5th edition and all books and articles related to it.

Ability Scores

These ventures will use standard array, a set of numbers given as a sort of average stat pool. Feel free to roll for stats if you wanted to use this character, just treat this arrangement as a general order for what stats are most important. No need to worry about multiclassing with this build.

Strength: 8 (Not needed) Dexterity: 13 (Useful) Constitution: 14 (Will be useful later) Intelligence: 10 (Hilly’s decently smart) Wisdom: 12 (Hilbert’s determined, and that tends to equate to decent Wisdom related saving throws and the like) Charisma: 15 (Our most useful stat here)

Race

Hilbert will be, surprise surprise, a Human. I could have gone a type of Halfling, which would have given him some extra luck, but Hilbert is shockingly tall, so that seemed a little out of place. Even so, we can make some choices early to get some handy bits of luck. Variant Humans also get some snazzy bonuses. Put the two free points Variant Humans get into Dexterity and Charisma to round those odd numbers up to evens. Then you’ve got your typical 30 feet of movement speed, a skill proficiency, and a free Feat. For Hilbert, also gets a base speed of 30 ft, a skill proficiency, and a free Feat. It might seem like a silly choice but let’s give him Perception. It will help with noticing things going on around him, and hopefully keep him aware of any dangers and it’s not a skill he’ll be able to grab from his class. As for his Feat, well I did say our boy needed to be lucky:

Lucky: You have inexplicable luck that seems to kick in at just the right moment.You have 3 luck points. Whenever you make an attack roll, an ability check, or a saving throw, you can spend one luck point to roll an additional d20. You can choose to spend one of your luck points after you roll the die, but before the outcome is determined. You choose which of the d20s is used for the attack roll, ability check, or saving throw.You can also spend one luck point when an attack roll is made against you. Roll a d20, and then choose whether the attack uses the attacker's roll or yours.If more than one creature spends a luck point to influence the outcome of a roll, the points cancel each other out; no additional dice are rolled.You regain your expended luck points when you finish a long rest.

Class and Background

Alright, but hear me out on this. Hilbert... is a Sorcerer. Not only do magical effects line up well with Pokemon attacks, but there’s a certain subclass of the Sorcerer that is the definition of random, and is the best way, in my opinion, to reflect his combination of luck and skill that got him to where he is today.

Sorcerers start with a d6 hit die (which is... not the best out there), proficiency in Constitution and Charisma saving throws, daggers, darts, slings, quarterstaffs, light crossbows, and two skills from a short list. Of the options listed, Insight and Persuasion make the most sense. 

As for his background, let’s focus on his rise as a Champion and give him the Folk Hero background, giving him proficiency in Animal Handling and Survival, as well as with two tools, two languages, or a language and a tool. Gaming sets are tools, so let’s giving our boy proficiency with a dice set, and might as well toss on a language like Elvish or something. Humans in the D&D world tend to pepper their native tongue with Elvish and Dwarvish words anyway, so it tracks.

This build is taking Sorcerer all the way from one to twenty, so let’s hit up what Hilbert gets at these levels one by one. At level one, he gains the ability to cast spells. Charisma is his casting stat, and it is added to his spell attack rolls and the DC of any spells of his that require saving throws to resist. He is notably able to use a spellcasting focus to ignore material components- let’s make that coin he always has in his wallet a casting focus. He can also pick a Sorcerous Origin, and the one that best fits our chance-manipulating mage boy is the Wild Magic Sorcerer. Wild Mages get two abilities:

Wild Magic Surge: Immediately after you cast a sorcerer spell of 1st level or higher, the DM can have you roll a d20. If you roll a 1, roll on the Wild Magic Surge table to create a random magical effect. A surge can happen once per turn. If a surge effect is a spell, it's too wild to be affected by Metamagic. If it normally requires concentration, it doesn't require concentration in this case; the spell lasts for its full duration. Tides of Chaos: You can gain advantage on one attack roll, ability check, or saving throw. Once you do so, you must finish a long rest before you can use this feature again. Any time before you regain the use of this feature, the DM can have you roll on the Wild Magic Surge table immediately after you cast a sorcerer spell of 1st level or higher. You then regain the use of this feature.

These two abilities work well in the randomness aspect of things, and give Hilbert some utility to manipulate what fate gives him. As for the spells he gains at this level, he starts with four cantrips and two first level spells from those in with sorcerer list. In case someone doesn’t know the difference, cantrips are simple magical tricks you can pull off at will, while leveled spells require expending one of your spell slots of a level equal to or higher than the spell’s level. First, the cantrips:

Shape Water: A transmutation cantrip that basically lets you manipulate water. A simple utility cantrip that you could make use of for a few clever things. A good reference to his starter being an Oshawott. Light: An evocation cantrip that gives you a flashlight so your weak little human eyes can see in the dark. Just kinda useful to have. Chill Touch: A necromancy cantrip that deals necrotic damage and restricts the affected foe’s ability to heal themselves. A neat little ghostly trick to represent Chandelure, perhaps?  Ray of Frost: An evocation cantrip that deals cold damage by firing a beam of icy energy- sounds like an Ice Beam if you ask me, something fitting for his Beartic or any Pokemon that knows Ice Beam.

And the spells:

Mage Armor: A first level abjuration spell that buffs up your armor class, setting it to 13 + your Dexterity modifier, which at this moment brings your AC from 12 (10 + Dexterity modifier) to 15. Pretty okay for a caster. It also lasts eight hours, meaning you can cast it at the start of a day and basically be armored for all your encounters moving forward. Chaos Bolt: Now this is the good shit. It’s just a first level evocation spell, sure, but the damage is pretty good, 2d8 + 1d6. And it can be decided what damage type it deals practically at random by selecting one of the d8s and using the element that corresponds to the number, starting with acid at 1, cold, fire, force, lightning, poison, psychic, and thunder at 8. Even more wild, if the d8s roll the same number, you can select a second target for the spell and make another round of rolls. This spell has some seriously wild propagation and represents so many types that it’s insane. 

Onto second level, which gives Hilbert a Font of Magic, which gives him Sorcery Points equal to his level, which he can spend to make more spell slots (or vice versa, converting spell slots to sorcery points) and, thanks to a class feature variant Unearthed Arcana article, cool protagonisty shit. Won’t go into too much depth on the making more spell slots thing or the converting spell slots to sorcery points, that can be found in the Player’s Handbook easily enough. The fun stuff are in the protagonist powers, like Empowered Reserve, which lets you spend two sorcery points in order to gain advantage on an ability check; Imbuing Touch, which lets you spend two sorcery points to make a nonmagical weapon magical for one minute; and Sorcerous Fortitude, which lets you spend a number of sorcery points and roll that many d4s, the result of which you gain as temporary hit points. Really handy options. He also learns another first level spell, so why not try out:

Sleep: A first level enchantment spell that has you roll some dice to determine how many hit points worth of individuals you can put to sleep. Great example of the Hypnosis move Munna and Musharna are famous for.

Sorcerer 3 gives ya access to Metamagic, also known as the stuff you spent your sorcery points on before that class feature variant UA. You get two metamagic choices at this level and can only apply one of them to a given spell at a time unless it’s stated otherwise. The ones I feel that reflect Hilbert most are the following two:

Unerring Spell: A metamagic option from the aforementioned UA, it lets you spend two sorcery points to reroll a missed spell attack roll, and you can use it even if you’ve used a metamagic option on the spell. You do have to stick with whatever the second roll is though, but if you’re using this then I would expect that first roll to be terrible. Pairs well with Tides of Chaos.  Careful Spell: Spend one sorcery point to make a number of targeted allies about to be hit by one of your area spells instantly succeed on the saving throw. A big way to prevent damage to your allies, though it won’t be to him right now since he doesn’t have any spells that could cause more trouble. Wonder when we’re going to fix that.

Sorcerer 4 nets you an Ability Score Improvement, let’s put that +2 in Charisma to make your spells- ahem, your Pokemon- even more badass. You also get a new cantrip and new spell, but you also get another spell at Sorcerer 5 and not much else, so let’s cover that too. That spell at Sorcerer 5 can be a third level spell so, I think you know what this means:

Shocking Grasp: An evocation cantrip that deals lightning damage and restricts the use of the target’s reaction. Pretty handy.  Mind Spike: A second level divination spell that deals psychic damage and magically tracks a foe, pretty handy representation of Musharna’s Psychic attack and his general ability to perceive things.   Fireball: A third level evocation spell that does big fire damage over an area, perfect for blasting shit with Chandelure. This is the one you wanna use your Careful Spell on so you don’t get any... accidents.

Sorcerer 6 will give Hilbert another fun way to manipulate dice rolls with the Bend Luck feature:

Bend Luck: When another creature you can see makes an attack roll, an ability check, or a saving throw, you can use your reaction and spend 2 sorcery points to roll 1d4 and apply the number rolled as a bonus or penalty (your choice) to the creature's roll. You can do so after the creature rolls but before any effects of the roll occur.

And one more spell, still of third level or less:

Tidal Wave: A third level conjuration spell that calls up a giant wave of crushing water. You know. Like Surf. Which I’m sure Michelle knows. 

Sorcerer 7 unlocks fourth level spells, but let’s not take any of those, instead dipping back to the third level:

Fly: A third level transmutation spell that gives ya a flying speed. Requires your concentration, but your Con saves are pretty good. Keep out of range on the back of your Altaria and you’ll be fine. 

Sorcerer 8 gives you an Ability Score Improvement, cap your Charisma at 20. Let’s also give him another spell, and let’s dip back to first level for:

Expeditious Retreat: A first level transmutation spell that lets you dash as a bonus action for ten minutes. Also a concentration spell, but if you need to make a run for it, this is the best way to go about it.

Sorcerer 9 gives our boy fifth level spells, so let’s take one:

Synaptic Static: A fifth level enchantment spell that is basically FIreball but for psychic damage. Wreck face with the power of your team leader, Hilbert!

Sorcerer 10 is also pretty simple, another metamagic option and a spell:

Quickened Spell:  When you cast a spell that has a casting time of 1 action, you can spend 2 sorcery points to change the casting time to 1 bonus action for this casting. Erupting Earth: A third level transmutation spell that rips up the ground, damaging foes and making int into difficult terrain. Perfect for an Excadrill’s Bulldoze if you ask me.

Sorcerer 11 unlocks sixth level spells, and let’s take one:

Investiture of Ice: A sixth level transmutation spell that transforms you into an awesome iceman, blasting cones of freezing energy, gaining immunity to cold and resistance to fire respectively. Something tells me Hilbert doesn’t like dragons. Put them on ice. Just don’t try using this tactic on a cold-focused chromatic dragon. A White Dragon... Like Kyurem. In D&D terms anyway.

Sorcerer 12 no new spell, but he does get an ASI. Let’s use that to bump up either his Dexterity or his Constitution, depending on preference. Dex will help him not get hit by attacks and Con will help him maintain his concentration spells.  

Sorcerer 13 unlocks seventh level spells, let’s take one:

Teleport: A seventh level conjuration spell that, well... let’s you teleport. Weird, right? Anyway, there’s some minute rules about how it works, but it basically boils down to making sure you have an object with a connection to where you’re going and you’ll be fine. Maybe Hilbert can use it to go home and talk to his mother for once. 

Sorcerer 14 helps streamline the randomness a bit with the Controlled Chaos feature:

Controlled Chaos: Whenever you roll on the Wild Magic Surge table, you can roll twice and use either number.

Sorcerer 15 unlocks eighth level spells, and we’re taking one.

Earthquake: This one’s for you, Garfield and Jude! An eighth level evocation spell that does just what it says on the tin, smashing up the ground and structures to damage foes directly and crush them under toppling buildings. A really fun spell that may very well be able to crumple a sparky sparky boom dargon held by a dude with a letter for a name. Specific, I know. 

Sorcerer 16 just gives you an ASI, so how bout we bump up either of Hilbert’s secondary stats? If you put this +2 in the same one, then you could max that stat in a couple levels, which could be really nice.

Sorcerer 17 gives our boy his final metamagic as well as unlocks ninth level spells, the strongest spells out there. 

Empowered Spell: When you roll damage for a spell, you can spend 1 sorcery point to reroll a number of the damage dice up to your Charisma modifier (minimum of one). You must use the new rolls. You can use Empowered Spell even if you have already used a different Metamagic option during the casting of the spell. Wish: A ninth level conjuration spell and one of the strongest spells in the game, capable of duplicating the effects of any other eighth level or lower spell, or alternatively any number of possible things that could be phrased in the form of a wish. This spell is a little finicky though and it really up to the DM how easily it’ll work out. Regardless, it’s the ultimate way to manipulate fate, which is why I chose it for this build. 

Sorcerer 18 if a nifty little level for Hilbert, since it gives him a nasty little ability I like to call Judgement. Same he ain’t from Sinnoh, it would reflect Arceus well. For now it will just represent the badassery of Reshiram:

Spell Bombardment: When you roll damage for a spell and roll the highest number possible on any of the dice, choose one of those dice, roll it again and add that roll to the damage. You can use the feature only once per turn.

Sorcerer 19 gives our boy his last ability score. Cap that secondary stat, or spread it around a bit. Focus on what’s mattering most based on how his battles go. Dexterity if he keeps getting hit, Constitution if he keeps dropping his concentration spells at the wrong moment.  

And last we have Sorcerer 20, which only gives you one kinda eh ability. I suppose it’s nice if you use them pretty often, which a lot of the Wild Magic features do make use of them pretty consistently. So maybe it actually will benefit Hilbert xD.

Sorcerous Restoration: You regain 4 expended sorcery points whenever you finish a short rest.

Final Thoughts

Okay, so the biggest pro we got with this build is the sheer amount of damage types available by all those spells. Even Chaos Bolt alone can deal a bunch of different damage types. Wish is also a fantastic spell that can easily save yer ass. Hilbert is a really good blaster with his spells, but he also has some utility with flight and the like, not to mention ways to protect himself and his allies by manipulating dice rolls. Don’t hesitate to make use of those Wild Magic abilities. Depending on the surge table the DM uses, there’s some darn good options on there that will greatly benefit you. 

Unfortunately, there’s just as many bad things that could happen. Or you could turn into a potted plant and be unable to do anything for several turns. Not to mention you’d have just... terrible hit points. Taking the average puts you well under even Homika’s 88 hitpoints. d6 hit dies are not your friend if you wanna soak damage. But that’s not what you’re good at. You’re good at taking down the big monster before you go boom. 

I tried to get something on there for Stoutland, but there aren’t many ways to get a Normal Type in there. ‘Cept maybe some thunder damage, equating it to Hyper Voice. I always wanted to get Awaken on this build so Hilbert could get his awakened shrub Carmen, but apparently Sorcerers don’t get the spell. I’d have to take him through bard or wizard or something like that too far to justify it. 

I hope you enjoyed this. Feel free to tell me how wrong I am with my choices

[electricbluebutterflies]

Friend, if you were so inclined, I would LOVE to see you do #6 of garcy whump part III ;)

Modified just a little so it fits between 2x05 and 2x06. PG-ish and also on ao3.

6. Early in S2, Lucy is kidnapped briefly. The team gets her back, and she says she’s fine, but she’s working with Flynn when he hears her crying. Flynn goes to check on her, and what he finds reveals that she’s not so unaffected by her captivity as she said.

He feels like a caged animal.

No. Fuck that. Less than. Caged animals generally get to do more than this. Caged animals generally have some kind of purpose. Flynn does not. The only reason he is stuck in an underground hellhole with only one thoroughly locked door and occasionally considered useful enough to go on jumps, as opposed to whatever blacksite prison he was previously in, is because he has just a little bit of leverage and because Lucy Preston is probably the only person in all of time and space who does not hate him. Frankly, from his perspective, the feeling is probably mutual. A future version of her saved his life once, and the current version of her did it again, and he's not dumb enough to let that go.

They did so good in Salem, but then she got stabbed - in the arm, at least, not mortally wounded and a fucking oversight in the mess that ended up happening - and she's sidelined, and then…

He's not sure how to explain what happened while he was stuck in wherever-the-fuck, other than he's alive. Somehow. Bruised and tired, and would be pleasantly surprised if he's allowed time to lick his wounds, but likely to be okay in a few days.

First, now that it appears everyone else has retreated to their respective sleeping areas, making sure he's not wrongly estimating anything. He's been here about a week, long enough to know that the bathroom is safest at about two in the morning. He could do the process just as easily in his room - he has thoughts about that, a cot and a chair shoved into a supply closet because it's not like anyone wants anything to do with him - but it'd be easier with a mirror to catch what his eyes won't, and-

The door is unlocked, but there seems to be a weird noise coming from somewhere. Probably dysfunctional 1950s apocalypse-bunker plumbing issues. He wonders if there's a protocol for what would happen if the bunker got flooded, and if anyone would bother to tell him or if they'd just let him drown, and-

Oh. Oh god no.

The noise is human and, because the universe is determined to screw Flynn over at every possible opportunity, coming from the only person he might be able to handle emotions from right now. Lucy is curled up in a ball on the floor between the sinks, somewhere between crying and a panic attack, making tragic puppy noises and oh, this is not how he wanted to be reminded that he does in fact still have a heart.

He cares about her. He can admit that much. And he cannot abide anything bad happening to her, and he will tear apart whomever hurt her (especially if he's right about the likely cause), and-

She looks up, and it's even more heartbreaking now. Her eyes are red and puffy under harsh fluorescent light, and the rest of her expression is, for lack of a better word, hopeless. This is a new side of her, one he has no desire to encounter again. He's used to fire, a version of her that pushed through her fear to be strong against him. A broken shell of a woman, on the other hand…

"Who do I need to kill?" he asks after a long silence, because he will absolutely destroy whomever did this to her, he will make it painful, he will-

"My mother," Lucy murmurs, keeping her eyes on him.

Not quite what he expected, but after recent events, well… he can't blame her. He is learning that the woman he fights alongside is much more complex than the journal prepared him for, but there were a few comments in there about family dynamics, and… fuck, she almost got executed due to that particular dysfunctional nightmare, and that doesn't seem to be all that surprising to anyone involved. Which should definitely be more disturbing to him than it is, and he's not even  gonna try to justify that one.

It occurs to him that he might be in over his head and about to do something fabulously stupid even by his standards. Being anywhere near Lucy at any point tends to result in that; being near her when she's in this condition in the middle of the night is a parade of red flags and he decides he's going to ignore all of them. He wants to protect her. That's the first positive thing he's felt in years. What's the harm in seeing where that leads?

"What happened? I'm assuming it was more than…"

"Did anyone bother to tell you what happened to me after… after everything?"

"Beyond a few horrifying implications, no."

Lucy forces herself to stand up, bracing against one of the sinks. "Kidnapped and attempted brainwashing, mostly by my mother. I was going to kill myself to get away. I fucked that up too."

And there is her fire, directed inwards and made terrifying. He wants to take it from her, would allow himself to become even more of a monster if it meant that she wasn't, wants-

"Are you alright right now?"

"I think I've hit the limit of how much I can cry."

"That's not an answer."

"Do you realized you're the only person who's asked? You're the only person in my life who has even considered that maybe I'm not okay, and I'm not sure how I feel about that but I know I'm not surprised. No one else pays attention. You…"

He is struck by the urge to cross the distance between them and hold her close until her body stops shaking. He won't do it, can't assume so much just yet, but he wants to. She would fit well against him, safe, and oh he will not make the mistakes of his past again, he will do better, he will-

"I am yours," he says, and perhaps it's overkill but that doesn't make it any less true. "And I will…"

"I'll get out of your way," she says just a little too quickly, in a way that frightens him for reasons he can't pin down.

"Or you could stay, if you wanted. An extra set of eyes might be helpful."

Lucy gives him a Look, and it occurs to him that on some level he genuinely likes this woman. "Do I wanna know?"

"Looking for cuts and bruises I can't feel. Presumably easier with another person."

He expects her to say no. He expects her to point out that this is a rather bizarre situation, and he is well aware that he ought to have better ways of distracting her, but it is the middle of the night and he feels like roadkill and-

"I'm not a good field medic," she murmurs. "Just… trust me. You do not want me if something's actually wrong."

"Understood. You don't have to…"

"I highly doubt I'll have a flashback like this. I want to."

"Thank you. For everything."

She's quiet for a few moments, wide-eyed, fingers gripping the sink too tightly. "I ruined your life."

"You remind me that I am alive, Lucy. I had lost sight of that. I hope… I hope I can do the same for you."

"Good luck," she mutters. "So, um…"

His eyes dart around the room, searching for another way forward and finding nothing. Hell with this, he thinks, pulling his sweater over his head. He's still got a t-shirt under that, but voluntarily undressing in front of another person in any way is… not something he's done in a while. There's a vulnerability to it, a self-consciousness he doesn't expect until it hits. He can feel her eyes on him, searching not just for recent damage but for anything she can find.

He should run. This is all a very terrible idea. And yet he feels rooted to the concrete beneath him, which he no longer trusts to hold his body upright.

She crosses the space between them. "Can I touch you?"

Flynn nods, not trusting his voice to behave.

Her fingers are cold as she reaches out and starts tracing scars. There are some interesting ones, some old enough that he can't remember their origin, and he decides that someday - if she were to want it, he steadies himself, if that were safe - he would like for her to see the rest. His body is a map of a past he is never sure how to fight, and-

"I'm pretty sure you're fine," she murmurs. "Just tense. Have you… have you slept at all, since you've been here?"

"Not well. Not completely convinced no one will try to murder me."

"They'd have to go through me first," she says, and the look on her face is almost happy, and it breaks his heart a little bit more, and-

"No. No they wouldn't. I wouldn't let… you are safe here with me."

Her hand slips down his arm and their fingers intertwine, and again he thinks about futures and how beautifully she tethers him.

"Thank you for not making me feel worse," she breathes.

"If there's anything else I can do…"

"Stay here with me a little while longer?"

He does.

[cartoonfangirl1218]

Alonso’s Legen-Wait for it-Dary Dating Rules

Note: Inspired by HIMYM’s Barney Stinson’a dating rules and theories as seen in these videos. https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=IWQF9fuQ2pA#, https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=xDD5nv3Phzg&t=9s, https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=m9vXJ4HB2fU, https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=1Cg62TySYvk https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=iKAHEZRJUUU&t=80s

Marzel and Alonso are basically my new brotop even though they have never met. Thanks to Lady B for looking this over, and @missnobodynobodius and @shasta627 for completely agreeing with me that Alonso = Barney and encouraging me to do all this. 

“Ah Prince Marzel, just the man I was looking for!” A floppy-banged prince who seemed to be about his age slung his arm across the sirena prince’s shoulder, nearly jostling him off his chair.

The scene was at the palace of Paraiso, one of the most luxurious and extravagant palace Marzel had ever seen his life. In fact it was the most. The walls were ceiling to floor golden emitting bright light which unfortunately blinded him everytime he glanced to his sie. This had the embarrassing effect of him tripping more so than usual when he walked.

He had been getting pretty good with his land legs and he had improved enough to play frisbee without falling on his face but he had a feeling that the royals at this year’s retreat were not seeing that progression.

“Who are you?” Marzel made an effort to smile politely but the guy was taking up too much personal space and seemed to have forgotten his greeting in favor of admiring himself in the blindingly golden dinner plates.

“Wha-yes, I’m Prince Alonso, heir to the Royal Throne of Cordoba!” The guy declared with a flourish and paused, obviously expecting some sort of recognition or perhaps applause.

Marzel looked helplessly to the other side of the table where Elena was in deep conversation with her royal wizard, Mateo and the host of the retreat, Princess Valentina and he couldn’t see his sister anywhere.

“Hi?” Marzel gave a weak wave and grimaced at his high-pitched voice, he coughed, “I mean hello.”

“Heh, you really are new to the land, aren’t you?” Prince Alonso sniffed once seeing that Marzel had nothing else to say.

Marzel was about to react defensively to his tone but Alonso leaned toward him conspiratorially, “I see that Elena hasn’t told you about me. I don’t blame her, there are so many brilliant ways to describe me and my looks and my awesome deeds, she couldn’t think of where to begin. It doesn’t matter. Now in the past, I have been accused of being a little bit self-absorbed and just a tiny teeny bit lazy. But no more. I’m turning over a new leaf. And being a new kind of man, I am helpful!”

Marzel didn’t understand why Alonso was telling him all of this so he nodded blankly and paused again seeing that Alonso was waiting for him to say something.

“Congratulations on turning over a new leaf. That’s very...mature of you.” Alonso was still staring at him expectedly and it started to dawn on Marzel what Alonso might be waiting for, “And I’m fine. I don’t need your help. Elena has already helped me.” “Yes, I’m sure Princess Elena has helped you with basic stuff like ruling and social etiquette and blah blah blah. But she hasn’t taught you about life, has she?” Alonso raised a knowing eyebrow.

“Life? I don’t need help with life. I haven’t died yet. I think I can handle it.” Marzel brushed Alonso’s arm off his shoulder.

“You’ve fallen twelve times walking down a hallway.” Alonso pointed out, putting his arm on Marzel again.

“It’s too bright here, how can anyone see?” Marzel grumbled.

“What advice I have to offer, isn’t any advice Princess Elena or anyone else can give. It is bro advice. From now on, I pledge my support to you as a bro and a wingman as you will be mine-” “I haven’t agreed to this.” Marzel protested.

“-Do you know how to get out of a date that you don’t want to be in?” Alonso abruptly asked.

“...No?” Marzel answered. Admittedly, he had never been on a date since he had been busy with royal training and the fact that anyone who dated him had to uphold the standards fitting for sirena royalty. Though there were many fish in the sea, he hadn’t found one that fit that standard yet. But he wasn’t going to admit that.

“It’s called the Lemon Law. In Cordoba, we have a law that if someone buys an item, let’s say a lemon, from a street cart and finds that it is a rotten lemon, the person can return it. Same goes for dates. This applies this to dates. A person has five minutes within the date to decide whether it continues for the rest of the night or not.” Alonso smiled smugly at his knowledge.

“Wow, that’s- I didn’t know.” “That’s why you need me.” Alonso sipped his recently poured drink.

Marzel rubbed his neck as he thought about what Alonso was proposing. It was true that he didn’t know much about land culture beyond what his mother told him from her fragmented memories. And he knew less about girls and romance in the dating world. 

He could ask Elena but it seemed that she was in the same boat as he was dating-wise, ie. no dates just the kingdom. Besides Alonso seemed to know what he was talking about and he kinda liked the idea of having a “bro” as he kept saying.

Marzel clasped hands with Alonso, “I’ll do it. Let’s be bros.”

“Yes!” Alonso crowed, “This is gonna be legen-wait for it-dary! Legendary!”

“Where are we going?” Marzel stumbled s Alonso grabbed his arm to drag him to the bar-room.

“To get you a suit. One of the most important things to attract a woman is a suit. So, let’s suit up!”

_______________________________________________________________________“Why can’t you clean the dishes? I did it yesterday.” Marisa crossed her arms stubbornly.

“Because..just because..I’m older than you!” Marzel retorted.

“That doesn’t mean anything.” Marisa rolled her eyes.

As guests and royals at the retreat, technically they didn’t have to wash the dishes. But their mother said they should take this as a chance to learn about chores on land, and reminded them that she had washed dishes when she was a human. It was about honoring their heritage which they both were sure was some sort of trick because their mom had complained about their laziness in underwater chores.

Marzel considered his words before talking again. Yesterday, after confirming their “bro-lationship” with a suit fitting and celebratory drinks, Marzel had asked Alonso for advice on his problems with dating and girls, even his sister since Alonso said arguing with girls was the same with all of them, no matter the relation.

Alonso had given him the exact argument he should use and he needed to remember how it was said.

“Hmmm sounds annoying. Chores are the worst. So menial. That’s stuff for servants to do like rookie, here.” Alonso pointed to Gabe who was on the other side of the bar with Manuel.

Gabe looked over at them and glared at the arrogant prince, “I don’t do dishes, and I’m not a rookie. I’m the captain of the guard.” “I’m sure you will be soon.” Alonso waved him off.

“I am already.” Gabe corrected, stalking up to them but Alonso ignored him in favor of continuing their conversation.

“Now here’s what I would do if I were in your position. I’d come to the room and she’d leap into my arms and we make out. Her small body leaning against mine, her lips just..”

“Dude, that’s my sister!” Marzel stared at him in horror.

“I wasn’t saying what you should. Just what I would do in that situation. If I was there, we would be getting it on. Not that I would in real life, a bro never touches another bro’s sister unless she makes the first move.” “Just continue.” Gabe hissed through clenched teeth, seeing Marzel’s eye vein throb distressingly.

“Okay fine. We eat dinner and Marisa says, “Sweetie, are you gonna wash that?” Now I say or you should say, “I’m glad you bring that up, Marisa. No, and here’s why.” She gets on my lap, “I know you don’t like a dirty sink. But does that make it my job to clean it? If one day I look up on the living room ceiling and decide I want a replica of my royal portrait up there, would it be your job to paint it?

She says, “No, of course not.”

I say, “Exactly. So darling, by the same logic, if you don’t like a sink full of dirty dishes, shouldn’t it be your job to clean it?”

Then Marisa would understand the reason behind it all, and agree, “Thank you for explaining that. I get so confused.”

“You’re kidding me.” Gabe interrupted, laughing.

Marzel understood the flaws with the argument since they were arguing over whose turn it was to help the kitchen staff, not the fact that they disliked looking at a dirty dishes. However, he was on his third glass of champagne so he had a warm, giddy feeling assuring him that if he said it right, Marisa would see reason just as Alonso said she would.

“Let me finish…” Alonso looked disdainfully at Gabe, “Once I have her attention, it’s time to bring out the big guns. “Look, Marisa I love you. But with the little energy I have after the meetings, I want to shower you with love, not wash some silly dishes.”

And Marisa says, “Oh you’re right, Alonso, you’re always right. I’ll do the dishes from now on. Right after I do this.”

So then the lights dim and she turns around and dances for me. Her butt’s firm, round…”

“Are you going to hit him or should I?” Gabe asked, but Marzel was too busy envisioning an afternoon not having to help with the dishes.

The time had come.

“Marisa, I’m not doing the dishes and here’s why.”

Marisa looked at him irritability. Staring at her, Marzel lost his train of thoughts. The next part of Alonso’s vision called for her to sit on his lap and that was just gross. He remembered that Alonso had been saying his argument had to be modified since they were siblings and now all he could think of were the disgusting phrases Alonso had used followed by the even worse image of Marisa doing them.

It had made so much sense when Alonso said it last night, what was wrong?

He manfully tried to scrape out the appropriate parts of the argument to use and came up with this,“I’m not doing the dishes and here’s why. You don’t want to dishes, but it’s like if I wanted our baby pictures on the wall..I-I-I mean ceiling. All our baby pictures and family pictures painted on this ceiling. Would you do that? No I mean, first. Let me start over. It’s not job to do the dishes because.. Um I? Dance for me. Eww no. I don’t uh-”

“HUH?” Marisa stared at him as if one half become a malandro and he sprouted three more heads. Just a face of confusion and disgust.

“I-ugh” Marzel stuttered then hung his head in defeat, “I’ll do the dishes.”

_______________________________________________________________________“Are you sure you’re reading the map correctly? Give it to me. I’m an excellent navigator, I was the first one in my team to orient us to win the scavenger hunt.” Princess Valentina sighed as she and Marzel wearily walked down the side of one of Paraiso’s lush mountain ranges.

“Here,” Marzel handed it off to her miserably.

It was midnight and what started out as innocent date led to them walking on the side of the mountain for hours, and he was pretty sure it was the same side of the mountain. They weren’t even going around it, just back and forth.

He really wished he never accepted this date.

He didn’t dislike Valentina exactly, it was just that she was too..much for him. She talked so much, usually about herself, always pointing out how Paraiso was the best, best in chocolate, best in sports, best in everything.

With all her talk about how the best she was in everything, he never would have thought she would have interest in him since he wasn’t the best in walking much less second best in subjects..behind her, of course.

But Alonso had pointed out that when she entered the bar, her eyes had went straight towards him and her eyebrow raised before she quickly flounced out followed by her guard, Manuel.

That-the eye contact and eyebrow raise-was a clear sign she was interested in him, which was only confirmed a few days later when Valentina invited him to have a talk about the personal Coronado-Paraiso treaty.

“Personal Coronado-Paraiso romance!” Alonso high-fived him when Marzel told him. Marzel didn’t want that at all. It was too late to back out of the date without potentially offending her, but thankfully, Alonso gave him advice to prevent a girl friend from becoming a girlfriend.

“You see Marzel. The rules for girls are like the rules for gremlins.” “Gremlins?” Marzel never heard of such a creature and wanted to ask but Alonso plowed ahead with his advice as usual.

“Yes, gremlins. Rule number one: Never get them wet. Aka never let them shower at your place.”

Marzel thought that eliminated almost all the sirenas but then reasoned that these rules must be specific only to mortal girls.

“Rule number two: Keep them away from sunlight. Aka don’t ever see them during the day.”

Rule number three: Never feed them after midnight. Aka she doesn’t sleep over, and you don’t have breakfast.” 

“What about brunch? Is brunch cool? Marzel asked. Marisa had recently introduced him to brunch through Elena and he rather enjoyed the idea of having a snack between breakfast and lunch.

Alonso looked at him in disgust, “No. Brunch is never cool.”

In an effort to keep things platonic, Marzel requested to have the meeting at night since he never seen the moon rise in Paraiso before which Valentina eagerly grabbed on to the idea to lead up to Paraiso’s highest peak and show him the best view.

The date was not romantic in the slightest way. Valentina had kept things professional and they discussed how trade would be conducted between their two kingdoms. 

Marzel had figured this platonic nature was due to the nighttime setting just as Alonso said it would and was relieved when the meeting finished at 9 without any sentimental overtones.

It was when they left that things went downhill literally. Valetina said they must have taken a wrong turn at the waterfall or somewhere because they had been walking for three hours and there was no sign of the valley or the palace and the nighttime heat was covering them like a smothering blanket. As Princess Valentina proudly told him when he said it didn’t feel cold at all up in the mountains, “Paraiso has one of the warmest climates in the Ever realm. No one suffers from hypothermia or frostbite here.” “Just potential heatstroke” Marzel thought darkly to himself as felt sweat dripping from his forehead down the bridge of his nose.

“Marzel.” Valentina panted, fruitlessly fanning herself with her hand, “Can you hand me some of the water?”

Marzel was about to hand her the water when he remembered Alonso’s rule about not getting the girl wet.

Marzel clutched the water bottle from the picnic basket she had brought, and promptly poured it all over himself, “Sorry. Sirena, you know. I need more water to compensate for being on land for so long.”

“Oh okay.” Valentina nodded understandingly which made Marzel immediately feel bad for his lie. Her hair which had been put in her usual ponytail had frizzed out and bigger thanks to the humidity and her face seemed to have gone pale from exhaustion.

They walked for what seemed like miles but must have been a few minutes when they crashed through a brush to see the palace.

“Yes!” They cried simultaneously. They would have run to their destination, but tiredness made their feet drag oh so slowly on the manicured lawns of the Paraiso palace.

“Marzel, do we have any food left in the basket?” Valentina asked weakly.

Marzel frowned, “No.” There had been a few apples left in the basket but he had thrown them out after their meeting in compliance with the third rule of making sure she didn’t eat after midnight.

He took another good look at the princess who seemed slumped, dejected and near collapse.

“You don’t look yourself, do you want me to carry you?” Marzel approached her, gently taking hold of her shoulder.

“No I can handle it” Valentina slurred and fainted onto the grass.

Adrenaline took over Marzel’s body, tiredness forgotten, he picked the princess up in a bridal carry and raced her over to the palace’s front door where Manual opened it, gasped, grabbed Valentina out of his arms and took her to the infirmary.

Marzel paced restlessly, guilt gnawing at his stomach. Who cares if she wanted a date with him? He should have let her have the food and water! It was all his fault that this happened-

The royal physician opening the door for visitors interrupted Marzel’s guilt-ridden reverie. Manual pushed Marzel out of the doorway in his rush to get to the princess.

Manual tenderly lifted Valentina’s face towards his as she slowly opened her eyes, and smiled, “Oh Manual, I’m fine. Just a little dehydration. I’m not going to die.”

“I was so worried.” Manual murmered in a choked up voice and swept her up in a deep, full kiss.

“You’re dating?” Marzel meant to only say it in his head, but it came out in an awkward squawk.

The couple turned to him, Valentina contedly resting her head in the crook of Manual’s neck.

“Yes, we don’t like to show it off in front of everyone but we are very much in love.” Valentina answered, rubbing her nose with her guard.

“She’s my shining light, and I’m her shining knight.” Manual agreed.

“I could never lay my eyes on someone else.” Valentina mused.

But she did---wait. Marzel thought back to the bar. The guards had been behind him and Alonso. She must have sent that eye contact and eyebrow to Manual.

This whole thing had truly been a Coronando-Paraiso treaty meeting. With a groan and Marzel face-palmed himself.

_______________________________________________________________________”Do it. Do it, Naked man!” Alonso cheered as he passed by Naomi’s room.

“I will. I will. Just go already.” Marzel shoved Alonso away from the door to the room.

“What pose are you doing?” Alonso called

“Just go!” Marzel yelled at him and shut the door.

Marzel was going on his first official date, where it was certain that both people knew it was a date, with Naomi who was visiting Paraiso to pick up some diplomatic scrolls and gift Valentina with the Avaloran chocolate that Elena accidentally forgot.

Though Naomi had been hesitant of him at first, particularly after how she acted the last time she saw him, but after they played olaball together and she taught him some sail knots, he asked her out.

They agreed for it to be a friendly date. Unlikely to be serious, more like two friends hanging out with potential for kisses among other things.

Alonso had been in favor for ‘the other things’ part and urged him to do ‘The Naked Man’.

At first Marzel was hesitant but another part of him was very curious as to how it would play out especially since Naomi said this date wasn’t supposed to be serious, just fun.

And from the way Alonso put it, ‘The Naked Man’ was the best way to amp fun.

It was yet another technique Alonso had explained the night they became bros.

Alonso clinked his glass against his as he explained the brilliance of the naked man on a friendly date.

“It goes like this. You’re on a first date, you’ve had a few drinks. You go up to the room, once she leaves the room. You strip naked and wait. When she comes back, she laughs and is so charmed by your confidence and bravado, she sleeps with you. Boom!” “No way that works.” “Two out of three times. I would not lie to you mi amigo. Two out of three times. Which is why it is important to pick your pose to display your naked man in.” And so he began to display the poses.

“There’s the Superman.

The Capitan.

The ‘Oops I didn’t see you there.’

The Thinker.

The Lounge.

The Fencer.

The Gymnast who stuck the Landing.”

He had laughed at Alonso at the time just as Gabe had when he left them, shaking his head.

But now he really was going to do it.

Naomi had gone into her guest room to find the fiddle her mom had been teaching her to play while Marzel stood outside. Now he crept in and stripped and after much deliberation chose to do the ‘Capitan’ in honor of his sea roots.

Naomi entered, “Now promise you won’t laugh. I’ve been practicaack!”

“Ta-da!” Marzel showed proudly.

Naomi gasped,her face turned red and she exploded, “Oh my GOD! What is the matter with you! Get out! I can’t believe-ugh Sirenas! GET OUT!”

Marzel looked at her in horror. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Why wasn’t she charmed and laughing?

He face burned as he realized how bad this situation was and how he appeared. He wanted to explain but he could clearly see this wasn’t the time for it and tried for desperation.

“Wait-I-my cloth..”

“OUT YOU CREEP! You sick son of-” Naomi yelled.

“Wait! My suit is very expensive...”

“I’m going to call the guard on you.” Naomi threw a pillow at him which he promptly grabbed to shield his private parts and ran as fast as he could to his room.

He slammed his door closed,highly embarrassed, Marzel sank to the ground with a groan, “Why did my first time have to be that third time out of three for ‘the naked man’ to fail?

_______________________________________________________________________“Ready?” Marzel asked his sister as they entered the bar-room where Alonso was flirting with the bartender.

“I got your back. You will be avenged.” Marisa intoned menacingly with an evil cackle.

“Don’t do the laugh.” Marzel shook his head.

“It’s my evil laugh.” Marisa pouted but did as he motioned and sasheyed toward Alonso in the slinky purple dress she borrowed from Elena.

“Hello” Marisa purred, exaggeratingly fluttering her eyelashes that made Marzel think she had something in her eye, “Wow. I have to admit, there’s nothing sexier than a man in a suit, and you..are sexier than most.”

Alonso did a double-take before he formed a slow smile, looking her over. “And I appreciate your appreciation, and” His lips curved to a wicked grin, “Your sexiness.”

Marzel saw that Marisa pursed her lips, a sure sign that she was trying to hold back a laugh. He cringed but the laugh never came. Instead she continued with their plan.

“Is your suit cashmere?” “Cashmere. No, this is handspun. The fibers are less than twelve microns thick.” Alonso scoffed and gulped as Marisa began to feel up his arms.

“Twelve microns.” Marisa gushed breathlessly, “I love a tiny fiber.”

“You’re in luck. Mine’s the tiniest.” Alonso bragged, “And the more you touch it. The softer it gets.” Marisa giggled and Marzel felt himself being jostled by the sudden appearence of Mateo, Elena, Gabe and Naomi.

“Is it happening? Is he falling for it?” Naomi asked eagerly.

Elena had come to yell at Marzel after his awful date with Naomi and he had confessed all the things that happened after he had followed Alonso’s advice. Elena had calmed down a little bit when she told them that, understanding where such a crazy idea came from and explained to him that while Alonso was trying to turn over a new leaf, he had a long way to go and was not the best role model to follow or a good advice-giver. 

“I realize that, trust me.” Marzel blushed sheepishly, “I just don’t get how it all worked for him and not me. How did I mess it all up?”

“Well like I said before. It’s best to be yourself. And if it makes you feel better. I don’t think those techniques would have worked for everybody, not even him. All of that is an awful way to seduce a girl. Bragging about yourself? Just sleeping with them without thinking of their feelings or being serious? He might have been just messing with you.” Marzel shrugged, “Maybe he should see how it feels to be a failure with a woman?” Elena looked at him curiously but a mischievous glint was present in her eyes, “Aren’t you bros? Bros don’t get revenge on other bros.” “This isn’t revenge. This is just a lesson. I think I need your help.” Marzel said.

Elena had been on board with getting revenge and apparently so was the rest of Team Avalor, even Naomi after she heard from whom ‘the naked man’ originated from. Marzel originally had wanted Elena to flirt with Alonso but apparently he was aware of her relationship with Mateo, and Naomi refused to do it, citing some other incident where he tried to flirt with her.

That left Marisa to do the job even though it rankled him to see Alonso acting like a lecherous guy to his sister. Marisa, on the other hand was all too excited to play the part of evil seductress. It was a little unnerving.

“Yes, shush.” Marzel motioned for them all to duck lower behind the door and the bar as they discreetly watched the action unfold.

Marisa continued to girlishly giggle, “I was actually looking for you. But there was such traffic in the ballroom. I was at the inter-sex-tion from ballroom and the dining room and I had only a few sex-onds to get in an opening in the crowd. And then people start yelling at me to move over and it totally sex-cked, but I can’t move because a man tripped on one of the tropical bird’s sex-crement.”

Alonso was breathing heavily and gulping as he listened to Marisa’s purposefully innuendo, “G-go, go on.”

“Hmm” Marisa looked him over, and did what Marzel was assuming to be her version of a sexy pout but looked more constipated, “Let’s go my room.”

Alonso nearly tripped over his feet as he and Marisa speedwalked through the halls with the rest on their heels from a safe distance.

The door was open just a crack so they all could press their ears up against it and hear the ensuing conversation.

“Alonso, you should know.When I get into bed with a man, my body becomes a machine. Fueled by desire and lust, and a singular hunger to satisfy my lover’s every carnal need.” Marisa sighed, her voice practically oozing with moans and breathiness.

“Such a shame we all have to go home tomorrow. So let’s go like it’s the last night we’ll ever see each other.” Alonso growled.

“Yes, yes. Well, good night.” Marisa walked out the door.

“Wh-What!” Alonso came rushing out behind her, “Why are you leaving? I thought your body was going to become a machine fueled by desire, lust and a singular hunger to satisfy my every carnal need?” Alonso’s voice cracked at the end.

“Yes. But no. I don’t sleep with people who think I would dance for them after agreeing to do the dishes.” Marisa raised an eyebrow in his direction, crossing her arms with a triumphant smile.

Alonso froze dumbfounded, and soon realized he was in the presence of a small crowd, all trying their best to muffle their laughter.

“Huh-I-I I’m so confused.” Alonso muttered.

Marzel took pity on him and slapped on the back, “This is called a lesson.” “For what?” Alonso shrugged Marzel’s off of him.

“The dishes. The gremlin rule. The Naked Man.” Naomi listed.

“Oh, I-okay that was good advice.” Everyone gave him a look, “I’ll admit the results that happened to Marzel were pretty funny, but I wasn’t setting him up I swear! All of that advice was from a desire to help you. We’re bros.” Alonso protested.

Marzel smiled and grabbed Alonso in a side-hug. He sounded sincere and considering what Elena had told him of his upbringing, it may have been true that all those things worked for him. If not less so because of his looks and charm and more so for being the crown prince.

“We’re bros.” Marzel confirmed, “I’m your wingman and your mine. I am just never listening to your ridiculous rules or advice on dating ever again.”

“Not even about the Hot-Crazy Scale or the Three Day Rule? The Three Day Rule is an unofficial social rule.” Alonso insisted.

“Even that.” Marzel said and so arm in arm the two bros parted ways until the next adventure. 

[sciogli-lingua]

#1: "Mica" and "manco"

Mica used to mean "breadcrumb", but the meaning has long shifted in standard Italian: now used as an adverb, you may find it in four different situations, essentially:

To strengthen the negative marker "non": in this case, it will usually come after the verb. A typical construction might be "Non sono mica scemo/a!", as in "I'm not dumb, you know!" It's often an implicit objection to what the speaker perceives as their interlocutor's thoughts: in the previous example, the speaker might use the sentence when they feel like the other is looking down on them, or trying to trick them, e.g. "so come si scrive, non sono mica scemo/a!" ("I know how you write that, I'm not dumb!") or "non sono mica scemo, ho capito il tuo piano" ("I'm not dumb, I know what your plans are").

To replace the negative marker "non", in which case it's always placed before the verb/adjective/adverb it's modifying. "Mica male!" ("Not bad!") is a very common example of this construction.

As a sort of "question" tag for things that you fear might be true although you wish they weren't. Let's say you're talking on the phone with your best friend, and suddenly they sneeze for the third time in two minutes; as they've just told you that they spent an hour walking in the rain last night, you can't help but wonder: "Non ti sarai mica preso/a un raffreddore!" ("You haven't caught a cold, have you?")

In questions, meaning "by any chance": if you can't find your cat anywhere, you might ask your friend "Hai mica visto il mio gatto?" ("Have you by any chance seen my cat?")

The usage of manco is, as a whole, considerably easier and more intuitive, as this adverb is basically a less formal counterpart of neanche (although it's not uncommon to hear neanche being used in spoken Italian as well, while on the other hand using "manco" when writing would feel odd and out of place), and the two don't really differ when it comes to meaning. A fitting translation for both expressions would be "not even": if a football player gets badly shoved on the pitch, thus earning their opponent a yellow card, it's not uncommon to hear the latter complain to the referee: "Non l'ho manco/neanche sfiorato!" ("I didn't even touch him!")

"Manco morto/a!" and "manco per sogno!" (both also used with "neanche" as well: neanche morto/a, neanche per sogno) are two common expressions roughly equivalent to "never in Hell/never in a million years". The first one literally means "not even (if I were) dead", while the second would be "not even in a dream". For example: "Lì non ci torno manco morto/a!" ("No way I'm going back there!").

[ohtheladyboner]

Imagine: A Love Letter

Word Count: 1,598

Author Note: Hello! I hope you enjoy reading this. At the outset, I have to tell you that I am trusting heavily in your suspension of disbelief. I don’t think there are any hard facts here, but if you think somethings don’t fit, I hope it’s not too jarring and you’ll allow it.

Background: You are a scientist working in the field of quantum mechanics, which is still in its infancy. A chance encounter with your favourite thespian (insert celebrity name/persona—I’ve just mentioned some in the tags, feel free to insert whoever you want) changes your life. Over the course of the next few meetings you fall for him. You write him this impassioned love letter in a now-or-never sort of moment.

Dear friend,

I begin by apologizing for the sheer heft of this letter. I can almost hear you shuffling these sheets, slightly puzzled.

On then to the next bit posthaste—the niceties. Are you well? I hope you are very well. And the show? I hear ‘To the Victor, the Spoils’ is doing splendidly, particularly in the cities. During our last conversation, I recall you had been worried that the story might not resonate with the urbanite. But I saw the papers lauding the play as modifying the very landscape of theatre. I am not quoting verbatim; rather, this is an amalgamation of the reviews I read. I admit I have followed any news on the play closely. The performance by the leads is also unparalleled, so I am informed. My heartiest congratulations to you and Eileen.

Are you amused? A creative arts neophyte such as myself taking such keen, expansive interest in theatre? Because of late I have been reading and learning. Not only about your play but theatre in general. And art. And music. And dance. I find myself a voracious consumer of all the arts. And I admit, this surprises me. I surprise myself. For the longest time, I did eschew the creative arts for the more ‘logical’ and ‘predictable’ field of the physical sciences.

This tectonic shift I must attribute largely, if not wholly, to you. I am fair that way. Your admonition—‘but what stops both from coexisting in a person?’—brought this shift. I find myself more interested in, for want of a better word, the imaginative.

However, my more particular, almost rabid, interest in this particular play is simple because (here I must admit to my drawing on every last bit of my reserve of courage, simultaneously bolstered by additional liquid courage in the form of that excellent wine you gifted me along with the plant) it has you.

(I have just re-read what I’ve written. Do you ever recall me being so … verbose? There was a time my being so taciturn had amused you. Well, I am trying to unlearn that. This letter, consider it a step in the remedial way.)

To the crux of the matter then: unbeknownst to me, unintentionally, though not at all regrettably, I have simply, undeniably, uninhibitedly fallen in love with you.    

In all honesty, once written down I thought those words would have more gravitas. But they seem flippant. How am I to convey what I can only vaguely describe best as an enormous feeling?

Now, I am not in the habit of falling in love. I am not sure how you are placed on the matter. So I find myself seeking solace in literature and poetry. It is comforting to know that I am not the first person experiencing this sickness.

Paradoxically, I find myself weighed down by the tremendous sorrow of not being the first human to experience this. Like Prometheus, that I could introduce humankind to such burning love! That I would be the bearer of this elation, that I could have experienced it first!

But I digress. The long of the matter is I love you. The short of the matter is I love you. The depth, breadth, height and time of the matter is I love you. I do.

Coyness as a course of action is suggested to me. I don’t wear coyness well. No success in my life can I attribute to coyness. So see me here at my most brazen.

Do you remember the first time we met? The Maharani of Chittorgarh did me a kindness inviting me to her gathering of such illustrious people. Her persistence at having me at the gathering if only as an ambassador of female intellectual might in a predominantly masculine field finally tipped the scales and so I went.

You were late, joining us during the last leg of the party. A successful opening night followed by celebratory drinks, you entered jubilant and cut quite a figure.

How you regaled the company with your theatre-related anecdotes! There was no one who wasn’t at least a little in love with you that night. Having spent the last year or so in rigorous research (and, as mentioned, not being too familiar with the field in general), I had not read about your return to and subsequent prodigious success in theatre. Therefore, imagine my surprise when you tell me that you have not only heard of me but also know of my work in quantum mechanics. You clarified that you were something of a dilettante and enjoyed keeping abreast of the happenings in different fields. I thought that was a difficult ask of a person to be expected to know something of everything. But you, very rightly I might add, told me that life amounts to very little without the continuous pursuit of knowledge and expansion of the mind.

You wondered if it would be too much of an imposition to clarify some questions you had. I am an exceedingly poor teacher. It is a grave failing of mine. But seeing you look at me so open and earnest and willing to learn, there was no other answer but yes, yes, and yes! Very prettily did the corners of your mouth uplift and your eyes did crinkle. I admit I could not remember the last time I was so enchanted by someone.

Was not fate whispering good tidings when you were there at the only other social engagement I had that season? Happily you declared that under my tutelage you had not only impressed those in the know with your understanding of the subject but that you were now taking an active interest. You had begun exploring my subject in more detail. You confessed to even having tried to understand two of my more recently published papers.

How did you find them?

‘Beastly enough to seek you out and demand an explanation’, you had grinned.

And I had laughed. And I was touched.

I recall then admitting to my paucity of knowledge regarding the fine arts. You were not unkind, only surprised. Taking my hands in yours, you had earnestly asked me to do you a kindness and pick up whichever playwright suited my fancy.

‘Read someone, anyone, who catches your fancy. I’d like to welcome you to my world as you have eased me into yours. It is a conversation I very much look forward to’.

I had. You opened up a new world. Had I thanked you for that?

Thank you, my dear friend.

Then of course the most beautiful congratulatory Serissa bonsai that you sent along with a bottle of wine after the publication of that breakthrough article. It occupies pride of place in my library where I am wont to spend most of my time. I have found myself talking to it several times when I am perplexed by something or need to ponder over something at length. While not the best substitute for you, I’d say most days we try and make do.

I went to watch you twice. I never told you that, did I? I was happy to find that the critics had not been superfluous with their praise at all.

While watching you the second time, during your soliloquy in the third act an incredibly profound feeling and certitude came over me. Your tormented lover’s words and the feelings you portrayed—elation, depression, rage, calm—it was make-believe for you. I in the audience lived those words. I sat there, the vastitude of the feelings washing over me. I was pinned to my seat long after the play was over. The certitude settled in my heart like a symbiont. And with love’s certitude came its faithful lapdog: hope.

Tell me, friend, how do I becalm that little one?

I know I am not a young woman, well, not young by societal standards. I pride myself on being rational. You, being you, and even independent of your profession, I am positive you have a bevy of admirers. In an attempt to exorcise these feelings, short of leaving the city permanently (which, considering the stage my research is at, it is almost impossible), this is the best option for me.

So I ask you to consider me. Consider me, my dear sweet man; see if you could consider me an equal and devoted companion. Let me recommend myself on the basis of the sheer magnitude of my love, which could not be greater if I tried. I have little experience in matters of the heart. There was a romantic blip in my life when I was around nineteen. Of course, in light of present evidence, I really doubt the validity of those feelings.

I take this opportunity then to subvert societal norms and myself offer companionship through the hallowed institution of marriage. I admit it is sudden and we have met but a few times. As a practical course of action, I welcome the opportunity to get to know each better over the course of a long engagement.

I am perfectly serious in my offer. Life affords us few ready-made miracles and fewer chances still to orchestrate these miracles. I am fully aware of the ramifications of this letter. But if I am to lose you let it be through bravery and not pusillanimity when it comes to love.

I leave the city this weekend and am away a fortnight. Could I count on some clarity by the time I return? And would it be wrong to hope that the answer is yes?

Till then I remain,

Yours and in love

X