#somethings were interesting though like under ability i had written unnamed

[imissjensi]

i was going through docs on some of my old kotlc ocs to scavenge for parts to use on a new project, and tell me why in one character profile i specifically mentioned that a second character’s backstory was all figured out and was written in paragraph form rather than my normal bulletpoint brainstorming, but when i went to the second character’s page it was the most bare of them all and whatever ideas i did have were all in my head

[wickedpact]

dear tumblr user crim wickedpact pls write the essay/dissertation about nicky being shakespeare's fair youth (if you have time, ofc!!)

Not To Imply Nicky Was Shakespeare’s Fair Youth But Ive Read The Fair Youth Sonnets & Nicky Was Definitely Shakespeare’s Fair Youth, an essay by me, tumblr user crim wickedpact

background knowledge: our man shakespeare wrote some 120 sonnets about a young man referred to as the Fair Youth during the mid 1590s; there has been some debate among shakespeare enthusiasts whether shakespeare’s interest in the Fair Youth was platonic or romantic (but like. they were definitely romantic). no one knows for sure who the Fair Youth was, but it was definitely nicky and my first and most important piece of evidence regarding this hypothesis is the ‘lmao babe do you remember that guy who had a crush on me?’/ ‘i try not to remember the guy who had a crush on you’ look joe and nicky exchange when Merrick brings up shakespeare during the movie. especially since gina confirmed in a tweet that joe and nicky canonly did know shakespeare

my second piece of evidence is that it just Works (except for a couple small facts like.. the Fair Youth was prolly closer to his 20s than his 30s. and the fact that shakespeare implies that the Fair Youth slept with his mistress at one point. but he doesnt know what hes talking about shhh we IGNORE)

long post under cut

A. The Description Matches

when describing the Fair Youth (who I’ll call the FY from now on), shakespeare says he has a ‘gold complexion’ and ‘beautiful eyes’ and compares him to a ‘summer’s day’. He says the FY has “A woman’s gentle heart" and “An eye more bright than [women’s are], (...) Gilding the object whereupon [they] gazeth”

As much as shakespeare’s perceptions of sexuality and gender are very........  late 1500′s (whoo boy sonnet #20 is a wild ride) ...... the description does match, and also:

  B. The Fair Youth Refused to Get Married

it’s never really said why one way or another (shakespeare assumes it’s because the FY is selfish) but the FY didn’t/wouldn’t take on a wife and have a kid, and this was something that was a real sticker for our man Willy S. because, as he says in his sonnets a million times: beauty doesn’t last forever, but having a child not only passes down the FY’s beauty, but also blesses the woman the FY would have a child with (im not saying shakespeare wanted to bear the FY’s children, but he definitely did)

Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest, Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother. For where is she so fair whose uneared womb Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?

(ie. If you don’t renew yourself/ have children, you deprive the world and deprive a woman from having your child, since what woman out there is so beautiful that she wouldn’t want to bear your child?)

Like.

1.) if nicky is the FY then so many of these poems center around the idea of nicky growing old sometime soon and that must have been pretty funny to Nicky and

2.)  the fact that shakespeare would have been So Desperate for nicky to find a wife must have been the opposite of funny to joe. considering the ease of his and nicky’s relationship and the fact that being gay in late 1500s england was probably not a walk in the park, it is very likely shakespeare wouldn’t have known they were in a committed relationship-- or at least not known how close they actually were. Thus:

  C. The Rival (aka. Joe)

shakespeare mentions having a poetic rival in regards to the FY in several sonnets. In sonnet #21 he talks about how he’s not like Those Other Writers who use grand metaphors to talk about their muses

So is it not with me as with that Muse, Stirred by a painted beauty to his verse, Who heaven itself for ornament doth use And every fair with his fair doth rehearse, Making a couplement of proud compare With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems, With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare,

(ie. I’m not like other poets who, when inspired by a ‘painted beauty’ use heaven and every other beautiful thing on the planet to make a grand comparison to their muse: he specifically lists the sun and moon as examples as well as other beautiful things)

He then goes on to say

And then believe me, my love is as fair As any mother's child, though not so bright As those gold candles fixed in heaven's air:

(ie. my love [the FY] is as beautiful as any other beautiful person, though I wouldn’t compare them to the stars/heavens (which is what he means by the 'gold candles’. those are stars.))

So shakespeare insults poets who compare their subjects to the sun, moon, and stars (amongst other things) and in the comics, Joe does literally exactly that

That man is the stars in my sky, and the sun that lights my days. That man is the moon when I'm lost in darkness, and warmth when I shiver in cold.

shakespeare also goes on to say in the same sonnet “Let them say more that like of hearsay well / I will not praise that purpose not to sell” which is to say ‘let people who like that kind of language use it, I wont because I don’t want anyone else to have the subject of my affections (the FY)’.

(which is a bit of a contradiction regarding his feelings abt the FY getting married, but these sonnets are full of contradictions. shakespeare was a confused dude; man spent the first 100 or so sonnets convinced the FY loved him back only for him to start wondering if the FY ever loved him near the end)

(not to mention Marriage For Love wasnt really.. much of a thing in Ye Olden Times but thats a different conversation. so shakespeare prolly didnt associate marriage with love/competition? anyways)

Shakesy-boo goes on to complain about this rival several times. In #79, he says

Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent He robs thee of, and pays it thee again. He lends thee virtue, and he stole that word From thy behaviour; beauty doth he give, And found it in thy cheek: he can afford No praise to thee, but what in thee doth live.

(ie. everything ‘your poet’ (as the FY apparently favored this unnamed rival) says about you, he takes it from you in the first place. he talks about your virtue, but learned the word from watching your behavior. he calls you beautiful but only discovered beauty by looking at your face. every compliment he gives you he took from you in the first place)

[and, as a smaller example, he also bemoans the fact that people want to paint the FY in #67, saying, “Why should false painting imitate his cheek, / And steal dead seeming of his living hue?”. and yknow. Joe’s an artist.]

And then another example in #86

Was it the proud full sail of [the rival’s] great verse, Bound for the prize of all too precious you, That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse, Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew?

Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead?

(ie. he’s talking about how he’s having difficulty writing abt the FY and is rhetorically asking if ‘the proud sail’ of the rival’s verses was the reason his ‘ripe thoughts’ were killed in their ‘womb’. He then asks (again rhetorically) if it was the rival’s ‘spirit’ (or creativity, maybe) ‘’’‘by spirits taught to write’’’’ that killed his own drive to write. none of the analyses I’ve read really explain what shakespeare means by ‘spirits taught to write’, other than maybe being a joke or reference to something we dont know, but... ‘taught by dead people to write in a way mortal people can’t’ very much sounds like a description of an immortal poet, eh?)

Which brings me to,

  D. Willy Boy Thinks There Are 500 Year Old Writings About the Fair Youth

shakespeare talks about people having written about the FY ‘500 years ago’ from the late 1500s in #59 which......................... would have been around 1100 AD. :thinking face:

Oh that record could with a backward look, Even of five hundred courses of the sun, Show me your image in some antique book, Since mind at first in character was done, That I might see what the old world could say To this composed wonder of your frame;

(ie. Oh if I could look back 500 years and see how you were described in some old books so I could see/reference what people used to write about you)

Which again brings me to,

  E. I’m Not Saying shakespeare Stole From Joe, But:

1.) In #22, shakespeare says this,

For all that beauty that doth cover thee, Is but the seemly raiment of my heart, Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me: 

(ie, your beauty is due to the ‘clothes’ my heart gives you-- probably means something like ‘you’re beautiful because i love you’. goes on to say his heart lives in the FY’s chest, and the FY’s heart lives in shakespeare’s chest)

so: shakespeare tells the FY he has shakespeare’s heart. in comparison, Joe calls nicky ‘my heart’ in the comics...... :thinking face x2:

2.) In #109, shakespeare tells the FY ‘thou art my all’,

For nothing this wide universe I call, Save thou, my rose, in it thou art my all.

which rings similar to Joe’s ‘he’s all and he’s more’ as well as (from the comics) ‘he is my everything’

and just saying. joe looks pretty #done the mention of shakespeare.

  F. The last One

Despite shakespeare writing 30+ poems about the FY eventually growing old, the very last poem he writes about/for the FY says,

O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle hour; Who hast by waning grown, and therein showest Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self growest. 

(ie. you [the FY] have power over the ‘mirror’ (fickle glass) of time as well as time’s ‘harvesting’ ability (sickle hour) and as you grow older, you remain beautiful while your lovers [shakespeare] wither and grow old)

The transition from ‘get married and have a baby before you get old!!!!’ in #1-20 to talking about the FY’s presence in 500 y/o books in #59 to admitting the FY isn’t growing old in #126 kinda seems to imply shakespeare learning of/about nicky’s immortality at some point, and this last poem is him accepting it.

TLDR: not only does it make perfect sense if nicky was the Fair Youth from the FY sonnets, but it also makes perfect sense if joe was the Rival from the FY sonnets. its canon nothing will convince me otherwise

[loveislattes]

Everything Comes at a Price (Demon!Dark/Fem!Reader) Chapter 1

Commission prompt: Reader is really depressed, and Dark decides to roughly Fuck the depression out of them

Important: Reader has female pronouns and is a vagina owner!

Warnings (For this chapter specifically): Talk of depression and stressful life, mentions of unnamed character death, mentions of beheading/dismembered head and some minor blood/gore (not too detailed), cursing, mentions of family in the hospital, demon!Dark (akin to jinn or genie), and pet names.

A/N: PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS! This first chapter is allllll story setting. Part two will have the good ol' rough and dominating Dark fucking.

As always, if you would like to support me, I have a Ko-Fi (here) for donations and I usually have a few slots open for commissions (unless life gets in the way)!

“Look, I think it’s just best if you take some time off.”

Though worded nicely, you instinctually felt the pang of panic and anger already bristling in your chest.

“Time off…” you murmur, eyes sliding down to your boss’s desk in thought, “As in, a week or two or…?”

You let the implication hang heavy in the air. There was a telling silence that followed your question. When you finally met his gaze again, your boss let out a hefty sigh. Before he even said anything, you knew what his answer was by the sympathy on his face alone.

“We won’t fight your unemployment for the first few months, which hopefully will be enough time for you to find another place of employment. I’m sorry, Miss Y/N, but between the company making cutbacks and your recent drop in productivity, I had to-”

“Don’t you dare,” you hissed sharply, interrupting him before he could finish the excuse.

Rage fueled your motions, forcing you to your feet while your eyes narrowed on the man you’d once thought a decent person.

“A drop in productivity?” you scoffed, “My apartment building was just destroyed in a freak fire two weeks ago that, of course, my insurance refused to cover. I’ve been bouncing place to place between motels and friend’s homes until I can afford another deposit on the measly pay you give us. My mother is in the hospital, in the ICU, after a freak hit and run. My car broke down yesterday and I walked thirty fucking minutes in the pouring rain today just to make sure you assholes weren’t a man down with all this work. And you knew all of this, but you still decided to fire me? I can’t- You know what, fuck you. Fuck you and fuck this place! I hope this whole company shuts down and you get to experience even a modicum of the instability I’ve had to!”

Before he could respond, you slammed the chair back into place against the desk and stormed from the room. You could feel the confused gazes from your coworkers as you marched to the door but didn’t dare spare them a glance. Most of them you considered to be your friends and you knew you’d have to explain everything later, but you couldn’t allow anything other than anger to inhabit your body at that moment. One bit of sadness and you would crumble. Rage would keep you safe until you made it to your temporary home for the night.

Little curses and fury-filled resentment spilled from your lips as you stepped out into the dreary public. Of course, it was still raining. You hadn’t even dried off from your trek to work and now you were thrown right back out into the storm. A timely crack of lightning rumbled across the sky as you shot one last middle finger back at the door.

“I can’t believe this shit,” you grumbled.

Pulling your raincoat up over your head, you kept your gaze down and began your journey back to the hotel. The one upside to all the rain was that the sidewalks were nearly barren. Cars sped by on the busy roads but you were alone on foot. In fact, you didn’t see a single soul until you were on the block housing your hotel, and somehow that lonely occupant still managed to slam into you.

“Excuse you,” you muttered.

“So sorry, please excuse me.”

The person’s voice sent shivers down your spine and every last hair stood up on your arms. Reflexively you pulled back as a hand touched your side, ready to give them a mouthful, but they were moving on by the time you could gather your wits about you. All you caught was a tall form in a black business suit striding off in the opposite direction.

With an irked tsk and a mutter of “Fucking asshole”, you rushed into the lobby, stomping the rain from your shoes along the rubber mat. Sure you were pissed off but you still had the human decency not to create more work for others.

You managed a little nod to the desk clerk on your way by to the elevator. As you watched the numbers climb slowly down, you mentally questioned the fates if the world was against you. The elevator stopped on literally every- single- floor; All 25. Trying to maintain your composure, you leaned up against the wall and let your eyes flutter closed, slowly breathing in and out rhythmically. Just a little longer and you’d be in the safety of solitude. You could let it all out.

The ding of the lift doors opening pulled you out of your little meditative session and you immediately let out a grateful sigh of appreciation upon realizing it was empty. Being stuck in a small metal box with others for an undetermined amount of time made your skin crawl, much less when you were already on the edge of snapping. You mashed the close button repeatedly until the metal doors finally sealed shut and the elevator began to move. The rest of the journey was a blur until you stopped at your room door and fished your card out of your pocket, coming out with not only the plastic key but a large silver coin.

“The fuck?” you muttered.

As the door buzzed open, you flipped the coin over in your fingers, trying to think back on when you had gotten it. You were pretty sure you’d never seen anything like it before; completely void of any details on one side but the other filled with finely engraved words.

The loud startling thump of your keys as you threw them on the nightstand wasn’t even enough to draw your concentration away from the interesting little trinket. It took a few minutes and some good lighting but you eventually figured out what was written; the discovery only confusing you further.

“Clutch this coin to thee whilst ye make a plea

In return ye shall become my endless devotee”

“Yeah… that’s not creepy at all,” you sighed.

Tossing the coin on the nightstand next to your keys, you sloughed off your wet clothes and tossed them in the small hamper next to your duffle bag. After this horrid morning, you needed a long hot shower before you pondered on any strange coins or the mental shithole that had become your life.

You weren’t sure exactly how long you spent under the burning water but, by the time you exited, you were both hungry and in dire need of some caffeine.

“Or a nap. A nap could be heavenly,” you murmured to yourself.

Towel around your head, you dropped into the bed naked and took a moment to revel in the sheets against your freshly lotioned skin. There was hardly a better feeling. Thank god you had the good sense to buy some of your own sheets rather than rely on whatever the hotels had to offer. It made your day the tiniest bit better.

As you leaned back against the headboard, you snagged up the coin once more. The metal was cool against your warm fingers as you flipped it around and around. Did you dare give it a try? What was the worst outcome: You felt silly for believing a random coin and no one would ever know? Although, what if it was legit...?

Now that thought made you feel silly. A little chuckle passed your lips before you clasped the coin between your hands and brought it to your chest, closing your eyes as if about to pray.

“Alright, I don’t know how this works so I’m just gonna state my wishes out loud. I hope that works for, well, whoever you are. First off, I want that backstabbing business ruined. They fucked me over after I bent over backward for them, now they deserve to feel the same. Please. Second, I don’t know how you could do it, but I’d really like my insurance company to finally approve my apartment claim so I can find another place soon. Third-”

You trailed off as emotions immediately welled up behind your eyelids, the burning already tingling in the back of your throat from holding them in.

“My third and most important wish, please, if nothing else, find the one that put my mom in the ICU and make them pay. Those idiots down at the police department couldn’t find them, or so they say anyway, so just… give them what they deserve, please.”

With a stifled sniffle, you wiped away the few tears that had escaped and fell back against the headboard, eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling as you let the pain wash over you; Rage, dread, hope, apathy, desperation. Eventually, the unending barrage became too much to deal with. This wasn't a new thing in your life, but it had certainly culminated into something worse with everything going on in your life; clinical depression exacerbated by a series of unfortunate events.

With no other plans for the day and the weight of your heart heavy in your chest, you chose to simply roll over and bury yourself, and your troubles, in the fluffy comforter. You’d feel better after a nap. You were almost certain of it.

Even as you drifted off into sleep, the tears didn’t cease.

When you first woke, you weren’t sure what had roused you but you knew it wasn’t good; All you could feel was bone-trembling terror. You couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, felt frozen in place with only the ability to stare at the now dimly lit wall; watching the shafts of setting sunlight ever so slowly creep down by the minute.

“Come now, darling,” a low voice crooned in the void behind you, “I know you’re awake.”

Like a rubber band snapping, the grip on your body suddenly released and you shot up in bed, immediately turning around to find out who had spoken. You weren’t sure what you expected but it certainly wasn’t the devilishly handsome man that was seated next to the window. The sunlight pouring down on him made it very obvious that his skin was lacking any range of melanin, rather being pallor shades of whites, blacks, and greys, but that didn't detract from his appearance at all. In fact, he looked like something out of a Gothic romance novel or a Tim Burton movie. Once the enchantment of seeing him began to wear off, you finally noticed what sat on the table next to him.

A human head.

“Holy fuck!”

A hellish screech escaped your lips as you hastily scrambled backward, trying to get as far away from him as quickly as possible, only to go careening off the edge of the mattress. The pain of impact on the floor couldn’t even deter you. As your back hit the wall, you kept your eyes pinned on the intruder, watching for any sign that he was going to follow you or attack.

“While I’m certainly not minding the show, don’t you think you’re rather underdressed for this occasion?” he spoke suddenly.

It took a few moments for his words to sink in but the moment they did, you launched yourself back at the bed with a hushed curse and promptly pulled the sheets up around your naked body.

“Who are you? How did you get in here? I-Is- Is that real?”

Long clawed fingers made their way into the matted, bloody mess of hair and pulled the body part free from the table with a sickening pop.

“It is undoubtedly real, but I figured you’d believe me much quicker if I had a visual aide to my claims,” he replied, dropping the offending thing before tossing you a sharp, seductive, smile, “The name is Dark. I’m a demon and the owner of the coin you wished upon.”

Your tongue felt too heavy to move while you watched in horror as he licked the blood from his fingers like a cat bathing itself.

“I- I don’t-”

“You don’t understand,” he supplied helpfully.

As he rose from his seat, you stared at him owlishly, unable to take your eyes off his graceful form as he nearly glided across the floor to stand in front of you.

“That coin,” he hummed, pointing at the metal disc in question, “It belongs to me. When someone makes a wish while holding it, I’m able to hear them. In your case, I heard all three.”

Trepidation tickled the nape of your neck when your eyes slowly rolled over to the head once more. It was as if you couldn’t breathe. Sick crawled up your throat and it took every ounce of your strength to keep from vomiting at the man’s feet. You don’t know how long you sat there, struggling to breathe and ease the nausea but, when it finally went away, rage took over.

“I didn’t want you to actually KILL them!” you shouted.

The demon casually arched a brow in your direction before saying, “You specifically wished for the one involved in your mother’s accident to get what they deserved.”

“Yeah! Like prison! Not death!”

A soul-trembling crack resounded through the small hotel room as he slowly craned his neck side to side, ethereal pulses of red and blue emanating from his being. Some of the previous ire slipped from your hold when he moved even closer, step by step until his knees were touching yours.

“I will never understand you humans and your sense of righteousness. Would it ease your mind to know this wasn’t the first time they had committed such heinous crimes?” he asked.

“W-What?” you questioned softly.

“I will not delve into details but rest assured that your embarrassing sense of compassion was lost on them; they were vermin,” he explained, “Now, that makes three wishes fulfilled. You have two remaining.”

You thought back on exactly what wishes you had made and were immediately overcome with dismay.

“Wait, what did you do?!” you demanded, jumping to your feet and glaring up at him, “You didn’t kill anyone else, did you?!”

A twinge of disdain passed through his features. His hand landed heavily on your shoulder and you were shoved back down onto the bed with a 'tsk' of disapproval, as if scolding a misbehaving child.

“Fortunately for you, no. Your previous place of employment has simply been condemned for multiple code violations that have mysteriously come to light during a surprise investigation, and your insurance company has been informed that they’re facing a lawsuit if they don’t reevaluate your claim with a more positive outlook.”

Relief flushed through your veins and you thanked him meekly. You wouldn’t have been able to live your life knowing you had caused the deaths of so many people, let alone friends.

“So, what now?” you asked.

“You have two more wishes before your soul belongs to me.”

He said it with such finality and ease that you almost didn’t react at first. Once his words settled in though, oh, panic quickly followed.

Gaping up at him in wide-eyed disbelief, you tried to stammer out some rebuttal or plea, but nothing would come out. Panic soon gave way to defeat as you realized there was no obvious way to get out of this ordeal. It had been clear as day on the coin.

Thinking on the offending piece of metal, you looked over and snagged it up, reading the inscription once more.

“Clutch this coin to thee whilst ye make a plea

In return ye shall become my endless devotee”

“So that’s what this meant,” you sighed quietly, before gazing at him once more, “And there’s no way to bargain out of this?”

He looked mildly pleased by your inquiry, letting out a little hum before falling back into an ornate chair that definitely hadn’t been there a few seconds ago.

“And what would you bargain?” he purred, “What could a simple little human such as yourself have to give to me, other than your soul of course.”

You cursed his infallible logic and stayed quiet as you tried to think over your options. Truly, you had nothing else to give him; no money nor gifts. Your soul was the only valuable thing you owned, and there was no undoing what had been done. A person had died because of your wish.

With a heavy sigh, you sat up to your full height and prepared yourself mentally.

“Is there a time limit? Do I have to make my wishes today or can I think about them?” you asked.

“You’re free to use them when and wherever you wish. However, do not think this a loophole. Choosing to postpone your wishes until death does not release you from this contract. Your soul will still belong to me when you die.”

Well fuck. There went that option. If you were doomed no matter what, you might as well make use of the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity... right?

“I’m going to need time,” you whispered.

“Fair enough,” he replied, finally taking a step back, “You have my calling card. You can call for me if you have any questions, otherwise, you know what to do.”

He strolled back to the window and snagged the dismembered head, flashing you a wide smirk that framed his fangs perfectly.

“I’ll just be taking this with me. Hope to hear from you soon, darling.”

[libermachinae]

For the directors cut meme, I would love to hear anything at all about chapter 5 of We Forget the Names Not Written Down. (That preface by Rewind, btw, has stuck with me so much, gosh.)

Thank youuu ;u; I was really hoping someone would ask about that one. Under the cut because *spoilers*. (here's a link to the fic in case anyone hasn't checked it out yet)

Okay, so, to start with, the name: "Preface" is the last chapter of the fic, as a final nod to the fact that the fic really doesn't conform to a linear sense of time. Even the chapter itself is spread across different time periods: the dedication was a collaboration between Rewind and Prowl, the Forward was written by Prowl after Rewind's death, the Preface was written while Chromedome was still alive, and the chapter as a whole is being read at some point in the future, after The Complete History has been published. My purpose there was to pull the audience into the story: there is no present but that of the person reading it. Each section represents a crystalized version of who its author/s was/were when they wrote it, and then these disparate moments link up to form a single cohesive text.

The other reason I put "Preface" at the end of the fic is because it is an end, for both Rewind and Prowl. For Rewind, it's the last chance he has to "write" (and I'll go more into that in a bit) and say exactly what he's thinking. It's the last opportunity he has with his own voice, and he uses it to say goodbye to the world and wish it well with a future he won't get to see. And for Prowl, it's the last step he takes before sending the manuscript, anonymously, to the publisher. They're his last words, too, before he disappears to the unnamed planet mentioned in the fic's summary. "Preface" is a series of goodbyes.

The other structural thing I would want to mention in this chapter is authorship. The definition of an author is a theme that I was exploring throughout the fic, and chapter 5 is where Rewind has a chance to address it head on by talking about the assistance he's receiving from Chromedome.

Now I’m a writer, and even that’s in only the barest sense of the word. I can get most of the important words down, but I need Chromedome to connect the dots for me.

The idea that Rewind is the author of The Complete History is never brought into question, because I personally think it's more interesting to consider how this then affects our definition of authorship. Delta's Malady has started to degrade his ability to generate and interpret language. It's not necessarily deleting words, but it's becoming more effort than it's worth for Rewind to come up with every single one. Before Chromedome's work, I imagine these two sentences read more like this:

Writer barely. I important words, Chromedome connect.

It's possible to understand Rewind's intention, but there is a lot of space that needs to be filled to make it read correctly. If someone other than Chromedome (like, for example, Prowl) were to take a stab at interpreting it, they might come up with the following:

I barely write. I generate important words, and Chromedome makes the connections.

By changing "writer" to a verb, the focus of the first sentence shifts from being about Rewind's identity and onto a task he struggles to perform. The latter instance could also be interpreted as Rewind simply not writing often, rather than his ability to do so being poor. The focus is further shifted from Rewind's perspective by going from "the important words," which imply personal stakes, to "important words," which is a more general sense.

The point I'm trying to make with all this is that even if all Chromedome is doing is connecting the dots, it still matters a lot and affects how Rewind's final goodbye will be read. Even if Chromedome knows Rewind better than anyone else, the fact that he participates this way at all impacts the way readers interact with the text. Rewind is still considered the author, but authorship doesn't guarantee that he intended everything exactly as it was written.

Which, to be fair, is true for everyone. I'm constantly using words that don't quite fit but are close enough to replace the ones I want but can't remember. Reading itself is an interpretive act; it's impossible to write something that will be interpreted the same way by everyone. But I'm getting super off track now oops :P

Within the Preface itself, I knew I had to talk about Functionist Cybertron (or, as Rewind calls it, Cybertron) because the fic would have been incomplete without it. Not only is Rewind dying because of it, but it's his creation as much as the manuscript is: just as complicated, but still important. He feels a sense of responsibility to it, the same way he feels a responsibility to finish The Complete History, so it can be passed down to future generations. Another ending represented in "Preface": the transition of one generation of Cybertronians to the next. The two Cybertronians cited in chapter 2 were an MTO and a spark forged within Trypticon, neither of who were present for the start of the war. The galaxy is trying to heal from the effects of the Great War, and that means moving on from the people who helped start it (even if only tangentially, as in Rewind's case).

After spending a few paragraphs talking about that Cybertron, though, Rewind intentionally switches back to talking about his Cybertron and the war he was part of. As with the text as a whole, it's a final act of rebellion, Rewind fighting for control over his narrative even as it's drawing to a close. The important note here is that it's out of a sense of responsibility, not of pride.

It is not a proud story. I don’t think anyone walked away from it without some amount of shame, despair, or rage. But it is ours, for as long as there are Cybertronians left to remember it.

Rewind is trying to take ownership of something he has little claim to, because someone has to and he's in a position to do so. It's this same reasoning that Prowl struggles to articulate in his letter to Bumblebee in chapter 4. Both of them see something that must be done and decide that they're going to do it.

And the thing is, they do it poorly.

Rewind can't write on his own. His databanks are being corrupted by Delta's Malady (in chapter 1, Prowl concludes the corruption is so widespread Rewind is no longer capable of making meaningful contributions to the text) and he struggles even to find the way to his memories, if they still exist at all. And Prowl is a terrible editor. There is only one section that he writes without any prior input from Chromedome, and he struggles so much that he ends up reusing Chromedome's wording anyway, to the detriment of the text. Neither is in an ideal position to perform the task they set out to do, but they choose to do it anyway. Because someone needs to.

The last paragraph was kind of where I figured out what I wanted this fic to be and how I was going to get it there.

Because that’s all any of us end up becoming: the words and the stories we leave behind. I spent my whole life trying to capture as many as possible, even as I watched so many fall through the cracks. So, a final dedication: to those who exist in echoes. Though we forget the names not written down, they form the spaces between every word, every letter. It was their collective story that I aimed to tell, and if I’m left with any regret, it’s that I still failed to catch them all.

To be completely, entirely transparent: in regards to the title, I was trying to pull a "Without Love." It starts off by saying that we lose the things we don't intentionally record, and then finally Rewind reveals that actually, they've been there all along. Prowl's name only appears once in the fic, as the last word of chapter 4, where I meant to imply that it had been deleted before he sent his letter to Bumblebee (not sure if that idea actually got across). Prowl's is the name not written down, but he's everywhere in the fic, constantly influencing both the text and the story of its creation. Though I still consider Rewind the sole author of The Complete History, in the context of the story, he and Prowl are partners, working to create something that will outlast them both.

[djxrxn]

contact

din djarin x reader

warnings: some curses used, some run-on sentences used, pretty soft over all !

word count: about 3.7 k, slightly less

a/n: first time posting my writing, i haven’t written anything in a while lol  - enjoy ! :)

“And that…” You paused, racking your brain for the name of the planet. “Is Geonosis, I think?”

The Mandalorian tilted his helmet up. He glanced away from you for only a minute. The stars twinkled almost as bright as your eyes had when he agreed to accompany you to star gaze. 

The latest quarry had been handled and the Child slept soundly in its pod when you had approached Mando. He had almost made it up to the cockpit before you spoke up. He faced away from you as you fiddled with your fingers, eyes not even leaving the ground as you asked if he maybe, if not, that was totally fine, but maybe, if he wanted to, go look at the stars with you. 

He almost said no. The next bounty was across the galaxy - a bond-skipper hiding out in the underbellies of the Inner Rim. Other bounty hunters would want the high reward. Time was of the essence - not to mention the Crest would need more fuel and Maker knows that wasn’t going to be cheap. This bounty would insure the ability to collect more bounties, as well as medical supplies and food portions. 

But it was the way you asked him that made him pause before he made the final step up the ladder and into the cockpit. Normally, when you made requests, there was a sureness to your voice. Never a confidence, but you weren’t afraid to tell Mando that more meal rations were needed, or that the bacta-kits were close to their expiration date. You would clamber up behind him with your report. He would give a nod, and the Crest would be off. 

This request - there was a timidness, a shyness to it. Whatever you wanted out of him - whatever the implications were of you asking him to spend this time with you was - he knew it was gentle and fragile. You would be disappointed if he said no. 

He had looked back at you. Your eyes finally looked into the visor and the Mandaloian felt his chest tighten. How was he supposed to say no to you when you looked that sweet. 

“Well, one of them is Geonosis, the other is Tatooine.” 

He said nothing, only waited for you to continue to speak.   

You usually didn’t speak this much around the Mandalorian. You had tried to speak only when spoken to way of communication, but when you realized that meant you would never speak, you decided that only speaking when absolutely necessary would have to be fine. 

Truth be told, you just didn’t want to annoy him. You wanted to talk to him (you really wanted to talk to him). You wanted to tell him every thought in your head. You had at least a hundred questions about space travel and how the Razor Crest operated and where the next quarry was and was he okay, was he hurt?

The last thing you wanted to do was be such a pain in the Mandalorian’s ass that he dumped you back on your backwater homeworld, never to be seen again.

Because you would miss the travel, obviously, and not just Mando. There were other things you liked about being his companion besides just him. You would miss seeing new planets and new people. You would miss the Child, the way it cooed and giggled up at you. And even though she wasn’t the most comfortable, you would miss the way the Razor Crest had become your home almost overnight. She was always just enough. 

Okay, maybe you would miss her pilot too. 

You took a step back, almost to admire the fact that you named almost every star in the sky. The Mandalorian was closer to you now as you stood shoulder to shoulder. You tried to focus on the stars again.

“What about that one?” His modulator crackled as he pointed out something you had overlooked. He wasn’t ready for you to spot talking. He wanted to memorize every syllable you uttered, to know your speech pattern like he knew his blasters or the control panel of the Crest. You were always so quiet around him. All he wanted was your voice to fill his ship. “Or two.”

He was right. You overlooked a distant binary star, its light barely visible to you. 

His hand dropped the same time as yours lifted up, and -

Contact.

You touched his hand. 

Your hand bumped into his, collided into his. He couldn’t swallow, couldn’t think as his arm went rigid. He felt his shoulders go stiff. 

You faltered for a second, pausing and glancing up at his helmet (you were looking at him like he put every star in the galaxy just for you, just so you could pretend to know the names of the stars so you could spend a moment alone with him, like you would give anything for a moment alone with him, look away, stop looking at her, she’s not looking at you like that, stop looking, she doesn’t need you, stop looking). Then you looked back to the heavens. Pointed out the two stars and said their names. 

Mando didn’t hear you. 

His heartbeat rattled around in his head. It was louder than his hazy thoughts, louder than the hum of your voice. His face felt warm, and for once, he was glad he was wearing his helmet around you. His eyes were glued to you. He watched your lips move as you rambled about the sky. He wasn’t listening. He wanted to listen. 

He swallowed and tried to focus on what you were saying. A binary star, right. It’s actually

a two-stared system, okay. In the Outer Rim, that's why it's so hard to see, sure. 

You cleared your throat. “So, y-yeah, that’s - that’s the star.”

You turned your attention back to him. “Stars,” you corrected, barely louder than a whisper. 

You hadn’t realized that his visor was so intensely focused in your direction. You tried to form a thought, or even the semblance of a sentence, but all you could think about was him. You wondered what he saw when he looked at you. 

“Y-ou know, uh,” you started, throwing your gaze directly back at the two distant stars, twinkling around each other, basking in each other’s warmth and comfort. You tried to rack your brain for anything interesting. The sentence died in your throat. You had nothing - all you wanted to do was keep talking to him, keep saying anything to him. This was a rarity, this moment alone with Mando, and you had nothing. 

You sputtered for a few seconds before you let silence settle around you in defeat.

The Mandalorian clenched his fist (the fist that touched you, bumped into you, made contact with you, he wants to touch you again) and didn’t bother to ask what you were going to say. It wouldn’t have mattered to him, anyways, not when he couldn’t even form a single fucking thought. 

He needed to breathe. It was an accident. It meant nothing. He should just forget about it, and move on (when was the last time anyone touched him). 

You cleared your throat, your breath visible in the cold air (when was the last time he touched her).

He knew instantly. 

Two days ago. You were climbing up into the cockpit to take care of the child. Halfway up, and your foot slipped off the rung.

You caught yourself immediately. But that didn’t stop the panic from spiking up in the Mandalorian. His palm flew to your lower back to steady you. He let out a soft, “Woah.” 

You both stopped moving, stopped breathing for a moment. 

He could feel your heartbeat under his hand, even from your back, as it started to race. He hoped that you couldn’t feel as his did the same. 

“Easy.” 

He pushed up ever so softly. He guided you up the ladder, his hand leaving your back when he couldn’t reach high enough anymore. 

It’s not that he avoided touching you. He just couldn’t justify it. There was never a way to touch you without it feeling clunky and awkward, out of place. 

Now though…

Now was probably as good of a moment you were ever going to get. The twin crescent moons in front of you climbed in the sky - the planet’s cycle moved faster than most. You were running out of time here. He shifted beside you - his movement stiff and awkward. You blinked, trying not to get upset. There was still time, there had to be more time. 

But you knew. Mando needed to move onto the next quarry. You needed to act or…

You needed to move on. 

It was probably for the best that your moment with him was drawing to a close.Your little crush on the Mandalorian was getting out of hand. Every single thought you had revolved around him. You wanted so badly just to touch him, just to be as close to him as possible. 

He wasn’t a safe man. The closet of blasters, the chinks and chunks missing from the Crest as a result of firefights, everything about him attested to the fact that he was dangerous. Asking for him was asking for a lifetime of looking over your shoulder. 

But it was Mando.

Any danger he got the three of you into - 

Well, maybe less all three of you, and more himself, but he always came back in one piece to the Crest. And the two firefights you had endured with him resulted in the other party’s ship floating around space in bits. He kept the Child and you safe from the hazards of his occupation. You never felt safer than at his side in the co-pilot seat. 

It was when he left the Razor Crest that you felt vulnerable. 

The Child did have… abilities, but it was just that. A child. It was so small and helpless, and any large task completely exhausted the little thing.

What were you supposed to do if someone tried to board the Crest? 

What were you supposed to do if Mando didn’t come home?

You couldn’t think about it - you’d make yourself sick thinking about it - the second he closed the hatch and disappeared, you turned to the Child to occupy your time. 

And it did a great job at that - but even the Child needed rest eventually. That just left you alone to picture every way your Mandalorian could die. Alone to rot on some unnamed back alley or in a vast jungle, never to be found again. You would have no idea that he was gone.

Everytime he came back, you considered telling him about how you felt. But the idea that he didn’t want you as much as you needed him? It would destroy you.

But here was an opportunity to tell him, to say anything to him. To show him even a fraction of how much you wanted him needed him.  

You let out a huff. It sounded shaky in your ears. You wondered if Mando heard it.

He did. He chalked it up to the weather (you were cold, you both needed to get inside the Crest and go, and you were cold, she’s cold, Maker, do something). 

And then you moved. 

You let your hand bump into Mando’s again. You almost pulled back, unsure of your movements at first, but you let the back of your hand rest up against his.

Contact.

You paused for a minute, waiting for him to react. He had gone completely still. 

The two of you were in limbo, waiting for the other to move first. You didn’t know what to do - or say - next. 

So you just looked at him. You searched the helmet for anything - you peered into his visor looking for any signs of a man underneath it.

There was one, and he was on fire.

Your movement was so sudden and small. You weren’t even really touching him (you were, you actually fucking were). It barely called for this kind of a reaction but the Mandalorian felt like his whole body was vibrating. 

He never realized how small your hands were compared to his. 

He never realized how much he wanted you, how much he needed you. How you were always there in the Crest when he came home. The Child was taken care of, the ship hadn’t caught fire - everything was in tip-top shape. You took care of everything when he left.

You didn’t even realize how much you took care of him. Always checking on him - never pressuring him or hovering too close, but always leaving meal portions where he could easily find them and save to eat later. You left bacta-kits in the hull of the ship, right next to the hatch, in case he needed medical support. You never pushed him about his religion or his beskar. You never even asked. 

But you asked about him.

Without fail, you asked if he was okay as soon as he entered hyperspace, once they were settled into the Crest after a bounty had been secured. 

It was one of the only times you spoke to him - not requested or reported - no, you asked him if he was okay.

It meant the whole galaxy to him (you meant the whole galaxy to him, you and the child were everything he had left, he would let the galaxy burn to keep you two safe, he would burn a thousand galaxies to see you smile, see you happy, look at him like you needed him all the time, to need him like he needs you, to need him like he needed you, he needed you).

What did he have left? Who stayed after a few months - bounty hunting with a Mandalorian was far more dangerous occupation than farming on your Outer Rim planet had been. He didn’t expect you to stay for as long as you had. 

He wouldn’t know what he would do without you, now. 

When you looked at him, he stumbled over his breath. He flexed his hand. Even through his leather glove, he felt your hand tremble. 

He reached for your pinky with his own, wrapping his larger digit around yours. 

Your lips parted, a little gasp escaping you. The shade of your cheeks reddened, and you felt your eyes go wide. You had wanted him to do something - to do anything, really - but you hadn’t expected it. You could stop the soft smile creeping onto your face. 

The Mandalorian felt greedy. He wrapped another finger around yours, then another -

You finished the job, wrapping what remaining fingers you had left around his. 

Your hand fit so perfectly in the Mandalorian’s, your fingers clutching at his own. His heart swelled, his whole face felt like it was burning off of his bones, even his ears felt the flames. 

Not that he would have it any other way. 

You pressed your lips together. You missed him - you always missed him, but this time - 

This time, he didn’t contact you over the comlink about the quarry. If it took longer than a few days, he would tell you. A simple message, always saying to stay safe and to stay in the Razor Crest. Always saying that he would be back.   

This time, for two weeks, you hoped you wouldn’t wake up to local reports of a Mandalorian bounty hunter that was found dead.

“I… I didn’t think you were gonna come home, Mando,” you whispered. Your throat felt tight just thinking about how worried you were about him. Every fear and anxiety came roaring up, threatening to overwhelm you. “You - you didn’t use the comlink, a-and I thought something was… was wrong.”

He paused - hesitated. “I...I was gone longer than I wanted to be.” Two weeks longer. The quarry had a lot of friends on this planet. He slipped in between secret alleys and sewer systems, and with no one willing to fess up about his whereabouts, it took some time for the Mandalorian to find him. 

But of course he found the quarry. Of course he came home. 

“I get so worried, a-about you, I-”

You tried to swallow the lump away to no avail. 

He didn’t need you to finish the sentence. Mando understood. You hung around his mind on every hunt - every time something went wrong, every stray blaster shot he narrowly avoided, and all he could think about was how you would wait for a man never coming back. All he ever wanted to do was come home to you and the Child. 

“I’ll always come back to you.”

You could feel it - your emotions were clawing up your throat, burning your chest. You could tell him, he was right here and it would be so easy just to tell him. To just tell him - 

You squeezed his fingers, and then completely let go of his hand. 

“I-”

The Mandalorian leaned in slightly, and you pressed your lips together. You didn’t know how to say this, you didn’t want to ruin this, you didn’t want - 

He reached for your hand again. Your eyes stung, but you jerk your hand away. 

“What’s wrong?” His hand gripped your arm gently. You looked upset (he hated when you were upset, he just wanted you to be okay, he could fix it, he could, just tell him what’s wrong).

“I’m - Mando, I’m… I just-”

“Say it,” Mando breathed.

“I just - stars, I just want you, Mando. I… I - I need you.”

A soft smile found its way to Mando’s cheeks, as he basked in your confession. How simple - it was devoid of embellishments, and yet Mando felt drunk off your words. You wanted him, needed him. You sounded so hurt, so worried. No one had ever been so worried over whether or not he would return. It was always just… expected of him. He would return - he was the Mandalorian. 

But you still looked so upset. So severe, like you had just told him you were dying. Like the whole world was going to end in a fiery explosion, instead of a soft declaration of your affection (for him, for him, for him). 

He brushed your hair away from your cheeks. His touch was so light - you barely felt where his gloves grazed your face, but you could feel your cheeks burn (the white hot, the devastatingly warm and bright kind of burn that you would feel for days after the initial injury, he always did this to you, made you burn, Maker, he always made you feel like you were on fucking fire, you wished you could breathe, just breathe).

You managed a quick breath when the Mandalorian cradled your face in his hands. He rubbed his thumb across your cheeks for a moment before he tipped his head forward and-

Contact.  

His helmet rested against your forehead. You gazed into his visor, only seeing your own eyes in its reflection. Mando breathes, too soft for the vocal modulator to pick up on, but loud enough that you could absolutely hear. Soft and quick, in and out. Like he was just as shocked to be this close as you were.

After a moment, you heard a soft, “Oh,” and the Mandalorian cleared his throat. 

“We- we’re, uh… this is- I’m kissing you, by the way,” he stuttered. He nuzzled your forehead with his, almost to emphasize his point. 

In truth, Mando had never shared a kiss like this with anyone. Affection was not something he was familiar with - he was perfectly content with quick encounters, or even simple comradery. 

But to share something with you - so tender and sweet, so Mandalorian with you (a part of his culture, a part of him) - it was such uncharted territory. It almost made him nervous. What if you wanted more (he was willing to give everything he had, everything he could ever gain was for you, but what if it wasn’t enough, what if it wasn’t enough)? What if you didn’t want him (what if he wasn’t enough for you)?  

“Wait, what?” Your voice sounded giddy and high, and whatever nerves Mando felt, they were gone - evaporated. 

“It’s a kiss.” He pulled his helmet away for a moment, only to gently tap your forehead again. “A Keldabe kiss. It’s- it’s how mandalorians kiss.”

Your nails scraped along his chest plate as you leaned forward and planted a kiss on his helmet. His hands lowered to your waist, bringing your body closer to his. A soft hum rumbled from the back of his throat. 

You rested his forehead against his again. “That’s, um, how we kiss outside of the, uh, outside of your clan.”

“Right.” His smile seeped through his voice. 

“Just in case, you know, you wanted to know.” You wrapped your arms around his neck, moving even closer to him. The side of his helmet rested against your cheek. 

You glanced up at the stars. A comfortable silence settled as you enjoyed being held by your Mandalorian. 

“I didn’t say it, did I?” 

You kissed the cheek of his helmet. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to - I know, Mando.”

He grunted. His arm shifted - one wrapping around your back, one reaching up to tangle his fingers in your hair. You were being completely held - completely shielded, completely protected by him. You've never felt this close to anyone - you've never felt more…

More.

More alive, more wanted, more safe. Mando, in a few actions, and in even fewer words, has rendered you completely and utterly his. 

Not that you’d have it any other way. 

“I need you, too,” he mumbled. “And I’ll never stop wanting you - ner ka’rta.”

His fingers scraped against your scalp, and you swear the stars have never looked more beautiful.

[thevoilinauttheory]

FFXIVWrite2020 Prompt #13 - Extra Credit

Character(s): Caromont Allard, Astrid Allard; a couple unnamed tutors and teachers. Setting: Sharlayan (Motherland); approximately 1475 of the Sixth Astral Era -- approximately 1480 of the Sixth Astral Era -- approximately 1494 of the Sixth Astral Era, just before the events of Prompt #22 What: Caromont is introduced to his new abilities, much to his dismay. Content Warnings: Explicit physical and emotional, familial, abuse; implications of trauma Author Notes: My spouse wanted more Caromont lore, so I used it as my extra credit prompt. Honestly, that’s all I gotta say. I had fun writing this one, because Caromont is my “enigma” character. Everything about him is hidden under the veil of the classic case of amnesia, but even if he does remember - no one ever knows, he doesn’t communicate if he’s remembered anything or not. So even in my private RP with my spouse, he’s still something of a mysterious character. --

Violet eyes cast a glance outside of the window of his classroom, it was a nice day. He was stuck here. Again. And again. And again. Everyday it was the same thing. When the click of a switch against the podium at the front assaulted his ears, he flipped the page of the book in front of him with no regard to the words written. Another snap, another page. There were whispers of other students beside him - he paid no mind. There were clouds to watch and he was far more interested in those. Crack, flip. Whap, flip. 

“Allard!”

The boy’s head whipped to the front suddenly, his attention drawn by the sudden shout of his name. When he realized it was just his teacher, his posture relaxed, eyes squinting into a pure sense of utter boredom. He exuded it as he slid his arm over his desk to rest his head on his fist. The eye contact showed that he was listening… at least more intently than before, yet he said no words. His teacher walked her way to his desk, snatching up his textbook.

“The answer to number four, please.”

A deliberate attempt to sabotage him, taking away the text he paid no attention to and asking a question on it. It would’ve made any student fluster, yet the boy didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink. “Teleporting is breaking down your aether and confluencing it with the Lifestream, carrying you to your destination so long as you don’t break contact with your thoughts. There are dangers to teleporting, such as losing focus and losing self - where your aether cannot conjoin together. Other effects can be severe aether sickness, crystal sickness, and possibly ending up at a different location.” Before any words could be spoken, he continued. “Aether sickness is caused by an increased intake of aether, causing a variety of symptoms such as nausea, vomiting, migraines, dizziness, vertigo, and temporary blind and deafness. There is no known cure for aether sickness, and it’s recommended to just let it pass. If it does not, though, a transfer of aether can be used to reduce the amount of aether stored in another’s body.” A sharp inhale. “This can also lead to aether deprivation, where there is too low of aether in another’s body; causing malnourishment, lack of appetite, inability to move certain body parts, loss of certain bodily functions, and numbness - death, within a matter of bells or suns.”

His eyes turned back to the window. “Answers four, five, and six. I am paying attention, and I dislike that you are accusing me of not.”

His teacher let out a soft sigh, setting his book down, then returned to the front of the class - allowing the child to continue daydreaming in peace.

When his classmates filed out at the first sound of the bell, he gathered up his belongings slowly and meandered his way to the door. “Caromont.” “Mm?” “Stay here, your mother will be arriving shortly.” “What did I do wrong? I answered your questions, did I not?” She shook her head. “It’s for both praise and punishment. You’re above your class clearly, but it feels as if you’re not invested in this path.” “I am not, I would much rather be doing something else.” “Then why do you continue?” “My mother wants me to. It’s the best way to make money and take care of my family.”

There was another shake of her head, yet she gestured to the door. “Take a seat outside.”

When his mother appeared, near stomping down the hall; heels clicking- he hated that noise. She could afford nice heels, but not a proper bed for her children. Nice clothes, nice makeup. In his loathing, he neglected to realize she was right beside him and a hard yank on one of his ears made him cry out. “What did you do this time! Ungrateful child, I send you to school and you do nothing but get in trouble!” “I do not want to be here, regardless! Let go!” He tried to pry her hand off, but her nails caught the cartilage, causing a sob to break from him. “Stop!”

“Mrs. Allard, if you please.” His teacher caught her before a hand could crack over his face - a save he couldn’t have been more grateful for. She seemed to recognize the situation, then smiled. “There is naught for him to be punished. I wanted to give only praise and a proposition.” A change in her previous statement. “Is that right? Why didn’t you say so before?” His mother let go of his ear, following his teacher inside the classroom while he was left outside to tend to his injured and now bleeding ear.

“I wished to convey just how brilliant your son is, he is far ahead of his peers in his aetherology studies - and I believe he is ready to move on to higher skills. Might I suggest astrology? He seems keen on being outside, and studies regarding the stars would allow him that enrichment he needs. He could be Sharlayan’s greatest healer with just a bit more effort and motivation from outside sources, such as his family.” She stacked up some papers, sitting herself down at her desk. “I can provide the necessary documentation of his successes, and present it to the head of the board. He’ll be ready to move on by next moon. Until then, I would have him stay and take tutoring classes to help him further. No extra charge, I assure you.”

“I see… if you believe he’s got that much talent wasting away in him, I suppose moving him forward wouldn’t hurt. Tutoring - if he’s so brilliant, then why--” “Because he will be entering in the middle of the school year, Mrs. Allard, and he will need to catch up on everything his new peers have already learned. Just because he has mastered this class does not mean he is a born master of every other class. You expect too much of the boy, he needs to be nurtured, and he needs to grow; and I will be frank with you - you are stifling him. Do not get in his way, or you will be the cause of the rift between you and your family.”

--

“Take your reading now, Caromont - allow yourself to connect with the gates as we last practiced. Your first reading is always the most important, to see your progress.” His mentor sat on the other side of the desk from him, watching intently to Caromont’s now bright-eyed enthusiasm to his new path. He hadn’t thought of astrology - while Sharlayan was well known for their astrologians, he never considered something like that to speak to him.

The first card was flipped over. “The Spire.” He spoke softly, and he allowed the card to speak. It hurt at first. He rubbed at his temples and within a few seconds his head hit the table as if he had fallen asleep there. His mentor quickly stood to check on him, frightened that something might have gone wrong - but when his head snapped back upright with his eyes wide, he turned to his mentor in tears. “...I- I-... I am sorry… I did not mean…” “What is wrong, child? Dear heavens, I thought you had performed a spell wrong.” “N-No.. I just. My reading is for you… and this position is the past, with the Spire, and… I saw. I saw what happened, I…” “Saw? You saw the past with the flip of a card?” “I just wanted them to speak to me…” “Cards don’t speak, Caromont. The stars do. I think… we may need a different tutor for you. I do not know if there is anyone with your talent, but. I do know that we have a section of professors and students all learning about an innate ability we have called the “Echo”. I would like to make certain that if you do have the Echo, you have a proper tutor to teach you about it - despite the fact that it manifests differently in everyone.” He gestured to the cards again. “Sit upright this time, against the back of the chair instead of forward. Close your eyes after drawing the card.”

He followed. The next card was drawn. “The Spear.” Immediately, he closed his eyes; still the tears fell. He shook his head as his eyes opened again. “...Maybe I should not do readings on you… I see too much.”

--

“No, this isn’t the Echo.” “Are you sure? What other explanation could there be for such a talent?”

Caromont was the talk of the Studium. Professors and peers wanted to know more about his ability - this was the day that his enthusiasm turned to responsibility. He hadn’t realized it yet. 

“The stars speak right to him!” Those were the rumors. There had to be more, a person, or magic… something was doing this to him. He delved in libraries for years to tell him, what was he, what was he supposed to do? Everyday it was another person in need of help - everyday he had to make the choice whether someone should live or die - how heavy a burden on a man barely thirty winters old. Was this his fate and destiny? His cards were blank when he tried to read them for himself - like the stars only spoke through him, rather than to him.

He stood out in the dark, up at the sky did his eyes turn. He was never a wishful thinker, he was studious, uptight, he had to be the responsible one. This was the night he cried. He cried and he cried - how many more times would he have to sentence people to their deaths, how many more times would he have to tell people that there was nothing he could do. He would take the fates into his hands time and time again, always promising to never do so again. Everytime, the consequences of doing so would be worse than the original outcome - the fates ever escaping his grasp. He only wanted to help, why was he burdened with this responsibility?

[the-whims-of-fate]

HCs for the Servants watching Game of Thrones?

This request is actually pretty well timed, as me and my roommate recently finished Season 1 (he’s caught up, but I hadn’t seen any of it yet). Depending on circumstances, I might even continue writing these as I progress through the series. We’ll see though. This season alone had a lot to write about, to the point where I still feel like I could’ve written more, but it was getting far too long already. Also, I know Season 1 aired a long time ago, but I’m going to put this under a cut just in case anyone wants to avoid spoilers.

The kingly and knightly servants are immediately intrigued by the premise, and an audience quickly formed in the media room. Meanwhile, upon hearing about the more “mature” content, Jeanne quickly guided the children servants away to a different room to preoccupy them with something else.

Very quickly, whether it was the initial scene with the White Walkers or the nudity, the show had made an impression on them, for better or worse (Bedivere’s face turned red as a Blood Tearstone during the first scene with Tyrion). However, as the episodes began to progress, regardless of any apprehensions among the viewers, they could see why and how the show had become so popular.

Also, while we’re on the topic of Tyrion, he became a very quick favorite among many of the audience members, Iskandar especially. For him, however, while he certainly approved of Tyrion’s taste in “the finer things”, it was the slapping of Joffrey that sealed the deal. Mordred, on the other hand, while she too enjoyed the slapping, found an odd sense of comfort in his words to Jon about treating his status as an illegitimate heir like armor. Out loud though, she’d never admit to it being anything more than an interesting line.

In fact, the vast majority of the House Stark had earned at least some amount of the audience’s respect (especially from the king of knights), be it Ned for his steadfastness or Arya for her determination. Even Bran had caught the attention of a certain inventor who, after Tyrion had made the plans for his harness, would have thrown out her own designs if she wasn’t convinced she could do better.

While he had begun to enjoy the show as well, what really captured Ozymandias’ attention was The Wall. Whether it be the architecture therein or the ins and outs of The Watch as a system overall, notes were being written with such ferocity that some of the others could almost swear they heard the paper burning. Meanwhile, Ivan’s intrigue was just as piqued for the military’s ability to use those conditions to such an advantage.

As the ones who seemed to bear the majority of the wealth and the one’s to not let others forget it, Gilgamesh was quickly intrigued by the Lannisters as a whole, but while he was very much humored by Tyrion, he had become increasingly mindful of Cersei and her ploys. However, by the end of the season, he had begun to grow tired of it.

“While both the planning of and the results of a well laid plot can be enjoyed as one does a fine drink, such an exquisite taste is wasted on her. It’s as if she’s more interested in the act of drinking the wine rather than the savoring of it, and at that point she may as well be a common drunkard.”

Daenerys’ arc captured the intrigue of both the servants of female and male royalty alike with the way she grew through her experiences regarding both Viserys and Drogo. The “Crown of Gold”, while many were in shock at the scene, Gilgamesh could hardly contain his laughter at the “fitting end” that befell Viserys. Meanwhile, as Daenerys’ independence turned to reliance on Drogo, Iskandar’s smile began to turn to a grimace. Towards the end, you could just barely hear him say, “wake up little girl.” His smile did return to him at the end of it though.

By the end of the season, while some declined, many were excited to continue the series. It had its problems, but many of the kings present could at least somewhat attest to the accuracy of the politics, even if they were centered around a power struggle, and everyone had their own favorites among the cast for their own reasons.

Meanwhile, while it may not have lasted very long, several servants (who will remain unnamed for the sake of their dignity) had the presence of mind to observe the blizzards amidst Chaldea’s surroundings and remark that “winter is coming”, despite the fact that winter was effectively constant for them.

[artcanary]

1-50

oh my god dude 

im gonna put this under a cut bc this is a lot. this is a ride, have fun i guess

1. Your first OC ever?god. its got to be Super Kitty. when i was like … an incredibly small child I used to draw comic strips about this feline caped crusader, who was friends with everyone in the city, and the comics always involved him stopping an evil banana man from stealing money from the local bank. He was paid with donuts for his service to the city. i still remember how to draw him. 

2. Do you have a personal favourite among your OCs?i’d get arrested if I didn’t answer this with Bronze, probably… but really, they’re very important to me

3. Have you ever adopted a character or gotten a character from someone else?man, i cant remember! i really dont think i have… P:

4. A character you rarely talk about?there’s loads of characters ive never even posted a single picture of on tumblr, i wouldnt even know where to start asdf

5. If you could make only one of your OCs popular/known, who would it be? bronze is the easy answer, but… i guess that could also go to Servant or Westrin. Servant has a comic project in the works that basically stars him, sort of a series of one-shots about the things he’s experienced, i feel like that would be a good thing to take off and run with. Westrin’s just fun as hell, i love the guy.

6. Two OCs of yours that look alike despite not being related?real talk now… there’s at least five different characters that i refer to as a whole as “bronze-tangential”, who started out as, “what would bronze be like if they were in this world?” and then becoming their own thing within said world because i just get stupid attached 

its an epidemic

7. Are your OCs part of any story or stories?nearly all of them, actually. that’s the main reason i make characters, after all! too many to really go into specifics here, again P: 

8. Do you RP as any of your OCs? If you do, introduce one of your RP OCs here!not often, but i think Bronze and Westrin are the most common ones. unless playing a character in dnd, or running an npc in dnd counts… then a whole lot more hahaha

9. Would you ever be willing to give any of your OCs to someone else?it depends on the circumstances. i don’t really like the idea, though. 

10. Introduce an OC with a complicated design? Westrin’s old getup is a pain to draw, and there was one other design i did that I cant find anywhere… whichever way, i dont often tend to draw super complicated things often 

a couple fakemon ive designed though… heheh those can get pretty finicky

11. Is there any OC of yours you could describe as a “sunshine”? hmmmmmmmm my immediate thought was Eric Silverdale from a comic i was working on a few years ago. hes a darling, i want him to be my friend irl

12. Name an OC that isn’t yours but who you like a lothow could you do this to me i love each and every one of all my friends ocs GOD the first one who comes to mind is @d20-official‘s Smith, whos Bronze’s friend… everyone in that DND party actually

13. Do you have any troublemaker OCs? Rated on a scale from “harmless” to “honestly somewhat frightening”: -Baromet (charming and quite friendly but definitely a kleptomaniac),-Westrin (demigod of bards and travelers), -XEN09 (a nonsense hacker), -Conny (needlessly contrarian and dumb as HELL), -Enza Colie (long fucking story but hes a good-for-nothing), -Hemlocke (mad scientist, chaotic evil), -Iris (AI and hacker, VERY bad), -The Terminus (glitch-in-the-matrix demon, chaotic evil), -and Sydd (the Queen of the Faeries, hopefully the danger there needs no explaining :’D)

14. Introduce an OC with a tragic backstory Mmm… there’s a few of them, most obviously Lent (whose background I did a short comic about). Basically his entire town got eaten by ghosts and turned into zombies, he only barely survived with a sliver of his soul left. 

15. Do you like to talk about your OCs with other people?yes, i often discuss storylines and such with friends

16. Which one of your OCs would be the best at biology (school subject)? Probably Bronze’s dad! I don’t talk about him much, but his name’s Devon Reed, and he was a biotech developer specialising in android design. 

I often describe him as being something of a reverse Arthur Weasley - a very fatherly scientist fascinated to the moon and back with the concept of magic. 

17. Any OC OTPs? having trouble thinking of a lot of them right now, but there’s Eric + Lent & Naiadine + Tailias from Emerald Sigil, Avken + Baromet from my space campaign world, Sydd + Wyvv from my unnamed campaign world, and I’ve been considering Westrin + Servant as an interesting dynamic in Servant’s story

18. Any OC crackships? My character Bismuth and @autistictimeknight​‘s oc Eros. Theyre so fucking in love, I love it. Its been awhile but I do still think about them sometimes.

As I recall, Eros is an empath, she can read other people’s emotions. But Bismuth is a robot, and Eros can’t read her. Because of this Eros can let go of her fear of unintentionally manipulating the emotions of her date, which would hold her back from most other relationships. 

19. Introduce an OC that means a lot to you (and explain why)Hey, meet Bronze! I definitely do not talk about them every five minutes, why would you say that. 

Bronze was with me through two of the hardest years of my life so far, and being a DND character they grew with me, both as a fighter and as a person. They were non-binary before I started using those pronouns, they were the first character or person or anything who I fought someone about using the right pronouns for, they make a great icebreaker for if I want to see how someone reacts to non-binary pronouns … 

One funny anecdote about Bronze is that when I first made them, their “gimmick” was that they would sometimes glitch out and mess up their speech, mostly because I wanted an excuse not to engage in the roleplaying (which I was very bad at). The interesting thing is that as I got better at interacting with the group, we both grew out of needing it very quickly. 

I’m very proud of Bronze. 

20. Do any of your OCs sing? If they sing, care to share more details (headcanon voice, what kind of songs they like etc)?Westrin is a bard! His singing voice sounds like Bill Wurtz and these are his theme songs.

21. Your most artistic OCProbably Westrin again, he writes a lot of songs… and Hallux is a game designer?

22. Is there any OC of yours people tend to mischaracterize? If yes, how? I honestly dont know… no-one talks to me about them, haha! 

people use all manner of pronouns for bronze, though. 

23. Introduce OC that has changed from your first idea concerning what the character would be like?I’m gonna go with Enza for this one. Enza Colie was originally written entirely because I wanted an antagonist for a short starring his sister, Jane Colie. But the more I fleshed out his reasonings for acting how he did and explored his character, the more I realised he’d make an even more interesting character if allowed to have a redemption arc, too. 

I just want to state for the record that I was very reluctant to the idea, and he basically dragged his way out of the villain pit entirely of his own accord. I am dubiously proud of him, and also a bit scared. 

24. If you could meet one OC of yours, who would it be and why?Probably either Eric (Big Man, Best Friend), Crocus (Mother figure), Reed (Father Figure), Westrin (hed just make a good friend u kno??), or Bismuth (she makes good conversation!)

25. The OC that resembles you the most (same hobby, height, shared like/dislike for something etc?)probably the homestuck fan-troll Hallux, but that’s mostly because they were based on a troll-sona I made awhile ago. They’re a hope/prospit game designer who is small and full of rage and love

oh, and there’s dave! dave’s a superhero speedster, existing in a modern-day superhero version of seattle. theyre idiot, just like me,

26. Have you ever had to change your OC’s design or something else about them against your will? this is an interesting one… i don’t think ive ever had something Bad in a design ive done called to my attention by someone, but I did create my character Servant at around the same time I was first really expanding the diversity of my casts. (since i don’t talk about him often, a little context: he’s a magic spirit creature bound to human form to serve the royal family of the land and follow their orders.) 

somehow, younger-and-more-stupid me managed to have the revelation that making this “eternal slave” character literally anything other than a white man, especially as a white author, would be Pretty Not Good. im … thats really, really not something i should pat myself on the back for, but i do consider it one of the biggest bullets dodged in my artistic career so far that i realised that not all representation is good representation so quickly, before i could make that incredibly, incurably stupid mistake. 

after that, trying to make sure my characters and their presentations don’t harm anyone pretty much has become a paranoia. i don’t seem to have stepped on any toes yet, but when it inevitably happens, please let me know - i didnt know, and i want to fix it! 

27. Any OCs that were inspired by a certain song? None that I can think of, actually! I don’t really do that often. 

28. Your most dangerous OC? god damn it i have no idea!!! is it the terminus? glitch in the matrix god of chaos motherfucker?is it sarle? terrifying calculating scientist with the power of the soul at her fingertips ??? is it ares??? is it athena????? is it petra?????? the gatekeeper???? 

… actually, the gatekeeper might be it, if “dangerous” just refers to “the amount of raw power it can wield”. the Gatekeeper is a titanic entity that exists in interdimensional multiverse space, and its implied to have the ability to create and destroy entire universe bubbles at will. for what cosmic purpose, no-one knows. 

at a more personal scale, though, literally all of the aforementioned characters are pretty bad to run into too. 

29. Which one of your OCs would go investigate an abandoned house at night without telling anyone they’re going?god. Mina or Tawn. Tawn is the Indiana Jonesy type and probably dumb enough, but also competent enough not to get into too much trouble there. Mina would probably drag her friends along. 

30. Which one of your OCs would most likely have a secret stuffed animal collection? XEN09. No-one knows, because no-one knows xir personal identity. Xe absolutely does, though. It’s less of a secret if you know xir in person, but good luck finding out about it otherwise. 

31. Pick one OC of yours and explain what their tumblr blog would be like (what they reblog, layout, anything really)dave just reblogs memes all the time tbh. they like to keep tabs on the ridiculous superhero news going on, and they show human jokes and cat videos to their alien gf. they dont really post or add to posts, but they talk in tags a lot. 

32. Which one of your OCs would be the most suitable horror game protagonist and why? i want to say tawn because i literally just realised ive been imagining their voice as sounding like luigi this entire fucking time and i never realised until this exact instant

33. Your shyest OC?probably baromet. they prefer to keep to themself in their hideout, with their collection of shiny things. they don’t really enjoy trying to communicate much, mostly because they expect to get yelled at. 

34. Do you have any twin characters?Yes! At least two sets; 

- Crocus and Sarle. (x) (x) They don’t exactly have a very well-developed relationship, but they are both quite important to the plot of my campaign world, and they are both very interesting. Crocus is a motherly figure who just exudes friendliness, while Sarle is .. very much not that, a researcher studying very gruesome things and pushing the boundaries of reality. 

- Jane and Enza Colie. I haven’t talked a whole lot about either of them here, but I’d rather leave their story to do the talking whenever I get around to it. Essentially, the both of them were intended to do the dirty work for their crime boss family, but Jane ditched to study medicine. Most of the conflict between the two of them comes out of Enza not understanding why she made the choice she did, and coming to understand how he’s been manipulated. 

35. Any sibling characters? I can’t really think of any off the top of my head, I should … I should really work on that. 

I can talk about Westrin, though. Westrin (a demigod of many things, but namely bards, travel, travelers, and people who are lost) often becomes close friends with mortals, sometimes practically adopting them. These people who consider him family, and people who have received his blessing, are able to use his surname, Brilanta, as their own if they choose. So I guess all of the Brilantas are siblings, at least in spirit. 

Oh, and XEN09 has like, seven siblings. Xe is the second-oldest, and least remarkable. 

36. Do you have OC pairs where the other part belongs to someone else (siblings, lovers, friends etc)? I already talked about Eros and Bismuth up there a ways in question 18, but I’ll talk about another relationship here. @autistictimeknight​‘s character, Nova the Alchemist, is mentor and adopted parental figure to my character Munna. Munna … Munna isn’t a very good apprentice. She tries very hard. 

37. Introduce an OC who is not quite human That’s most of them, I’m not quite sure what to say here. Bronze is an android? Bronze again? Westrin? All the aliens ?? 

38. Which one of your OCs would be the best dancer? man. uh. westrin or jean. or perhaps valencia. 

39. Introduce any character you want ??? uhhhHHHhhHHH Lord Brillium is the reigning deity of the Cloud Kingdoms in the other campaign setting I’m working on. They represent light and the quest for knowledge, and spend most of their days in the Cathedral Observatory watching the stars. 

40. Any fond memories linked to your characters? Feel free to share!one time bronze flew a hover-bike through the stained glass window in a cathedral blaring all star by smash mouth on their iguana

also one time bronze rickrolled a rakshasa demon and then pulled updog on it like, two minutes later

another time bronze scared off an entire army by pretending to be an automated security system 

41. Has anyone drawn fanart of your OCs? If yes, maybe show a picture or two here (remember sources & permissions!)ive got a whole little folder on here from all you blessed people !!!! right now ive got a drawing quinn did of one o fmy characters as my lockscreen

but i think the one i’ll really never ever get over is this piece of Jane, by @rabendraws​ / @owoltron​: 

(i bet you thought i forgot about this, dude. dude. think again.) 

42. Which one of your OCs would be the most interested in Greek gods? this is kind of a weird question, m, I feel like Bismuth would find learning about the mythos utterly fascinating, as would Tawn. 

43. Do you have any certain type when you create your OCs? Do you tend to favour some certain traits or looks? It’s time to confesshaha. uh. i might. 

aside from the entire “bronze-tangential characters” thing i mentioned awhile back, I tend to really like designing characters with hair color lighter than their skin color. it just looks so cool man. i love drawing freckles but dont put them on enough characters. i like really curly hair, but also really long and flowy hair. i like drawing triangular body types, and pointy/prominent noses. 

44. Something you like about your OCs in generaluhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh this is a really vague question. m. m. 

45. A character you no longer use?there’s old versions of characters, but a lot of my older ones have been somehow repurposed. I guess there’s Turien, my first-ever DND character, who’s just kind of sitting dead now. Haven’t really done anything with him other than a pretty recent tangential character. 

46. Has anyone ever told you that you treat your OCs badly?Not that I can think of.

47. Has anyone ever (friendly) claimed any of your OCs as their child? Im certain it’s happened, but I can’t remember any specific instances. 

48. OC who is a perfect cinnamon roll, too good for this world, too pureSpring. spring knows nothing of th dangers of the world who is letting them into fights someon eneeds to stop this

(spring roll, hehe.) 

49. Which one of your OCs would most likely enjoy memesim not sure what this question is asking since many of my ocs actively enjoy memes including but not limited to westrin, dave, bronze, xen09, iris, and doctor archersen

50. Give me the good ol’ OC talk here. Talk about anything you wanti think. i think im going to pass on this one. i gave you the good old oc talk. your damn turn, yall: 

if you have any questions about any of these guys feel free to shoot one at me!

thats all from me im tired and its one am. techskylander you absolute madman 

[captainmazzic]

The Ahsoka Novel Review, or, Goddamnit Star Wars, Part CXXVIII

Under a cut because this thing is long as fuuuuuck

...Okay. That was... Interesting.

I’m just going to ignore the first part where the author pretends to make Ahsoka have some sort of compassion-sympathy for Maul while taunting him and throwing his disability in his face at the same time. Was there even any point to having this little exchange? It’s not mentioned later, Maul has no bearing at all on this plot, and nothing Ahsoka does here is relevant even as a learning experience for later. It’s just... there. Token inclusion to draw in the Maul fans, I guess? Or.. alienate them yet again, I don’t even know.

This is how it starts. *laughing*. It gets so much worse. And... has a few moments where it shines, I admit. Anyway. Let’s get this party started. 

So pretty much we follow Ahsoka around for a few years while she mopes about not being an Official Jedi™ and develops a major martyr obsession. Coming from Ahsoka’s mouth, it just seems so out of place, incongruent, and it gets old real fast. She regrets leaving the Jedi Order before Order 66 happens, she wishes she hadn’t survived while the rest of the Jedi died, she wonders why she lived when she didn’t “deserve” to because she “deserted” the Jedi, etc. etc. ETC. I am so sick of Heroic Characters™ with survivors’ complexes that don’t even fit their fucking character. We need another one of those like we need another vampire bemoaning immortality as a curse, or a burning stick to the eye. I’d rather take the burning stick. Ugh.

Anyway. When Ahsoka isn’t being that particular brand of OOC, she’s being a mouthpiece for... something. Someone. I’m honestly not sure who. Or why. But she says stuff that makes no sense for someone like Ahsoka to say, and you get the impression that she says it just so that the author can have these things out in the open. That whole making the crystal bleed? We won’t get started on that just yet. But yeah. What. The. Fuck. And she says stuff about Barriss being.. a... bully? Did I fucking read that right? Like I mean she says some things about Barriss that are accurate (it was cruel for her to try and let Ahsoka take the fall for the temple bombing, she didn’t trust people, and she was afraid of the war), but I’m not sure where she was ever a bully? Oh wait I guess that’s just the book being badly written. 

And oh my god. Let me just. Excerpt a few… unfortunate word choices:  

“The mechanisms put in place during the Clone Wars had been twisted for the Empire's use, and every day the Emperor’s hold grew tighter. She almost admired Palpatine for his ability to pull off a long-term plan – except for his being evil and all."

About the Grand Inquisitor:

“His agents must follow his every order as though the Emperor himself had given it. That sort of power made him feel very strong.”

Also about the Grand Inque:

“As he stalked through the corridor, his agents scattered out of his way. They were all afraid of him, which he liked rather a lot.”

And my personal favourite cringe-worthy writing:

“Dark crystals were made, too, but not in that holy place. They were plundered from their rightful bearers and corrupted by the hands that stole them. Even rock could be changed by the power of the Force, bleeding alterations until their color was the deepest red. The balance was finely staged between the two, light and dark, and it took very little to upset it.”

...What in the flying freebasing FUCK does “bleeding alterations” even fucking MEAN? What balance? Why is it staged? Why, if there is supposed to be a “balance” in the Force inside these bits of mineral, are they supposedly inherently “light”? Why are the Jedi their only “rightful bearers” (I mean, other than the Jedi arbitrarily laying sovereign claim to anything Force-related they set eyes on, whether meant for them or not)?

Oh, well let’s see here. Ahsoka is here to help.

"I've never seen white ones before," Bail mused.

"They used to be red," Ahsoka said. "When the creature had them, they were red. But I heard them before I ever saw him on Raada, and knew that they were meant for me."

"You changed their nature?" he asked.

"I restored them," Ahsoka replied. "I freed them. The red crystals were corrupted by the dark side when those who wielded them bent them to their will. They call it making the crystal bleed. That's why the blade is red."

Okay so basically Ahsoka met an Inquisitor (whom she, persistently, ever so kindly calls a “creature”, more on that in a minute), killed him, stole and destroyed his lightsabers, then ripped the crystals out of them and put them in her own shiny new lightsaber hilts she just made. They apparently faded from bright red to colourless. (Which, honestly, to me, in my ever so humble opinion, interprets as “I just killed everything unique and vibrant about these crystals and drained them of all individuality, just like the Jedi do to people when they ‘free’ them :D :D :D”. But I mean. That’s just me.) This crystal bleeding is fucking Jedi folklore superstition. It’s stupid. It’s even stupider than the old “synthetic crystals are unnatural so of COURSE the Sith use them, m’kay” canon.

I’m just. So annoyed. So very annoyed.

So anyway. Ahsoka killed an Inquisitor, the Sixth Brother. She and a little girl sense him as a shadow at first - “The shadow was almost certainly one of the dark side's creatures. Ahsoka had no idea what sort of thing it might be, but whatever it was...” And that’s that. He’s “the creature” for the rest of the time he’s referred to. Seems like she hung around Kenobi way too fucking much, his style of Jedi seems to have rubbed off on her. Sigh.

But then she protests.

"I'm not really a Jedi, you know," she said. "I left the Temple, turned away from the Jedi path."

"If you're not a Jedi, then what are you, Ahsoka Tano?" Bail asked. "Because to be honest, you still sound and act like a Jedi to me."

OF COURSE SHE DOES. SHE IS A GODDAMN JEDI. A ~Grey Jedi~ is still a fucking JEDI OH EM FUCKING GEE. They’re Jedi Lite. Half the calories, most of the judgment, twice the taste, all the guilt! Goddamnit Star Wars. You’re not fooling anyone. Stop trying.

Moving on.

So then we have the Unresolved Sexual Tension between Ahsoka and Kaeden. Which largely means… Unrequited Feels on Kaeden’s part and… nothing else.

"Ahsoka!" Kaeden ran toward her, but stopped short of throwing her good arm around Ahsoka's shoulder. She knew that lightsabers were not to be trifled with. She could almost feel the power pouring out of Ahsoka anyway. It was amazing. "I could kiss you."

Ahsoka stopped in her tracks. The look she shot Kaeden was mildly confused.

"Not now, I mean," Kaeden said. She wanted to laugh for the first time in weeks but thought that might just be the hysteria setting in. "My timing is terrible and you have all those Jedi hang-ups. I just wanted you to know in case we die."

"Oh," said Ahsoka. "Well, thanks."

….. Oh. Well, thanks.

*beats head against wall* WOULD IT HAVE KILLED YOU, STAR WARS, TO HAVE GIVEN US JUST A LITTLE BIT MORE. I mean, I’m all about canonical asexual and/or aromantic Ahsoka, that would have been fucking rad, but they’ve already given us the fiasco that was goddamn LUX BONTERI, so The Powers That Be already canonically ruined that for me. Bi or Pan or Lesbian Ahsoka would have been really awesome too. Just… anything but Clueless Insensitive Straight Ahsoka for canon, please. PLEASE. We have enough of those characters already. Ahsoka doesn’t need to be one of them. Just my opinion though. Of course. *sigh*

...And then we have a brief, very out-of-place flashback from Anakin’s POV, that actually has zERO to do with anYTHINg, but it’s heartbreaking nonetheless because it’s just before Ahsoka is introduced and Anakin is still thinking that Ahsoka is going to be Kenobi’s apprentice.

"Anakin wasn't entirely sure what his place next to Obi-Wan would look like once his friend had a new student. Jedi weren't as married to the concept of two as the Sith were, but most of them acted singly or in pairs. It was one of the reasons Anakin had never put in for a Padawan of his own. He didn't want it to look like he was pushing Obi-Wan aside. Now, Obi-Wan had gone and done it first, and Anakin still wasn't sure how he felt about it."

He didn’t want Kenobi to feel sidelined. I’m. Just. Goddamnit Star Wars don’t give me Obikin feels when we already know Kenobi turns into the most asinine, horrible person in all the Jedi next to, maybe, Yoda.

Anyway. Let’s move on again.

Oh yeah. So there’s Kolvin. He’s a Rodian.

….. Now, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it very often, but one of the things I fixate on in Star Wars is the frequency of Rodian deaths. Almost all of the named (and a bunch of the unnamed) Rodians we meet end up getting killed. A good majority of them on-screen or in-story. Rodians are one of my favourite species in the entirety of Star Wars and it really upsets me that the greater majority of the ones we meet get axed quickly after we’re first introduced to them. And Kolvin’s no exception. We are pretty much introduced to him solely for the sake of watching him die, graphically, a chapter or two later. I’m just… furious beyond being capable of physically showing it. It’s exhausting.

And I think my final criticism of the book is the entire story behind the Empire even being on Raada in the first place. It’s such a fabricated, “Oh I guess we need a reason to fuck up Ahsoka’s life again via the Empire” kind of plot. It makes LITERALLY ZERO LOGICAL SENSE, even if I stretch real hard and invoke believing at least six impossible things before breakfast. There is NO reason why these genetically engineered plants would be useful. The Empire would not go through all this trouble to search for productive agricultural worlds only to use them once (ONCE??) and then give it up as a barren wasteland after first use. That is so unproductive, unprofitable, and inefficient. Why would they do that, and then leave the farmers to try and scrape by after that? Such a waste of resources. We already have PLENTY of examples of what the Empire does with agricultural worlds. Ones that MAKE SENSE. They come in, set up their infrastructure, heavily regulate work schedules, and implement their own ideas about what needs to be grown. And guess what? It’s stuff that they can plant indefinitely, because that keeps the population working under tight, regulated control. It keeps them in a routine that is hard to break. It keeps them busy, it keeps them tired, it keeps them distracted. It maintains a level of familiarity that’s just close enough to normalcy that they will be hesitant to do anything to break it. These are useful things to the Empire. VITAL things.

Instead we get a moustache-twirling saturday morning cartoon where the Empire sweeps in, destroys everything, cackles maniacally, knocks over your sandcastle, and kicks the puppy on the way out. Why is it so fucking hard for these hired writers to come up with a good villainous reason for the villains to be villainous? Honestly they have material RIGHT THERE. USE IT. For fuck’s sake.

Okay but with all this criticism there were a couple highlights.

There was a Black Sun agent. They didn’t last too terribly long as a part of the story, but they’re referred to only with they/them pronouns for the entire time they’re around, and that. Pleased me. Greatly. And there wasn’t even some concentrated effort to “find out their gender” or idle speculation or some other stupid bullshit. It was very much a non-issue, and that also pleased me. Good job. Gold star.

And despite the fact that Ahsoka had a lot of damning things to say about Barriss, she had this to say as well:

“She had a point about the Republic and the Jedi. There was something wrong with them, and we were too locked into our traditions to see what it was… If we'd listened to her – really listened – we might have been able to stop Palpatine before he took power."

In the text, that statement is surrounded with too many disclaimers and defensive finger-pointing for me to be entirely happy with it, but it’s something, and I’m glad Ahsoka was the one the writers allowed to say it.

I really liked it when we had some glimpses of Ahsoka’s actual questioning nature whenever the story got in her head. It didn’t happen very often at all, most of the time she’s just developing her martyr fixation or bemoaning her existence, but every now and again we get a tiny peek of the Ahsoka that captured my heart towards the end of The Clone Wars, walking away from the Jedi temple and saying that she needed to figure things out on her own, without the Jedi, without Anakin, without the crutches and restrictions that the Order held her down with. If only we’d gotten more of that Ahsoka throughout the book, it could have made the story shine.

[ramblesandmumblesofanerd]

Occasional Mumble: Transformers: The Last Knight Review

Warning: Lengthy Post Which Includes Spoilers

Transformers certainly has come a long way since the mid-1980’s. Not only is the original cartoon series hailed as one of the many staples of the era, but several cartoons and comics have been created to keep the franchise fresh and alive ever since, for better or worse. I’ve gone into excruciating detail about one of the good pieces of the franchise, More Than Meets The Eye, in some of my earliest posts, but now it is time to talk about the ever present mediocre portion of the franchise; the live action films, or more specifically the most recent addition: Transformers: The Last Knight.

The “basic” plot of the film is as follows: Optimus Prime has left Earth to find his creator, who hired a bounty hunter to apprehend the Autobot leader and kill anyone else who stood in his way. He eventually meets the being known as Quintessa, the “Prime of Life”, who has turned the ravaged, war torn planet of Cybertron into a vessel currently on a collision course with Earth. Quintessa, enraged by Optimus’s participation in Cybertron’s destruction, brainwashes him into thinking that the only way to revive his home world is to drain Earth of it’s energy, which will subsequently kill the oldest enemy of Transformer kind: Unicron.

Meanwhile, Transformers have been declared public enemy number one by all but the Cuban governments, and are now being hunted down. Cade Yeager (the protagonist from the previous film played by Mark Walberg) is considered the highest on the list due to aiding and abetting the Autobots, and has now discovered a talisman from a dying Cybertronian that may be the key to stopping Quintessa from destroying the Earth.

Now that the basics have been addressed, let’s talk about pros versus cons. Believe it or not, in spite of most reviews, there are actually some points of merit in this film (at least from my perspective). Firstly, this film does attempt to have continuity with the previous films by showing locations and Easter Eggs from said films, though this is executed in an admittedly sub-par manner. Secondly, and more surprisingly, the film is written in a way that allows the Transformers, good and bad, to have more screen-time in comparison to their human allies/enemies. This has been an issue in previous films, as audiences were more interested in the title characters than the persistently lukewarm human characters. While it is necessary to have human characters for the audience to relate to, if they have more screen-time and speaking lines than the giant robots who are supposed to be the starring characters, there is a problem. Speaking of the robots, some of the characters were actually written in a way that made them tolerable. John Goodman’s Hound is as much in top form as he was in Age of Extinction, being both amusing and actually competent on the battlefield. Another robot I enjoyed was the “Headmaster” Cogman (you’ll see why I put quotations around that later). Played by Jim Carter, this four foot tall clockwork robot butler acts as a supporting, slightly comedic character with psychopathic tendencies. He had some genuinely funny moments and lines which made him probably the most enjoyable character out of the roster.

Now, no more beating around the bush. This is a Michael Bay Transformers film, so there are plenty of cons to talk about, and not the ones from Cybertron. First and foremost, there are plenty of aspects in this film that are not addressed or explained. As seen in the trailers, Bumblebee has this miraculous new ability to literally pull himself back together after being broken. I thought for sure this would be explained as Cade using his technological skills to make some sort of magnetic deus-ex-machina device, but no. Also, certain fangasm inducing aspects appear in the film, but are never utilized to the fullest extent, like Cogman’s Headmaster ability, which allows a small robot like him to become the head of a larger body.  There were even some rumors spreading prior to the movie’s release about Cogman ripping the head off one of the Decepticons and taking the body as his own. But, unfortunately these rumors were either false, or the concept was scrapped. Another example is this submarine used to find a sunken Cybertronian vessel in the ocean. The submarine was declared a Transformer by the human characters, but not once did it transform into what could have been a massive robot, nor was it ever given a name. It might as well have been just a normal submarine. There are also other various unnamed/unmentioned Transformers scattered around the movie with no real purpose. If they had never been in the film at all, nothing would be different.

Also, the Decepticons are barely given any presence in the film, in spite of my previous statement about the robots getting more screentime. True, there was a moment when Megatron (yes, Megatron, not Galvatron) introduced his “crew” of the day, and his minions were given more character and actual voices rather than standard growls and snarls, but most of them are killed off in mere moments. Some of their names are absolutely silly as well, such as Mohawk, Nitro Zeus and Dreadbot. Not to mention one of them, poorly named Berserker, is not even allowed to join his Decepticon brethren on the battlefield, resulting in him being completely pointless in spite of having a toy out in stores before the film was even released. But none of this even matters anyway, as most of the Decepticons are killed mere moments after being introduced.

Speaking of villains with minimal explanation or presence, Quintessa was the most underwhelming antagonist right next to The Fallen from Revenge of The Fallen. She did absolutely nothing but provide exposition, act like a Tesla coil when she tries to drain the Earth, get shot by Bumblebee of all bots, and have a “surprise” appearance in a mid-credit scene to build up another sequel. If she had been replaced with a cinematic version of the Quintessons, the five-faced creators of the classic Transformers, I think the character would have had at least some impact on an Easter Egg level at least.

Even some aspects of the plot itself are absolutely ridiculous if not plain stupid. The magical MacGuffin in this film is a staff that was passed down from ancient Transformers to one human. That human was…(wait for it)...Merlin. Yes, Merlin the Wizard. The very same wizard who helped King Arthur claim the throne. Merlin is an actual character in this film, or at least in the beginning. And it gets worse from there, as Merlin has a family tree that has continued into the modern era, resulting in the second protagonist of the film (played by Laura Haddock) being a direct descendant of Merlin. If you just heard a small popping sound in your head, that was the sound of a few brain cells suddenly exploding from the absurdity of this set-up.

Finally, the Bay-isms. Good lord, the Bay-isms. These films persist in having poorly written characters, immature humor which never makes me laugh, nonsensical plot points and character motivations, and yet somehow gets away with it. Yes, the blame rests upon the shoulders of the audience and myself for watching these films in the first place, but the blame also rests upon the numerous writers for never providing audience members with something beyond this monotonous cycle. Many critics, both professional and amateur, have complained about the repetition of these elements, and yet neither the director, nor the writers have ever done anything to change or improve the formula since the first ever film back in 2007. While I am known to enjoy these films as what is classified as a guilty pleasure, even I have grown tired of the Bay-isms. However, maybe there is light at the end of the tunnel, as numerous sources say that Michael Bay may be leaving the studio, allowing future films in the franchise to hopefully be made under a more competent director.

In the end, Transformers The Last Knight is not a good film. I know, “shocker”. The story is both ludicrous and silly, and not even in the fun way, most of the characters are underdeveloped, poorly written or absolutely pointless and the “humor” is horrendously dull, never once receiving a laugh from me. There were points that intrigued me, but they were not enough to distract me from the glaringly terrible elements which loomed over the film like the planet Cybertron over Earth, except there was no hero to save this film from its collision with it’s own mediocrity. Hopefully the rumors of Michael Bay’s departure from the franchise are true in spite of Mark Wahlberg's insistence to the contrary, because there may be hope for future films if that is the case.

But in the meantime, never stop rambling, TM

[hermanwatts]

Sensor Sweep: Viking Bikers From Hell, Lovecraft & Hemingway, Hadon of Ancient Opar

T.V. (Bare Bone E-zine): But Milius’ mark on Sutter’s creative process may go far beyond simple story and dialogue.  A more concrete clue lies in Milius’ end credits when Miami Vice scenes and the superimposed B-movie episode title “Viking Bikers from Hell,” pseudonymously written in 1987 by Milius, flash across the screen with other clips from his filmography.  Though Sons of Anarchy is stylistically, tonally, and philosophically different from Milius’ episode, it is not a leap to see how it put the gas in the tank of Sutter’s imagination.

  Horror (DMR Books): One of Lovecraft’s earliest stories written as an adult is “Dagon.” After his ship is sunk by German U-boats, a castaway finds himself on an unknown island. There he encounters the title creature. This story is one of Lovecraft’s earliest and one of his lesser ones; however it still has elements of genuine terror.

Games (Walker’s Retreat): Ghost of Tsushima is out now. In case you missed it, it’s this: Yep, a game set during the Mongol invasion of Japan. Gameplay is very reminiscent of the well-regarded Breath of the Wild for the Nintendo Switch blended with the more recent Assassin’s Creed games. Yes, playing in Japanese with subtitles is an option, as is playing in Black & White for the Full Kurosawa effect. This has the Death Cult in games mad, especially when Japanese outlets have been positive about this game. The meme below summarizes aptly.

Fiction (Rough Edges): A while back, I read SON OF GRENDEL, a novella that’s a prequel to this full-length novel. Now I’ve read BATTLE FOR THE WASTELANDS, and it’s a fine post-apocalyptic yarn, just as I expected based on my enjoyment of the novella. It’s the future, of course, after some disaster that has left vestiges of what people call the Old World. The countries, states, and cities that we know are gone, but firearms technology remains (although at a much lower level for the most part) and dirigibles are still around.

RPG (RPG Pundit): The newest issue is out, and RPGPundit Presents #102: The Woodsman is a very short issue, but it’s also only 99 cents! In it, I present a brand new character class for Lion & Dragon, that can also be used in other OSR games: the Woodsman! This is essentially a non-magical ranger-style class, based on Medieval-Authentic concepts of what a Woodsman was and did. If you want to play a native English (or Welsh) character who has ability in hunting, trapping and wilderness lore, this is the way to go!

Lost Race (Cirsova):   In Hadon of Ancient Opar he presents a tale of the Ice Age in Africa. Some readers will not care for the earthy, rough sexuality which still has the power to shock and disturb, despite the passage of decades.  Willy Ley’s “Chad Sea” and “Congo Lake” (Engineer’s Dreams, 1954) are present here as Mediterranean-like basins, while cities of a Jakob Bachofen-type matriarchy (Mother Right, 1861) flourish all around. Hadon, a sports champ/gladiator, is to become king but is instead sent on a deadly mission, and we’re off into whitest Africa, with Rider Haggard’s characters Laleela and Paga appearing alongside the Hercules-like Kwasin and the mysterious “grey-eyed god” Sahhindar.

Writing (Wasteland & Sky): We’ve talked many times about the awful state of art right now in the modern world, but we haven’t offered much in the way of solutions aside from the obvious: just keep trucking. Today that changes as I introduce to you my newest book due out at the end of this month: The Pulp Mindset!

  RPG (The Other Side): Astonishing Swordsmen & Sorcerers of Hyperborea (AS&SH) is more closely aligned with “Advanced Era” D&D, but its feel for me has always been more OD&D, though over the last few years I have been treating it as another flavor of Basic.  I have mentioned in the past that I see AS&SH as a good combination of B/X and AD&D rules.  Essentially it is what we were playing back in the early 80s.

Writing (Pulprev): Updated Call for Submissions: Pulp on Pulp. Misha Burnett and I are working on a free collection of essays for writers. Titled Pulp on Pulp, this collection offers practical advice on creating fun, fast-paced fiction. This collection is aimed specifically at writers who want to create pulp-style fiction, though writers from other genres may learn something new from this collection. This project is a labour of love, allowing writers to share everything they have learned.

Fiction (Tentaculii): Ernest Hemingway published his first novel in 1926, just as Lovecraft was writing “The Call of Cthulhu”. Over time Lovecraft’s star dimmed away almost to nothing, while Hemingway struck the world like a meteorite. So much so, that Robert Bloch once remarked that it was difficult to conceive that Lovecraft had actually been living and working in the same era as Hemingway. Another protege, J. Vernon Shea, also observed that… “Part of the reason for Lovecraft’s unpopularity with the literary critics of his day lay in the fact that mainstream literature, following Sherwood Anderson’s and Hemingway’s leads, was turning more and more toward simple sentences and action–packed narration”.

Non-fiction (Marzaat): In “Slaves of the Death Spider: Colin Wilson and Existentialist Science Fiction”, Stableford talks about Wilson’s Spider World series in a way that convinces me there’s probably not much of merit in them. He finds them not that original – specifically derivative of Star Wars and Murray Leinster’s “Mad Planet”. He finds it ironic that Wilson, who once accused science fiction of being fairy tales for adults who have not outgrown fairy tales, has written, inspired by his occult interests, a story that seems to suggest, a la L. Ron Hubbard’s Dianetics, that mankind’s salvation will come. In short, Stableford says Wilson neither delivers a new plot or anything conceptually satisfying.

Fiction (Jon Mollison): Celebrate your independence from authors that hate you, the good, the beautiful, and the true.  You should pick up your copy of The Penultimate Men today, and I’ll tell you why. or starters, it includes a new Morty and Kyrus story from Schuyler Hernstrom.  If you have read any Hernstrom, you already know his entry is worth the price of admission alone. In addition to that story, you get Jeffro Johnson’s inimitable break-down of the post-apocalyptic genre, a pair of tales from my own pen, and something you’ve never seen before.

Art (DMR Books): The artist, John Byrne, turned seventy today. I would reckon most DMR Books fans know him from his work on superhero comics like The X-Men and The Fantastic Four. However, Byrne has a long history of drawing heroic fantasy characters. Back in 1971, barely in his twenties, Byrne wrote and drew his first published comics story which was published by the Alberta College of Art and Design in Calgary. The protagonist of the comic was called “The Death’s-Head Knight” and the plot was firmly within heroic fantasy parameters. Check it out here.

Pulp Fiction (Adventures Fantastic): I read “The Black Gargoyle”. It was the cover story for the March 1934 issue of Weird Tales.   It is available in the collection of the same name. Set on Borneo, the unnamed narrator and his companion, Martin Gow, are traveling upriver to join a museum expedition. They stop to rest at an outpost run by a man named Gomez. Gomez is an evil man, the very stereotype of the white oppressor. Gomez has given them a hut in which there are several skulls and a shrunken head on a shelf above the beds. Also staying in another hut are a man and his wife.

Pulp Fiction (Pulp Net): I have posted previously on the prolific H. Bedford-Jones (1887-1949), who is considered the “King of the Pulps,” having written over 800 short stories, 200 novels, and more. While he had several series of works with single characters, many of his longest series were instead around certain themes. Kind of fictionalized histories or docu-dramas. Many of these were done for Blue Book, one of the “Big 4” of pulps. The longest of these series was his “Ships and Men” series that ran for 34 parts from January 1937 to November 1939.

Fiction (Superversive SF): Probably the best known of the series, THE BLACK CAULDRON follows the Companions as they seek to stop Arawn from acquiring more cauldron born. It is very different from the Disney movie version. The silent, stalking soldiers cannot be slain but weaken the further they get from the land of the dead. The companions have a mission—steal the cauldron and destroy it. That’s not as easy as it sounds. However, the one who jumps in must know it will cost his life. One of Prince Gwydion’s main allies turns traitor, and one of Taran’s new companions is out for his own glory.

Culture Wars/RPG (Grey Hawk Grognard): Sometime over the last couple of days, Wizards of the Coast decided to put up the following disclaimer on all D&D products earlier than 5th edition, plus a few 5E items as well. Setting aside the typos and grammatical errors of this hastily-done disclaimer, I can’t say I’m surprised that Wizards of the Coast has decided to bend the knee to the SJW crowd.

Fiction (Pulp Serenade): Robert Silverberg’s criminal past has been coming to light—and I, for one, am thrilled, just as readers were undoubtedly thrilled decades ago. In 2011, Stark House Press republished two of the sci-fi master’s earliest novels,  Gang Girl (1959) and Sex Bum (1963), both of which originally appeared under the pseudonym Don Elliott. These are from the heyday of smut paperbacks, a time when rising talent (like Silverberg, Donald Westlake, and Lawrence Block) were cutting their teeth on T-and-A-tastic yarns, honing their writing skills and getting paid for it.

Sensor Sweep: Viking Bikers From Hell, Lovecraft & Hemingway, Hadon of Ancient Opar published first on https://sixchexus.weebly.com/

[heartfeltheart]

Alchemy: Tiny Steps

Chapters: 32/45 Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist/Harry Potter Rating: T Relationships: Edward/Winry, Lan Fan/Ling, and May/Alphonse. Primary Characters: Edward Elric, Severus Snape Additional Tags: Crossover, Teacher!Edward, BrOtp Edward/Severus. Sassy beyond measure. Pro!Snape Series: Part 2 of 9. Summary: Part two of the Alchemy Series.  Politics. Either you love it, hate it or you live it. For Alchemy Teacher Edward Elric, he lives it, hates it and loves it when he gets the upper hand. Here is to another year of hell… D/C: I do not own Harry Potter or Fullmetal Alchemist. Discord: La Red(Mesh Mash of… stuff.): https://discord.gg/KYjmVAb Alchemy Series: https://discord.gg/DejEYNJ

"Here it is… Von Hohenheim's Vault, both your father's vault." Kavex lead the Elric Brother's and their Potion Master's friend to the vault of the late Von Hohenheim. When both brothers had recorded their blood into Gringotts, it unlocked a vault the Elric's late father that had left behind for it to be found by them. "Mr. Hohenheim had instructed us to ensure that the vault is only opened by his sons. Apparently, he wanted to ensure that anyone else of blood will not open the vault. He wouldn't go into detail on that, but we respected his wishes and did as such to ensure it happened."

Edward and Alphonse glanced at each other momentarily before they looked forward again, to look at their father's vault. The entrance of the vault looked vastly different to their own and others they had seen. It did not contain a keyhole or appeared to have a way of even opening it from the outside. It was only when Kavex had ran through over the door, leaving behind a blood trail. The blood began travel throughout the door, leaving behind an array that quickly glowed before the door whined open to reveal its contents to it's new owners.

"I hope we don't get screwed over by the old man."

Smack!

"HEY!"

"Do not speak ill of the dead, brother."

"He's been dead to me for many years…Even in death, that moron still manages to find a way to annoy me to death."

-.-

Lupin nervously clutched at his ragged traveling cloak, his nerves are starting to take over him. He walked some steps behind the Minister and her guards, the only thing that kept a smile on his face is how Tonks went on about her time at Hogwarts, her time with her family, and her times using her abilities to prank people.

"I once shifted into the Alchemy professor and that ended with Professor Snape throwing a textbook at me once."

"What? Why?"

"Apparently, Mr. Elric and Professor Snape were at a standstill. Something about a disagreement or just…Professor Snape trying to knock him out for the hell of it…"

"I believe at that time, Mr. Elric had rearranged Professor Snape's book collection." Bones interjected with a snort.

"That I could believe." Tonks laughed.

Lupin paused for a moment before he mentally took a step back at the mention of the Alchemy professors. He had heard rumors, whispers and everything else in between about the young men and the trouble that seems to follow them. In his own time at Hogwarts, no one had any intention of practicing Alchemy until he had left so his knowledge on the subject is severely limited. From what he heard, the young men are talented and gifted teacher to teach the subject. The only issue is that they are both muggles that hail from a country that had no magic. It puzzles him but in also interest him. From what he heard from the Madam Minster, they had backed her up with her Ministry.

They might have done it for selfish reasons, but it leads to better changes… hopefully.

"Wotcher, lost in the clouds again, Remus?"

"Just…thinking of the future, Nymphdora."

"Don't call me that! It's just Tonks!"

-.-

"How many were captured alive?"

"Seven, two of them are being tended to for minor injuries."

"Hm… ensure nothing comes out of that. You made it sure that it is known we have them?"

"We have. I have already ordered the men to double shifts and ensured they have enough ammo."

"Good…"

"General?"

"I have to make a call… to Mustang…The mere thought just gives me a headache."

"Good luck with that."

-.-

Sitting neatly on top of heavy oak desk that resided in the vault laid a journal that was tied closed with twine. Laid on top of the tied journal is a letter that was directly addressed to Edward and Alphonse. Everything else in the room was ignored by them as they aimed towards said items, ignoring the piles of books, arts, lab equipment, clothing and other supposedly random trinkets. When Edward opened the letter while Alphonse looked over the journal but did not opened it. When Alphonse was about to open it, his brother stopped him with a growl. "Don't. We are not supposed to open that."

"Who is supposed to open this then?" Alphonse asked, with an eyebrow raised.

"…We jailed and or killed everyone that was in Father's organization, right?"

"The only ones that are not is Selim and the Chimeras'. Everyone else that survived have or are waiting for execution. Those that supposedly had a high regard in the Military were sent off to the North and quickly written off as nature's casualty. What does that have to do with anything?"

"This has to do with that moron of a father, Father himself, Amestris vs. Drachma. The ass…"

"This? The journal?"

"…We need to get in contact with General Mustang. That asshole we call a father just set off another ripple effect… Truth. If he wasn't already dead, I'll kill him." Edward growled under his breath as he reread the letter and his hatred for his father seemed to intensify but it quickly mellowed out once he rationalized the man's actions. The journal contained deeply encrypted information that is only to be seen by someone in Drachma, if and only if, in the events that what came to be known as the Promise Day and that the Dwarf is no longer pulling the strings in the top most position in the Amestrian Government. The journal is to be delivered to a supposed old friend of Hohenheim in Drachma if there if ever a chance to bring peace between Amestris and Drachma if there would be unrest between both countries. The saddest part of the letter for Edward, his father knew that this letter would be found by himself and Alphonse in the event of his death.

'Bastard… he knew he was going to die…'

"…So, we can't look what's inside?"

"No. We need to contact General Useless…or maybe Madam Bones… Madam Bones seems like a better option."

"Could she help us with this?"

"She's in good terms with Drachma Minister of Magic. Let us hope this will get non-magical Drachma to stop invading Amestris."

"…You do realize it's going to be far more complicated than just delivering this? Right?"

"That is why you are going back to Amestris to help Mustang while I deal with things here."

-.-

It took less than time for someone to even mutter a spell for everyone and word went out how the Minister brought along a Remus Lupin and it created a small uproar.

A werewolf.

The Minister brought along a werewolf.

A werewolf!

This won't do. This just will not do.

Umbridge paced around her small office, thinking of all the blasted things that Minister could do and this is the last thing she ever expected to happen. There has to be something that could be done to get rid of it but there is so much she could do in her position. Since Bones came into the position as Minister, she's been 'cleaning' up. Several of Umbridge's former coworkers suddenly decided to retire, some were charged for several unnamed crimes and so on. She has a high suspicion that she could possibly be next. Had to take in an apprentice after the insistence of one of her other superiors, who was pressured by the minister to tell her.

The only reason Umbridge is still maintaining her position is that she has to due with the fact she is the small voice of those that still have strong traditional views. Many of which are still against the muggles, half-breeds, mud-bloods and so many other abominations. It is for that sole reason she believes the Minister hasn't gotten rid of her. Perhaps Minister Bones finds her position useful… yes… that's it…

"Hey, did you just hear? They're appointing Remus Lupin into the Ministry."

"Isn't he a werewolf?"

"Yeah, so? I've heard the Minister could easily take on five werewolves in a full moon all by herself! She's more than capable if he…well... you know."

"I thought it was ten? What is he now then?"

"Dunno. I think as an Auror or something? I don't know."

Umbridge gritted her teeth together before she put on a sickly-sweet smile before she looked over at the gossipers. "What's this about the Minister hiring a werewolf?"

Neither Ministry Workers looked fazed at the woman's words. "Remus Lupin. I heard from Sherry that she had to gather up applications for him to become some sort of Auror or something. From what she gathered, he's going to make more than any of us. That includes you, Madam Umbridge. I wonder if he met the Elric's? Reminds me a lot of the younger one."

"Oooh! The cute one? The taller of the two?"

"He's engaged."

"I know, there's no harm to daydream and we both know you do that, Mr. Jinx."

"What I do in my own time, is my own, Ms. Gray. Plus, unlike me, you are old enough to be his grandmother."

"Bah! Ruin my fun."

"They're both rather handsome though…"

"My point exactly!"

Umbridge turned away, inwardly fuming. She was surrounded by idiots.

-.-

"How exactly are you going to end a war that is not even official?"

"Severus… my dear friend… We did similar things growing up. This should be a piece of cake!"

"Ed… this isn't going to be a piece of cake. If anything, its going to be backbreaking. This is between Amestris and Drachma. We don't even know if Father's friend is still alive to crack the journal."

"What is in the journal?"

"Eh, our father did something stupid and we have to clean up after him again."

"… Oh do tell…"

"It involves a dwarf in a flask."

"A what?"

Alphonse only shook his head as Edward attempted to explain to Severus what Father was originally, but it appears to be more than he could comprehend. "It was a homunculus. Our father called it a dwarf in a flask."

"A…You never told me that!"

[kindergarchy]

You Too Can Have A Body Like Mine by Alexandra Kleeman

On the book jacket’s sleeve, Kathleen Alcott (not sure who she is, presumably an impt/well-known figure in contemporary literature) praises this book: “A terrifying and elegant talent you will not soon forget.” In contrast, I do actually want to forget about this book…. and I did, until I remembered that I have not penned down my thoughts abt this book.

I thought the book was weird, maybe you can manage to imply good interpretations - maybe the issues she is trying to raise are impt - body image, the mechanism of a cult, noise caused by an endless tirade of commercials and advertisement, consciousness, a sense of self + belonging, etc… but all of these are drowned in a foggy sea of plain weirdness.

Tbh, I did really like some parts, I did go wow that’s rly well-written. It made me think of tao lin’s taipei, like small revelations of things, things that people dismiss - these things are not a ‘big deal’, nevertheless it makes you think that ok so it’s not just me. Maybe I do have a bit of social anxiety, that’s why I can find traces of me in A, but most of the time this seething, electric sense of connectedness is eclipsed by the extreme alienness of sensations the character is experiencing. I also like parts where the narrative keeps questioning A’s sense of self, sometimes it rubs off on me, especially after reading Sam Harris’ Waking Up

Ok I’m gonna paste its synopsis on goodreads here:

“A woman known only as A lives in an unnamed American city with her roommate, B, and boyfriend, C, who wants her to join him on a reality dating show called That's My Partner! A eats mostly popsicles and oranges, watches endless amounts of television, often just for the commercials— particularly the recurring cartoon escapades of Kandy Kat, the mascot for an entirely chemical dessert—and models herself on a standard of beauty that exists only in such advertising. She fixates on the fifteen minutes of fame a local celebrity named Michael has earned after buying up a Wally's Supermarket's entire, and increasingly ample, supply of veal.

Meanwhile, B is attempting to make herself a twin of A, who in turn hungers for something to give meaning to her life, something aside from C's pornography addiction. Maybe something like what's gotten into her neighbors across the street, the family who's begun "ghosting" themselves beneath white sheets and whose garage door features a strange scrawl of graffiti: he who sits next to me, may we eat as one.”

I was reading it on the sleeve of the book jacket and thought… ummm. Weird. And sometimes it happens when I read a synopsis, so I thought of it as nothing - the impression dissipates as soon as I savor the book and have a good taste of what the book is trying to portray/drive at - replaced by a relief, a sense of familiarity. I thought I would arrive there, so I waited and it never came, not even on the last page. Like… the weirdness did not feel bizarre in a way that makes you wonder (I’d like to think of myself as having a good tolerance for strange things), it felt forced and synthetic… again maybe this is due to the fact that I do not have extreme paranoid tendencies, I think it’ll be good to have real ppl who do experience paranoia to testify whether the scenarios laid out are plausible, if they do, then probably my unfavorable view of this book emerged not out of the book’s lack of merits, but my incapability to absorb something I can’t relate with well enough

I liked this part where A mentions to her boyfriend C about a weird sighting of her neighbors, which C dismisses almost instantly. C is often capable of convincing her effortlessly, perhaps even unintentionally, that everything is fine, normal. I felt that this is done semiconsciously by C out of convenience, he does not want to bother entertaining probable, but seemingly ludicrous possibilities (low-level paranoid thoughts) - and A likes that, because it makes her think less crazy thoughts, nevermind that it leads her into thinking that she is the crazy one, and without her realizing creates an imbalance in their relationship’s dynamic (ie A needs C more than the reverse):

“Okay,” C said thoughtfully, as though he had made a decision. He put his phone in his pocket and pulled himself up to a standing position. “You are a sensitive person, you saw something weird, you feel spooked. No pun intended. There are plenty of reasons why what you saw might have happened, and some of them are weird. But some of them are just boring. You know? That family could have been going to some kind of school pageant. Or a birthday party. So you can ask yourself: Do I live in a weird town, or a boring town?”

I blinked at him.

“I’d say boring,” he added, nodding and then raising both eyebrows expectantly.

I loved his face, his bland white good-looking face. I believed in him and therefore in the boringness of my town. C was good at handling me. He made things suddenly, instantaneously normal, just by explaining them. He was like a magnifying glass, I only had to look through him to see the world in crisp detail. And he had a really nice smile and good teeth.

This is one of those “not a big deal” moments, and how the narrator jumps from C’s ability to his physical appearance, like his positive quality has a halo effect on his physical appearance (or maybe it’s the other way round), this thought process seems very natural, how your mind jumps from one thing to another, following a pattern

I also think this is very well written, how A describes her gaze direction which relies on her boyfriend’s - a subtle hint at the commensalistic tendencies their relationship is developing:

I went over and got under the blanket with him. I tucked my feet in under his things and looked where he was looking.

Also this kind of self-inquiry, the idea that your sense of self is constantly evolving, it assumes and loses its shape constantly - reminiscent of Elena Ferrante’s My Brilliant Friend, only here told directly and real-time instead of being inferred through a nostalgic rewind:

Think this through, I said to myself. Just because you weren’t the person he thought you were doesn’t mean that you won’t be that person at some other time, someday. It doesn’t mean you’re not you.

And this separation between inner and outer lives, which to some might seem like an act of hypocrisy:

What bothered him, what seemed filthy, was the emotional aspect, the way I had dictated the personal. “You need them not only to be doing something for you but also feeling some specific way about it,” C said. A begging quality had entered C’s voice. C said: “Why can’t you just let people have their own inner lives, as long as they’re doing pretty much what they’re supposed to do with their outer lives?”

Plus substituting your object of desire as a coping mechanism, citing classic sociology studies:

Baby monkeys taken from their mothers will form attachments to fake mothers made of cloth or electrified wire, ducklings with no parents will imprint on a cardboard box with an alarm clock ticking inside of it. Wanting things was a substitute for wanting people, one of the best possible substitutes.

And lastly, what keeps you from going batshit crazy (like in Han Kang’s The Vegetarian, it is a very thin thread we are holding on to with all our might):

“Are you one of those people who acts normal, but is secretly about to chuck their lives and disappear?” I asked. If that were the case, I wasn’t going to waste my time getting to know him. I knew that we’d be dating for a while, at least, when he laughed several times, loudly, and kissed me for what was then the third or fourth time ever.

“Yeah, right. No way. Neither are you,” he said. “I’ve seen that on TV, those dads, and it is nuts. No way. Everything’s worked out great for me since whenever, I don’t have any plans to make it complicated. Besides, I’m attached to my material goods.”

What material goods? I wondered. Then I followed the arc of his arm pointing to a location across the room. He had been referring to his collection of DVDs, heaps of horror and comedy and porn, stacked together in a pile the size of a small love seat.

But these parts are more or less detached from the main crux of the story, I found myself slowly growing a particular dislike toward Kandy Kat’s commercials, and the ridiculous (not absurd) appeal of the cult…. Idk, it felt like the narrative invents a problem then attempts to solve it, instead of borrowing one from real life and emphasizing it

So yeah, I’m open to read more of Kleeman’s stuff, she nails interesting observations, and this book is fun to read at times, despite my complaints