#stories exist to help you learn about yourself and others in equal measure

[the-oracle-of-the-lost]

banging my head against the wall while i say: "relatability is not the be all end all of writing a character. saying that you don't find a character relatable/you wouldn't have made the same choices does not mean something is poorly written. you actually should go out of your way to engage with media about people who are fundamentally different from you because it helps you learn about others."

[carnegiemuseumnaturalhistory]

Real Dinosaurs Versus Reel Dinosaurs: Film’s Fictionalization of the Prehistoric World

by Shelby Wyzykowski

What better way can you spend a quiet evening at home than by having a good old-fashioned movie night? You dim the lights, cozily snuggle up on your sofa with a bowl of hot, buttery popcorn, and pick out a movie that you’ve always wanted to see: the 1948 classic Unknown Island. Mindlessly munching away on your snacks, your eyes are glued to the screen as the story unfolds. You reach a key scene in the movie: a towering, T. rex-sized Ceratosaurus and an equally enormous Megatherium ground sloth are locked in mortal combat. And you think to yourself, “I’m pretty sure something like this never actually happened.” And you know what? Your prehistorically inclined instincts are correct.

From the time that the first dinosaur fossils were identified in the early 1800s, society has been fascinated by these “terrible lizards.” When, where, and how did they live? And why did they (except for their modern descendants, birds) die out so suddenly? We’ve always been hungry to find out more about the mysteries behind the dinosaurs’ existence. The public’s hunger for answers was first satisfied by newspapers, books, and scientific journals. But then a whole new, sensational medium was invented: motion pictures. And with its creation came a new, exciting way to explore the primeval world of these ancient creatures. But cinema is art, not science. And from the very beginning, scientific inaccuracies abounded. You might be surprised to learn that these filmic faux pas not only exist in movies from the early days of cinema. They pervade essentially every dinosaur movie that has ever been made.

One Million Years B.C.

Another film that can easily be identified as more fiction than fact is 1966’s One Million Years B.C. It tells the story of conflicts between members of two tribes of cave people as well as their dangerous dealings with a host of hostile dinosaurs (such as Allosaurus, Triceratops, and Ceratosaurus). However, neither modern-looking humans nor dinosaurs (again, except birds) existed one million years ago. In the case of dinosaurs, the movie was about 65 million years too late. Non-avian dinosaurs disappeared 66 million years ago during a mass extinction known as the K/Pg (which stands for “Cretaceous/Paleogene”) event. An asteroid measuring around six miles in diameter and traveling at an estimated speed of ten miles per second slammed into the Earth at what is now the Yucatán Peninsula in Mexico. The effects of this giant impact were so devastating that over 75% of the world’s species became extinct. But the dinosaurs’ misfortunes were a lucky break for Cretaceous Period mammals. They were able to gain a stronger foothold and flourish in the challenging and inhospitable post-impact environment.

Cut to approximately 65 million, 700 thousand years later, when modern-looking humans finally arrived on the chronological scene. Until recently, the oldest known fossils of our species, Homo sapiens, dated back to just 195,000 years ago (which is, in geological terms, akin to the blink of an eye). And for many years, these fossils have been widely accepted to be the oldest members of our species. But this theory was challenged in June of 2017 when paleoanthropologists from the Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology reported that they had discovered what they thought may be the oldest known remains of Homo sapiens on a desert hillside at Jebel Irhoud in Morocco. The 315,000-year-old fossils included skull bones that, when pieced together, indicated that these humans had faces that looked very much like ours, but their brains did differ. Being long and low, their brains did not have the distinctively round shape of those of present-day humans. This noticeable difference in brain shape has led some scientists to wonder: perhaps these people were just close relatives of Homo sapiens. On the other hand, maybe they could be near the root of the Homo sapien lineage, a sort of protomodern Homo sapien as opposed to the modern Homo sapien. One thing is for certain, the discovery at Jebel Irhoud reminds us that the story of human evolution is long and complex with many questions that are yet to be answered.

The Land Before Time

Another movie that misplaces its characters in the prehistoric timeline is 1988’s The Land Before Time. The stars of this animated motion picture are Littlefoot the Apatosaurus, Cera the Triceratops, Ducky the Saurolophus, Petrie the Pteranodon, and Spike the Stegosaurus. As their world is ravaged by constant earthquakes and volcanic eruptions, the hungry and scared young dinosaurs make a perilous journey to the lush and green Great Valley where they’ll reunite with their families and never want for food again. In their on-screen imagined story, these five make a great team. But, assuming that the movie is set at the very end of the Cretaceous (intense volcanic activity was a characteristic of this time), the quintet’s trip would have actually been just a solo trek. Ducky and Petrie’s species had become extinct several million years earlier, and Littlefoot and Spike would have lived way back in the Jurassic Period (201– 145 million years ago). Cera alone would have had to experience several harrowing encounters with the movie’s other latest Cretaceous creature, the ferocious and relentless Sharptooth, a Tyrannosaurus rex.

Speaking of Sharptooth, The Land Before Time’s animators made a scientifically accurate choice when they decided to draw him with a two-fingered hand, as opposed to the three fingers traditionally embraced by other movie makers. For 1933’s King Kong, the creators mistakenly modeled their T. rex after a scientifically outdated 1906 museum painting. Many other directors knowingly dismissed the science-backed evidence and used three digits because they thought this type of hand was more aesthetically pleasing. By the 1920s, paleontologists had already hypothesized that these predators were two-fingered because an earlier relative of Tyrannosaurus, Gorgosaurus, was known to have had only two functional digits. Scientists had to make an educated guess because the first T. rex (and many subsequent specimens) to be found had no hands preserved. It wasn’t until 1988 that it was officially confirmed that T. rex was two-fingered when the first specimen with an intact hand was discovered. Then, in 1997, Peck’s Rex, the first T. rex specimen with hands preserving a third metacarpal (hand bone), was unearthed. Paleontologists agree that, in life, the third metacarpal of Peck’s Rex would not have been part of a distinct, externally visible third finger, but instead would have been embedded in the flesh of the rest of the hand. But still, was this third hand segment vestigial, no longer serving any apparent purpose? Or could it have possibly been used as a buttressing structure, helping the two fully formed fingers to withstand forces and stresses on the hand? Peck’s Rex’s bones do display evidence that strongly supports arm use. You can ponder this paleo-puzzle yourself when you visit Carnegie Museum of Natural History’s Dinosaurs in Their Time exhibition, where you can see a life-sized cast of Peck’s Rex facing off with the holotype (= name-bearing) T. rex, which was the first specimen of the species to be recognized (by definition, the world’s first fossil of the world’s most famous dinosaur!).

T. rex in Dinosaurs in Their Time. Image credit: Joshua Franzos, Treehouse Media

Jurassic Park

One motion picture that did take artistic liberties with T. rex for the sake of suspense was 1993’s Jurassic Park. In one memorable, hair-raising scene, several of the movie’s stars are saved from becoming this dinosaur’s savory snack by standing completely still. According to the film’s paleontological protagonist, Dr. Alan Grant, the theropod can’t see humans if they don’t move. Does this theory have any credence, or was it just a clever plot device that made for a great movie moment? In 2006, the results of ongoing research at the University of Oregon were published in the Journal of Vertebrate Paleontology, providing a surprising answer. The study involved using perimetry (an ophthalmic technique used for measuring and assessing visual fields) and a scale model T. rex head to determine the creature’s binocular range (the area that could be viewed at the same time by both eyes). Generally speaking, the wider an animal’s binocular range, the better its depth perception and overall vision. It was determined that the binocular range of T. rex was 55 degrees, which is greater than that of a modern-day hawk! This theropod may have even had visual clarity up to 13 times greater than a person. That’s extremely impressive, considering an eagle only has up to 3.6 times the clarity of a human! Another study that examined the senses of T. rex determined that the dinosaur had unusually large olfactory bulbs (the areas of the brain dedicated to scent) that would have given it the ability to smell as well as a present-day vulture! So, in Jurassic Park, even if the eyes of T. rex had been blurred by the raindrops in this dark and stormy scene, its nose would have still homed-in on Dr. Grant and the others, providing the predator with some tasty midnight treats.

Now, it may seem that this blog post might be a bit critical of dinosaur movies. But, truly, I appreciate them just as much as the next filmophile. They do a magnificent job of providing all of us with some pretty thrilling, edge-of-your-seat entertainment. But, somewhere along the way, their purpose has serendipitously become twofold. They have also inspired some of us to pursue paleontology as a lifelong career. So, in a way, dinosaur movies have been of immense benefit to both the cinematic and scientific worlds. And for that great service, they all deserve a huge round of applause.

Shelby Wyzykowski is a Gallery Experience Presenter in CMNH’s Life Long Learning Department. Museum staff, volunteers, and interns are encouraged to blog about their unique experiences and knowledge gained from working at the museum.

[dameronology]

the one with the intergalactic babysitter (mando x reader)

summary: you’re a little lost in life - you moved to coruscant to become a writer, but working two jobs to make ends meet has made you dismayed. one babysitting gig with a mandalorian and his weird green kid might change everything.

this is my first mando piece!! it might be the first part of a series or it might be a stand alone - if you want to see more, i’m definitely down to see what else my brain spews up 

enjoy, 

- val xx 

Coruscant was a very fucking expensive place to live. 

It was understandable, seeing as it was the political and cultural hub of the galaxy - the kind of place that Frank Sinatra might write songs about titled Coruscant, Coruscant - but maker, it felt like they were charging you simply to exist in the city. Perhaps if you’d had a career, or a solid job that didn’t require chasing around after rude patrons and yelling at middle-aged women for severely under tipping. Being a waitress simply wasn’t enough to make ends meet. You’d originally moved to the capital to make it as a writer - a statement you would come to learn would age like milk on a hot July day. 

So, you turned to babysitting too; you already spent your day dealing with sticky-handed children and tuning out their incessant screaming. The extra credits wouldn’t hurt and it was something to do that didn’t involve sitting within the four walls of your tiny, concrete apartment. 

The first few weeks were a bit sow, usually tending to the spoilt of children of rich, inner city politicians. They were easy jobs; the kids were easily entertained by a holomovie and their parents usually left enough money to order take away food for them. You simply had to sit and watch them; making sure they didn’t choke and that they were in bed on time. Simple. 

One slow Monday - the kind were the hours dragged and there was a sort of grey cloud of gloom hanging over the skyscrapers - you got a call. Initially, it was supposed to be your night off to work on your debut novel. The first thing on your to-do list was to come up with an idea for said novel but as it usually went with writers, you found it easier to find excuses than to get on with the thing you claimed was your livelihood. 

‘Hello?’ You were halfway through the door of your apartment, your commslink in one hand as you tossed your apron onto the kitchen counter. 

‘Is this...Y/N?’

‘Maybe.’ You thinned your eyes. ‘Who’s asking?’

‘A potential client.’ It sounded as though the caller was covering their mouth. ‘Are your services exclusive to human children?’

‘Not at all. I had a Twi’lek kid last week.’ You replied. ‘What kinda kid are we talking?’

‘I’m not entirely sure.’

‘You don’t know what species your own kid is?’

‘He’s adopted?’ The voice came back, a little unsure. ‘Look, it’s a long story but I’ve had an emergency at work and I need someone to keep an eye on him for a few hours. I’ll pay double.’

That was how you ended up rushing out again, plans for the night completely disregarded in lieu of money . Admittedly, you were a little unsure because a) the address he had given you was in an air hangar and b) you were half-expecting to turn up and find that the child was a demon. But the guy was paying double and you needed to make rent - and you were like eighty percent sure he probably wasn’t going to kill you. 

When you got to Air Hangar 64 - a jet parking spot right in the middle of downtown Coruscant - you almost turned around, thinking you’d got the wrong address. A man in Mandalorian armour (one hell of a man, it should be added) was standing outside of a jet, a bundle of robes in his arms. He was tapping his foot on the ground, the bright lights of the city around you illuminating against the beskar of his suit. 

‘Y/N?’ You hadn’t even noticed that he’d spotted you, given the whole face apparatus situation. The voice, however, matched the one from the phone. 

‘Right. Hi.’ You cautiously approached him. ‘I didn’t catch your name on the phone.’

‘Mando.’ He replied. 

‘Mando the Mandalorian?’ You quirked a brow at him. ‘Or is it short for Mandalorian?’

‘Up to you.’ His words were blunt.

 It was then that you noticed the bundle in his arms was actually moving, a tiny and clawed green hand reaching up. It wriggled slightly and you tried - you really tried - to hide the look of horror on your face. 

‘That's the thing I’m babysitting?’

‘He’s the thing you're babysitting.’ Mando replied. ‘His face is much better than his hands.’

He handed you the bundle - and you noted that the shiny guy had been right. The little face staring back at you, with its wide eyes, brown eyes and hilariously oversized ears, was certainly much cuter than a human baby. He wrapped his tiny hand around your finger, letting out a tiny giggle. 

‘Is that why you wear the helmet?’ You asked. ‘Cos you’re green and wrinkly too?’

You couldn’t see the Mandalorian’s face, but you could tell from the way that he tilted his head to the side that he wasn’t amused by your statement. Tough crowd. 

‘I’ll only be gone a few hours.’ He said. ‘I appreciate you doing this.’

‘And I appreciate you paying double.’ You shot back. 

‘There’s food for him on the ship - some freeze dried frogs and some bantha milk.’

‘I’m sorry, did you just say freeze dried frogs and-’

‘- I’d appreciate it if you stayed out the hull of the ship.’ Mando continued, ignoring your question. ‘Just stick to the cockpit.’

‘Right.’ You forced a smile, inwardly reminding yourself of the double payment. ‘And do you have a rough ETA?’

‘Sometime between now and tomorrow morning.’

‘No need to be precise, I suppose.’ You muttered under your breath. ‘Well, have fun doing whatever is that you do...Mando.’

He didn’t mean to come across as icy and rude. It was just that he rarely ever interacted with anybody else - the Child was hardly chatty and he usually knocked his cargo out before they could get a word in. Still, the Mandalorian smiled slightly to himself at the use of his name. He wouldn’t usually trust a single soul in the galaxy to be alone with his kid on his ship, but he didn’t have much choice. You didn’t seem like the sort of person who would steal it - in fact, he got the impression you probably couldn’t fly it at all. 

Just like that, you were alone with the weird, Kermit-looking child. The first hour was slow; painfully so, in fact. All you could do was sit in the pilot’s chair, spinning around aimlessly in circles as the kid napped. The pile of dead, freeze-dried frogs stacked atop the dashboard was a little unnerving, but not any less unnerving than the six-foot-tall, armour-clad man to whom they belonged. 

By the third hour, you were beginning to wish the kid was still asleep. You quickly learnt that he enjoyed waddling about and pressing random buttons; he was particularly drawn to the bright red one next to your seat. You were no expert, but you’d seen enough holocartoons growing up to know what an ejector seat was. 

‘Oh no, let’s leave the blaster alone.’ You jumped out your chair, quickly picking up the Child. You held him up in the air, eyes meeting for a moment - then he burst into tears. ‘Hey, it’s okay! It’s better to play with safe things, like this mildly disturbing freeze dried-’

- The kid ripped his food from your hand before you could finish the sentence, shoving the creature into his slobbery mouth with an ostentatiousness that was impressive and disturbing in equal measures. 

Watching him guzzle down the bantha milk was a similar experience; half of it ended up down his robes, the other half splattering to the floor. It could have been worse.  He could have spilled it all over the controls or down the seat. Heck, he could have poured it over your head. 

By the time the Mandalorian came back, both you and the Child were passed out. So much so, in fact, that you didn’t hear him enter the ship. You were snoring quietly in the pilot’s seat, leg stretched out to the other chair. The little green rat was snoozing on your chest, one of your hands resting over his back. There was blue milk all down your shirt and a frog’s leg stuck to the windscreen. 

He gently leant forward to pick his kid up, placing him back in his floating crib. You began to stir when you felt the warmth move from your chest, your brain mentally registering the sudden absence of the creature. 

‘Hey, Mando the Mandalorian.’ You sat up, rubbing your eyes. As you did, the frog that had been plastered to the windscreen fell, bouncing off of his helmet. Your hand flew to your mouth, trying to stifle the laugh that was about to come out. ‘I am so sorry about the mess-’

‘- don’t be.’ He cut you off, sticking out his gloved hand to help you up. ‘He’s a messy kid.’

You weren’t sure how you could tell, but something about him seemed much more docile than your previous, brief encounter. His tone was a little warmer - or was it more tired? It was hard to tell with the helmet. 

Your best guess was that whatever work-related task he’d run out to had really taken it out of him. His shoulders were a little slumped, words tinged with exasperation. Coming home to find his ship covered in frogs and blue milk was probably only salt in the wound. 

‘I’ll clean it up.’ You offered. 

‘No, it’s fine.’ Mando shook his head, releasing his grip on your hand. 

‘You’re tired.’ You said. ‘I mean...I think you’re tired. It’s hard to tell with that metal thing covering your face but I’m getting some exhausted dad vibes from you and I did make the mess after all.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Certain.’ You rubbed your eyes. ‘We spent most of the time you were out napping so I’m well-rested anyways.’

After pointing you in the direction of a tiny closet towards the back of the cock-pit, you gathered what appeared to be an ages-old mop and a bottle of unidentified cleaning liquid. Cleaning up spilled and splattered food was simply part of your day job and it didn’t take you long to reassemble the place. You mopped the floor, prying the occasional frog leg or arm from the ship’s windscreen and controls. 

Mando watched as you did, eyes following you as you darted around. You couldn’t see him staring at you but you could certainly feel it. Glancing up from the floor, you paused your cleaning to hold his gaze, letting the mop fall against the wall. 

‘So, what do you do?’ You asked. 

Helmet tilt.

‘I mean, for like a job.’ You continued. ‘You live on a ship and you have a weird kid - he’s lovely, don’t get me wrong - but he’s fucking weird. Doesn’t he have a mum or something? Or another dad?’ 

‘I’m a bounty hunter.’ Mando replied. ‘And no.’

Did you always talk this much? Or was it just his wordless responses that made it feel like you were having a conversation with yourself? You could have sworn that most conversations didn’t take this much effort. 

‘Bounty hunter, huh?’ You raised your eyebrow. ‘I don’t suppose that finding an individual in these Coruscanti crowds is very easy - sorry. I also don’t suppose that you want my running commentary-’

‘- no, I like it.’ His words took you by surprise. ‘I don’t come across many chatty people.’

There was something about you that he liked - you were bright, sparky. The complete opposite of every antisocial criminal and cantina-dweller that he’d ever come across. He was tired beyond words but your voice was soothing. 

‘Yeah, the kid isn’t much of a conversationalist.’ You replied. ‘Where did you find him?’

‘He had a bounty on his head.’ Mando replied. ‘The people that wanted him were bad.’

‘So you ran away with him?’ You dropped the mop, taking a seat in the chair beside him. ‘And just called him your own?’

‘Not at first, but there are a lot of people after him.’

‘Oh yeah. I’m sure that tiny green thing is the galaxy’s most wanted criminal.’ You scoffed. 

‘What do you do?’ His helmet tilted again, this time out of curiosity. He got the vibe that you probably weren’t a full-time babysitter. You’d looked after his kid well enough but you didn’t seem like the sort of person who would voluntarily spend all their time with children. You swore too much for that. 

‘I’m trying to be a writer.’ You explained. 

That made sense, Mando thought, you certainly had plenty to say. 

‘Trying?’

‘Let’s just say that there isn’t a whole lot of writing happening.’ You replied. ‘You know, life gets in the way. I babysit and waitress to make ends meet but that leaves little time for getting shit done. I’m hopeful, though.’

Mando was almost bewildered by you at that point: you were the opposite of him in every way. You spoke about anything & everything, you’d anchored yourself to this city and you were trying to achieve a dream - an uncertain dream. He was the one that travelled the galaxy but somehow, you seemed to be more free. You had the sort of energy and optimism that felt like a stranger to him. Your presence alone against the cold, metal walls of his ship felt like a warm hug. 

‘Is it lack of inspiration?’ He asked. 

‘Maybe.’ You replied. ‘I thought Coruscant would help with that but it’s actually pretty fucking sad here. I can’t travel though, not when I’m working two jobs just so I can afford to live, let alone go on kriffing vacation.’

‘Right.’ He nodded. ‘I’m heading out tomorrow morning.’

You furrowed your brow. ‘Yeah. Where to?’

‘I have no idea.’ He replied. ‘But I need someone to watch the kid and you need to travel.’

‘Sure.’ You snorted. ‘I’ll just...I’ll just up and leave my whole life here behind to drop everything and travel the galaxy with a random man and his weird frog baby whilst I search for inspiration and - oh.’

‘What?’

‘That sounds like one hell of a story.’

[bigskydreaming]

Thinking today about how often people point to criticism of fic or specific fics even for problematic content as being rude or unwelcome because of the effort the author put into making that work and because that merits respect.

Okay.

Sure.

Let’s go with the idea that effort merits respect and this should be weighed when examining criticism of content for its depiction and how those depictions make people feel about their own lives and intersections with the stuff being spotlighted in a story.

But problem is you know what else requires a lot of effort?

Living lives that are impacted by racism, transphobia, rape, pedophilia, abuse, etc.

So while people are busy holding up the singular efforts of fic writers in creating a work of fiction as sacrosanct and insisting their feelings and comfort should be centered and prioritized in all examinations of that work and the things they said.....

They’re simultaneously not giving a shit about the efforts of people living real lives impacted by all this stuff in actuality, which directly relates to.....how a fic’s depiction of these things made them feel and their comfort.

And why is that not centered? Why does that effort it takes to LIVE in spaces where these kinds of issues are not set pieces for a drama meant solely to entertain, why is that not being held up as being as important in terms of comfort and respect as the comfort and respect of the writer who made the choice to not only depict these things in this way, but to center this type of content at all, especially if done so in the name of entertainment specifically. 

Like no group is a monolith, there will always be intracommunity issues in terms of some people impacted by a work disagreeing with how the writer chose to approach things even when they’re all working off of their own respective lived experiences and have just as much right to their own take on things, like, no take is one size fits all and what’s right for one perspective can be wrong for another even while both perspectives have validity......but its disingenuous to pretend like this is even USUALLY the case in a lot of these discourses. 

The bigger issue has always been the lack of respect from people who want to play with certain depictions of reality as though they can be divorced from reality and just live on the TV sets in peoples’ brains while reading and writing fic with no other consequences whatsoever, towards people who can not ever be truly divorced from the consequences of the reality of these things as they play into their own lives, regardless of how they’re depicted in fic. With the additional issue of those fictional depictions often being extremely formative and influential in how people whose lives aren’t already directly impacted by various issues perceive and interact with these issues.

Less talk about the imaginary specter of censorship in this specific venue and what this has always actually been about.....the equally-frightening-to-some-people specter of creative responsibility. Where creative choices people make are weighed by a creator not just for their potential ENTERTAINMENT value for audiences, but equally for their potential harmful impact on audiences. As words, fiction, storytelling, MESSAGES....are nothing more than tools that can be utilized to more than one purpose, and as such can harm or help in equal measure. Like not to be a blunt instrument, but you can feed your family with a hoe and a yard, but you can also bash someone’s skull in with that hoe and bury them in that yard. *Shrugs* Just saying.

Like what if you viewed people criticizing your work not as an attack on you and your efforts, but simply an expression of “I dont like how your words made me feel.” What if it wasn’t about your ‘rights’ as an author to do whatever the hell you want, and more your impact as a person, and what actually is it you’re trying to do?

If someone says your story hurt, and not in a good, catharctic way but in an invalidating or exploited way, and your concern is less about your not-actually-in-question rights or ability to impact others however you want to, and more about what that impact actually IS....what happens then if you look at that criticism as a person sharing their vulnerability with you and saying “this is why what you said hurts”....and if your reason for writing is truly to ENTERTAIN, and they’re no less a person deserving of entertainment as any other reader, why not take advantage of that voluntary admittance or expression of vulnerability and harm to learn how NOT to do that with your next story.....and voila, by doing something differently next time due to having just listened to what didn’t work for someone, you’ve.....actively enhanced the entertainment you create for people overall?

And like I said, no group is a monolith, people don’t actually all need the same things or respond in the same ways to the same things, and you’re never going to be able to please everyone but the real question is are you even TRYING or are you happy to just rest on the comfort of like-minded individuals and circle the wagons at even the hint of someone challenging you to broaden your mind, your circle, open it up to more people, more feedback, more viewpoints, more PERSPECTIVE?

What if instead of people saying “this hurts” in response to something you write, you don’t take that as an attack, as someone saying you’re a terrible person for hurting me and you will never be anything but that so draw weapons and let’s engage in combat, its the only choice.....

What if instead you view it as a challenge, as someone saying “okay but is there a way you can tell your story and entertain not just the people you were already entertaining, but MORE people, by finding different story routes in the future that still include all the entertainment value you sought out initially but avoiding pitfalls of potential harm now that your eyes have been focused on where more of those pitfalls might be lurking, that you didn’t notice on your previous go-round”?

Like, one approach tells you to hunker down in your bunker, draw on already existing fortifications to bolster yourself, and not move from where you already are and now feel under siege. Just less, same, still.

The other approach encourages you to level up, step up your game, engage with people more, make your stories more accessible and more enjoyable to more people in general. Just more, more, more.

But I mean, hey, you pick.

[tonystarktogo]

(this could’ve been) a villain’s origin story -- KHR remix

[this fic is my first attempt to write in the KHR fandom. i apologize in advance.]

II.

The first time it happens, Tsuna doesn’t see it coming at all. It’s not the kind of thing one sees coming.

He’s following up on one of the many, many anonymous tips they receive daily, about villain movements, suspicious sightings, potential collaborations, the works. Nowhere in the official Vongola Inc. recruitement speech do they tell you that working for the world’s largest superhero organization mostly means digging through trash and interviewing witnesses, rather than bashing a supervillain’s head in.

Granted, most teams go out and get at least some action and technically Tsuna’s team is no exception. Tsuna is, though.

“You’re more likely to get one of us killed than be of any help!” Mochida had snapped when he’d seen Tsuna trott after the others on their way to the briefing room. “Make yourself useful for once and stay out of the way.”

[continues under the cut]

[In all honesty, Tsuna can’t blame his squad leader. He never thought he, Dame-Tsuna, always too slow, too clumsy, too useless, would get recruited by Vongola Inc. The best, most powerful, most feared superhero organization the world has to offer and they wanted Tsuna.

Of course that turned out to be bullshit. Tsuna should’ve expected nothing less. Should’ve seen it coming. Why doesn’t he ever learn? But he’d been so shocked, so gratefulrelievedelated to know that someone saw something in him. That someone wanted him.

If he’d known all Vongola wanted was Sawada Iemitsu’s son -- his bloodline -- well. Tsuna knows himself well enough to realize that it probably wouldn’t have changed a thing. 

But that doesn’t stop him from wishing it had.]

Mochida is cold and cutting and often cruel, but he’s not a terrible team leader. He takes his responsibilities seriously. And even though Tsuna knows the man doesn’t like him, sees being saddled with Tsuna as some kind of creative punishment by his superiors, Mochida doesn’t let Tsuna’s inability to walk a straight line without running into a a door and his utter lack of super abilities get in the way of their job. It usually ends with Tsuna being sidelined and manning the coffee maschine or the phonelines -- wherever he can cause the least damage -- but Tsuna doesn’t mind much.

Sure, it’s not glamourous, but it’s still little things that need to be done and Tsuna is glad he can be of help, even if his co-workers rarely appreciate it. Mochida doesn’t expect much of anything from him and sometimes that hurts, but he never sets Tsuna up for failure just to have something to laugh at either -- and that means more to Tsuna than it probably should.

Besides it’s not like spending yet another endless day at work, following up on various anonymous tips, 98 percent of which always turn out to be a useless waste of time, is a bad price to pay for a steady job in a respected profession.

It’s only in retrospect that it occurs to Tsuna that what happens next is not at all surprising. That it is almost inevitable. Because no matter how many crazy, paranoid or joking people call the Vongola Emergency line, sooner or later Tsuna was bound to stumble over a nugget of valuable information. That this was why they kept a tip line in the first place -- because it occasionally proves to be useful.

In Tsuna’s defense, he’s pretty sure none of the others expected today’s calls to be real either. They sure wouldn’t have sent him out otherwise.

But here he is. Searching -- read: stumbling through -- a long abandoned warehouse that Tsuna just knows would have Hana sniff in disgust at the utter cliché of it all. Without back-up or any particularly useful weapon.

[His team learned in their first month together not to arm Tsuna with anything he could use to hurt himself with. Or them.]

Staring in horror at the supervillain staring at Tsuna with equal surprise.

At least I’m not the only one caught off-guard, Tsuna thinks hysterically. And he’s allowed to be hysterical when he finds himself trapped alone and unarmed in an abandoned warehouse with Skull De Mort of all people.

[Tsuna doesn’t have many hero-like qualities, but he’s got a lot of free time on his hands when manning the phone lines and pulling graveyard shifts on days where even villains prefer to catch a break and sleep in. Tsuna also, by virtue of his heritage, has access to the kind of high-level intel most field agents can only dream of.

As such, Tsuna has a better understanding on the recently active and inactive supervillains than most.

Whereas the average newsreporter likes to scoff and sniff derisively when Skull De Mort pulls one of his outrageous attacks that always mean impressive amounts of property damage and no civilian deaths because Skull is just an ambitious, loud-mouthed thug with ideas above his station as far as the general public is concerned, Tsuna knows better.

Skull De Mort is an Arcobaleno. As in one of the seven most powerful villains in the entire world. He might not drown the city in blood, but it’s sure as hell not because he can’t do it.

Sure, Skull baffles Vongola Inc. regularly with his antics, but his name is spoken in the same breath as Reborn, Fon or Viper and the point is oh god, Tsuna is gonna die here.]

With perfectly reasonable, if unhealthy amounts of panic and horror fighting for dominance within him, it takes Tsuna several long seconds to realize that Skull isn’t launching into one of his infamous supervillain speeches. Isn’t even throwing glitter bombs at Tsuna -- and those glitter bombs might not kill anyone, but walking into Vongola HQ and leaving a trail of glitter everywhere just might.

Hibari-senpai -- who isn’t even Vongola, is the definition of unaffiliated asset everyone is too afraid to alienate -- hates glitter.

Tsuna is so dead.

Except he still isn’t. He’s been standing here, gaping and panicking for close to five minutes and Skull still hasn’t made his move. In fact, now that Tsuna pays attention, it’s not just his breathing that’s unnaturally loud and heavy in the empty hall. And-- Tsuna squints. Skull doesn’t seem to be leaning against the wall so much as clinging to it and he’s watching Tsuna with a look that no one has ever directed at Tsuna in his life, something that almost looks like, like wariness and-- 

“Are you okay?” Tsuna blurts out before he can think of all the reasons why starting a conversation with an Arcobaleno is a terrible idea.

It’s just— this is a supervillain and that’s terrifying and Tsuna should probably call someone more qualified to deal with this situation, but also this is an injured supervillain and somehow that makes all the difference.

Skull scoffs, ironically putting Tsuna a little more at ease. People always scoff or scowl when he reminds them of his existence, this is no different. Besides it’s hard to take the villain’s derision seriously when he promptly sways on his feet. He’s not wearing his helmet, either, and despite being dressed in the usual black motorcycle suit, Tsuna is pretty sure his violett hair is matted with blood.

“You’re hurt!” he exclaims, horrified. Promptly drops the taser he’s been trying to pull out of his overstuffed bag with shaking hands and rushes towards the villain’s side, who’s eyes widen in alarm as Tsuna approaches.

Somehow that makes it easier to breathe, but it’s not enough to distract Tsuna from the long cut along the man’s temple and the dark bruises on his jaw.

“The Great Skull-sama is fine!” Skull protests frantically.

He’s clearly not, considering he promptly loses his balance when he tries to take a step back. Instinctively, Tsuna reaches out to catch him, realizing a second too late that one, he doesn’t have the strenth to keep the taller man upright and two, Tusna is a walking, talking disaster who inevitably trips and brings Skull down with him. They hit the ground hard enough to knock all the air out of his lungs and land in a graceless heap on the floor.

“Sorry!” Tsuna squeaks, breathless from where his face is smushed against Skull’s padded shoulder. “I’m so sorry, please forgive me, Skull-sama!”

Kami-sama, he’s knocked the poor, already injured man over! Trying to untangle them immediately, Tsuna accidentally rams his elbow into Skull’s side, which earns him a pained groan and Skull another flustered apology.

This is why his team doesn’t take Tsuna on missions. He’s a hazard not just for himself but everyone around him.

Scrambling away from Skull before he manages to kill the guy through sheer clumsiness, Tsuna forces himself to take one deep, steady breath — only one, though, else he’ll have time to think about how stupid what he’s gonna do in a moment really is — and starts to unpack his bag. Tsuna might not carry as many weapons as a Vongola Superhero on duty technically should, but his emergency kit would make any aspiring doctor proud. And Nana too, but that’s because Tsuna’s mom thinks he’s healing the innocent bystanders — "My Tsu-kun has such a gentle heart!" — not himself. 

"What are you doing?!" Skull asks while slowly pushing himself off the floor and into a sitting position.

"I’m just looking for the— there!" Tsuna knew he still has one of Irie’s newest ice packs. He kneads the white package for a few moments to activate it, then holds it out to Skull. "Here. Hold this to your jaw for at least ten minutes, but no longer than thirty. Ichi’s still working on some issues long-term use has on human skin."

Tsuna babbles like he always does when he’s scared. [It drives Mochida crazy sometimes because Tsuna is scared most of the time and Mochida hates babbling.] It doesn’t stop him from noticing the odd look Skull shoots him, a bit like he’s measuring Tsuna’s worth. Except that’s a look he’s intimately familiar with and would recognize anyone, so it’s something close, but not exactly that.

"Please take it, Skull-sama." Tsuna shakes the ice pack lightly, pretends like his hands aren’t trembling when those bright, violett eyes fixate on him. "That looks like it really hurts." 

[He’s not sure if all Arcobaleno carry their superpowers on the outside. If it’s part of the costume, colored contacts and all, or if their bodies are brimming with power to the point where they’re overflowing, where it pours out of them in any shape it can.]

Slowly Skull takes the ice pack. Looks at it as though he doesn’t know what to do with it.

"H-Hold it against your chin, please, Skull-sama." Tsuna busies himself with sorting through his various bandages and tries very hard to pretend his voice isn’t shaking and squeaky like a frightened mouse. "It’ll help keep the swelling down."

"…The immortal Skull-sama heals fast." Skull says the words like a question. Tsuna doesn’t look up, but he can feel the weight of the man’s stare.

Hunching his shoulders, Tsuna pulls what little courage he has together, and stutters, "That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, Skull-sama. Please, can you just take it? I— I don’t like seeing people hurt."

Skull is still staring, Tsuna can tell, but it feels less like he wants to lean over and rip Tsuna open to figure out what’s inside, and more like he’s just watching Tsuna drop the disinfect spray for the third time. After a moment, he presses the ice pack to his face and even though Tsuna’s still trembling a bit, he smiles.

"Thank you."

Skull doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t protest when Tsuna tells him to disinfect the gash above his eyebrow — not deep enough to need stitches, thankfully. He draws the line at more bandages, though, which is worrisome. Tsuna is pretty sure the man has at the very least bruised his rips, but Skull is a supervillain, not runaway kitten, and maybe that means he knows what he’s doing.

That would at least make one of them.

Finally convinced that there’s no other injury Skull will let him help with, Tsuna carefully packs up his things again and bids the villain a hesitant goodbye. Which brings up a somewhat awkward point.

"I have to go back to work now and someone might ask where I’ve been." Eventually. Maybe. Tsuna rocks back on his heels, not sure how to put this. "If they ask, they might come here. And you— might not want to be there when they come," is what he settles on.

Skull’s watching him with another strange expression, both eyebrows raised as he watches Tsuna make a fool of himself. "Why?"

Tsuna eeps. [It’s not a full-on shriek, thankfully, but it’s far too close for his comfort.] There’s an intensity to Skull just now that has the hairs of the back of his neck stand up and reminds Tsuna rather violently that he’s talking to an Arcobaleno. That he’s been treating an Arcobaleno’s wounds. For a moment, Tsuna sways on his feet, as though his body wonders whether it should just give up on him completely.

"Ireallyneedtogonow!" Tsuna rushes the words out so fast, they trip over themselves, grabs his bag and high-tails it out of there. "Please take care of yourself, Skull-sama!" he adds over his shoulder, almost walking into the door as he does so.

It’s not until Tsuna is sitting in his comfortingly safe work chair that it occurs to him that not once during the entire, surreal encounter [he still can’t believe he was in the same room as an Arcobaleno and survived] did it occur to him to call Vongola. Even now Tsuna is hesitating to speak up, to tell one of his co-workers. Because while his gut feeling tells him that Skull got out of that warehouse as soon as Tsuna turned his back on him, he isn’t one hundred percent sure and what if they catch Skull because of him?

Tsuna resolves to spill the whole story as soon as someone asks — he’s a terrible liar and he never promised Skull he wouldn’t tell, not that the man asked himto — and tries not to think too much about the many crimes he committed by letting the chance of catching a supervillain of Skull’s calibre go to waste. Not that anyone would expect Tsuna to catch a supervillain, but still.

[His team returns two hours later, bright-eyed, bruised and breathless with the enthusiasm of a successful mission tangible in the air around them. Mochida even greets Tsuna with a smile and doesn’t scold him when Tsuna drops his tea cup in response and Haru tells him all about the exciting and ultimately successful arrest they’ve pulled off.

No one asks Tsuna where he’s been or if anything interesting happened while they were gone. 

Tsuna tells himself he’s relieved, for Skull’s sake if nothing else, because the pang he feels at the thought that no one would miss me if I was gone has gone beyond pathetic a long time ago.]

[jinstronaut]

do you sometimes think like... i don't know how to explain ;-; every day i think about my past and how i'm living right now, and it just gets clearer and clearer that i won't be proud of who i am today in the future, just as i'm ashamed and regretful of who i used to be. it feels like i'm getting much more far away from who i wanna become, not the opposite :( i see the boys' story and they were following their dreams at such a young age, all of them, even jin who's the oldest, they were always working hard. i know i shouldn't compare myself to them, i should use their support as a help for my own path, but i feel strenghtless. i ended high school at the beginning of this year and i haven't entered uni (i really have no idea of what i want), which means 2022 will be another year of studying hard for me, and honestly i don't think i will be able to survive this. i used to be good at studies when i was younger, but even this part of myself fade away. now this is the hardest thing to me. it's the first time in my whole life in which i can't see or believe in a future for me. .. you probably will desagree, but when i think rationally about this i feel very realist, not negative :( i wish i could find a job so i'd feel less like a burden and more like a person worth of something more, i guess. sorry, i've talked about this so many times with my closest friend and my cousin, but i feel like they're tired of this same thing over and over and i don't blame them. you seem like a cool person so i sent this, if you decide not to answer it, i'll understand ❤💓💓

hi sweetie nonnie 🥺 first of all thank you for trusting me with this and opening up to me!!! i hope i can be a good soundboard for you during what's obviously a rough time right now 😞

firstly, i want to make something really clear to you: you don't need to know what you want to do. there's always such a weird societal pressure that once you've graduated high school, you need to have your life figured out, and that's just not true!! i know it's a lot easier said than done, getting into that sort of mindset where you can just exist and be okay with that, but i really want you to know that it's okay that you're not sure what you want to do. if you want to go to university, then go for it! don't pressure yourself to fall into a certain routine -- the best part about college is the amount of classes you can take in a variety of different subjects. you could find something you really love to do, or you could realize that maybe it's not what you want it to be. both are super valid and it's a good reminder to keep in your back pocket when your brain tells you that you're not doing enough ♥

i also know it's really hard to not compare yourselves to others, especially success stories like bts. they're all incredible and work really hard for what they have and what they've gotten, but their path doesn't always equal your path, you know? you can still work hard and apply yourself to whatever you want in the moment and it'll be successful. it's not about measuring things in terms of huge achievements, sometimes it's about celebrating the little things you manage to do on a daily basis. like taking a shower, for instance, or getting out of bed a little earlier than usual, or applying to some jobs even if it's tough. take that into consideration, and truly give yourself some credit where it's due in terms of the things you do every single day -- it's not about being the best and being the biggest, it's just about being yourself!!

i also also think you need to give yourself a little bit of a break :( we've lost nearly two years to a worldwide pandemic that's certainly shaken the foundation of everyone's lives. the world was in lockdown for nearly a year, and some places are still in lockdown. some places are trying to pretend that covid doesn't even exist, and the state of the world has been incredibly volatile since march 2020, maybe even before that. it's all right that you haven't managed to do something like get a job -- the job market is really rough right now, considering how little people are willing to pay others to essentially risk their lives every day. it's all right to take a break and still try to ensure that your safety is coming first. being healthy is much more important than being put in an uncomfortable position by capitalism. one of the most important life lessons you can learn is putting your own self worth over a paycheck.

a little insight into me, for example: i'm the same age as jin, 29, and just recently do i feel like i'm finally on the right path. literally, this revelation started in may. may!!! that's only 3? 4? months of me feeling like maybe i have my life together, and i'm 29!! life is wild in the sense that things are always changing and moving and evolving. i've changed passions so many times, been at extremely low lows and incredibly high highs, but it's a constant work to feel like i'm a good version of myself, someone that past emmeline would be happy to know. if i can instill any wisdom into you from what i've learned over the past decade, it's that you don't always need to have all the answers. it's extremely valid to feel a little panicked and down -- like i said, the world is a hard place right now -- but what comes first is you.

maybe try some new hobbies! do something that you know you love a little more often every day, just to ensure that you're feeling happy. if your hobbies no longer excite you, don't be afraid to try something new! i know it's scary, but the first step is having the confidence to admit that you need help.

i hope this soothes you a little bit, nonnie :( i don't know if this makes sense in one whole go, but when i read your message i felt really touched, and i saw a lot of my younger self in your worries. i want to let you know how valid your feelings are, while reassuring you that things can change and get better when you least expect it. i'm here for you!!! and i'm sending you all the positivity that i can 💕💕💕

[photiniainsummer]

A Little Audience Participation Can Tip the Scales (1/?): The Lede

Genre: GenFic - Action, Mystery, Humor

Rating: Teen and Up

Story Summary: There’s a strange group living at the old Markiplier Manor.

They’re the villains of their tales, they’re looking for information, and they need your help putting Mark’s scattered egos back together to get their lives back.

And stop Mark and the Entity breaking reality.

Small goals.

(Second Person POV, vaguely fem-coded Reader)

Chapter Summary: The one where your cheeky coworker convinces you to check out the old Markiplier Manor with him.

Word Count: 5372

Author's Note: Decided to cross-post from my Ao3! The next three chapters are already up, and I try to post every Tuesday. :3

Interested?

Read on Ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30510852/chapters/75244647

The Lede

You watch amusedly from your desk as Jonah, your coworker-slash-mentor and partner in crime, comes bustling through the door to the reporters’ bullpen. He’s late, as usual, his half-open messenger bag slung across his rumpled self. Scribbled-on papers and even his laptop haphazardly jut out from the bag as he struggles to balance a breakfast sandwich on his thermos. Sometimes, all he had to do was exist to make you nervous. He starts to make his way across to you and your neighboring desks but is intercepted by the resident office mom for what she calls a “good old fashioned talking-to.” She’s always trying to tenderly bully him into being a better example for the junior reporters like yourself, although you have to wonder why she keeps it up despite its clearly limited efficacy. It’s not even that Jonah’s particularly stubborn - he’s just one of those people who, no matter how early he leaves home or how hard he tries, something just so happens to make him late. You can see how it would seem intentional, but you know Jonah’s too honest and, frankly, not creative enough to come up with the plethora of scenarios that conspire against him. You’ve just learned to tell Jonah to show up at least half an hour before you actually want him to.

Eleanor, however, is committed to whipping Jonah into shape. In the midst of her chiding, Jonah catches your gaze and pulls an awful face, startling a laugh out of you. Eleanor, of course, seizes on this and switches to berating him about listening when spoken to as you try to pull your attention back to scanning the morning news. He really knows how to dig himself in deeper, you think, chewing your lip to keep from laughing at the memory of his terrible expression.

“Don’t even start,” Jonah grumbles when he finally extracts himself from Eleanor’s chastising, sliding into his desk across from you. “You heard it, she already ran the full gamut this morning.” You give him your best shocked look.

“Who, me? No idea what you’re talking about,” you reply coolly, punctuating your tease by exaggeratedly returning to your work and clattering at your keyboard. “I was just going to ask how your morning went.” Jonah groans, but his lips tug upward in his typical crooked smile. At least he’d managed to shave without cutting himself this morning, you note.

“Ugh. Just because you were born able to wake up five minutes before your alarm doesn’t mean the rest of us were. Besides, I was up listening to the scanner.” Now it’s your turn to groan.

“That thing again? It’s barely legal for you to have one here, even Walker said as much.” Your boss and head editor had given Jonah his patented disapproving brow-furrow and pressed-lip combo when it had come up in conversation, but he hadn’t explicitly told the crime reporter to get rid of it, either. Jonah argued it kept him ahead of the curve on his beat, but with as many connections as he had, you suspected he used it more for the thrill of it than bettering his job performance. “What was so interesting last night, anyway? Any high-speed chases?”

“Not in our limits, unfortunately.” Jonah chuckles at your unamused expression, popping the lid on his thermos. “Kidding, come on. No, it was quiet last night, except… well.” He pauses, something changing in his expression. It’s enough to pull your attention away from your inbox. Jonah’s a goofball, but he’s a damn good reporter with a mind like a whip. He has to be, to be head of the crime division. So you take it seriously when he casts his eyes around the office before leaning in conspiratorially. His voice is hushed as he murmurs to you. “Someone called in that they saw a suspicious person skulking around the old Markiplier Manor.”

You immediately lose interest. That was news to him? The Manor had been abandoned as long as you had been alive, long since off the market after being passed from renovator to developer for most of its nearing-hundred year existence. Even with calls for it to be turned into some kind of museum, it had never been able to shake its grisly past or tendency for the strange. You’d heard the stories of the few historic maintenance crews dealing with randomly exploding lightbulbs and eerie spectres, disembodied voices and footsteps - but that’s all they were, stories. Stories from a creepy, old, run-down house on the edge of town. It was a hotspot for teenagers wanting to prove their guts - hell, you had even gone with a couple of friends back in high school, although you had been busted by a roving patrol car. You sigh at the memory of just how badly your mom had berated you about breaking curfew and fix Jonah with a disappointed look. He was immature at the worst of times, but you thought he’d at least be able to tell a lead from normal shenanigans. “That was exciting enough to make you late for the third time this week? You’re supposed to be a senior reporter around here, you know.” Jonah huffs, leaning forward on his desk and closer to you. He seems intent, despite your skepticism.

“Well, if you’d let me finish explaining, then you might know why such an on-time and dedicated individual such as yours truly would have let the time slip away from him,” he replies, sarcasm curling his tone. A quip rises on your tongue that he was the one drawing it out so much, but Jonah has a certain glint in his eyes. Something had his attention. You finally turn from your computer monitor and to face him, only slightly exasperated.

“Okay, okay. Listening.”

The man grins slightly and shifts his weight further forward on his elbows, keeping his voice down as he continues. “All right, so, PD gets this call from a neighbor that they saw someone wandering around on the property, yeah? They send an officer to check it out - of course, nobody’s around by the time he shows up. But the weird thing is… they found all the lights on inside.”

You blink, sure you missed something. “Like. Shop lights, right? There’s some construction crew working on it, or… they called in an appraiser and they forgot to turn them off.” Jonah shakes his head.

“Nope. Light fixtures. Every single one with a bulb in was blazing. And no crews or anything, I called the agency that owns the place. The last pro they had in there was over four years ago. There’s a security guard that checks it out regularly, but the power’s been off for years.”

You furrow your brow and sit in thoughtful silence for a moment, hunched and staring at your desk as you puzzle over the details. Jonah watches you intently while you think, taking the chance to work on his massive thermos of coffee, so strong you could smell it across your desks. He’d done this since you’d joined the paper, assuming the role of your mentor, at least informally. He would offer you the details of a story or curious anecdote that he’d started with and watch your mind run. You had always appreciated the exercise - it kept you sharp in dealing with local politics and its various mealy-mouthed players - and he appreciated getting a second pair of eyes on the issue at hand. Sometimes you picked up on things he hadn’t, ran rabbits he might not have. Working the inside of your cheek between your teeth, you roll the details over in your mind, hunting for another explanation as Jonah hunted for the bottom of his thermos. Something didn’t sit right with you about the details, but what?

Suddenly, you land on it, sitting up suddenly and turning to Jonah, who lifts his eyebrows at you. “The neighbor that made the call, did they mention the lights, or just someone wandering around outside?” His face breaks into a pleased smile, eyes dancing with the curiosity of the problem before the two of you.

“Nice catch. They didn’t mention the lights at all, just the trespasser.”

“So the lights got turned on between the neighbor making the call and the officer showing up.” Jonah’s smile turns into a real grin, cheeks split with it.

“Exactly. But why?” The other reporter leans back in his chair with a sigh. “That’s what kept me up, and made me late. Again.” He sips his coffee idly. “And it’s why I’m going to check it out for myself tonight.”

“What?” Jonah jumps in his chair with the volume of your exclaimation, quickly shushing you as he looks around in a panic. He can’t be serious, you think, but lower your voice. What is he being so low-key about? “No, Jonah, you absolutely can not go poking around some abandoned house.” He settles somewhat, content that nobody cast a glance your way after your outburst. Most of your colleagues are already out on assignments, anyway, given the later hour. But he’s determined, unfazed by your forbiddance.

“And why not? I’m just following a lead.” You open your mouth to protest further, but he interrupts. “Oh, come on, you aren’t a little curious to see what’s going on? What’s the harm, the cops just checked it out, it’s totally safe.” That gleeful glint is back in his eyes. How it thrills and infuriates you in equal measure.

“Seriously? Someone could be squatting there, and the cops just didn’t find them. Someone tapping a neighbor’s powerline and clearly not in their right mind, if they’re turning every light on in the place. Besides, even if it is empty, they could have a patrol posted on it now.” Jonah’s excitement begins to fade in the face of your barrage of facts. “If that agency still owns it, then it’s private, posted property, and you’d be actively breaking the law.” He sucks his teeth and slumps back in his chair, somewhat defeated.

“You’re no fun. Where’s your reporter’s spirit, your drive!” You turn back to your computer, shaking your head as you try to refocus on catching up with your inbox.

“Getting arrested for trespassing and/or breaking and entering isn’t ‘reporter’s spirit,’ Jo. You’re not Nancy Drew, you can’t just start poking your nose around abandoned buildings. It’s not safe.”

Jonah pauses for a moment, then gets an annoyingly knowing grin on his face. He leans forward again, good humor returning. “Ohhhh, so you’re scared is what I’m hearing.”

You huff in exasperation. “Literally how is that the conclusion you’re drawing from what I just said? I told you--”

“You’re the one who said ‘safe’! That means you think it might be dangerous and you’re scared.”

“Yeah, for your job and general well-being. Seriously, Jonah, I’m not scared of some abandoned house. Just because a couple of people happened to get murdered there--”

“Ah ah ah, they only found one body. The Mayor and the District Attorney were missing, assumed dead. Same for the killer.”

“Okay, Mr. Nitpicky. You you that’s even less scary, right? But, regardless, none of that makes the place inherently dangerous or scary. Hospitals aren’t scary, at least not like that, and people die there all the time.”

Jonah doesn’t immediately reply, giving you the opportunity to hammer out a reply to a scheduling issue and push your lunch meeting with the Senator back an hour. How did her assistant manage to double book her? you wonder as your reply zooms off. When you get the chance to look back to your coworker, he has a wry, sneaky little smile on his face. “What?”

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much.” You shake your head. He really isn’t giving this up. “Fine, if you’re soooo not scared, then I dare you to come check it out with me tonight.”

“Absolutely not, did you forget about the illegal part? We aren’t kids, this isn’t just messing around after school. It could look bad for the paper, and you know Walker as well as I do - there’s no second chances.”

Jonah pauses. Mulling over your words, the threat of being fired. Then, “I’ll buy you dinner from that new Japanese place uptown.”

Visions of high-end sushi dance enticingly in your mind. Your stomach threatens to growl, with it being the end of the month and your bank account looking dismally light. Jonah always knows how to hook you, damn him. It doesn’t help that you knew from that look on his face that he knew you were already burning up inside with curiosity. The two of you were peas in a pod, and he had seen that since your first day at the paper. It was exactly why he’d gotten you set up as his desk neighbor, why he’d taken it upon himself to play mentor for you, probably why he was telling you any of this in the first place, despite how low-profile he clearly wanted to stay. You were going to be at that Manor tonight as soon as Jonah had heard the cop call in over the scanner. You sigh quietly through your nose, letting the decision sink in before you make it official.

“Fine. What time?” you ask, not looking away from your screen. Despite trying to ignore him, you could still see Jonah’s joyous fist-pump out of the corner of your eye.

What’s the harm in a little urban exploring, anyway? At least I’ll be there to keep Jonah from going too far with it, you muse to yourself, already planning your celebratory dinner.

What’s the worst that could happen?

---

Even after three years of working closely with Jonah Scott, you still managed to underestimate just how late he could be. You had agreed to meet at the foot of the Manor’s drive at Jonah-time 5:30, 6 sharp for normal people. However, it’s already pushing half-past with no apology text or update to speak of from the crime reporter. Wasn’t this his stupid plan? you mentally grumble, fruitlessly checking your phone again. At this point, your text conversation was fully one-sided, your messages over the last thirty-ish minutes taking up the entirety of your screen. With a defeated sigh, you flick the app shut and slide over to your ridesharing app. There doesn’t seem to be any reason to stick around, and with the sun setting quickly, like hell you’re going to willingly hang around the abandoned Manor longer than you have to.

As you scan available drivers, you consider just how to make Jonah pay for standing you up. You mentally upgrade your promised sushi meal straight into a sushi boat, and although you know you don’t have the heart to commit to such an egregious attack on his wallet, the thought brings a smile to your face. At the very least, you decide to charge him the cost of your rides to and from the massive property - the place is barely in the city limits, not to mention situated up a long road that only led into an almost equally long driveway. Your already light bank account was begging for mercy as you select a nearby driver. Of course it was surge pricing, to boot. The estimated ride cost is enough to make you pause and hope beyond hope that Jonah and his old jalopy were right around the corner. Maybe his phone had just died. Or maybe he was being a particularly safe driver and ignoring his texts. You decide to give it another couple of minutes, if just to make sure you had no other option but to pay through the nose for a ride home. With a sigh, you turn back towards the Manor itself, its exposed-rock exterior catching the burning sunset.

It doesn’t even look that creepy. Really, with the warmth of the setting sun, it almost looks inhabited, just in limbo between relying on daylight and its residents needing to turn the lights on for the evening. The grounds are well-maintained, too, likely thanks to a strict HOA. You figure that if neighbors are paying enough attention to report people wandering around the property despite how spaced out the houses are here, there’s likely a resident weed-measurer who complains as soon as the yard breaches an acceptable length.

That being said, the building itself barely looks like a home. Although you had brushed up on its appearance and floorplan online, images couldn’t prepare you for just how much it really looks like a castle. You knew its creator, Mark Iplier, had been a fabulously wealthy actor back in the day, building his first house to match, but good lord. There’s still such a thing as too much. It has turrets, for crying out loud. Not to mention Google Earth showed that the massive patio that wrapped around practically the entirety of the backside of the building was home to some kind of natural waterfall-looking pool and a life-sized chessboard. It had been impressive online, but in real life, the place is enormous to the point of ridiculousness.

I guess it matches its creator, then, you muse, considering what you had gleaned from a scan of a few biographical entries earlier in the day. He was a local legend, to be sure, but you had never learned more about him than surface stuff and the details of the murder case that had basically ended his career. Before all that, though, Mark had been the embodiment of every stereotype you could muster about early 20th century new-money creatives -- massive personalities with a penchant for equally massive parties. As beloved as he had been on stage and film, he’d been even more so in social circles, known for all-night ragers with massive multisection big bands, ample liquor even in the height of Prohibition, and occasionally the exotic animal or two. Famously, Mark had once arrived at a costume party on the back of an elephant, led by four retainers and dressed like a prince, swathed in silks.

In that context, the house seemed to make a bit more sense, although it had clearly seen better days. The paint on wrought-iron fence surrounding the grounds needs a fresh coat, peeled off in places; you can see a few shutters hanging lopsidedly from their hinges. It’s almost sad, the longer you look at it, especially knowing the revelry it had once hosted. Mark’s own life mirrored the place, as cliche as it was. After the incident, Mark never seemed able to recover. Even the few pictures you had found of him afterwards looked different - he seemed thinner, his eyes haunted, his smile forced. He’d appeared in a handful of films after the fact, but something had changed in him, and he ended up becoming somewhat of a recluse until his death. It was horribly tragic, really. Just trying to put yourself in his shoes had your throat tightening up a bit. Your childhood friend goes off the deep end and goes on a rampage out of nowhere with the rest of your closest friends as casualties - a freak incident right as you’re hitting your stride--

Suddenly, your phone breaks out into its ringtone, startling you out of your empathetic wallowing. You fumble the device in your hand just to keep a grip on it, cursing as you manage to maintain your hold. You check the screen - a local number, but you don’t recognize it. You answer anyway, crossing your fingers it’s not just a spoof call. “Hello?”

Jonah’s voice crackles through on the other end. “Kid! Hey, I’m so sorry-”

“You better have a damn good explanation lined up, Scott,” you snap, interrupting. “Where the hell are you?”

“God, I know, I’m sorry, I’ve been trying to get home for the last hour to call you. My car practically blew up in my face on my way home from work, and it must have been something electrical because my phone was connected and charging and got totally fried. It was kind of working for a second, but I just had to give up and come home in a taxi. I’m having to use an emergency landline, I can’t believe the damn thing even works.” The annoyance drains from your body, his tone so disappointed and clearly stressed that you can’t keep a hold on your frustration.

“Oh, Jo. I’m sorry. Are you okay, though? It didn’t shock you or anything, right?”

“No, thank god, no hospital bills on top of everything else. Look, I’m really sorry. Are you still out there?”

“Yeah, I was just about to get a ride home when you called.”

“Oh, awesome, so have you gone in?!” You scoff out of reflex, stunned at his emotional 180. If he was here, you’d give him a good pop on the head.

“What? No, Jonah, of course I didn’t go in! This was your plan, I was waiting on you to roll your goofy ass up this stupid hill. You’re lucky this place is out of the way, I bet the neighborhood association would have called the cops on me by now if the houses were any closer,” you grump down the line. Jonah’s laugh crackles on the other end.

“Lucky’s my middle name, especially today, right? Look, I know I already owe you big, but can’t you just slip in and take a look around? Like hell I’m gonna be able to afford getting a ride out there any time soon, and you’re already there… Just see if the door’s unlocked or something, look in some windows?” He’s really begging, now, and his tone melts your resolve. How does he do that every time? You sigh heavily, crossing your arms and peering up at the manor. Its large, dark windows stand out against the lighter stone as the sunlight truly begins to fade. They feel like eyes, looking down at you from the top of the hill. It sends a shiver up your spine.

“Jonah, you know I value you as a dear friend and colleague, but... Fine, look, this place is creepy, I admit it, I’m a chicken, I’m scared of the creepy murder house, can’t we just come back some other time when we’re a we and not just a me?” Although your rushed confession is half joking, it’s obvious Jonah isn’t fully engaged. He only gives a short laugh in response before you hear him shift the phone a bit, pausing. Thinking. It feels like an age before he speaks again, the crickets beginning their evening song in the interim.

Then, “Look, Vivian, I. I haven’t been straight-up with you. Yeah, the scanner was going off last night, but the truth is I’ve... been thinking about that place for months. Remember that puff piece about Mark, the retrospective Devontae put up a couple months ago?”

You shift your weight, turning away from the manor and its looming walls to focus on your friend’s voice. His tone had seriously shifted. This is Real Talk time. “Yeah, sure. The board killed it. It was weird, especially since it was his death-iversary, right? But… I dunno, Jo, that’s not enough to--”

“I talked with my friends at the Star, their board nixed a retrospective, too. So did the Inquirer, the Daily, and the Herald. Not to mention anything having to do with Mark for at least the last couple of years. I checked Walker’s record cabinet, too. Anything mentioning Mark, that night, his life after… hell, even the Manor, everything is heavily edited. Anything even adjacently referencing his existence is lucky if his name doesn’t get cut.”

You draw up short. A bit of concrete is loose underneath your feet, rocking slightly with you as you shift your weight from foot to foot. What is he getting at? “I mean. Yeah, okay, that’s pretty weird, but maybe… I dunno, maybe the board doesn’t want to bring up a dark moment like that, or more likely, they don’t wanna openly admit the town hasn’t been able to get their shit together about the Manor and make it into something other than an eyesore all this time later. You know at least half of them take board work as their victory lap after a glorious public service career,” you offer, laying it on thick. Jonah hums, considering it.

“Could be. But still, kind of a personal bent for an editorial board to take, no? Even for them. And it’s not just our board, it’s consistent across the papers.”

“But nothing that awful happened to warrant this. I mean, sure, his buddy killed a detective and presumably a couple of friends in his house, that’s sad, but… Mark wasn’t involved. He didn’t do anything, at least, nothing bad enough to make everyone decide it’d be better if he just didn’t exist.”

“Nothing that we know about,” he offers, quieter. Your blood chills.

“...you think something else happened? Something worse?” Jonah is silent for a moment. His next words are careful.

“Maybe. I don’t know. But I think what happened at the Manor has more to do with Mark than he wanted people to think, more than reports let on. And that, whatever really happened, it’s something bad enough that even now, this long after everything and even him passing over two decades ago, someone’s keen to keep it covered up.”

You’re quiet, mind reeling. You were a local, you knew as well as anyone that all of this stuff is treated more like an urban legend than true local history. It’s almost larger than life, at this point; you had heard the story told and retold a thousand times over until the telling itself was smooth and simple. Mark, fresh off a successful play’s run, had invited over his old university buddies for a night of good old fashioned revelry and reconciliation after years of petty disagreements had crescendoed with his wife cheating on him with his oldest friend, the Colonel WIlliam J. Barnum. However, little was resolved, and adding alcohol to the mix turned out to be deadly. Tensions between the group came to a head the next day, and the Colonel snapped. His rampage ended in the death of the city’s leading detective and, presumably, two of the original group’s members, although their bodies were never found, seemingly dumped in the woods behind the Manor. The Colonel’s attempt to cover up his crime left the others a chance to escape and alert the police, but the killer, too, disappeared, and was never heard from again.

It feels like a well-worn path in your mind. Nobody ever questioned Mark’s innocence in everything - it was assumed. He had just been there, equally terrorized by the killer as the other victims. But exact details had never emerged to the public, and Mark had been reticent to ever speak of things. The missing guests, too, were just so easily presumed dead at the hands of their friend, their mysterious disappearances more like eerie window-dressing on a ghost story than a suspicious hole in an otherwise tightly-woven story.

Maybe not so tightly, since now that you can see the holes, it’s hard to ignore them.

The tender inside of your cheek aches from your teeth worrying it, bitten raw. You swallow your thoughts for a moment, trying to return to the conversation. Jonah’s been equally quiet, letting you puzzle. “...and you think the Manor has some clue to that? To what might have… really happened?”

“...that’s my working theory. Mark left the place so quickly after everything, it’s still full of his stuff. He didn’t want anything to do with it, wanted to start fresh. Technically, the local historical society owns it all, now, but you know what their funding is like, so it’s all just sitting around. I figure, in his rush, he left something behind that can give us an idea of what we’re missing. Besides, reports of weird stuff happening there has been on an uptick.” You suck your teeth, feeling some of the edge of the conspiracy theory-laiden tension fade.

“Massive media blackout, I can run with. But, what, you think there are ghosts that have something to do with it?”

Jonah groans. “I never said ghosts, specifically, but… come on, kid, you have to admit it’s weird.”

“It’s practically a hundred-year old house, of course it’s weird - the wires are probably all way out of code and nobody’s been in the place in ages.”

“Okay, okay, maybe it’s a stretch,” he admits, retreating from the point. “I’m just looking for patterns. We don’t have a lot to go on, in terms of hard information. Which is why getting in there is so important.” He’s turning toward pleading again. “Please, kid, it’d mean the damn world to me if you’d just take a look around. I’ve got no idea when I’ll be able to get out there myself. I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate.” You know he wouldn’t, he’s always been considerate of your time and comfort. Really, Jonah is one of the best friends you’ve had, coworker element aside. It makes it horribly hard to say no to him. Which is why whatever reservations you’re still holding on to cave in the face of his honesty.

“...okay. I’ll go poke around. But you seriously, seriously owe me for this one.” You can practically hear Jonah smile on the other end.

“Seriously, I do. Thank you, kid, honestly.” He sounds relieved, taking a steadying breath. Was he really so worried you’d say no? “And take pictures if you see anything!” he quickly adds.

“Only if you call the cops if I don’t call you back in an hour. If there’s someone in there, Jonah, I--”

“Hey, hey, I promise. I’ll stay right by the phone. Cross my heart.”

You sigh quietly to yourself. “All right, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye, kid, and seriously. Thank you.” He sounds painfully sincere. You can’t summon up the spite to gripe at him anymore, so you let yourself be equally honest.

“I’ve got you, Jo. You know that.”

“Yeah. I know. Okay, I’m gonna let you go. Just be careful.”

“I will be.”

Then the line goes dead and your phone beeps dully before returning to your ridesharing app. You stare at it for a second, before you swipe up and close the app completely. No way you were going to chicken out now. Apart from Jonah’s confession, your mind was on fire. Sure, you could go home and just apologize to Jonah, but you know you’d be awake all night, tossing and trying to turn over the truth thanks to your limited information but unlimited curiosity. It wasn’t just his skepticism polluting your mind, either, there was definitely something missing from the narrative. Almost like the incident was too well-put-together, the reports from back then too careful with their words, what they didn’t say. Real crimes were messy because people were messy - their memories faulty, their behavior unpredictable and sloppy, even more so when under duress. But everything about the case and its retelling was clean. Neat.

It might as well have been wrapped up with a bow.

With nothing else between you and the Manor besides the peeling gate, you turn back to face its imposing exterior. Although the house had glowed softly in the setting sun, the rock reflecting the light so warmly, it had faded to a soft gray in the twilight. The windows are obviously dark and empty, now, their size exaggerated by the deepening of shadows as the sun slipped behind the horizon. You stare up at them, watching them back through the locked front gate from your tottering bit of pavement. You take another breath in, out. Then you square your shoulders and step up to the gate.

“It’s just a creepy old house,” you mutter, worming yourself between the wide bars. “Nobody inside, just a weird… big house. ” Nonetheless, a shiver goes down your spine when you’re through and the lawn stretches out before you and up to the front door. You crane your neck towards the nearest neighbor, but their windows were dark, too.

So why does it feel like someone’s watching you?

[alyssa-ward]

The Voice in the Dark

[ Alyssa’s perspective of Cessation ]

Things have been quiet.  Kat doesn’t talk much...Alyssa doesn’t talk much either.  It’s been like this since they reunited...they said their sweet words.  They expressed the fear of loss, shared regrets.  Sometimes Alyssa slips a comment in here.  Sometimes Kat says hello.  On occasion...more often...Kat reads to her, Gilnean poetry, short stories, whatever fills the woman’s time is often shared now with the lady in the Dagger.

But beyond that, things are quieter, Alyssa withdrawn, Kat distracted.  They speak the most when they train, when Kat feeds power of different types into the dagger in preparation for whatever battle is to come, some fight she’s kept the Warlock in the dark on, forcing trust.

It’s in that context, that Alyssa nearly misses the waft of uncertainty that flows over the blade.  The silence and stillness that radiates from Kat.  It’s a starkly lonely feeling when it comes, more so than the Director’s often introspective and darker moods.  It’s enough to pull Alyssa out of her meditations.

"You're not alone."  The words come almost unbidden, as Alyssa offers up some reassurance to whatever this peculiar mood is.

"I know," Kat responds tentatively, "I'm never alone. Always been a blessing and a curse."

The answer clearly pertains to far more than the ever present Dagger, but the response still rattles Alyssa’s bars. "Maybe we'll get to the place where it's more the first and less the latter."

"Been this way since I was twelve, so I doubt it..." Kat trails off into silence again.  A darkness fills the space at the edge of the woods in the grove.  Darker than the usual dimness between the trees.  Alyssa notes it, but doesn’t act.  Yet.

"What can I do to help?" The question the Warlock asks in that moment instead.  In her head, it means more than simply ‘how can I help’ with the alone problem.  It’s a more general question, a feeling that something is about to happen that she’ll be needed for.

"Don't die."  A not so reassuring request from Kat.

"You first."

"No promises."

Of course.  Alyssa finishes with, "same...but I'll do my best. I've decided I'm not really ready to be dead."  The statement gets some discomfort back across the link that Aly doesn’t really get time to analyze.  Not when things begin to happen so quickly after.

There’s only a brief pause before a surge of darkness rolls over Alyssa’s grove.  It’s different, more raw and primal than what she experienced in Uldum and the Vale, and it makes her heart run cold.  Nothing should feel more daunting than the presence of N’zoth and yet this does.  The first thing she focuses on is containment.  Defensive measures around her liminal space, a barrier that keeps whatever is encroaching on her out.  “How much?”  She sends the thought to Kat, trying to learn just how bad this is going to be.

“Pace yourself.  This is going to be more of a marathon than a sprint.”  Kat’s answer isn’t very reassuring, it’s distracted too, her thoughts seemingly focused elsewhere.  

Whatever is oozing in and around the protective barriers of the grove within the dagger seems like a living thing, an active intent made of Void and darkness.  “I will then,” the strained response as she reinforces barriers, feeling now the lingering sense of being inspected, like a bug under a microscope.  Whatever this entity is, it probes at her barriers, envelopes them, the rest of the forest beyond her protective measures blotted out to nothing.

Kat’s connection seems to weaken too.  Whatever this is feels like a thin sheen of a barrier between them.  The woman who holds the weapon is still there, but there’s a numbness to it, emotions and tones muted.

The probing at her barriers becomes more focused, and a figure emerges from the Darkness that surrounds her, walking right up to the intangible wall of force that Alyssa uses to hold it out.  “Defensive, darling?”  It’s voice sounds like Kat’s but pitch shifted.  A lower tone, menace, and nails scraping against the soul.  In response to it’s approach, Alyssa cautiously alters her barriers, allowing it closer on that side, making it easier to see the shape of a dark wolf with blood red eyes stalking her perimeter.

“My natural state,” Alyssa replies as she adjusts barriers.  “‘O do I ‘ave the pleasure o’meetin’ today?”  Within the blade, speaking face to face with another entity, her voice is hers once more.  Whatever presence this thing exerts though, allows very little of those to be expressed in thought to Kat.  For now...Alyssa is isolated.

"Oh, I've always been here, luv'."  A soft rolling chuckle followed the statement, the wolf now directly against the barrier.  "The part she tries so desperately to lock away, to ignore, to pretend never exists."

"Y'doin' not so great a job o'bein' ignored. If you've always been 'ere, then why are we just meetin' now? Figure if I was of real interest, it wouldn't 'ave taken so long."  Alyssa’s response is snippy, irritable.  That this thing claims such closeness and she’s never encountered it bothers her.  Even now, after all this time...so many secrets.

"Oh, you're not so much of interest. Couldn't be. Not a choice, really. Though I should thank you for breaking the shackles."  Alyssa’s heart tightens at the entity's words.  Did the damage she did on accident to Kat’s bracers free somethin else?  She hardens herself, not just her defensive barriers, and retorts.

"Can we cut niceties and get t'the part where you're goin' t’offer me some sort o’deal or trade t'get somethin' you're wantin' out o'this? Only reason you'd be investigatin' this not so interestin' soul now. Don't ply me with y'thanks...just cut t'the point."

"Feisty," the wolf remarked, "no wonder she cares about you." As it stepped to the left the wolf shifted into a human form, a shadowy and eyeless silhouette of Kat. "Deal or trade? Oh you have it all wrong. See she's the one here to trade, not you. You've never been curious where exactly her power comes from?" The shade scoffed. "She owes me and I wager you're the bargaining chip. Value is still...in appraisal."

That does throw Alyssa off guard a bit. "You're lyin'..." her reply is a bit defensive. "She wouldn' do that."  Yet in her mind plays all of her history with Kat Hawke.  Could it really be this, after everything?  Could her heartfelt words and the regret when she awoke have just been an act?  It’s possible.

The shade cackles. "We're talking about the same woman, right?" The sardonic tone echoed deeply. "Name's Erzis. Should we get familiar now, or after the trade?"

"Assumin' I believed it could even 'appen," she forces herself to echo that sardonic tone, "what would that trade even mean?"  Best to buy for time and information.

"Oh don't be naïve," Erzis scoffed, "you collected souls. No? The stench of fel still lingers here, warlock."  Those words give an odd sense of relief to the Warlock in the blade.  If all that’s to be done is the expenditure of power with her soul then there should be nothing...no end, no afterlife, just blissful darkness.  One learns a lot about ones self when put on the line.  She may have said earlier that she’s not ready to be dead...but to simply be gone?  That could be okay.

"As borin' as that? I don' talk to the souls I collect, I expend them for power. Doesn' sound then, if I'm given to you, like we'll do much gettin' to know each other at all."

"Oh you'd very much be expensed." The statement quickly came. "The hierarchy of the Void is power based. We consume, and grow. Simple as that, but I know it's hard for the morals to comprehend, often selecting one given truth and sticking to it."

"It's the truth we got. Part of why I don' dip my fingers in that sort o'magic. It's interestin' academically but not my cup o' coffee." She approaches the limits of the barrier, coming closer to the shadow version of Kat. For a moment a pang of emotion flows across the link, and perhaps into Erzis too if it can feel such things. Seeing her again, even like this, has a stronger impact on her than she expected. "Since we got nothin' better to do durin' whatever is 'appenin', sure. We can play a get to know you game. I'm Alyssa Ward. Can't say it's a pleasure, but it's interestin' t'meet you Erzis."  This cockiness, the rebellious and hostile responses.  It helps her not really examine her own intentions around the void.

For everything that’s happened, with her lost connection to the Twisting Nether, in some ways Alyssa feels more free of her addictions than she ever has.  But then...she also travels at the hip of a woman who has pumped her, over and over again, with a wholly new and intoxicating drug.  Maybe the Void wasn’t Alyssa’s to delve into before.  Now it rings like desire and tastes like ice wine.  Best to focus on sass, and ignore the siren song of new addictions.

"I'm sure." Erzis seemed dismissive. "There's power here, nearly equal. Perhaps you would be an equal trade."

"I think m'knowledge 'as more strength than the strength o'my soul, but I don' consider things the same as you do. What does she get out o'this?"  Focus on the conversation.  Ignore the potential power.

"Freedom. Oh, and not dying. But who cares about that."

A twitch of lips. A wash of complicated emotions. "'ow much say do I 'ave in this? Could I expedite the process...if I wanted?"

Erzis snorts, or what passes for one. "From in here? Doubtful. Things like us, don't care for the currency acting up."  The thing, Erzis, seemingly misses the offer Alyssa was trying to make.

"Even if the currency actin' up makes the deal go through?"  The thoughts racing through Alyssa’s mind are two fold.  One part wants the potential power and knowledge that could come with the trade.  The faith in herself that if she was given to this entity, that she could overcome it, learn from it rather than being destroyed.  The other part of her...even after everything that has happened...wants to save Kat.  She believes still, with all her heart that Kat isn’t really looking to trade her away...but what if Alyssa could make the trade happen in spite of that, buy the woman her freedom.  On the other side of that is a chance at power, or to become nothing.  For Kat, Alyssa has decided in the moment, she would take that risk.

"Ugh. Humans. Always trying to out hero the other." Erzis moves away from the barrier. "That's the problem with you all. Emotions. Disgusting."

"Technically, I'm not 'uman anymore," Alyssa notes. "By two degrees even at this point."  Afflicted with the Worgen first, and now hardly even that, a shade in a weapon.  Alyssa is a consciousness, no longer attached to such mortal needs.

"Touché. A soul is still—" Erzis cut off, casting the empty gaze in the direction of Kat's soul. "Shame..." In the blink of an eye the less Void lord vanished.  Unexpected.  Alyssa’s gaze flicks towards the soul as well, trying to see whatever Erzis saw.

“You okay?”  Some of the film of numbness is gone, making it easier to speak to Kat.

“Yeah.”  A distracted and wholly uninformative response.  As usual.

"Ezris spoke to me. It wanted me to believe you were trading me away in payment."  Kat doesn’t respond to that either.  Of course she doesn’t.  Why would she ever bother to do anything to reassure the woman she murdered but claims to love.  It’s typical.

Regardless, Alyssa focuses inward on herself.  The conversation had been draining.  Everything lately is draining, so relaxes the hold on her defensive barriers, prepared to re-brace if Erzis returns, but for now biding her energy.  It’s what feels like another eternity of nothing.  Kat’s soul in its own clearing to the side of the grove shifts and twists.  It burns the blue and gold of Azerite, the light and void within it flare and dissipate.  She must be fighting.

In spite of their distance.  In spite of her irritation with Kat’s refusal to ever let her in on what’s really going on...Alyssa helps.  No longer focusing on her own defense, she feeds energy into Kat’s soul, a process she’s gotten very good at.  She expends bits of herself to refuel and top of the woman for whatever fight she has, a measured pacing of herself.  She’ll recharge later.

It feels like time has stopped, like this is all it will ever be, when things abruptly change again after an amount of time the Shade in the Dagger can hardly even begin to parse.  Kat manages to slice Erzis with the Dagger, and it illuminates Alyssa’s world in vibrant purple and Void.

A gateway to Erzis as an entity opens within her little grove.  Tendrils of Void and darkness spill forth from it, gripping and ripping at trees, tearing and rending the landscape.  Alyssa throws hands forward, and chains of Soul magic wrap about Erzis’ tendrils.  She yanks.  Normally she’d rip the whole soul of an entity out in the process, but this thing is far more than that, a fathomless bottomless void.  She only succeeds in tearing free a chunk of what makes it what it is.  Even that is nearly unfathomable and impossible to wrangle.

Hands collapse together, crushing the portion of the Void Lord into one of the pulsing and glowing crystals she uses to contain souls, even that sends shivers of power up her arms and through her mind.  Her body, such as it is, runs hot and cold as the icy grip off the Void continues to rip and tear at the environment around her...and then just as quickly, the dagger is no longer touching, the portal closes, and Alyssa is left holding her stolen piece of power.

The Grove flickers in fluctuation with Alyssa’s spirit.  The blade in the real world flashes light and dark and red and teal as she battles with the power she’s been given.  Here in the manifestation of her mind, winter snow blows over parts of her Grove while trees rage in flames.  The moon and stars above blotted out in darkness, her consciousness shakes and trembles with the effort of holding on to this piece of an incomprehensible entity.

"Now."  Kat’s voice cuts into her consciousness.  It’s a relief, an open offering to relieve herself of this power.

Just as they practiced, time and again, Alyssa casts forth the power she’s holding.  The soul crystal she imprisoned a portion of Erzis in shatters, its energies flowing into and around Kat’s soul.  The rose on the pommel of the dagger glows intensely with the power of the void as it flows forth from Alyssa’s grip and into Kat Hawke to be used as needed.

The energy is spent almost immediately.  Kat’s soul dims with the power expelled, the chaotic dance of Light and Dark slowing to an eerie crawl.  Alyssa collapses, her consciousness flickering, the blade itself dimmer too.  Dim, but not out.

This time...she doesn’t ask any questions, and Kat doesn’t say a word either.  There’s no thanks forthcoming.  The only sensation that comes off the Dagger is one of resignation and exhaustion.  Why ask how it went.  Why ask how it will go.  While talking with Erzis, Alyssa was ready to give up her life and existence in the trade, to let Kat have her freedom.

Now she lies in the dark of her Grove on a bed of snow, as the stars above wink back into existence one by one, and asks no questions, and tells no stories.  Kat will continue to use her as she will, and that, it seems, is how things will be.

[ @kat-hawke​ ]

[kkintle]

Looking for Alaska by John Green; Quotes

“Francois Rabelais. He was this poet. And his last words were 'I go to seek a Great Perhaps.' That's why I'm going. So I don't have to wait until I die to start seeking a Great Perhaps.”

Because you simply cannot draw these things out forever. At some point, you just pull off the Band-Aid and it hurts, but then it's over and you're relieved.

“'He'—that's Simon Bolivar—*was shaken by the overwhelming revelation that the headlong race between his misfortunes and his dreams was at that moment reaching the finish line. The rest was darkness. ”Damn it,“ he sighed. ”How will I ever get out of thislabyrinth!'“”

She had the kind of eyes that predisposed you to supporting her every endeavor.

Because you may be smart, but I've been smart longer.

(...) the most important pursuit in history: the search for meaning. What is the nature of being a person? What is the best way to go about being a person? How did we come to be, and what will become of us when we are no longer? In short: What are the rules of this game, and how might we best play it?"

I learned that myth doesn't mean a lie; it means a traditional story that tells you something about people and their worldview and what they hold sacred.

She smiled with all the delight of a kid on Christmas morning and said, “Y'all smoke to enjoy it. I smoke to die.”

(...) and I jogged after him, trailing in his wake. I wanted to be one of those people who have streaks to maintain, who scorch the ground with their intensity. But for now, at least I knew such people, and they needed me, just like comets need tails.

“You've got a lifetime to mull over the Buddhist understanding of interconnectedness.” He spoke every sentence as if he'd written it down, memorized it, and was now reciting it. “But while you were looking out the window, you missed the chance to explore the equally interesting Buddhist belief in being present for every facet of your daily life, of being truly present. Be present in this class. And then, when it's over, be present out there,” he said, nodding toward the lake and beyond.

“I may die young,” she said. “But at least I'll die smart. Now, back to tangents.”

“Getting out isn't that easy,” she said seriously, her eyes on mine like I knew the way out and wouldn't tell her.

“Imagining the future is a kind of nostalgia.” “Huh?” I asked. “You spend your whole life stuck in the labyrinth, thinking about how you'll escape it one day, and how awesome it will be, and imagining that future keeps you going, but you never do it. You just use the future to escape the present.”

“Sometimes I don't get you,” I said. She didn't even glance at me. She just smiled toward the television and said, “You never get me. That's the whole point.”

“He loves me,” Alaska told me as we walked back to the dorm circle. “He loves all y'all, too. He just loves the school more. That's the thing. He thinks busting us is good for the school and good for us. It's the eternal struggle, Pudge. The Good versus the Naughty.”

“Sometimes you lose a battle. But mischief always wins the war.”

“So Friday? Do you have plans for Friday?” And then I laughed, because the Colonel and I didn't have plans for this Friday, or for any other Friday for the rest of our lives.

And I vaguely remember Lara smiling at me from the doorway, the glittering ambiguity of a girl's smile, which seems to promise an answer to the question but never gives it. The question, the one we've all been asking since girls stopped being gross, the question that is too simple to be uncomplicated: Does she like me or like me?

“It is sad,” I repeated. “I mean, it's stupid to miss someone you didn't even get along with. But, I don't know, it was nice, you know, having someone you could always fight with.”

“Sorry. Don't worry, dude,” he said. “God will punish the wicked. And before He does, we will.”

“Hold on.” He grabbed a pencil and scrawled excitedly at the paper as if he'd just made a mathematical breakthrough and then looked back up at me. “I just did some calculations, and I've been able to determine that you're full of shit.”

“It's not life or death, the labyrinth.” “Urn, okay. So what is it?” “Suffering,” she said. “Doing wrong and having wrong things happen to you. That's the problem. Bolivar was talking about the pain, not about the living or dying. How do you get out of the labyrinth of suffering?” “What's wrong?” I asked. And I felt the absence of her hand on me. “Nothing's wrong. But there's always suffering, Pudge. Homework or malaria or having a boyfriend who lives far away when there's a good-looking boy lying next to you. Suffering is universal. It's the one thing Buddhists, Christians, and Muslims are all worried about.”

“You shall love your crooked neighbour/ With your crooked heart,”

I wanted so badly to lie down next to her on the couch, to wrap my arms around her and sleep. Not fuck, like in those movies. Not even have sex. Just sleep together, in the most innocent sense of the phrase. But I lacked the courage and she had a boyfriend and I was gawky and she was gorgeous and I was hopelessly boring and she was endlessly fascinating. So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was a hurricane.

“Night falls fast. Today is in the past,”

Alaska decided to go help Dolores with dinner. She said that it was sexist to leave the cooking to the women, but better to have good sexist food than crappy boy-prepared food.

“Don't you know who you love, Pudge? You love the girl who makes you laugh and shows you porn and drinks wine with you. You don't love the crazy, sullen bitch.” And there was something to that, truth be told.

People, I thought, wanted security. They couldn't bear the idea of death being a big black nothing, couldn't bear the thought of their loved ones not existing, and couldn't even imagine themselves not existing. I finally decided that people believed in an afterlife because they couldn't bear not to.

The Great Perhaps was upon us, and we were invincible. The plan may have had faults, but we did not.

“Prick us, we bleed. Prick him, he pops.”

I don't know. Like the way the sun is right now, with the long shadows and that kind of bright, soft light you get when the sun isn't quite setting? That's the light that makes everything better, everything prettier, and today, everything just seemed to be in that light.

I found myself thinking about President William McKinley, the third American president to be assassinated. He lived for several days after he was shot, and toward the end, his wife started crying and screaming, “I want to go, too! I want to go, too!” And with his last measure of strength, McKinley turned to her and spoke his last words: “We are all going.”

There comes a time when we realize that our parents cannot save themselves or save us, that everyone who wades through time eventually gets dragged out to sea by the undertow—that, in short, we are all going.

“Pudge, what you must understand about me is that I ama deeply unhappy person.”

“But a lot of times, people die how they live. And so last words tell me a lot about who people were, and why they became the sort of people biographies get written about. Does that make sense?”

And what is an “instant” death anyway? How long is an instant? Is it one second? Ten? The pain of those seconds must have been awful as her heart burst and her lungs collapsed and there was no air and no blood to her brain and only raw panic. What the hell is instant? Nothing is instant. Instant rice takes five minutes, instant pudding an hour. I doubt that an instant of blinding pain feels particularly instantaneous.

Straight & Fast.

How will we ever get out of this labyrinth of suffering?—A. Y.

“Because everybody who has ever lost their way in life has felt the nagging insistence of that question. At some point we all look up and realize we are lost in a maze, (...)

I wondered if there would ever be a day when I didn't think about Alaska, wondered whether I should hope for a time when she would be a distant memory—recalled only on the anniversary of her death, or maybe a couple of weeks after, remembering only after having forgotten. I knew that I would know more dead people. The bodies pile up. Could there be a space in my memory for each of them, or would I forget a little of Alaska every day for the rest of my life?

“You can't just make me different and then leave,” I said out loud to her. “Because I was fine before, Alaska. I was fine with just me and last words and school friends, and you can't just make me different and then die.” For she had embodied the Great Perhaps—she had proved to me that it was worth it to leave behind my minor life for grander maybes, and now she was gone and with her my faith in perhaps. I could call everything the Colonel said and did “fine.” I could try to pretend that I didn't care anymore, but it could never be true again. You can't just make yourself matter and then die, Alaska, because now I am irretrievably different, and I'm sorry I let you go, yes, but you made the choice. You left me Perhapsless, stuck in your goddamned labyrinth. And now I don't even know if you chose the straight and fast way out, if you left me like this on purpose. And so I never knew you, did I? I can't remember, because I never knew.

The times that were the most fun seemed always to be followed by sadness now, because it was when life started to feel like it did when she was with us that we realized how utterly, totally gone she was.

'Everything that comes together falls apart,'” the Old Man said. "Everything. The chair I'm sitting on. It was built, and so it will fall apart. I'm gonna fall apart, probably before this chair. And you're gonna fall apart. The cells and organs and systems that make you you—they came together, grew together, and so must fall apart. The Buddha knew one thing science didn't prove for millennia after his death: Entropy increases. Things fall apart."

We are all going, I thought, and it applies to turtles and turtlenecks, Alaska the girl and Alaska the place, because nothing can last, not even the earth itself. The Buddha said that suffering was caused by desire, we'd learned, and that the cessation of desire meant the cessation of suffering. When you stopped wishing things wouldn't fall apart, you'd stop suffering when they did.

The hardest part about pranking, Alaska told me once, is not being able to confess.

I'd finally had enough of chasing after a ghost who did not want to be discovered. We'd failed, maybe, but some mysteries aren't meant to be solved. I still did not know her as I wanted to, but I never could.

Did I help you toward a fate you didn't want, Alaska, or did I just assist in your willful self-destruction? Because they are different crimes, and I didn't know whether to feel angry at her for making me part of her suicide or just to feel angry at myself for letting her go.

“After all this time, it still seems to me like straight and fast is the only way out—but I choose the labyrinth. The labyrinth blows, but I choose it.”

(...) we had to forgive to survive in the labyrinth. There were so many of us who would have to live with things done and things left undone that day. Things that did not go right, things that seemed okay at the time because we could not see the future. If only we could see the endless string of consequences that result from our smallest actions. But we can't know better until knowing better is useless.

I still think that, sometimes, think that maybe “the afterlife” is just something we made up to ease the pain of loss, to make our time in the labyrinth bearable. Maybe she was just matter, and matter gets recycled.

But ultimately I do not believe that she was only matter. The rest of her must be recycled, too. I believe now that we are greater than the sum of our parts. If you take Alaska's genetic code and you add her life experiences and the relationships she had with people, and then you take the size and shape of her body, you do not get her. There is something else entirely. There is a part of her greater than the sum of her knowable parts. And that part has to go somewhere, because it cannot be destroyed.

Those awful things are survivable, because we are as indestructible as we believe ourselves to be. When adults say, “Teenagers think they are invincible” with that sly, stupid smile on their faces, they don't know how right they are. We need never be hopeless, because we can never be irreparably broken. We think that we are invincible because we are. We cannot be born, and we cannot die. Like all energy, we can only change shapes and sizes and manifestations. They forget that when they get old. They get scared of losing and failing. But that part of us greater than the sum of our parts cannot begin and cannot end, and so it cannot fail.

So I know she forgives me, just as I forgive her. Thomas Edison's last words were: “It's very beautiful over there.” I don't know where there is, but I believe it's somewhere, and I hope it's beautiful.

Most loves don't last. (Whitney sure didn't. I can't even remember her last name.) But some do.

Almost by definition, last words are difficult to verify. Witnesses are emotional, time gets conflated, and the speaker isn't around to clear up any controversy.

I was born into Bolivar's labyrinth, and so I must believe in the hope of Rabelais' Great Perhaps.

[maverick-guy]

How Awareness Strikes the Human Being

Awareness is a state of being mindful. It is the consciousness of ongoing and past events. It comprehends the ease and struggle of people and society. The status quo perceives awareness as a movement, rather more of an inclination to humanity. 

Awareness is customary nowadays. 

Due to the complexity of stuff happening on micro and macro levels, awareness is there to save us. It explains the benefits and drawbacks of each situation. Possessing judgment is a gift we all exercise, so it is safe to say that everyone is aware. 

Such awareness stimulates how profound incidents are, how things come into action, and understanding one’s personality.  

Self-awareness

As I’ve always mentioned to those dear to me, I would always argue over what decisions to make and choices to alter – from choosing what side of me should I expose to the public to developing my inner self. The mixture of my pettiness and goodness has contributed to the young man I am today: more sensible, active, and reflective. What I’ve learned from the past years is that the step to understanding other people is firstly understanding yourself. Herewith, you can recognize how people see you in return.

With that said, gone are the days of apathy and indifference.

Let me ask you a series of questions: have you been questioning yourself by your understanding of stuff, your traits, beliefs, thoughts, and feelings? Are you conscious enough to discern your likes and dislikes? Do you know what is and what is not best for you? And, is self-awareness fully achievable?

Well, with the progression of time, our surroundings and perspectives change. Even our beliefs and identities change. One’s comprehension develops. All of these aspects yields awareness. It displays complexity, but it solidifies the thinking of the human person. It exhibits the totality of humanity.

Embracing diversity

George Orwell had mentioned that happiness can only exist in acceptance, and I agree with that. When you embrace yourself and accept every bit of your flaws, it may result in a breakthrough. But is it that easy to accept oneself? I bet most of us still struggle with accepting ourselves due to society's standards.

Let us look into the concept of diversity. We are all made differently, but our fate is destined equally. No matter what your social status, race, or educational background may be, the fact that we are equally challenged means we deal with life events in our own manner.

The mere thought that the world we live in enforces and sets specific standards for us to conform sounds contradicting, especially when it is something unacceptable due to sheer subjectivity but harmless. In fact, it is us, occupants of this world we live in, constructing and expressing such preferences and ideals.

Conformity stimulates social norms and may veer away from risky and offensive acts, but it is not a fundamental step to identify yourself. It may help you with your life decisions, but conforming to societal standards to fit in and look acceptable won't guarantee growth and personal development. You don’t have to live by the rules of others. As we are given the free will to think for ourselves, let's not alienate people's right to think and decide for themselves. We must remind ourselves to acknowledge individuality and let people think what's best for them and comforts them – unless if it's something detrimental to society; that's another story to tell.

It is then important to note that we have to be aware of our motives and actions whilst embracing diversity because our varying degrees of sensitivity and openness might harm others.

Now that I've tackled one's liberty to think for themselves, is it safe to claim that you are self-aware? Your parents and teachers might have told you when you were young that awareness is extensive; you can attain success with it. But what is awareness teaching us? Would it change our value systems, change our viewpoints, and actually accomplish our ambitions? Does it provide a great support system?

Is privilege a requirement to improve awareness?

With many events happening in local and international affairs, there might be something lacking before we respond and take action – and that is understanding what is happening in our surroundings.

Self-awareness is political in itself. When awareness starts within the self, you are starting to acknowledge the problems and struggles of society. As I’ve mentioned earlier, the first step in understanding other people is to understand yourself. But in our political situation right now, awareness itself is still insufficient. Because people who are conscious of their privilege have an added responsibility: to interrogate. Yes, interrogation must be active to combat the cruel and oppressive system that establishes the disparity between people and classes.

So, it may be more maddening for those who admit to being conscious of systemic oppression (that is in condition with their privilege), but instead of humbling themselves or educating people, they brag on how much aware they are and wear it as a decoration that spells out: I am better than you.

I am still not sure if privilege is something to be proud of, as privilege is a product of commercialism, but it has its advantages too. Privileged people have the power to educate and maximize their platform for thought-provoking discourses and reflect humanity.

To be clear, this is not a personal attack, because I do not have the plan to measure the merits of privileged individuals. But this is the root of self-awareness – checking your privilege and being sensitive of those around you, more or less cognizant than of you are.

Regardless if you are well-off or not, you can still improve your awareness. Within your volition, you evaluate yourself and think of your capacity on how persuasive you could be to share your knowledge on the right platform, and be alert to your habits. Awareness isn’t only for your own benefit, so you must also ask yourself: is this for the common good?

It’s being mindful that counts.

Now, what is the most important factor to enforce awareness? Is it knowledge? Power? Money? Privilege? Connections? No. 

It’s involvement with empathy.

To begin with, you might want to start small to attain the big to take action and involve yourself with the causes you are passionate about. This is one of the instances you will stumble upon. It takes a huge step to engage yourself in movements against a system that you are dissatisfied with, hence, promoting development.

It is necessary to utilize the resources you have by taking notice of situations and, if possible, help alleviate an infuriating situation. Little by little, this will help you understand people's dilemmas and contribute to public knowledge for raising awareness. If you have your own community, you might want to start and connect with them. This is an opportunity to grow and make significant changes because these small steps can make the world a better place. We, human beings, are agents of change – we can see the light from each other and appreciate our motives in improving our mentality and attitude for a purpose.

Being rich in knowledge and impressive credentials does not matter – it’s your good intention that counts. You are mindful enough if you pay attention to present circumstances, as well as to your feelings and thoughts.

So that’s how involvement with empathy could go a long way, ergo improving one’s awareness.

[yeaahishowedupatyourparty]

PARENTHOOD INTERVIEW: Zara. 

10 QUESTIONS NOT LINKED TO YOUR KID(S).

what is your current career now? “I’m an actress, director and producer. The latter two more often.” 

are you enjoying it? “I am, I love my job.” 

where do you currently live? “That’s a great question. I still have an obsession with property so we have a few different ‘homes’, but we’re still where we were when I bought my first house. Danny and I have renovated it, done things to the garden and added bits on which just makes it more sentimental to me. It’s where everything started.” 

are you married? “Happily.” 

what is one thing that’s stayed the same with you since st judes? “I’m still with Danny, I have the same passion for film and tv and I’m still living in the Springs for the most part.”

what’s the biggest change you’ve experienced? “Everything else. Mainly my mindset.” 

now that you’re older and have had a successful career, what’s your biggest goal in life? “To appreciate the people I have in my life fully. I never want to become too caught up in something that I miss making memories with them.” 

would you still consider yourself famous? “To an extent.” 

what was the first thing you did after your graduation? “I went to Los Angeles and just existed for a few days. I have a love, hate relationship with the place but it’s where everything started for me. So, I felt like it was necessary for it to be the place that I closed that chapter of my life too.” 

do you have any regrets about your time in st judes? “Many and funnily enough, all of them were when I let somebody else dictate how I was feeling or I listened to people’s judgements too much.”

QUESTIONS ABOUT PARENTHOOD.

who are your children? list them in age order. “Daphne and Adelaide, Addy.” 

if you gave birth, who was the easiest pregnancy? if you didn’t, which pregnancy did you feel most anxious about. “I was most anxious about Daphne because she was the first. I didn’t know what to expect and I fell down the hole of reading pregnancy horror stories. But luckily, neither were complicated. I had great pregnancies and births both times round.” 

did you have any baby showers or gender reveals? if yes, what did you do? "Nothing official. I find gender reveals tricky because, who cares? I would’ve been happy both ways and I’d expect every member of my family to feel the same.” 

what kind of parent would your children describe you as, do you think? “I hope fair? I don’t think I annoy either of them enough for them to say anything too harsh!”

which stage was hardest: baby, toddler, child, teenager or young adult? “For Daphne, baby. I think I went into it with rose-tinted glasses. For Addy, teenager.” 

what has been your favourite memory with each child? “This is such a hard question, there’ve been so many.” 

be honest, do you think you’ve had any failings as a parent? “Definitely. I always worry that I haven’t taught them to be headstrong enough. I feel like raising passive children who lay down and take whatever somebody is trying to give them is a massive fear of mine. I was that girl for a while.” 

what do you think you do well as a parent? “You’d have to ask them.” 

how much involvement do your own parents have in your child’s life? “None.” 

as a parent, what is something you’re still learning? “Life for them isn’t always going to be how it was for me. It treats everybody differently. Just because I had a strange relationship with my sisters, it doesn’t mean they they’re going to get more distant every time they have typical sister fights. Also, not to be hard on myself, but I do worry a lot.” 

what’s the funniest memory from parenthood so far? “There have been so many. I’m trying to think...One thing about Addy is that she’s always been obsessed with Danny. He’s her favourite person, she’s a through and through Daddy’s girl. Anyway, we went to one of her Christmas shows and she was 5 at most...She was the star, and when I tell you that her teachers could not convince her to stay on stage rather than keep wandering into the audience to sit on his lap, I mean it. I think it threw off the whole production - bless her.” 

when do you feel like you were needed the most? “For Daphne, I think it’s just been quietly throughout her life. She’s never been a child who needs our help. She’s always got on with things and done her best; very independent. But, it doesn’t mean she can get through everything alone. Nobody can, we’ve always been close, though, and I feel confident she’d talk to me if she really felt she was in trouble. I think Addy most needed us during high school. I can’t recall a day that she didn’t come home from that place and cry. I think teenagers, specifically girls, are awful to each other and not enough is ever done about it. I know they were just children but I’ll never forgive them or the parents who raised them for those years. Addy was a completely different child.” 

JUST FOR FUN, WHICH CHILD… if you have just one child, you can just say if they’d do the stuff or not.

which child is the most sensible? “Daphne. Hands down. Sorry, Ads.” 

which child is the most independent? “Daphne, again.” 

which child did you always have suspicions about being famous one day? “Probably Addy. Not because I never thought Daphne had potential, but Addy’s always been very...melodramatic and theatrical, even as a toddler.”

which child was the hardest work as a child? “Can I say neither? They were both good kids.” 

which child have you cried/stressed over the most? “Addy. The whole high school thing. I’m not afraid to say that because I think the girls who put her through that should have to live with the guilt.”

which child has the tidiest room? “Daphne, daphne, daphne.” 

which child do you think likes you the most? “Daphne. I hope they both do!” 

which child is most likely to forget your birthday? “Addy.” 

which child is/was the most academic? “Daphne.” 

which child is/was the most athletic? “Daphne.” 

which child tends to be the most annoying? “That’s an awful question, I’m not going to say!” 

which child asks for money the most? “Addy. She discovered the bank of Mum and Dad way before her time.”

which child is most likely to move in back home? “I think Addy.” 

which child helps out around the house the most? “Daphne. They’re both pretty good at chores though.” 

which child enjoyed disney the most growing up? “Definitely Addy.” 

BEING AN ACADEMY PARENT.

did you have a say in the academy(s) your child(ren) picked? “I didn’t!” 

how did you feel when your child decided they wanted to go to an academy? “Nervous, I won’t lie. I had my doubts but then figured I’d be doing them more harm if I actively stopped them from going.” 

do any of your children study the same as what you did? are they less, equally or more successful than what you were? “Daphne acts! I’d say yes she is more successful than me, but also, success can be measured in different ways. I don’t like the idea of either of them basing their achievements around how many roles they can land or how many awards they pick up.”

when your child(ren) were younger, what did you THINK they’d end up working as? “I thought Daphne would maybe go into writing and Addy into the make-up industry, but I think what they’re both doing now also makes sense.”

have you met any of your child’s friends or partners? “No...I’ve heard of one, though. Let’s leave it there.” 

what’s your biggest worry about your children being in an academy? “I don’t think I have one anymore. I’m starting to learn to live and let live. They’ve been fine in life so far and I’m sure they can take care of themselves without me constantly trying to control what they do or shield them from things.” 

what’s the one piece of advice you’d give your child as they start this journey that you wished you had? “Enjoy it and do what you want! Love who you want. It’s so cliche but it goes so quickly and there is nowhere near enough time to worry about what people might be saying. Also remember that you can’t steal a person anymore than you can keep them - if only somebody told me that!”

MEMORY LANE.

what tv programmes/films were on repeat as your children were growing up? “Bratz, Winx, Nancy Drew, Sabrina the Teenage Witch, Hannah Montana, High School Musical...Addy was obsessed with Trolls at one stage. I could keep going.” 

have you ever lost your child/had something happen that’s made you panic? “I lost Daphne in the supermarket once. I was hysterical, but she was fine and looking at the pictures of puppies on the dog food.” 

what was the first holiday you went on as a whole family? “Is it bad I can’t remember? We had family holidays before and after Addy’s birth and I really can’t pinpoint which one was the first where we were all together. One of my favourites, though, was when we went to Greece. It was so scenic and beautiful and the girls spent all day in and out of the ocean. Ive never seen them so occupied!”

can you remember a time you’ve ever been called to the principals office? “No! They’re good girls.” 

say one thing about your child that you think they’d like to hear, but wouldn’t expect you to say. “As long as you’re happy, I’m happy - do what you want, angels.” 

[junipershill17]

twelve Things You Should Consider When Acquiring Your First Condo

1) Analysis the Builder:

Not all building contractors are alike. Many create high quality condos and have some sort of track record of success, while others slice corners and build substandard condos. Aside from reviewing the general contractors webpage, one should also carry out an internet search for watchdog studies, lawsuits and discussion boards to get proposed and existing accommodations. One thing to look out with regard to is whether the builder who is project you are interested in, has a background for completing their assignments on time. I had a client who have purchased with a builder (who shall remain nameless in this particular article) that habitually forced back completion dates. Our client was promised typically the keys a little under 36 months after purchasing the unit, plus the builder delayed possession thrice from their original projected conclusion date. After many irritating delays, he final acquired the keys a whole a couple of and a half years after the authentic scheduled completion date. This specific tied his deposit funds up for an a total regarding 5. 5 years. It was almost considered like a 2 . 5 12 months interest free loan on the builder! In retrospect, as a possible investor, he would have loved to invest in another project from 15% deposit, then take other 10% and rescued another 5%, and put that money into one more project, returning him probably double the return, including 2 . 5 less yrs. This is why it pays to research often the builder!

2) Choose the form of condo that meets yourself:

Not all condos are likewise. Some have age constraints, and rules about animals. Other condos are more loved ones friendly in terms of the unit measurements and amenities. Still other folks cater to retiree's. A good way to decide this is have a look at the number of bachelor's, one, two and a few bedroom units in the complete building. You may also contact the house manager for the condominium to be able to verify whether it is a lifestyle condo catering to a certain demographic. People fewer two and several bedroom units will likely not appeal to large families. juniper hill

3) Identify financial status:

If you are a newbies buyer, getting pre-approved to get a mortgage is a must. Contact your loan company to determine your buying ability, and get a firm commitment page from them locking in the level, and approval amount. No-one wants to be left around the closing day without a mortgage loan approval after you already produced the purchase. I have acquired countless past clients that have been given what they thought has been an approval from their bank, exactly where in fact it was nothing more than a new verbal agreement. Some people have gotten credit issues in the past which could warrant a more difficult endorsement process, and possibly at a increased rate. It is always better to understand that you received a formal pre-approval before you fall in love with a home you can not afford.

4) Talk with local real estate agent:

Real estate agent's can give you statistics of which condominiums are appreciating well in Mississauga as well as the most popular unit sorts, and floor plans. This will likely help you to make a direct assessment between different condo properties in order to establish the true associated with the unit you are interested in. Don't merely settle for any real estate agent. Once more, not all real estate agents are the same. Make an effort to work with a local expert that are experts in the type of properties that curiosity you. After all, why can you work with a realtor that markets mainly full sized residences in the suburbs, when you are seeking purchase a condo in the metropolis? It is like going to the dental office for your flu!

5. Carry out your own research:

If you plan to get a home without a real estate agent, you ought to look into the sales of the adjacent area yourself. Again, these kinds of resources will be less obtainable to the general public, but you could have access to the asking rates of similar properties. That does not mean that those prices will be the market values for that certain property, or even necessarily whatever they sell for. Be careful while information gathering. I have experienced a number of past clients reward me after their hunt for educating them on location values, and explaining to these what to look for when they are searching. Why don't get the assistance of a regional expert, when they're providers are free?

6. Find out modification capability:

Although freehold qualities allow the owner to carry out restorations without anyone's consent, condo properties have restrictions on what may be altered for each unit. A standard rule of thumb should be to request composed permission from the property supervision before making any renovations. The house managers consent is always needed to various degrees depending on the residence. Usually renovation work that requires removing a wall or maybe upgrading bathtubs and baths will have limitations on what can easily, and cannot be done. Several require that a detailed reconstruction plan be submitted into the condo board for agreement prior to the renovation taking place. It will always be better to be proactive. An individual wouldn't want to reverse the actual reno back once it is completed! I had a client who all removed all the carpet inside their unit, to replace with wooden. She did this to boost the value of their unit before selling it, only to learn that management had to agree to any floor renovations. The lady tried to then sell the system thinking that hardwood wood raise the value of her unit. That did increase the value of your ex unit, but in failing to utilize and receive consent from your property manager, she was could possibly be renovation restrictions in the developing. It was later found that will she did not use the appropriate sound-proofing underpad beneath the hard wood. The condo corporation regarded that this would hinder the particular enjoyment of the unit owner immediately below hers because of sound. Consequently, she had to split out the hardwood, install fresh underpad, and then replace the wood. This ate into just about all her profit, and your girlfriend investment, and time was certainly not rewarded. The moral in the story is to always check into these renovations with the rental property manager before you begin. It could save you lots of money!

7) Ask for a disclosure statement:

The developer as well as builder of a new terme conseillé is required to have an information report giving details of the building, along with the legal terms under that this condominium will operate. The particular booklet is available immediately after typically the Agreement of Purchase along with Sale is signed. With resale units, this "Condo By Laws and Declarations" booklet is always made available through the 10 day conditional interval when you purchase a unit. It is placed on the status certificate that may be forwarded to your lawyer regarding review. Your lawyer and then has 2 business days and nights to review the certificate, in addition to consult the purchaser together with his/her findings. If almost everything checks out, the buyer may progress with the purchase. If there are usually red flags in the documents, often the purchaser always reserves it is your right walk away within the conditional time.

8. Ask for a site program:

It is important to know if the model that you want to purchase is in the 1st, second or third period of development so that you understand any future construction which could block your existing look at. Of equal significance will be knowing when, and everywhere more development may take place around this building. New improvement adjacent to the building will influence the use and enjoyment of your house due to noise, vibration, unpleasant construction, dust and nasty smells. It is also good practice to master where your unit will be inside proximity to the elevator, rubbish disposal room, and services, as units near these components usually have a stigma installed on them in the resale industry. Besides, who would want to scent the garbage room after a very long day at work.

9) Establish development plans for the associated with area:

Many condos can be purchased under the premise of a very clear view to the Lake, scenery, or green-space. To ensure that the lovely view will be maintained in the long term, an easy trip to the Planning Department will let you ask if any other innovations are planned nearby, and have a look at the architectural pictures. The planners should be able to assist you to understand the types of developments which can be proposed around you. I have got many calls from people that bought privately through the creator units with south landscapes of the lake as an investment property. These investors would hold the unit until they obtain the keys, and the building subscribes as a condominium corporation. At this time, they would try to resell it, only to be shocked which a new condominium just commenced construction in front of they're system, obstructing their perfect to the south view. The investors blunder was being too excited during the buy process, without taking a take a step back and asking the right concerns up front.

10) Review service details:

If the developer provides a swimming pool, it is important to really know what size and whether it is inside or outdoor. The same is true of party rooms, exercise locations, gyms, sports fields, doctor offices and lockers. Find out how huge, how many, and where will have them located.

Again, these 12 considerations can affect both your entertainment, and the resale value of your current condo. It is always better to research before you buy upfront, and then enjoy the returns of your hard work once you have shifted in!

References Apartment

[beginagainbugle]

An Essay in Response to "On Diplomacy: A Manifesto by Magneto" & the newly Ratified Accords

The Daily Bugle received this letter only a day after Secretary Ross and Agent Ross announced the new amendments to the Accords. It seems not everyone appreciates the olive branch – and money – thrown their way. But we’re an honest source of news here at the Bugle! We’d be remiss if we didn’t show you this shocking story just as we received it! – J. Jonah Jameson

First and foremost, I feel the need to start off by quoting an old friend of mine. Several weeks ago, an anonymous source delivered quite the message from him and his words were as follows:

There are those amongst us who believe that diplomacy is the answer to the conflict between mutants and humans. I regret to say that there can be no diplomacy.  Diplomacy and negotiation are predicated on the very simple idea that two opposing parties have some measure of equality; that one can offer something to the other and gain something in turn.  Further, both parties must have a degree of respect for the other party, something that will hold them to account for any agreement reached.

There is no equality, and there is no respect…

I ignored his speech because I know him. We never agree on anything these days and even if I hope to reason with him, nothing I say will ever change how he feels about you people. The two of us — and I mean not to sound boastful — but we have been tasked with leading a sizable amount of mutants with each group strongly believing in one idea or the other. In Magneto’s case, I refer back to the quotes above and in my case, I have always given you a lot more credit than you probably deserve. My ideals and the ideals of many who look to me as their leader, all revolve around finding a peaceful means to end the conflict that you started between those with ‘gifts’ and those without. I am the person he refers to in his point about diplomacy.

However Mr. Secretary, if I am to be completely honest, my old friend has a point. It almost pains me to agree with him on anything these days because in order to see his side of the coin, that means I must face the reality that my ideals fall on deaf ears sometimes. I had hoped it would not come to this; that I wouldn’t have to leave the shadows and safety of the school I protect in order to speak on the hypocrisy within the propaganda you keep shoving down the American people’s throats, but it would seem you have left me no choice in the matter. Let us begin…

Agent Ross starts his foray into this shameless propaganda that means to justify discrimination of mutants and those like us by offering a rather smooth, backhanded compliment ——as if he has ever been in the presence of a mutant as opposed to the heroes he/they once hailed that are the primary reason for these Accords in the first place.

“There are those among us who have incredible gifts. Dangerous gifts. A brave new world.”

Dangerous, Agent Ross? Our ‘gifts’ are incredible, but dangerous? We do not need your backhanded compliments. Call it what it is. You all think that we are something to be feared and leading your speech with such nonsense is an insult to our intelligence. Your words are but a subtle jab; a way to incite fear into average person, but I digress. There’s more, my fellow mutants.

“The secretary says that I’m ‘uniquely qualified,’ because I’ve seen it. Not because of my training or my expertise. Not because of the missions I’ve flown or the lives I’ve saved. But because I was there, when Superheroes fought. And I gotta tell you –” He laughed again. “It’s amazing.”

Just what exactly have you seen Agent Ross that uniquely qualifies you to speak on behalf of mutants? Aside from Dr. Banner ( a special case I will not dive into today ), how many mutants have you seen up close? How many have you actually met in person and conversed with in some lengthy form? How many have you seen in combat against ‘your kind’? One experience with a bunch of heroes that — at one time — could freely walk the streets without being persecuted does not make you uniquely qualified to do anything on our behalf. All the people have is your word on your experience, but who’s to say your word wasn’t fabricated for a moment such as this?

You go on to describe what you saw in Wakanda as a beautiful dance that left normal people in awe of what you were witnessing. You practically ooze saccharine as it pertains to our unique abilities but then you swing the hammer in such a way backwards that I have to wonder if my hope is wasted on the likes of you homo sapiens.

“…the dance has to end… the dancers have to come offstage, and into the audience…. We have to learn how to share that world. It needs to be safe for everyone who lives here.”

Agent Ross… Mr. Secretary, it is rare that I read something that isn’t written by Magneto and feel the need to react harshly, but this is one of those times I cannot let your unfairness go unaddressed. I will not reduce myself to inciting a war you all cannot win, but I will say this:

You claim that the ultimate goal of these Accords is so that we can all share the world and feel safe while doing it, but what you fail to understand is that we mutants have wanted this all along. Not the Accords, but the permission to live among you as regular people. We all bleed the same thing Mr. Secretary, but I cannot help but point out the hypocrisy of your words. Furthermore, who are you to tell those with gifts they were born with to ‘get off the stage’, as if this stage was one many mutants asked for. Even IF we register; take off the masks and reveal our locations to you day and night, what are we truly accomplishing here? Registering our names won’t make anyone feel any safer. All this does is allow you easy access to us. Should you decide in your next speech that the best thing for the entire world is to eliminate those pesky dancers then we are but sitting ducks — something I hope has never even crossed your mind.

Persecuting people… telling the public that we’re all dangerous mutants that need to be put in check is not how you make the world a better place. You hardly know us, Mr. Secretary. You’ve never once sat down with us nor taken the time to reach out and actually educate yourself about what you are truly dealing with.You are operating on assumptions; using your irritation at the Avengers for costing you billions of dollars by assuming all of us are exactly the same. 

Not all of us are like my old friend. A vast majority of us are living every single moment alone and in fear; fear of you and the world that continues finding ways to paint us out as horrible people. Instead of trying to find common ground that does not include throwing us in holding cells for not bending to your will, you and Mr. Stark — who likely hasn’t met many mutants either — decided that we needed to be checked; never mind the fact that most of us haven’t done a single thing to deserve this treatment except exist in a world that has never taken kindly to anything different. My mutants are not suiting up everyday fighting aliens on your behalf. We’re not costing you billions or embarrassing you on national televisions with our heroics. The true embarrassment is you, Mr. Secretary.

“We made these rules for one reason, and one reason only. To prevent terrible intentions from becoming unbearable realities.”

What intentions do you speak of? Even though I do not know the Avengers well enough to speak on their behalf, I think it’s safe to assume that all they’ve ever done is use their abilities on behalf of humanity. I’ve never met Captain America but of all the Avengers, I admire him the most. Not only did he help save your sorry hides from an alien invasion, but he walked away with no bloodshed after the very people who made him turned their backs on him. If that is how you treat one of your own, I shudder to think how you would treat people like us. Speaking of us and your so-called rules…

All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside. No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws. —Article 14; the US Constitution

The rules of governing citizens as stated in the Constitution apply to all and we mutants have never questioned it. Many of us walk the straight and narrow; we obey the laws despite being forced to remain in the shadows due to the prejudices you keep pumping into the media. A majority of us have never broken any of the laws and on the off-chance you happen to catch an occasional rule breaker, it’s often because of something your people have done first. Left unprovoked, we go about our business. When provoked, well… 

My point is that despite the clear violation of the Constitution that these Accords are in direct opposition of, we mutants carry on anyway with the hope that things will change for the better. Your latest stunt does nothing but further HIS argument — that you not only see us as monsters, but as something other than rightful citizens who are awarded the same protections by the Constitution as everyone else. Yet you extend a hand to us as if things are going to magically change with the signing of our names yet in the same breath, we are to be taken by deadly force if necessary; killed, chained or even locked away without any kind of trial if we oppose you.

And if I am mistaken and by rules you meant the Accords, then I must sincerely apologize. The rules placed in society are meant to be followed if the government and the people governed are meant to coexist peacefully. However, when the rules are unfair and unabashedly biased, the people… the citizens of that society, have a right to push back. I’ll not deny my mutants that right.

Mr. Secretary, up until now, all I’ve ever done is try from behind the scenes to see both sides of the coin. I have done nothing but train my students in the art of peaceful coexistence. Nothing good can come from fighting our own people. In the same breath, it would seem that the world I’ve been fighting for all my life seems ever more out of reach with each law you pass. It’s a shame we are all being forced to suffer on behalf of your ire with others, but shame on me for expecting more from a government who — historically — has a nasty habit of destroying the things that make them uncomfortable or feel inferior.

This new law you have passed will only incite the rage of the one who continues to be a thorn in your side. This is my final plea to see reason. At the end of the day, when you finally grow tired of ratifying papers and decide you wish to solve the issue in the same manner you have solved all of this country’s issues in the past, I will go silent. I will stand aside and let things unfold, no matter how much it may pain my heart. 

TO MY FELLOW MUTANTS,  my final message to you all is to survive; to use your common sense when presented with scathing propaganda like this and proceed in a manner that allows you to live with no regrets down the road. I will never fully relinquish my faith because it is my hope that someday the people in power will realize their mistakes. It’s never too late you see. However, my loyalties have always been first and foremost, to my fellow X-Men; my mutants and my family. I will NEVER encourage you to retaliate with violence, but I will understand if you see things HIS way as opposed to my own, especially now.

In closing, Mr. Secretary, I will NOT be registering under your Accords and neither will the children left under my legal guardianship. Do what you must, but heed my warnings: even the most docile of creatures will fight back when backed into a corner. I pity anyone who comes at me or my students looking to collect when we’ve done nothing wrong. When you are finally ready to accept just how wrong you are and agree to work with me on an answer that doesn’t just benefit your side, give me a call. You won’t find me or my school, but finding you — wherever you are in the world — will never be a problem for someone like me. My powers are something that should keep you and your entire staff awake every night, but is it not fortuitous that I have always been on your side?

Sincerely,

          Professor X & Leader of the X-Men

[rosesisupposes]

"They'll try to lure you with pretty songs and sweet words. If you value your life, do NOT listen."

This took forever, I’m so sorry. This is my first attempt at actually writing a fae story! Particular thank you to @mariniacipher​ and @potestessemagishomosexualitatis​ for help with Sneky Boi

Little Songs

relationships: Royality; Roceit; possible pre-Royaliceit

word count: 3,038

read on ao3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Roman King always has a song in his mind. Always. He wakes humming, he sings arias in the shower, he serenades the kitchen and its occupants as he makes breakfast. If he isn’t singing, he’s listening to music, the beats and rhythms and words flowing through his veins, as vital and ever-present as his blood. Sometimes it’s Disney ballads, sometimes pop songs he can’t get out of his head, and frequently it’s show tunes from the latest production to open on Broadway. And sometimes it’s little songs that his boyfriend doesn’t quite recognize but loves all the same.

So it is not a surprise when Patton Amhrán hears Roman making his way to the kitchen and the tune he’s humming is one Pat has never heard before. He thinks almost nothing of it. He just hums in response as Roman loops his arms around his waist from behind and rests his chin on Patton’s shoulder.

“Good morning, honeybear,” he purrs, still barely awake.

“Good morning, sweetie,” Patton responds, continuing to fry eggs. “You’re up early for a weekend.”

“I woke up with an idea!” Roman replies, grinning. “Since my rehearsals don’t start until Monday, we have all of tomorrow free, and it’s supposed to be so nice out- let’s go on a hike!”

Sliding eggs onto a plate, Patton grins. “Ooh, we could be outdoorsy! That sounds wonderful. Where would you like to go?”

“Rowanberry Woods is just outside town, how about there?”

Patton freezes, turning slightly to see Roman’s expression. The actor’s face is open and happy, completely unperturbed. “Cupcake, why there?”

Roman shrugs. “I’ve just heard so much about it. Everyone around town talks about it so much.”

“Well, that’s true, but that’s because we’re mostly locals. So we all know about it, quite well.”

Roman starts humming again, catching Patton’s hand and pulling him into slow waltz around around the kitchen table, ignoring the freshly-prepared breakfast. “My ginger-peachy love, what is there to know?”

Patton can’t help smiling, so besotted is he with this wonderful man he has the fortune to be in love with. In the morning light that slides into their window from pearly-grey clouds, there’s already a firecracker energy in Roman’s dark eyes. But there are other concerns at the moment.

“It’s a sensitive forest, a chroí.”

“Sensitive?”

Patton shrugs. “The trees are… touchy. And the clearings aren’t much better.”

Roman grins. “Oh my god, Pat, are you talking about fairies? Lo said this would happen!”

Patton grimaces. “I know, I know, the fae aren’t real, Logan has explained their impossibility many times. And yet, everytime someone treats the woods in a less-than-respectful way, it goes badly for them.”

Roman keeps dancing Patton around, shifting from waltz to a calmer sway so that he can kiss his boyfriend’s cheek. “Then we won’t offend the trees, sweetie-pie. I just want to see it! And there’s supposed to a view of the whole valley from the hill.”

Patton feels his knees go just a little quivery at the kiss, just like they always do. Roman’s just so pretty and wonderful and Patton is absolutely infatuated. And now Roman is staring at him with those big brown eyes and how can Patton do anything other than agree?

He makes the mistake of mentioning their plans to Virgil, who’s just as native as Pat. Yes, the other man is more frequently subjected to his boyfriend’s skepticism now that they’ve moved in together, but Virgil waits until Logan is in the washroom to give Roman a warning.

“I know you Americans think you’re too progressive to be affected, but listen to me. The fae folk are very much real, and very clever. They’ll try to lure you with pretty songs and sweet words. If you value your life, do NOT listen.”

Roman rolls his eyes and scoffs, but he’s still humming, tapping a beat on Patton’s waist as they lean against the counter in Virgil and Logan’s kitchen for family dinner night. “How could anything distract me, Tall, Dark, and Spooky?” he asks, a bravado-filled grin flashing out against his dark skin. “I’m in love with the prettiest song the world could have given me.”

“The prettiest song?” Virgil asks.

“I’ve been learning just enough Irish to know what Patton’s last name means,” Roman says, more than a little proud. He caresses Pat’s face, grinning with his own achievement and adoration in equal measures. Patton blushes, leaning into his partner to kiss his cheek, too distracted by that beautiful smile to wonder why the steady tap-tap-tapping of Roman’s long fingers hasn’t stopped for hours.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning is bright, comfortably warm and relatively dry, but fluffy grey clouds cover the sky. Roman is practically skipping as he and Patton climb the hill through the lush woods. They stick dutifully to the path, but Roman has far too much energy to walk slowly. He walks ahead to take pictures of flowers and leaves, then comes back to carry the picnic hamper and let Pat walk unburdened, gets distracted by birds flying overhead, and gets even more distracted by pulling his boyfriend close to kiss him softly and sweetly.

Somehow they manage to get to the top of the hill, setting up the picnic they brought. Patton relaxes, enjoying the nice weather and the view - it really is lovely. He can see his hometown and the neighboring towns, too, and the white dots of sheep up and down the hills. It’s a warm green bowl, brimming with familiarity and life.

Roman takes a couple of selfies with the view, then plops down next to Pat to capture them both, kissing his boyfriend’s cheek as the phone clicks. Patton smiles, and pulls Roman closer to connect their lips, and then again, and again, and Roman’s phone is set aside as both men are thoroughly distracted by each other.

Parting, Roman is panting just the slightest bit, and Patton is no better off. They smile at each other, glowing, and Patton caresses Roman’s cheek.

“If you stand on that rock there, you’ll get the best view.”

“But the best view is right here,” Roman responds, turning his head to kiss Patton’s hand. A blush spreads across his boyfriend’s pale cheeks, and he smirks. “I’ll go check it out though. Maybe it manages to be half as breathtaking as you.”

“Stay on the path, okay?”

“Yes, dear,” Roman drawls, already walking away.

Patton reclines on the picnic blanket. It really is so lovely here- why doesn’t he do this more? Is it just the trap of living so close all the time that he can never make a special occasion out of local attractions? One of the many wonderful perks of dating Roman has been having a newcomer to show around, so that every occasion becomes special. He hopes the view is all Roman was hoping for. Glancing down, he grimaces. Roman’s phone is still on the blanket.

“Sugarpie, did you want your phone for pictures?” he calls.

There’s no response. He looks up to see his love just short of the wide, flat-topped rock he’d pointed out. Roman doesn’t seem to be able to hear him- or to move. Patton looks down and blanches. Both Roman’s feet are solidly planted within a circle of tiny white mushrooms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Wonderful view, is it not?”

Roman turns to see a man smiling fondly at the valley below.

“It is. Sorry, didn’t mean to intrude- I didn’t realize anyone else was up here.”

“What intrusion? I’m always here,” the man says, turning to smile directly at Roman. Roman gulps, hoping it’s not audible. He’s no longer sure they’re a man- he’s never seen any man or otherwise who was this beautiful. Smooth, porcelain-white skin is interrupted by a gorgeous mottling of golden spots that loop around their face. Hair so bright it appears to burn even in the clouded sunlight flys up in bright reds and oranges above a smooth-skinned face. But their eyes are what catches Roman’s gaze. They are green, so green the color is redefined by their existence. All the richness of summer leaves, the soft glow of moss, the bright energy of springtime buds- all these hues must have been inspired by the sparkling emeralds that stare back at him.

“Are you staring?” they ask, a smile spreading across their lips.

“Forgive me,” Roman says with a courtly little bow, playing up his theatrical nature. “It’s not often I encounter such beautiful creatures as yourself.”

“Charming, aren’t you,” they laugh. Roman chuckles as well, and turns as they do to face the view again.

After a moment, a tune starts to dance along the breeze. It’s lovely and soft and old, and the harmonies wind together in gentle concert. Roman is humming along before he consciously notes the presence of the song. Still humming, he turns, and realizes that this lovely being is the one singing, harmonizing with themself. The minute the question appears in his mind of how that is possible, it is overshadowed by the realization that this is the song he’s had stuck in his head for days now, the one he hasn’t been able to place, the one he has no memory of learning until the day he couldn’t stop singing it.

Now, he starts singing the higher melody, and the other stops singing both parts to harmonize directly with him, stepping slightly closer as their words and sounds wind together. Those green eyes are staring at him, and he will do anything to keep their attention, to keep studying the sparkles and shades. But his mind feels more and more clear, and the strange, itching restlessness of the past week melts away. Together, the song rises and falls until they slow to a finish on a last sweet note.

“Thank you for joining me, dear one,” the other says with a smile. “May I be graced with your name?”

Roman blinks, and says, “My friend keeps calling me Princey. You can too, if you want.”

Lips as pink and soft as sweet pea blossoms stretch into a grin. “Your friend is very wise to recognize such royalty. You may call me Dee, if you’d like. Are you from here, beautiful Prince?”

“No, I’m from across the pond,” Roman says. Dee is still staring, almost unblinking, and with the endearments, it is making Roman flush. He blesses his dark skin for hiding his blushes as the other tilts his head in curiosity.

“America? How dashing,” Dee murmurs. “And yet you smell like Eire, and you’ve learned our amhrán.”

Roman suddenly starts, reminded of his boyfriend. He turns, only to see Dee is standing very, very close to him. “Wait, where am I? Am I still on the hilltop?”

“Where else would you be, álainn?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Patton panics for a solid minute as he tries to get his boyfriend’s attention, but the faerie circle has him caught entirely. Patton’s breath comes faster and faster and his heart is beating out of his chest - is Roman okay? Is he hurt? Is he stuck forever?

“Calm, Patton,” he tells himself. “Breathe. In and out. I can do more once I can breathe. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. Just like I tell Virgil.”

He breaths, slowly, bringing his galloping heart back in line. Wait, that’s it! Virgil!

He grabs his backpack, rifling through for the emergency pack Virgil tossed in years ago. Wedged into a corner at the bottom, he finds it: iron, rowanberries, and a smooth stone with a hole worn through it. Patton braces himself, slipping the rest of the packet in his pocket, and looks through the hole of the stone. There’s Roman, appearing as normal… and there’s someone else, tall and bright. But Patton still can’t hear them.

Throwing caution to the winds, Patton strides over to grab Roman’s hand, and sound comes roaring back.

“Oh, Princey, you brought a friend?” Deceit purrs, turning to face the newcomer to the circle. “How did you know I love meeting locals from down in the valley?”

“Dearest, you know who that is, right?” Pat whispers frantically, squeezing Roman’s hand tight.

“They call themself Dee,” Roman whispers back. His tone is reverent as he watches Dee stroke a golden hand through their hair. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

“This is why Rowanberry Wood is so dangerous, sugarplum!”

“This forest’s name isn’t properly Rowanberry, did you know? Rude, isn’t it? Calling our home by the name of a plant that keeps us away from you?

“What is its true name?” Roman asks

“Would you believe me if I said Eden?”

“As much as I believe your name is truly Dee,” Patton interjects.

“Clever boy,” the fae says, trailing a smooth finger along Patton’s jawline. Despite his fear, Patton feels a shivery tingling sensation run down his spine. It must be a glamour, but this creature is undeniably beautiful. “Just for that, you may call me Deceit, instead.”

“Is that a title, or a warning?”

“Prince, why is your paramour so rude?” Deceit pouts at Roman. “And he hasn’t even introduced himself, what manners are these?”

“You may call me Morality,” Patton interjects. “You know. The thing that reminds you of right and wrong. And tells you that the right thing to do is leave this circle,” he says fiercely, tugging his boyfriend’s hand.

“Morality,” Deceit says thoughtfully, rolling the name on his tongue. “You’re local, dearheart, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I’m from around here,” Patton responds stiffly. “And I know enough about this forest and you to not fall for your tricks or misdirections.”

“You think that of me? I’m hurt,” the fae responds, splaying a perfect white-and-gold hand across their chest. “Why would I wish to trick you, when I only want your company?”

“Honeyblossom, can’t we stay a bit longer?” Roman asks, still staring at the fae’s bright eyes and hair.

“Dearest, it’s all an illusion,” Patton says softly. “They’ve got a glamour on, to seem more human. They’re not like us.”

“I only wished to avoid alarming you, but I can remove it if you want,” Deceit says with a shrug. They gesture, and the air around them quivers like hot sand in the sun, rippling and resolving back into full detail.

And what detail it is. Their skin remains porcelain-smooth and white, but the gold disruption shows itself to be shining, golden scales, patterned down their face and trailing down their chest. It’s topped not by bright orange hair, as it appeared, but sheets of fire, rippling waves growing from their skull and flickering up into the sky. Their soft fingers are tipped in golden claws.

With the vanishing of the glamour, the illusion of regular clothes have also disappeared. Roman and Patton can now both see, very clearly, that the golden scales trailing all the way down the fae’s body, following their curves, and leading their eyes straight to the only covering the fae has: a strange, leaflike gauze that covers only the area where torso meets legs. Patton may be the only of the two who is obviously blushing, but Roman’s wide eyes speak volumes in themselves.

“I hope I haven’t scared you, my lovelies?” Deceit asks. The shape of their face has morphed, become higher-browed, but that’s not enough to conceal their smirk.

Patton recovers first. “No, you haven’t. And we’re still going to be leaving now, right love?”

A sharp elbow in his side shakes Roman free of his stunned state. “Um. Yes, dear. We’ll do that. We will… stop looking at them.”

Deceit laughs, and it sounds like sparrows tweeting and the harsh bray of crows. “Dear Morality, you know I can taste lies in the air. Your Prince has no desire to depart.”

“R- Prince. Please, just come with me, okay?” Patton murmurs into Roman’s ear. “We need to go.”

“What’s the risk, love?” Roman asks. “It’s an adventure, a new discovery! I can’t wait to tell the nerd.”

“Please,” Patton begs. “I’m… uncomfortable, sweetheart. My feet are outside the circle, let me pull you out, okay?”

Roman hesitates.

His eyes linger on Deceit. They’re clearly inhuman now, but still beautiful. And their eyes are deep and dark, like staring into the tree canopy at the peak of summer. They sparkle like a pirate’s hoard and Roman wants nothing more than to learn the secrets he’s sure the fae could teach him.

But with a force of will he turns his head back to Patton. Dearest, beloved Patton. Who is even more pale than normal, his freckles standing out like paint on his cheeks. Whose hands are warm where they’re holding his. “Okay,” he whispers. But he makes eye contact with the fae once more as he’s tugged back to the hilltop.

Patton keeps tugging him until they’re back at their picnic blanket, and then down the hill once more, sticking to the trail. Patton presses a piece of iron into Roman’s fist, and holds tight to his own in the hand that’s not clasped fast with Roman’s. Patton gets them out of the wood as fast as he possibly can, heart still pounding over their near escape.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At the top of the hill, from within the circle, the fae known as Deceit watches them go. They’re disappointed - they’d hoped to be able to talk to them further. The prince tastes of far-off lands, baked warm by a more-present sun. And Morality, a local, with all of that wise caution the humans used to grind into their children. The fae court could never hope to compare to the delightful intrigue of humanity.

But they have a consolation for how quickly these young men left them. They lift their hands, grinning, at the tiny twist of hair wrapped around their finger. Morality didn’t show up quite fast enough to prevent Prince from freely giving them a piece of that gorgeous, dark, rough hair. They’d not charmed him or bewitched him in any way. The minute the young man had started to sing along, they’d dropped even the beacon spell they’d sent out into the world, the one that had apparently caught the Prince in the first place.

They absolutely must see their Prince again, and his Morality too. That much is certain.

General Tag List:

@residentanchor @royally-anxious @bewarethegrammarpolice  @jemthebookworm @arandompasserby  @sparkly-rainbow-salt @astral-eclipse​ @thelowlysatsuma @adorably-angsty @max-is-tired @almostoveranalyzed @hawthornshadow

[rankakiu]

Thoughts of the Droid: Star Wars Episode IX: Rise of Skywalker

Hello, people of Tumblr! How have they been in these first weeks of the new year? As always, I hope very well. On this occasion, I bring to you all my opinions and thoughts about the last movie of 2019: Star Wars Episode IX: Rise of Skywalker

This film that closes a whole new trilogy that saw its beginnings in 2015 and that also comes to close more than forty years of a story that has been expanded to the point of exhaustion, has received destructive criticism. And it is not for less, since having the honor of being the last film of a main chronology within the canon, made it have very high expectations. It is also influenced by the fact that we all expected this film to redeem the new trilogy, after the disaster that was Episode VIII: The Last Jedi. Is it true that we are in one of the worst films in the saga? Or is there something in it that saves it from such a qualifier? Stay on my review to find out.

WARNING: NOT SPOILER FREE. Read at your own risk

Starting with the review, what did I think of the movie? Short answer: they really fell short to finish more than forty years of history within Star Wars. An enjoyable film, but with the defect of being too simple. Now let's analyze this movie in more detail.

Characters: What can I say about this point? Being honest with you, the whole new generation of characters in this new trilogy was trashed and the potential they had was very wasted. Of course, I am not facing characters that are terribly written, but they also lack genuine development and evolution. It does not feel that they have advanced and that they have had that essential journey, full of learning, that they face challenges that make them discover what they are capable of achieving, as well as knowing their own limits and exceeding them; challenges and situations that make them grow as people and especially that have characteristics that make them identifiable with the viewer. 

Above all, the viewer is interested in the lives of these characters. And therefore, I can't think of them as characters that are memorable. Of course, all of them have entered the legacy of Star Wars, along with the fact that they are canonical characters, and no doubt several fans will hold them in high esteem. It will not be so in my case.

We have Ben Solo, aka Kylo Ren, who in the previous film had had a genuine and interesting development (being the most salvageable of Episode VIII), reaching the point of eliminating his master Snoke and that he remained as the new Supreme Leader . Here, in The Rise of Skywalker, he suffers a huge setback of character, being as a mere servant of Emperor Palpatine. Do you remember the scene in Episode VIII, when Kylo Ren, furious, destroyed his helmet? How that particular scene was the representation that he no longer wanted to be left alone as a shadow of Darth Vader and now he wanted to be the only master of the Dark Side of the Force? Well, in this movie you can forget about it, since in one scene, Kylo returns to repair his helmet and symbolically, he accepts himself as an apprentice of Palpatine.

We have Rey, who really, was the character who had everything to be the most interesting and the saddest of all is that she was the most wasted. And it is even more worrying that this happens with what is the main protagonist of this recent trilogy. What I remember most about Rey is that she is a woman with a good heart, with a very strict ideal of justice and a strong moral; Accompanying these traits, there is the fact that she possesses an enormous dominion over Force, whose mystery was revealed to us in this film, but I will leave that for later. 

What I will mention now is that Rey remained with those features that I mentioned earlier and we never saw her leave that mold so well defined, but that in the long run, as we can see, she ended up harming her character. In her favor, Rey certainly delivers a couple of positive messages to a new generation: That, you are a descendant of a person whose legacy has been of only evil, does not define you as a bad person per se. What defines you is the actions you do for yourself and for others. In the same way, she delivers the message that, as difficult as it may seem, one must never succumb to darker desires or follow a path that is easy and thus become corrupted at all. We must always remain in the ideals of goodness.

What to say about the other characters? In my opinion, the only ones that remained in their essence and that it is pleasant to see them on screen again, are Leia Organa, Lando Calrissian, Luke Skywalker and Emperor Palpatine. Sadly, the only two characters that was given a dignified closure was Leia and Luke and the other two were disappointing. In the case of Leia, we really have to recognize it, it was a sad and very emotional farewell, where she sacrifices her life in order to make Ben, her son, come into reason, which in the end if it resulted in the redemption of said character (somewhat forced, but redemption after all).

In the case of Luke, even when he appears for a brief moment, his presence is equally enjoyable, especially that scene where he holds his lightsaber, demanding Rey more respect for the weapon of a Jedi, being basically a scene where they put to Rian Johnson in his place instead for that other scene where Luke disparaged his own saber. With Luke, I think it would have been good if they took advantage of what they had established in Episode VIII, where they gave indications that the spirits of the Jedi had powers beyond the unimaginable. But in the same way, it is appreciated that Luke appeared, practically with his personality of yesteryear intact.

With Emperor Palpatine, aka Darth Sidious, I have a problem. I will not deny that it was great to see it on screen, mostly because of the great performance of Ian McDiarmid, which at times reminded me of the Darth Sidious of Episode III, with all his energy and his aura of evil and hunger for power. However, this does not help much, when you consider that his return is only for the film to have a conflict and an enemy to win. It is even worse than when you see it in action, it is not a real threat to the good.

About other characters, better not talk. But I will do it anyway. Do you remember General Hux? That General of the First Order who in Episode VII imposed terror and respect and who in Episode VIII suffered a degradation that turned him into a clown? Well, in this movie it still suffers another degradation, only now it is reduced to a weeping and traitorous coward. And what deep motives did he have for committing such an act? Realize that the First Order was wrong in imposing a tyrannical government? No, he simply wanted Kylo Ren not to be the Supreme Leader. *Facepalm* It is quite curious that the commander who killed him, just by appearing in very few scenes, was a much more memorable character than Hux himself, since this commander did have the ruthless attitude and personality that usually exists between Baddies of Star Wars. That and also influences that it has a slight resemblance to Grand Moff Tarkin helps a lot.

With Finn and Poe Dameron, I have no problem, since we saw them interact together in most of the film. In fact, all the discussion and conflict that both have feels quite real and well acted. In essence, two men in a war, where both seek practical solutions to a conflict of galactic scale, only that each has a different opinion. Although yes, both fight for the same cause. It was especially successful, that both finally resolved their differences and that Poe recognized that he needed help when he was appointed new leader of the resistance. Both supported each other in difficult times and fought side by side, showing an authentic friendship between the two. Well done. 

About the soldiers of the First Order, along with the Sith Troopers and the Knights of Ren? They only serve to fill screen, be defeated in an insultingly easy way and especially sell figures. Uselessness at its best. Thanks for participating guys, keep trying.

To finish this point, I will mention a little to C3PO, which serves as a comic relief character in this film. I am quite aware that was the role of the character in previous installments, but I feel that here they exaggerated his role too much, since instead of giving a couple of laughs, he ended up being irritating; In addition, the fact that the other characters treat him as a ballast or a useless object, denotes a very disrespectful treatment towards this character.

In general, the film has a huge variety of characters, but does NOT know what to do with them and does not know how to give them development and evolution so that they feel much more part of the story. In his favor, the film does know how to relate the characters to each other, especially the good guys so they feel like a huge family, despite their multiple differences.

Story: How to define it? Without a doubt the words that come to mind, would be those of a story made in a hurried way and full of conveniences of the script for this advance. The worst part is that they don't even bother making deus ex machina more subtle. 

An example of this, we have Rey who discovers from nothing how to use that Sith dagger, with an infallible intuition and precision that makes you wonder if it was guided by the Force or is the product of a poor script. In this case, it would have been better if they had presented us with an earlier scene, where Rey, with genuine curiosity, inspects that dagger to discover that measuring instrument hidden in that weapon.

By the way, who forged the dagger, must have had powers of Nostradamus to know in what position the remains of the second Death Star would remain. 

And since I mentioned the dagger, it is just as convenient how they found that relic, falling into a kind of sand trap that overlooked a series of underground caves. And what the hell with that alien snake scene? I imagined that they would face this creature and in the end we have a slightly strange scene, where Rey, making use of the Force heals a wound of said animal. Many would think that this scene is unnecessary, but honestly I don't think so. Yes, the scene is somewhat misplaced, but it has its justification, since later it was established as another power of Rey and that in fact would use to save the life of her rival Kylo Ren. 

One of the most controversial points is precisely that Rey was really Emperor Palpatine's granddaughter. Now, the problem, in fact two problems with the origin of Rey, are these: first, Palpatine is the type of character who ambitions power only for him and no one else. In his obsession with getting it and keeping it, that he has hardly taken care of having a family. Second, that Rey was Palpatine's granddaughter first emerged as a fan theory, after the premiere of Episode VII. If the scriptwriters took a theory of fans, that only means one thing: they were devoid of ideas and how to use Palpatine's character and relate it to the story.

Again, in favor of the story, the scenes between Rey and Kylo really show their eternal conflict, where the Sith seeks for Rey to join the Dark Side and accept her dark heritage. Rey for her part, seeks that Kylo pay for the crimes he did, although deep in her heart, she wants Kylo to return to be Ben Solo, to be in the Bright side of the Force. Their interactions are well achieved and in fact they maintain a certain interest in the viewer. By the way, when Palpatine has them both subjected and absorbs the vital energy of the two to regenerate himself, he mentions that the union of Rey and Kylo is a kind of Special Force ... too bad he just mentioned it and history doesn't bother to explain it thoroughly. 

Despite what has been said in the negative points, I think it is also a pretty decent story, since, unlike in Episode VIII, which the film did not know what story to tell, here in this film it concentrates quite well in telling only one story: the search and destruction of Emperor Palpatine and the First Order and thus return to the galaxy the time of peace that he needed so much. In addition to telling that story, it also shows us other subplots, without these being fully fought with the main narrative.

Visuals and Special Effects: We can be calm. If there is something that has always characterized the Star Wars franchise are the special effects, and that are always at the forefront with the latest advances in this area. And in Episode IX could not be the exception. The special effects ensure that you are immersed in the different worlds that are shown in the film and even more, they ensure that the spectators feel part of a distant galaxy. The recreation of extraterrestrial beings, as well as abandoned ships and sites were phenomenal in my opinion. I highlight in particular the scenario of the destroyed Second Death Star, which feels like a huge place (quite obvious if we consider that it was similar in size to a small planet), a reflection of a dark era of yesteryear and also serves as a preamble, a reflection of Rey with herself and the destiny she will have to face. 

As always, visuals and special effects have a A+ insured.

Action: Unfortunately, the action on this occasion was quite a bit dull. Of course, there are sequences of action very well achieved, such as the persecution in the desert, where soldiers of the First Order hunted our protagonists in some motorcycle tanks quite adapted to arid terrain and with the peculiarity of catapulting towards air to one of the crew (equipped with jet-packs). Certainly that sequence of action is very entertaining and exciting to watch; of how our protagonists face a group that can attack on land and air without mercy. 

However, many other scenes remained to be polished, in particular I want to mention the battles with lightsabers. And it is that they lack the emotion and impact that was seen in the prequel trilogy, where the action was rampant and they were beautifully choreographed. Here in this movie, I feel that the intention was to honor the fighting in the style of Episode IV, which was obviously slow and only hit the lightsabers. Even so, these fight scenes between Rey and Kylo were soft, where in my opinion there was a lot of improvisation and hence filming as it is to get the film to market as soon as possible.

A rather negative point in the action was the final battle between Rey and Emperor Palpatine. Being a very disappointing battle, since the battle was for more emotion, however the script resolves it very easily, with Rey acquiring the strength of the Jedi and reflecting the Sith rays on Darth Sidious to end him definitively. Apart from that, the scene is not entirely clear: if the Jedi gave their strength to Rey, or if it was she who suddenly acquired that power to end Palpatine. 

Fighting with spaceships and Destroyers of the First Order also suffer from this problem. And it is that by witnessing thousands and thousands of ships, which could easily have demolished the Destroyers without problem, they were in short sequences of action, where we hardly see them maneuvering and firing. It was to be a battle of epic proportions, much like the trilogy of The Lord of the Rings. Even with everything, the action can be enjoyable and is also one of the strongest points of the film.

In conclusion, Star Wars Episode IX: The Rise of Skywalker, is a film that while it can be enjoyed, it is definitely one of the lowest quality films within the franchise. Of course, it is far from being the worst of this saga, but it also does not have many elements that make it a memorable movie. In certain aspects it is a decent film and it certainly does not give you headaches when you see it. 

However, it is sad to see that this new trilogy has been wasted in this way, and it is even sadder to see that it really had the potential not only to please new generations, but even to unite old and new generations of fans to enjoy a renewed air of this franchise. If you ask me, even though J.J. Abrams directs this movie, without a doubt the fault lies more with Rian Johnson. Abrams, in Episode VII had planted the seed of what would be expected would be a fruitful tree, of new stories, adventures, and characters (and money). And Rian Johnson figuratively destroyed the tree to plant his own that was already dead. Definitely all his ravings began to take charge of this new trilogy and has condemned it to be at a low point.

If you liked Episodes VII and VIII, you might like this last chapter of the saga. If on the contrary you are more fan of the previous canon, for your own sake avoid this movie. I meanwhile, I give this movie 2 of 5 Spirits of The Force. Sadly the force is not with us now in this last film of the main saga.

Greetings

Rankakiu

[burkesguidetodnd]

Bard

In the worlds of D&D, words and music are not just vibrations of air, but vocalizations with power all their own. The bard is a master of song, speech, and the magic they contain. Bards say that the multiverse was spoken into existence, that the words of the gods gave it shape, and that echoes of these primordial Words of Creation still resound throughout the cosmos. The music of bards is an attempt to snatch and harness those echoes, subtly woven into their spells and powers. The greatest strength of bards is their sheer versatility. Many bards prefer to stick to the sidelines in combat, using their magic to inspire their allies and hinder their foes from a distance. But bards are capable of defending themselves in melee if necessary, using their magic to bolster their swords and armour. Their spells lean toward charms and illusions rather than blatantly destructive spells. They have a wide-ranging knowledge of many subjects and a natural aptitude that lets them do almost anything well. Bards become masters of the talents they set their minds to perfecting, from musical performance to esoteric knowledge.

True bards are not common in the world. Not every minstrel singing in a tavern or jester cavorting in a royal court is a bard. Discovering the magic hidden in music requires hard study and some measure of natural talent that most troubadours and jongleurs lack. It can be hard to spot the difference between these performers and true bards, though. A bard’s life is spent wandering across the land gathering lore, telling stories, and living on the gratitude of audiences, much like any other entertainer. But a depth of knowledge, a level of musical skill, and a touch of magic set bards apart from their fellows. Only rarely do bards settle in one place for long, and their natural desire to travel—to find new tales to tell, new skills to learn, and new discoveries beyond the horizon—makes an adventuring career a natural calling. Every adventure is an opportunity to learn, practice a variety of skills, enter long-forgotten tombs, discover lost works of magic, decipher old tomes, travel to strange places, or encounter exotic creatures. Bards love to accompany heroes to witness their deeds first hand. A bard who can tell an awe-inspiring story from personal experience earns renown among other bards. Indeed, after telling so many stories about heroes accomplishing mighty deeds, many bards take these themes to heart and assume heroic roles themselves.

Bards thrive on stories, whether those stories are true or not. Your character’s background and motivations are not as important as the stories that he or she tells about them. Perhaps you had a secure and mundane childhood. There’s no good story to be told about that, so you might paint yourself as an orphan raised by a hag in a dismal swamp. Or your childhood might be worthy of a story. Some bards acquire their magical music through extraordinary means, including the inspiration of fey or other supernatural creatures. Did you serve an apprenticeship, studying under a master, following the more experienced bard until you were ready to strike out on your own? Or did you attend a college where you studied bardic lore and practised your musical magic? Perhaps you were a young runaway or orphan, befriended by a wandering bard who became your mentor. Or you might have been a spoiled noble child tutored by a master. Perhaps you stumbled into the clutches of a hag, making a bargain for a musical gift in addition to your life and freedom, but at what cost?

HIT POINTS: 1d8 Per Bard Level

HIT POINTS AT 1st LEVEL: 1d8 + CON

PROFICIENCIES:

ARMOUR: Light

WEAPONS: Simple, hand crossbows, longswords, rapiers, shortswords

TOOLS: Three musical instruments of your choice

SAVING THROWS: Dexterity, Charisma

SKILLS: Choose any three

STARTING EQUIPMENT

1. A rapier, OR a longsword, OR any simple weapon.

2. A diplomat’s pack OR an entertainer’s pack.

3. A lute OR any other musical instrument.

4. Leather armour AND a dagger.

FEATURES

SPELLCASTING

You have learned to untangle and reshape the fabric of reality in harmony with your wishes and music. Your spells are part of your vast repertoire, magic that you can tune to different situations. See Spells Rules for the general rules of spellcasting and the Spells Listing for the bard spell list.

Cantrips

You know two cantrips of your choice from the bard spell list. You learn additional bard cantrips of your choice at higher levels, as shown in the Cantrips Known column of the Bard table.

Spell Slots

The Bard table shows how many spell slots you have to cast your bard spells of 1st level and higher. To cast one of these spells, you must expend a slot of the spell’s level or higher. You regain all expended spell slots when you finish a long rest. For example, if you know the 1st-level spell cure wounds and have a 1st-level and a 2nd-level spell slot available, you can cast cure wounds using either slot.

Spells Known of 1st Level and Higher

You know four 1st-level spells of your choice from the bard spell list. The Spells Known column of the Bard table shows when you learn more bard spells of your choice. Each of these spells must be of a level for which you have spell slots, as shown on the table. For instance, when you reach 3rd level in this class, you can learn one new spell of 1st or 2nd level. Additionally, when you gain a level in this class, you can choose one of the bard spells you know and replace it with another spell from the bard spell list, which also must be of a level for which you have spell slots.

Spellcasting Ability

Charisma is your spellcasting ability for your bard spells. Your magic comes from the heart and soul you pour into the performance of your music or oration. You use your Charisma whenever a spell refers to your spellcasting ability. In addition, you use your Charisma modifier when setting the saving throw DC for a bard spell you cast and when making an attack roll with one.

Spell save DC = 8 + your proficiency bonus + your Charisma modifier

Spell attack modifier = your proficiency bonus + your Charisma modifier

Ritual Casting

You can cast any bard spell you know as a ritual if that spell has the ritual tag.

Spellcasting Focus

You can use a musical instrument (see the Tools section) as a spellcasting focus for your bard spells.

BARDIC INSPIRATION

You can inspire others through stirring words or music. To do so, you use a bonus action on your turn to choose one creature other than yourself within 60 feet of you who can hear you. That creature gains one Bardic Inspiration die, a d6. Once within the next 10 minutes, the creature can roll the die and add the number rolled to one ability check, attack roll, or saving throw it makes. The creature can wait until after it rolls the d20 before deciding to use the Bardic Inspiration die, but must decide before the DM says whether the roll succeeds or fails. Once the Bardic Inspiration die is rolled, it is lost. A creature can have only one Bardic Inspiration die at a time. You can use this feature a number of times equal to your Charisma modifier (a minimum of once). You regain any expended uses when you finish a long rest. Your Bardic Inspiration die changes when you reach certain levels in this class. The die becomes a d8 at 5th level, a d10 at 10th level, and a d12 at 15th level.

JACK OF ALL TRADES

Starting at 2nd level, you can add half your proficiency bonus, rounded down, to any ability check you make that doesn’t already include your proficiency bonus.

SONG OF REST

Beginning at 2nd level, you can use soothing music or oration to help revitalize your wounded allies during a short rest. If you or any friendly creatures who can hear your performance regain hit points at the end of the short rest by spending one or more Hit Dice, each of those creatures regains an extra 1d6 hit points. The extra hit points increase when you reach certain levels in this class: to 1d8 at 9th level, to 1d10 at 13th level, and to 1d12 at 17th level.

BARD COLLEGE

At 3rd level, you delve into the advanced techniques of a bard college of your choice: the College of Lore detailed at the end of the class description or another from the Player's Handbook or other sources. Your choice grants you features at 3rd level and again at 6th and 14th level.

EXPERTISE 

At 3rd level, choose two of your skill proficiencies. Your proficiency bonus is doubled for any ability check you make that uses either of the chosen proficiencies.

ABILITY SCORE IMPROVEMENT

When you reach 4th level, and again at 8th, 12th, 16th, and 19th level, you can increase one ability score of your choice by 2, or you can increase two ability scores of your choice by 1. As normal, you can’t increase an ability score above 20 using this feature.

FONT OF INSPIRATION

Beginning when you reach 5th level, you regain all of your expended uses of Bardic Inspiration when you finish a short or long rest.

COUNTERCHARM

At 6th level, you gain the ability to use musical notes or words of power to disrupt mind-influencing effects. As an action, you can start a performance that lasts until the end of your next turn. During that time, you and any friendly creatures within 30 feet of you have advantage on saving throws against being frightened or charmed. A creature must be able to hear you to gain this benefit. The performance ends early if you are incapacitated or silenced or if you voluntarily end it (no action required).

EXPERTISE 

At 10th level, choose two more of your skill proficiencies. Your proficiency bonus is doubled for any ability check you make that uses either of the chosen proficiencies.

MAGICAL SECRETS

By 10th level, you have plundered magical knowledge from a wide spectrum of disciplines. Choose two spells from any classes, including this one. A spell you choose must be of a level you can cast, as shown on the Bard table, or a cantrip. The chosen spells count as bard spells for you and are included in the number in the Spells Known column of the Bard table. You learn two additional spells from any classes at 14th level and again at 18th level.

SUPERIOR INSPIRATION

At 20th level, when you roll initiative and have no uses of Bardic Inspiration left, you regain one use.

BARD COLLEGES

The way of a bard is gregarious. Bards seek each other out to swap songs and stories, boast of their accomplishments, and share their knowledge. Bards form loose associations, which they call colleges, to facilitate their gatherings and preserve their traditions.

College of Creation

Bards believe the multiverse was given existence through word and sound, esoteric harmonies that continue to resound through existence: the Song of Creation. The bards of this college draw on this ancient power through performances of dance, music, or song to bring into being what they need most. Members of this college might have developed their powers during experiences on other worlds or planes of existence. Those who have seen the commonalities of multiple realities might have learned how to tap into truths most mortals glimpse only for a moment. Alternatively, the bard might find themselves out of step with their own home plane, reality, or time, their connections to elsewhere allowing them to manipulate the space around them. Regardless of where a bard draws their powers from, other performers might be drawn to them, either to learn their secrets or to put an end to their dangerous manipulation of the Song of Creation.

3rd Level – Note of Potential

You can manipulate the Song of Creation to summon a floating musical note of possibility. Whenever you give a creature a Bardic Inspiration die, you can create a Note of Potential. The note orbits within 5 feet of the creature. The note is a Tiny object that is intangible and invulnerable, and it lasts until the Bardic Inspiration die is lost. A creature with a note can use it in the following ways.

Note of Destruction. Immediately after the creature rolls the Bardic Inspiration die to add it to an attack roll, the creature can expend the note to create a burst of sound. Each other creature within 5 feet of it must succeed on a Constitution saving throw against your spell save DC or take thunder damage equal to the number rolled on the Bardic Inspiration die.

Note of Protection. Immediately after the creature rolls the Bardic Inspiration die and adds it to a saving throw, the creature can expend the note to gain temporary hit points equal to the number rolled on the Bardic Inspiration die + your Charisma modifier, provided the creature doesn't already have temporary hit points.

Note of Ingenuity. When the creature rolls the Bardic Inspiration die to add it to an ability check, the creature can expend the note to roll the Bardic Inspiration die again and choose which roll to use.

6th Level – Animated Performance

Your mastery over the Song of Creation allows you to magically bring items to life. As an action, you can target a Large or smaller non-magical item you can see within 30 feet of you and animate it. The animate item uses the Dancing Item stat block and is under your control for 1 hour or until it is reduced to 0 hit points. In combat, the item shares your initiative count, but it takes its turn immediately after yours. It can move and use its reaction on its own, but the only action it takes on its turn is the Dodge action, unless you take a bonus action on your turn to command it to take one of the actions in its stat block or the Dash, Disengage, Help, Hide, or Search action. When you use your Bardic Inspiration feature, you can command which action your animated item takes as part of the same bonus action. Once you animate an item with this feature, you can’t do so again until you finish a long rest or until you expend a spell slot of 3rd level or higher to use this feature. You can have only one item animated by this feature at a time; if you use this action and already have a dancing item from this feature, the first one immediately becomes inanimate.

14th Level – Performance of Creation

Your performance can manipulate the magic of creation, briefly transforming the world around you. As an action, you can create one non-magical item of your choice in an unoccupied space within 10 feet of you. The item must appear on a surface or in a liquid that can support it. The gp value of the item can’t be more than 20 times your bard level and must be Large or smaller. Tiny glimmering, intangible notes float around it, and a creature can faintly hear music when touching it. For examples of items you can create, see the Armour, Weapons, Adventuring Gear, Tools, and Mounts and Vehicles tables in chapter 5, “Equipment,” of the Player’s Handbook. The created item disappears at the end of your next turn, unless you use your action to maintain it. Each time you use your action in this way, the item’s duration is extended to the end of your next turn, up to a maximum of 1 minute. If you maintain the item for the full minute, it continues to exist for a number of hours equal to your bard level. Once you create an item with this feature, you can’t do so again until you finish a long rest or until you expend a spell slot of 5th level or higher to use this feature. You can have only one item created by this feature at a time; if you use this action and already have an item from this feature, the first one immediately vanishes.

College of Eloquence

Adherents of the College of Eloquence master the art of oratory. Persuasion is regarded as a high art, and a well-reasoned, well-spoken argument often proves more powerful than objective truth. These bards wield a blend of logic and theatrical wordplay, winning over septics and detractors with logical arguments, and plucking at heartstrings to appeal to the emotions of entire audiences.

3rd Level – Universal Speech

You can now cast calm emotions without expending a spell slot. You can use this feature a number of times equal to your Charisma modifier. You regain all expended uses of this feature when you finish a long rest.

6th Level – Undeniable Logic

You can spin words laced with magic into a knot of reasoning that can be encouraging or impossible to follow. As a bonus action, you can expend one of your uses of Bardic Inspiration. When you do so, choose a creature you can see within 60 feet of you that can hear you, then roll your Bardic Inspiration die and choose one of the following:

The creature takes psychic damage equal to the number you roll on the Bardic Inspiration die, and the creature must succeed on an Intelligence saving throw against your spell save DC or have disadvantage on the next saving throw it makes before the end of your next turn.

The creature regains hit points equal to the number you roll on the Bardic Inspiration die, and the creature has advantage on the next saving throw it makes before the end of your next turn.

14th Level – Infectious Inspiration

When a creature adds one of your Bardic Inspiration dice to its ability check, attack roll, or saving throw and the roll fails, the creature can keep the Bardic Inspiration die. In addition, when a creature adds one of your Bardic Inspiration dice to its ability check, attack roll, or saving throw and the roll succeeds, you can use your reaction to encourage a different creature (other than yourself) that can hear you within 60 feet of you, giving it a Bardic Inspiration die without expending any of your Bardic Inspiration uses. You can use this reaction a number of times equal to your Charisma modifier (minimum of once), and you regain all expended uses when you finish a long rest.

College of Lore

Bards of the College of Lore know something about most things, collecting bits of knowledge from sources as diverse as scholarly tomes and peasant tales. Whether singing folk ballads in taverns or elaborate compositions in royal courts, these bards use their gifts to hold audiences spellbound. When the applause dies down, the audience members might find themselves questioning everything they held to be true, from their faith in the priesthood of the local temple to their loyalty to the king. The loyalty of these bards lies in the pursuit of beauty and truth, not in fealty to a monarch or following the tenets of a deity. A noble who keeps such a bard as a herald or advisor knows that the bard would rather be honest than politic. The college’s members gather in libraries and sometimes in actual colleges, complete with classrooms and dormitories, to share their lore with one another. They also meet at festivals or affairs of state, where they can expose corruption, unravel lies, and poke fun at self-important figures of authority.

3rd Level – Bonus Proficiencies

When you join the College of Lore at 3rd level, you gain proficiency with three skills of your choice.

3rd Level – Cutting Words

Also at 3rd level, you learn how to use your wit to distract, confuse, and otherwise sap the confidence and competence of others. When a creature that you can see within 60 feet of you makes an attack roll, an ability check, or a damage roll, you can use your reaction to expend one of your uses of Bardic Inspiration, rolling a Bardic Inspiration die and subtracting the number rolled from the creature’s roll. You can choose to use this feature after the creature makes its roll, but before the DM determines whether the attack roll or ability check succeeds or fails, or before the creature deals its damage. The creature is immune if it can’t hear you or if it’s immune to being charmed.

6th Level – Additional Magical Secrets

At 6th level, you learn two spells of your choice from any class. A spell you choose must be of a level you can cast, as shown on the Bard table, or a cantrip. The chosen spells count as bard spells for you but don’t count against the number of bard spells you know.

14th Level – Peerless Skill

Starting at 14th level, when you make an ability check, you can expend one use of Bardic Inspiration. Roll a Bardic Inspiration die and add the number rolled to your ability check. You can choose to do so after you roll the die for the ability check, but before the DM tells you whether you succeed or fail.

Bard Spell List

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