#such as a mass map of where the entirety of the story will take place

[ailurocide]

.. I think I’m going to start randomly posting tidbits of story building, as well as character art and felfolk society set-up

I’ve recently been thinking very hard about the whole story, the primary message, and where I’d like to guide it. I’m in a pretty deep rut at the moment, so actual writing will take quite a while longer to come out…

But I do hope that y’all will be satisfied and happy with what I am planning in terms of regularly posted content in the future :)

[lustbile]

The Journal

TenxReader

Word Count: 7.3k+

Summary/Warnings: Smut with plot, semi public, a lot of biting, mentions of supernatural and just general weirdness, and small amount of blood play

Apart of the Club X series: Masterlist (can be read alone or within the series, but unlike others it might just be the slightest amount confusing)

“So that’s what you’re into now,” your best friend’s voice is bored and distant, her task of wiping down the bar that stretched out in front of her taking a majority of her attention away from the babbling you’ve tried to subject her to since you entered the empty restaurant only about 20 minutes before, “weird demon sex clubs?”

—

—

“Ah ah, I never said they were demons,” you correct quickly, the thought of defending yourself never crossing your mind as you petulantly slap your hands against the polished wood, “I just said it was…. weird.”

“Weird is an understatement,” she scoffs quietly as she turns to dip her dirtied rag back into the bleach water and ring it out, “I mean look, I’ve always been supportive in the witchy stuff you’ve been into but this…. is a bit much.”

“I don’t see how this is any different than any other thing I’ve read into.”

“Oh you don’t see?” you finally manage to pull her attention towards you as she harshly slaps the rag back onto the wood with a stern glare pulled on her pretty features, “you’re talking about vulnerability and abandoned warehouses and public sex. That last one is definitely new.”

You fully expected this type of response, only hoping she’d be busy enough that you would dodge the motherly scolding she liked to give you when you pitched your schemes to her with your eyes wild and wide, but nevertheless, she was completely right.

It came from an old book, tattered and torn from being flipped through one too many times, that you found at your favorite antique store. The store itself was already notorious with your tight inner circle of friends as the creepy shop that was corrupting your brain, a constant taunt being that the little old woman that ran it was the actual devil and she was just waiting for the right time to jump you and eat you whole, but this did nothing to stop you from visiting at least once a week.

But the book, it was different from any other you had found. It was completely handwritten, including amazingly done sketches in a deep unfading ink, and spoke of outlandish things.

Some were easily brushed off, like a murder that happened in the 50’s that was known to stay in the mouths of the older folks, both to them and the book it was widely believed to be the doing of some long tongued and wild eyed creature, until a local sweet old man admitted on his deathbed that it was instead his one crime of passion.

He had been a young soldier that snuck into his lover’s room one night, and upon learning that she was to marry a nice lawyer the day after he was meant to deploy, his mind went blank and his hands were carving out her heart. He luckily escaped any questioning after being shipped off, and once he returned home he captured the heart of a pretty young girl and lived out a long life sitting on top of a horrid truth.

So yeah, stories of those sorts, having been solved in your lifetime, meant very little to you, but the one you were going on about now, meant the world.

The writing looked like it had been put down by a panicked chicken rather than the woman who’s name was written neatly in the front. It lived in some of the pages towards the back of the small book and spoke of a dark club. Club X.

She went on and on about stumbling across the club purely by accident, and meeting another woman with glittering eyes. Graphic details of being taken in the middle of the dance floor with a million eyes looking but not fully seeing her as she fell apart against a dancing and eager tongue made your heart thump lodged in your throat. But the more and more she visited the club, the more incoherent her words became, but towards the end the writing had become stained and obscured by a deep brown stain, before it stopped altogether.

Thankfully, the details of where the building was was completely visible regardless of being the thoughts of a mad woman, and with a lot of thinking and staring at the town map, you’ve come to believe that you knew exactly where the mysterious club stood.

Only a street down from the restaurant you sit in now.

“Listen, I know it sounds ridiculous, and it probably is, but what’s the problem with just going to check right?” you scramble to pull the delicate book from the bag that sits in the stool beside you as your friend moves closer and closer to where you sit, laying it flat to show her the page you’ve had bookmarked since you read it, “and look at the name she puts, I think it’s the man who ran it and it’s a long shot, but maybe he’s still alive, or if not maybe some family is! Right here, Asm-“

“Don’t say it again,” she’s quick to interrupt, sliding her free hand to hover above the page you’ve glued your eyes to, “I don’t wanna hear any old man names, especially that one it gives me the ick.”

“It’s just a name,” murmur to yourself, but move to put the book away regardless, “but anyways, I have something that most people who were going to the club didn’t, knowledge of what exactly I’m walking into. I can just go and look around, worst things worst its still a freaky sex club and I just go home, but I’m willing to bet this lady was just off the shits and its just an empty building with some funky vintage beer bottles that you can add to your collection.”

You feel like you’ve won an award you weren’t even trying to compete for when she finally breaks out into a soft smile. The huff that leaves her chest is endeared, and you swear your heart began to vibrate when she reached to run a gentle thumb across the swell from your cheekbone.

“Fine, do what you want, but if the bottle isn’t completely intact when you find it I don’t want it.”

“So you’re not coming with me?” your head tilts to the side in confusion as with things of this nature in the past, she’s always followed along to ensure that you didn’t do anything to stupid. You never felt like the company was fully necessary, but it was appreciated regardless.

“Baby, as much as I’ve enjoyed your info dumping you’ve done tonight, the other person that was meant to clean with me had to leave early with a stomach bug so I’m busy pulling a clean up job that’s truly a job for about five people. But you seem to really believe in this little adventure of yours,” she leaves the rag in a damp mass next to the stack of dirty glasses beside you to take your hands in her’s, her slightly wrinkled fingers are still warm and the way they lace with yours makes you feel like nothing in the world could hurt you, “besides, you’re as smart as a whip and I know you have me on speed dial. I trust you.”

——

You no longer love the feeling of being trusted.

When your friend had given you the heartfelt speech only a little over half an hour ago, you felt like you had been put on a nice pedestal before she handed you a cookie with a pat on the head.

Now the “cookie” had turned to rot in your belly and you were faced with your own perfectly dreamed up reality.

It was already late by the time you had walked into the restaurant your friend works at, the sun already setting and the last few customers gathering their things and paying the bills, so once you got her stamp of approval and we’re heading out the door, the only light left was a bright and full moon, and flickering street lights.

You took your time walking in the direction that your book and personal sleuthing had pointed you in, the closer and closer you got to the one warehouse in town that seemed to never be bought back from the city, the knots in your belly pulled tighter and tighter.

But regardless of the almost painful twist in your gut, you surprisingly almost missed the building in its entirety.

It was as if your entire being blocked out the thumping bass that shook the sidewalk and the blinding red light that spilled from beneath the entrance and out the fractured windows. Your brain trying to force itself from entering the building you spent so many weeks trying to locate.

But the way your heart thuds in your chest when you stand in front of the entrance is something you couldn't even pretend you didn’t feel.

Your tongue digs into the side of your jaw, and you're confused at the feeling of warm tears burning at your waterlines. It’s exactly the way the owner of the journal described it in her manic writings, weirdly exact considering the other stories that surrounded it that dated it back far before you were even born.

You want to go in, the shaking steps your legs take is evident to that, but the tense muscles of your shoulders and stomach makes you hesitate and even grumble out into the air.

You almost jump out of your skin when you hear a shuffling to your side, your throat tensing when you look over, and are put slightly at ease when you see two men who you assume are acting as some type of security. You almost expect them to look up and ask you for some type of ID when you’re being very weird and blatant about your presence, but they seem too preoccupied with the dim screens of their phones and the way they lean forward at different times as if they’re waiting for someone.

Your hands are shaking slightly as they scramble down to grab for your bag, desperately looking for something to occupy you to walk by them without being even more weird, and when your fingers wrap around the flaking leather that binds the book, you grab it like a lifeline.

Your fingers flip through the pages with perfect muscle memory as you trip up the few steps that lead to the door, the tabs you carefully placed on the first page mentioning the club not even necessary with the way you could find the page even in your sleep.

You subconsciously hold your breath when you walk past the two men, almost as if the book is instead something wildly illegal and you're trying to sneak past your parents, and your washed with a temporary wave of relief when you pass through the doors without even a glance from the two.

Though the relief is stolen from your bones the second your feet touch the floor of the club.

It’s as if you’ve entered a place you’ve known your whole life, and from the amazing descriptions from the woman in the past, its not a completely surprising feeling.

But another part of you feels like this is the first time you’ve seen human beings in the flesh.

You can't help but to feel like you must look like an absolute nerd as you pull the book up to your face as you start to survey the club, but thankfully the book told at least one truth, and many of the club goers are too busy grouping and grinding against one another to even acknowledge your existence.

More truths come to light as you flick your eyes between the pages and the walls.

The bar is still tucked in the same far corner as she described, the flittering red and blue lights making it feel like a beacon of calm regardless of it being surrounded by drunken forms and its intimidatingly pretty bartender.

The dj is just a stoic and unimpressed looking as the one from so many years ago as he subconsciously bobs to the beat that he creates as he messes with the nobs and switches in front of him. He’s actually so similar, you wonder if you were right and the owner did have family floating around, and maybe the dj is one of them.

You stumble further into the room as you pick out small details she wrote about so lovingly. Your legs carry you to the back of the building as you smile at the sight of the wine stain the writer claimed to have created when her lover shocked her with a playful bite to the neck.

You almost feel like the universe is gifting you everything you could have possibly asked for when you see the loose board that she said a friend of hers would always trip over, and electricity zips up your spine in excitement when you spots the large painting that still hangs over the booth she claimed as her favorite, and she meticulously sketched out next to a paragraph about what she thought the artist was feeling.

All these things though, lead to the things that make your jaw hang slightly open.

The large balcony above you is larger than you ever imagined. The hundreds of bright red carnations she loved to sketch drip from the golden bars like water, and the black velvet curtains that hang over the room it leads to look heavy enough that they suffocate someone if they fell.

She seemed so intensely in love with the place you stand in, and the woman she met there, and those emotions were more than evident from the way the recreated the energy of the club with her words and art. Which only tips you towards the part that caught your attention perhaps the most.

It was exactly where it was meant to be. Just below the balcony that hangs high on the wall, gaping wide and dark like the mouth of a hungry monster coaxing you to enter its throat. The only issue that you can see being the hanging rope that blocks you from entering, but with only shining bright clasps holding it onto hooks on the walls, you don’t think you're above sneaking past it with little guilt.

The hall was the one thing that taunted you the most about the story the woman spun in the little worn book. The empty and dark vass space being something that coaxed her as well, but unfortunately for you, and maybe her as well, the parts of her journal that began the tale of her passing the temping rope, was the exact spot that was stained with bleeding ink and a suspicious brown color.

You survey the space around you, looking for anyone that could possibly be a worker or just a stickler for the rules, but seeing as everyone in your range of vision was attached by the mouth on someone’s neck or sloppy lips, you figured you were in the clear.

You drop the book gently back into your bag before you step slowly forward. Your heart feels like a wild animal trying to break out of the cavity of your chest, and it feels like your intestines have been successfully replaced with writhing worms that are desperately trying to reach your gut. You feel heat traveling up your chest and neck, and as you get within a few feet of what feels like the end of your life, your body begins to shake.

If you had the ability, you would have screamed, and if you had the strength, you would have fought back. But right when you're about to reach the threshold of the hall, and right when you feel like your legs are about to collapse from underneath you, strong fingers clasp over your trembling mouth, and an arm wraps tightly around your waist.

You’re turned faster than you can blink, the sudden motion making your brain swirl in your skull and making you go lightheaded and dizzy. And while keeping their hand clasped tightly over your mouth, the person that cages you in slams your back into the cold wall and knocks the air from your lungs.

The eyes that meet you are cat-like and dancing wildly, the grin the man you're faced with now smiles at you wickedly, and when your hands dart up until your nails dig harshly into the skin of his forearms, his smile only widens.

“Now,” he starts, the remains of a chuckle shaking his chest and his words slightly, “what exactly are you up to?”

You wait for a moment for him to release you from his hold, and when after a minute or so he still hasn’t budged, all you can offer in response is an annoyed arched brow.

“What?” he has the audacity to ask with taunting sincerity, “you thought you were smart enough to go wandering around, so you should be smart enough to figure out a way to talk around my hand right?”

It’s with immense irritation that you realize the two possibilities you’re faced with.

From the book you know about the weird concept of soul mates or whatever they were meant to be. The woman and the mysterious dancing girl she met so many years ago, and similar stories from the friends she met during her many visits to the club who had almost identical tales that she had to recount.

So with that information you know the possibility of this grinning man being your person is high, but your person or not, he was lighting a fire in your chest regardless.

You don’t think or even weigh the negatives before you send him a hard glare, and you show very little hesitation when you push forward to sink your teeth into the first finger you can catch.

His yelp is covered by the blaring music, but you hear it loud and clear before he reaches his free hand up to pinch at the bridge of your nose to pull you off like a rabid kitten.

“You know what I’m up to,” you huff petulantly as you lean back into the wall with your arms folding over your chest, “or at least I’d assume you’d be smart enough to use your context clues right?”

His lip curls when he glances back up to you as he pets at his now bruising finger, but even with the thin veil of irritation on his pretty features, you can tell he enjoys the sarcastic tone you’ve adopted.

“Yeah you’re sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong,” he bites back as he steps closer, crowding your personal space and pushing his chest tightly against yours, “you’re lucky I’m who caught you and not boss man.”

“Boss man?” you ask, trying not to show you excitement over him spilling the treasured information about the club that you want so desperately.

He doesn’t answer you verbally, and the sly wink he throws at you shocks you more than you would like to admit, but when he tilts his head back quickly you don’t hesitate to follow his line of sight to the edge of the balcony.

If it weren’t for the thin wires of light that create hatching over his eyes and mouth, you probably would have missed the masked figure that leers at you from over the railing. His hands and shoulders are covered by the masses of flowers, and the hollow black where he hides his eyes stares down at you two with a look that you assume is annoyance and possible curiosity.

The moment you two look up, the figure jerks back. Your eyes flick quickly between him and the man in front of you, and from the bratty grin he wears as he looks up, you feel as if the masked man didn’t have any intention at being caught.

You get lost slightly in staring at the man pressed against you, his teeth that look sharper in the red lighting and his eyes twinkle in mischief, and even with the obnoxious start to your interaction, you’d be lying to say you don’t find him beautiful.

It takes you a second to regain your senses, tearing your eyes away from the fascinating side profile of the man, but when you glance back up to the balcony, the mask man has retreated back.

“He doesn’t like much when we take people back there before they’re ready,” he attempts at an explanation as he turns back to you, and seems unfazed when he misses the mark and just confuses you further, “he let the two goons outside have a little exception, but that's because they don’t know how to go easy y‘know.”

“No,” you shake your head at him with a quiet scoff, “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think you know more than you think,” his voice drops as he speaks now, and as he speaks he reaches out his hand to hold himself propped against the wall next to your head while his other hand moves to run gently up the side of your neck, “I mean, you know who I am at least right?”

“I have an idea,” you admit with a huff, but you also admit to yourself that this probably means you won't be getting into the hall. You do mentally jot that down as a loss, but decide to take the man pressed against you as a win and you reach to grab at his shirt in retaliation, “but you could at least give me a name to work with.”

“Hm, I didn’t expect you to be one for such formalities,” his head tilts in amusement at his own words, and the action nudges the tip of his nose into yours and makes your heart flutter up into your throat, “but you might as well know the name of the man you’ll be destined to fall in love with.”

You roll your eyes hard enough for them to start to ache, and he quietly laughs and moves to press his nose into the soft flesh of your cheek as he feeds off your annoyance.

“Ten,” he answers quietly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he moves to whisper the syllable in your ear, and you never thought that with just one word he’d have a shiver rushing up your spine.

You respond quietly with your name, but the word comes out strained and rushed when he begins to nibble on the lobe of your ear and pushes his knee harshly between your thighs.

Both your hands now hold tightly onto the sides of his shirt, and when his lips move to trail against the side of your neck that isn't enveloped by his hand, you tug roughly at the fabric and your back arches slightly away from the wall.

His tongue is hot when he lays it flat on the center of your throat, and when he swipes it up until it flicks against the end of your chin, you can't help but cringe slightly at the feeling regardless of the way it makes heat pool in between your thighs.

The wicked grin on his face never falters, it only grows wider and more hungry when your eyes meet again, and with his staring so deep that you fear he may be collecting every ounce of your soul, you two have a silent agreement on the unnatural waves of electricity that connect you.

When his lips finally land on yours, it's the roughest and clumsiest kiss you’ve experienced. Both of you fight each other with hungry and eager tongues and the way your teeth gently knock together has your skull rattling in a way that, if you weren’t so hell bent of devouring each other whole, you’d probably have to take a breather.

Your hands reluctantly release the wrinkled fabric of his shirt, and in a desperate attempt to stay occupied, they shoot up the tangle tightly into his hair. You admit, you probably tug harsher on the strands than you probably should, but the groans he pours into your mouth, and the way his hips rock roughly into yours, has you tugging again and again.

He presses you further and further into the wall, and without thinking your hips begin to kick and tilt down until you're grinding harshly and sloppily against his tense thigh.

You let out a quiet whine that's muffled and garbled by his moving at the feeling of him pressing his thumb gently into the dip beneath your jaw, and pressing into your jugular. The sound is followed almost immediately by a small yelp when he latches his teeth to your bottom lip and gives you a stinging bite.

You’re frustrated almost immediately with the lack of friction you can feel from the layers of clothing between you, and now the slight shooting pain from the tensing skin between his teeth, you can feel the impatience in your belly crawling up and invading your chest and throat.

He’s quick to pull away when you retaliate with your own nipping bite to his top lip, your teeth still sinking down when he does and making his sting probably just as much as yours. And when he eyes you as his eyelids droop down into an accusatory squint, you assume he’s not used to getting a taste of his own medicine.

He mutters something to himself about your feistiness, and a sly comment about how he shouldn’t be surprised as he was expecting to get a handful, but he gives you no time to make a snide comment or even question about any of the words, before his fingers are closing firmly but loosely around your neck.

He keeps you rooted in the spot that you stand, the only change in your posture he allows is pulling you slightly away from the wall, just wide enough for him to slink behind you and tug you roughly back into his chest.

“You like poking around into business that isn’t yours?” he asks rhetorically as his free hand reaches around your shoulder to push past the neckline of your shirt, and right as he pressed down the center of your chest and his fingers brush the bottom of your rib cage, his fingers curl and he starts to drag his blunt nails up your sternum as he continues, “need to know and see every single little thing right? So… what’s the harm of being on the other side of it for once?”

“What are you on about?” you as sharply as you try to turn your face towards him the best you can, but his hand tilts under the bottom of your chin until your head is forced to lean on his shoulder and he’s nothing but thrilled at the way it makes you struggle.

“To be seen, or not?” he presses his lips back against the shell of your ear, and the way he whispers roughly makes you shiver again as your thighs press tightly together, “you know what I mean, and you know the answer I want, but its all up to you in the end.”

The electric and slightly humiliating buzz of being seen in a mass of bodies committing the same sins as you was something the woman in the book went on about frequently. She mentioned that there were a few times where she and her lover snuck off to get alone time of course, but the almost blinding pleasure that came from being worshiped by not only one person, but the eyes of an entire room, was addictive. And you wanted just a taste.

You grumble in response, the idea of admitting to the already confident man that you did indeed wanted the same amount of attention as he did made your chest burn even more than it already was, and you’d rather take your chance with his terrifying looking boss than to give him the satisfaction of your verbal confession.

He seems unaffected by your nonverbal confirmation, the way you press into him as his hand wraps around your waist again and creeps down to the button of your shorts, and your own hand grabbing onto the sleeve of his rolled up long sleeve shirt to guide him to undo the clasp or just dip below the waistband, is enough of an answer for him to know.

He chooses to pop the button, and once he has the zipper pulled down enough that he can work with, he begins to shove the worn denim down your hips along with your underwear until they are wrapped around your knees and he can push his fingers roughly between your thighs.

You try to clear the fog that he creates in your mind from his teasing fingers long enough to reach your free hand back to give the same treatment to the dark jeans that wrap tightly around his hips and thighs in a way that had you mentally drooling from the moment you got to get a full look at him, after he ambushed you of course.

You’re not sure how he undid your shorts so quickly without being able to see, but as you fumble and scratch your nails against the sensitive skin of his hip, you give yourself the benefit of the doubt seeing as your trying to work while his middle and ring fingers tease over your entrance and the heel of his hand presses clumsily into your neglected clit.

He, on the other hand, doesn’t give you any benefit of the doubt. He at least has the decency to press his lips across your cheekbone and temple to muffle his quiet laughs, but to make your task even more difficult, his fingers shallowly curl up into you just enough to make you twist and curl.

Once the button of his jeans finally releases, you instinctively let out a huff and sink your shoulders back into his chest as you reach past the fabric to wrap your hand around his stiff length and pull it from the confines until you can press it against his lower belly. And you get just one tally on your side of the boards you’ve created in your mind when his amused laughs devolves into pleased grunts and tilting hips.

“Please,” you start quietly, trying to rock more against the parts of his hand that press against you while running your palm up and down the length of him and smearing him with his own pre come, “I can tell you’re just as impatient as me.”

He swears in your ear, using his hold on you with both hands to shift your hips up and pull you closer before he clears his throat to speak, “well could you imagine, looks like we are a match made in heaven.”

“More like hell,” you retaliate, digging the heel of your own palm into the skin just below the tip of him to egg him on even further, “but either way, that's the point isn't it?”

“I should have expected you to be just a little bit of a smart ass,” he mutters a half hearted complaint, but he only contradicts his own words when he pushes your hips away enough for you to guide him between your thighs and to glide against the arousal that spilled from your body and his hands spread messy along any available inch of skin.

He thrusts smoothly against your back a few times, bringing his arm down to guide him towards your entrance painfully slow, but when you let out a gravely moan of his name, he cant deny himself for any longer, and he’s sinking into you until your eyes start to gently flutter.

Once he’s seated inside you, his hand tenses slightly tighter around your neck, and when you both start pushing towards each other to meet in the middle of your thrusts, his other hand takes the opportunity to map any inch of you he can reach.

He gropes almost painfully at your chest, traveling over your stomach and up your shirt to dig his fingers into your skin until you swear he’s tattooed his finger prints onto you, all while nipping and lapping at the skin of your jaw and neck.

No one immediately in front of you is watching, they’re all in their own worlds of flesh and saliva, but you can still feel eyes of someone on you. His first and foremost as they burn holes into the side of your skull and glance to watch where you push back against him desperately, but there’s another feeling you get of being seen and studied thats so intense that you’re a little shocked when you chance a glance up and see that whoever the masked person was from earlier wasn’t there at all.

So no, you have no idea who, or what is watching you right now, but you can feel the unusual heat it stirs in you as your body flutters around him as he fucks you sloppily. You feel a deeper relation to the woman that owned the book that still rests in the bag that feel unceremoniously from your shoulder when he first put his hands on you, and you hope that maybe you’ll eventually slip into the life of bliss that she meticulously wrote about and possibly learn what happened that demolished the stories that lived in the back of the journal.

You could feel the pleasure crawling up your spine like a monster out creature, your panting breaths tipping the man that works you over off to this even though you’re sure he was already aware before you were, and you think your legs are back to the edge of collapsing when his creeping fingers dance along the expanse of your stomach to find their place back between your thighs.

Your back stiffens at the first touch of his rolling finger on your clit, and your head tilts even farther back onto his shoulder than he already had it. He doesn’t seem interested in coaxing you to your finish slowly, at a pace that would have mercy on your melting mind and shaking form, but he instead abuses your clit until your whimpering out and stumbling and stepping slightly on his toes.

You feel like you’re waiting out the suspense of a horror film that’s score is too obvious to the incoming jump scare. You tilt your neck in a way that seems normal to him, but in reality your trying to feel the many rings that decorate his fingers with the delicate skin of your throat to test if any of them could possibly be sharp enough to cut you and draw blood. You know what blood means to him, and you know it's something he’ll have to do soon if he truly can feel how close you are to the edge.

You feel like you’re floundering a bit, confused from the possible deviation from the story you’ve committed to memory. Was there any chance in this world that this wasn’t your person?

You push this thought away as soon as your panicked mind can construct it though, because there’s no way the spell that it feels has been placed on you would be there if that was the truth, and your body is heated almost like a furnace, but you suddenly love the idea of being burned by him.

You pull in a gasping breath of air that pierces through the music and grunting that rattles in your ears, the taste of your orgasms dancing on the back of your tongue and your back arching so harshly you fear that one of your muscles might seize up and cramp. And right when you feel his hips start to stutter in tandem with yours, and when you’re only seconds from blabbering out mixed syllables that you could only hope would come out as a coherent question, you feel it.

His teeth latch onto you again, his canines not sharp enough to make a clean cut as they dig into the muscle of your shoulder, but his determination is strong enough.

It burns painfully, and makes hot tears well up in your eyes, but almost embarrassingly, is the exact thing that pushes you scrambling over the edge.

You feel like it hurts to breathe, your lungs so focused on letting out puffs of air and broken moans that they can't seem to remember how to bring oxygen in, and your eyes roll for a completely new reason for the man and much more painfully.

It’s when you feel him start to suck the rushing blood from your newly christened wound that you also feel the rumble of his groans against your skin and feel him start to come inside of you. His fist tightens again around your neck as he pushes aftershocks through your nerves with his own orgasm, and with flying hands you grab at both of his wrists, not to ask in any way for him to ease up, but from a sudden wash and need to hold onto him possibly until you die.

He lets you collapse to the floor once he pulls out, but he follows your sinking form and sits alongside you and partially underneath you as you both try to catch your breath.

The club scene in front of you is now blurs of flashing lights and abstract writhing forms, and if it wasn’t for the zaps of energy you feel from every brush of his finger tips, your brain would probably be too muddled to register him fixing both your clothes and his.

You become just slightly more aware when he shifts your body against him enough to grab at the strap of your bag with the heel of his shoe, and you try to sit up faster than necessary and give yourself a small head rush when he pulls it to himself and flips it open.

“You seemed a little weirdly unaffected by the whole,” he flails his hands in front of you for a second as he speaks, and your lagging mind takes a second to catch up with his attempts at implication, “not the fucking part clearly,” he teases, “but the leading up to it. The meeting part and all.”

“I know what this place is,” you admit, and if your legs had gained just a bit more strength you probably would have stood and requested a glass of water just from how gravely your voice had become, “I knew I was probably going to run into you.”

“But you weren’t looking for me,” he tries, and fails, at hiding the slight edge of offense his voice shows, “if you knew I was here why didn’t you look for me?”

“I didn’t worry about it,” you say, warming up a bit again in the fear that it may have come off slightly rude, “or, like, I mean I knew you’d be able to find me easier than I could find you. I was more interested in finding answers.”

“Answers to what? You said you knew this place, or at least what it is?”

“Well I only know the basics,” you shift in his hold, knocking his hands away as they sift through your bag, and grabbing blindly until you can pull out the book, “I found this journal and it-“

“A journal?” he asks in a volume that could have been obnoxiously loud if it weren’t for the thumping bass that shook the floor beneath you, and pulls the small book from your hands.

“It was written by a woman who came here a long time ago,” you explain, deciding to not take offense to his rough and grabbing hands, “I found it and tracked the club down, I needed to see if it was real.”

“Oh it's real alright,” he laughs as he starts to flip through the pages, stopping for a moment to smile at a simple sketch she had done of a cat that she said lived in the back alley, “hey wait I think I know this name, and these people.”

“What are you on about?” you ask with a scoff as you tug the book from his grubby fingers, “you can’t possibly know these people, this was written in like the fifties. Stop pulling my leg.”

“Oh I see,” he smacks your thigh playfully as he leans over your shoulder to glance at the first page that mentioned anything about the date, the ink clear enough to read 1953 in the swirling handwriting, “you think you know everything.”

“I do know everything, fuck you,” you glare playfully at him over your shoulder, “or I would know, if you’d let me go into that weirdo hall.”

“No hall, for now at least,” he sighs, the gears in his head turning as he thinks of the next thing to say, “but you know, time doesn’t exist the same way here, the woman who wrote this probably didn’t know that at the time, so I’m not surprised you don’t either.”

“What do you mean time doesn’t exist?” you look at him as if he’s grown a second head, but do you really have the nerve to question him like that? Considering that entire concept of the club you are very aware of its existence now, a time situation shouldn’t be the most shocking should it?

“Well, it's hard to explai-“

“Then don’t explain it,” you almost jump fully out of his lap at the deep voice that rattles above you, and both him and you look up at the figure that looms over you now.

The man is tall, his black hoodie looking weird in contrast to the clothes of the other club goers, and with a squinting observation and a familiar and annoyed sigh from the man seated behind you, you realize you’re being stared down by the mysterious entity that is the DJ, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pocket in annoyance.

“Huh?” Ten lets out more in the form of a noise than a word, as his arms wind tightly around your form.

“I said don’t explain shit,” the man begins to tap his foot in irritation as he speaks, and you wonder if he’s aware that he’s in rhythm with the song that surrounds you, “you need to chill out with the loose tongue, its bad enough we have the big mouths outside.”

“I wasn’t gonna go that far,” Ten sounds reminiscent of a scolded toddler, and considering the man is hindering you from getting information that you wanted so badly, you can feel yourself mirroring the pout he wears, “I know what I’m doing alright man? Why are you over here anyways, shouldn’t you be at your little booth minding your business.”

“No one minds their business over at that booth, and you should know that better than anyone pervert,” the words are sharp, but the curl to his lips and the underlying playfulness to his tone tells you the likeliness of them being friends is high, “anyways, I know we don’t follow any regulations or anything here, but I’m still gonna take a fuckin’ break or two.”

“Well breaks over,” Ten reaches out a hand to playfully swat the man away, “I didn’t wait this long for you to just interrupt my bonding time with my person alright?”

“Alright, alright,” he finally starts to shuffle away, throwing one last comment about Ten being bitter his person showed up first over his shoulder with a grin.

“What a loser,” Ten starts, looking at you playfully and rolling his eyes, “too bad he’s like my best friend or whatever.”

“You seem to have a lot of fun around here don’t you?” you take a shot at voicing your observations, your heart fluttering in a completely new way at the warm smile he shoots you.

“Just wait a see, my love. Just wait and see.”

[half-man-half-lime]

SBURB in the Pact/Pale/Otherverse

There’s a series of Reddit threads where people come up with versions of story characters, settings, elements, etc. that fit into the mechanics and style of the Otherverse from Wildbow’s Pact and Pale web serials and Pactdice game. In the last thread someone posted an idea of Sburb as a ritual, and while I was stewing on my own ideas for that, I didn’t want to hijack the comment. I was waiting for another thread to pop up but for now I’ll post it here. Sorry if some of the stuff doesn’t fit the tone or style of Pact and Pale. This is what I’ve come up with:

Nobody remembers the name of the small European colony on the Pacific Ocean where the war between Angels and Demons took place. It was literally wiped off the map, from most people’s memories, and from most records. It’s quite possible that if the humans, Angels, and Demons involved hadn’t taken part in this war, their cooperation would have sustained better relationships between the human and celestial forces, which are distant and oppositional to this day.

By some unknown series of events, only a few hundred years ago, a war sparked between many Greater Angels and Demons. Many Others and practitioners were roped into fighting for both sides. Evangelists, Diabolists, Greater and Lesser Angels and Demons, and greater gods and non-Angelic architects of Space and Time, standing on the same level as the most powerful Angels and Demons. Old grudges and rivalries had come to a head here, and the battle was bloody.

The final escalation happened when the Angelic forces were losing, and the Demonic side elected to deal the finishing blow. One of the Greater Demons called the stars to fall from the sky and crush the enemy. Others and Practitioners mounted defenses, and the arbiters of Time and Space tried to displace some of the stars, but weren’t strong enough to prevent the entirety of the damage, and so a Greater Angel elected to make sure the enemy didn’t survive to advance their agenda, pulling down more stars to destroy the Diabolical forces.

What resulted was a destruction so thorough that most of the island was wiped out, leaving a small sliver of volcanic island in its place. Nobody remembered what happened there, as the destruction was thorough, and brought on by Demons. However, nobody disappeared exactly. The whole country was pulled down, as the stars burned holes in reality, past the known homes of the forgotten, including the Abyss and the Paths. They were pulled down to the void beneath the void beneath the void, far beyond any realms known to Practitioner or Other.

Those pulled into this realm were shredded apart into simple and complex spirits, and larger fragments of beings still not whole enough to live on their own. Spirits and fragments were attracted to things similar to themselves as if by some gravitational pull, and slowly coalesced into whole beings. These beings were massive and godlike, eschewing conventional bodies, becoming a patchwork of flesh and mouths and eyes and tentacles.

The architects of Time and Space re-formed, merging with the remained of what temporal and spatial elements once made up the island colony. The Angels and the ideas they embodied tried to reform, embodying forces of knowledge, fortune, and Light, as well as creation, faith, and Hope. The Demons re-formed as amalgamations of darkness, emptiness, and the Void they found themselves in, and the sin, destruction, and Rage against the flawed structures and conventions of the world they once sought to destroy.

Most people and Others were broken down to their base elements. Their capacity for thought, and the forces of Karma and the laws of the Seal of Solomon, as well as choices, promises, and words, came together and took on a Mind of their own. The Selves of these beings, their feelings and identities grew their own Heart. The cycle of birth and death, and the beings who sought to take the dead to their final resting places, became the overseers of Life and enactors of Doom in this strange new world. The old relationships, connections both natural and Practiced, they came together to embody the ties of Blood between those who lived in this realm.

And, lastly, the one force that had no hand in this war was the air spirits, who only ever sought freedom. When the stars fell from the sky and burned a hole in the ground, sucking everything in, it was the air spirits that coalesced of their own accord, seeking to escape the horrible fate that befell the island, but sadly they weren’t strong enough to escape. The complex air spirits were torn apart, but became whole again long after they drew their last Breath.

These new Horrorterrors who ruled this realm remembered the echoes of their old war, and their old desires to tear down the old world as Demons, and the Angels’ original role as creators, long before they fell into their role as caretakers of the world the humans inherited. As such, the seed of purpose was planted here, to become the seed for the old world to be torn down, and a new universe to be created.

The problem was, this place was empty. There were spirits, fragments of animals, humans, and others, and the broken landmass of the forgotten country, but this wasn’t enough. This place was like the Paths, needing context and ideas in order to become solid. Guided by its new gods, it became hungry for definition and ideas it could use to build its new world, a bare canvas to be painted, a Medium for creation.

It reached out to the world, searching for anything to give it definition. It couldn’t bring in much at first; stories of heroes and adventure, of war and conquest. Games of cards and chess. Study of planets and stars. These things were reminiscent of the war that echoed through the memories of the Horrorterrors, and so the Medium sculpted two new kingdoms, Prospit and Derse, to wage a war like the one it remembered. The kingdoms’ citizens didn’t have enough definition taken from humans, and so they took on bodies more like chess pieces, and organized themselves like card suits. If the Battlefield could ever become ready, they could wage a new war, build a new world. But for now it was just a chessboard, with two kings narrowly avoiding one-another, never ceasing.

This didn’t become a full-fledged Ritual Incarnate for several hundred years. A group of technomancers and programmers in the nineties found the remains of that small volcanic island in the pacific, tended to by an elderly practitioner who had retired from traveling the world, retiring to this place with his young daughter. He showed the technomancers how this place harbored some faint, distant connection to the Medium, and they all worked together to find ways to channel it, and use its hunger for definition in constructive ways. They created a language of new symbols connected to this place to use in diagrams, choosing spirographs, as circles distorted by circles distorted by circles, to signify the circular, self-fulfilling loop of space and time in a void beneath the void beneath the void. These symbols were inextricably tied to Paradox Space.

These practitioners, now calling their group Skaianet, tried to bind the Medium to punch cards, to record the spirits making up an object or being within the Medium, and retrieve or create those objects from anywhere using an associated Hexadecimal code. These Captchalogue Cards were a success.

However, the connection to these technomancers was a potential foothold for the Medium to pull in more ideas from the world. The practitioners became Harbingers for the Horrorterrors without even realizing it, and the horrorterrors used their incredible powers to rewrite these practitioners’ lives, little by little. At first the members of Skaianet were only creating Captchalogue Cards and other associated odds and ends for their own gain. Then, suddenly, they had always been studying the ruins on this island, which had always been there. Then they had always been working on using their experience with text adventure games to build a ritual around the Medium. And then they had always been translating the code in the ruins into a video game that could be mass-produced.

And finally, these practitioners and their children had always been born in the Medium, destined to play the game and create themselves.

The Medium and the Horrorterrors finally had access to enough spirits to build new worlds. Other practitioners were beginning to use Captchalogue Cards to store items and build new ones out of the composite spirits by punching the cards a certain way and writing down the codes. Some could gather information on how a piece of technomancy could grow this powerful this quickly, but few could do anything about it in time for the game’s release. Skaianet’s members communicated through the internet via a chat program, and so the internet and the chat program became more footholds for the Horrorterrors. The game’s beta would go public, and people everywhere would be consigning themselves to doom in sacrifice to the Medium.

The four players (children and grandchildren of three of the members of Skaianet, and one practitioner related to the old man) would enter the game and complete the ritual.

The new structure of the game, a new Ritual Incarnate, would be as follows: The four chosen players would enter the game using the game disc and captchalogue cards. Like other Practitioners who became Harbingers, they were each chosen by Horrorterrors in charge of one of the Twelve Aspects, taking on a Class, a relationship to that aspect based on their personality and the archetypes of old stories and new games. The sacrificed players, their homes, and the objects they deposited into the Kernelsprite, all destroyed by meteors, would provide some definition to the new universe the players would create, and to the Lands they would adventure in.

The players, meanwhile, would deposit objects or beings into the Kernelsprite, and the spirits making up these things would provide definition to the warring kingdoms and their battlefield, allowing the war to properly begin. The pseudo-Lost Others of this realm took on roles as Imps, Ogres, and other, greater enemies, to challenge the players, once there were enough things prototyped to make them whole again. The children would set out on their adventure on their personal lands, completing quests and fighting the emissaries of the Horrorterrors hidden as Denizens deep within this land.

The quests would lead each player, playing out their own coming of age story, to save their Land, fight their Denizen, and assist the Kingdom of Prospit in defeating the Kingdom of Derse, completing the war that had never been fully won by either side in the old war. They would create themselves, fulfilling the time loop the game created, breed frogs (frog breeding was another bit of information the Medium found relatable for some reason) and create a new universe to rule. Everything would tie into itself using the portals utilized in the Reckoning, both protecting Skaia from the summoned meteors, and sending the meteors through time to Earth to fulfill each time loop.

[thecleverdame]

Sleepy Hollow - Chapter Two

Series Master List

Pairings: Sam x Reader, mentions of Dean x Jo

Summary: In 1799, specialized police constables Sam and Dean Winchester are sent from New York City to a small town called Sleepy Hollow to investigate a series of murders. Approached by the town’s council, the Winchesters discover the local residents believe that the murders are the work of a deadly Hessian horseman whose head has been mysteriously chopped off. With help from the beautiful Y/N Van Tassel, Sam Winchester’s investigation takes him further through the dark wood where more murders have been occurring. What Sam does not realize is that the mysterious Horseman is being controlled by someone in a sinister plot to kill the most suitable men in the village.

Warnings: Canon-level violence, murder, smut, horror, gore and a little fluff for good measure.

Words: 40k

Beta:  ilikaicalie

This series is completed. You can read it on my Patreon for a monthly pledge of 2.50. This pledge includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content.  >> CLICK HERE <<

-

Flat of Sam Winchester Sam packs his bags, methodically wrapping jars of chemicals and gently folding anatomy charts. He’s going to bring as much of his laboratory as the carriage will allow.

“Do you truly need all this?” Dean is holding a heavy jar up to the light, it’s contents questionable as the specimen floats to the side of the glass. “Dad didn’t need fancy magnifying glasses, he did the job with a gun and a bible.”

“Dad was convinced there were monsters in every dark corner of the world. He was just another believer who fell in with the mass hysteria.” Sam doesn't like to talk about John, there’s too much unfinished business. “How many genuine poltergeists have we come across in our life, three?”

“Four.” Dean holds up four fingers triumphantly. “You always forget the woman in white.”

Sam looks up as if remembering for the first time. “That seems like a lifetime ago.”

“I suppose it does.” Getting up from his perch, Dean wanders around the room as Sam goes about his work. The walls are filled with charts and maps, Sam’s always had a secret pension for cartography.

Above the fireplace there two photos. One is of their parents, John sitting in a chair, Mary standing behind him with her hand placed on his shoulder. There is no joy, only long faces as they look into the camera. The second is of a beautiful blonde woman, her hair falling over her shoulder, her name written in elaborate calligraphy across the bottom of the frame: Jessica. Dean takes the pictures, making a close inspection of the woman who was once part of his brother's life.

“If you’re going to touch my things, you can wait downstairs.” Sam plucks the frame from Dean’s hand and tucks it into his case, along with his clothing.

“You can’t have that much more to pack. There’s nothing left.” Dean holds his hands out, showcasing the bare room.

“I’m almost done.” Sam walks to the window, opening a birdcage with a bright red cardinal inside.

“What will you do with him?” Dean watches the bird flutter out of the cage and then out the open window.

“Fly free. It is a good day for sad farewells.” Sam watches it go, looking down at the coach on the street below. “Our carriage awaits.”

-

It takes an hour to get out of New York City, the coach lumbering past the city limits, forgoing civilization. The wide road narrows, a single dirt path that leads onward through thickly forested wilderness.

“Jo had no interest in accompanying us?” Sam inquires, looking out the window at the never ending sea of trees. Dusk is falling but they plan to continue on throughout the night.

“She’s unhappy with me.” Dean shrugs, his lip curling.

“With good reason.” Sam lifts an eyebrow.

“I don’t need your judgment as well as hers. We’ll have a child the normal way, just as everyone else does.”

“Not if you’re with me on this investigation. I believe one has to be present to conceive a child.” Sam can’t help but tease.

“Don’t get smart.” Dean kicks his brother's boot. “We’ve plenty of time. She’s not that old, although to hear her tell it, she’s nearing her final years. Everything is dramatic beyond reason.”

“Maybe,” Sam shrugs. “She wants a child, it seems like a normal desire.”

“She wants someone else’s child, from an orphanage.” Dean shakes his head. “I’m not talking about this anymore. It’s part of the reason I’m here, I need a break from this constant pressure.”

“You’ll hear no more of it from me.” Sam smiles, taking their father’s journal from his bag.

“If you think he was a lunatic, why do you carry his journal with you?”

“There’s a lot to be learned.” Sam taps the cover. “He might have not realized what he saw, but from just the description I’m able to deduce what sort of natural phenomenon he was witnessing. Just last week I determined his obsession with the will-o'-the-wisp was likely nothing more than swamp gas. This is what gives us insight. When the villagers start talking of magical fairy lights in the forest, we’ll know where to start looking.”

“He’d hate it.” Dean chuckles, rolling up his jacket as a pillow, lying down on the bench.

“Yes, he would.”

He has few memories of his father. And what remains are faint recollections. What he can recall with a burning intensity are his father’s obsessions. His quest to find and kill monsters that never really existed. John Winchester saw demons lurking in every shadow. He found the devil in whispered secrets and meaningless symbols. And his father killed without discretion, he saw only black and white, good and evil.

John’s relentless belief in the spiritual world is what still fuels Sam’s desire to disprove anything otherworldly. He and Dean rely on facts and a sense of order and reason. Rarely do the creatures hiding in the night turn out to be anything other than flesh and blood men.

The sun quickly fades as the coach rocks along, tree branches scraping the side of the carriage. Somewhere in the distance a wolf howls and Sam looks out the small window into the black of night, before shutting the curtain and finding some sleep of his own.

The next morning, Sam wakes up before Dean, peeking out to reveal their journey has progressed through the sun-dappled forest. His brother is still in the depths of deep sleep, a hand resting limp in his lap. Across Dean’s open palm is a prominent scar, a long nasty cut he acquired in a scuffle many years ago.  Sam checks the contents of his leather satchel, pausing for a moment to study the palm of his own hand. There are strange scars on both palms, evenly dispersed tiny dots of white tissue. He’s had them his entire life, unsure of how they came to be.

Sleepy Hollow

Sam and Dean stand between two massive stone pillars, watching the coach as it leaves them behind.

“You’ll have to leave most of your luggage here. We can send for it later.” Dean grumbles, picking up his bags. “Tell me again why he couldn’t take us into town?”

“Superstition,” Sam confirms, glancing up at the tree limbs above them. “Dean, look.”

There are dead ravens hanging from the branches, strung up by twine.

“A few dead crows to keep the rest out of the fields.” Dean’s grimaces. “It’s a grisly sight. Welcome to Sleepy Hollow.”

They follow the winding road to town, passing a church and a graveyard. The road ahead is bordered by rows of businesses and two-story homes. As they enter the town square an elderly woman stands in her doorway, watching. Sam tips his hat and the woman scowls, looking away and shutting the door with a thud.

“I just love townspeople,” Dean chortles.

Looking up Sam spies another townie staring down from his window. The moment their eyes meet he closes the shutters.

“I’m seeing a pattern,” Sam comments, looking behind him. As they continue they see there are two or three riflemen placed at vantage points on the roofs of the town. Looking back Sam spies another in the church tower. The whole village is like the wild west, waiting for outlaws to attack.

Off in the distance, sitting in the middle of a field, there’s a strange wooden bunker, more like a small fortress with a huge bell mounted on the top. Several farmers are gathered around it all bearing rifles. The Winchesters pause, looking at each other and the sight before them. A young boy about ten, walks up to one of the rifleman, with food and drink tied up in a cloth. The older man looks down, offering the boy an affectionate pat on the head.

“Don’t worry, son.”

Another man leads the boy away as the father climbs back up onto the bunker, several rifles slung over his back. In front of the bunker, across the field, other farmers are lighting torches, enough to line the entirety of the forest's edge.

“What have we gotten ourselves into?” Sam murmurs, moving forward.

“I don’t think we should be outside during night hours, Sam.” Dean hikes his bag up on his shoulder. “This doesn’t feel right.”

“We’re headed there.” Sam points to a grand manor home sitting atop a hill, the windows are aglow, casting a warm picture against the gray backdrop of impending night.

Van Tassel House

Sam sets down his bags on the porch of the stately home. The length of the porch is lined with jack-o-lanterns, glowing orange.

Dean shoves an elbow into his brother’s ribs, drawing his attention to a couple, lustfully wrapped around each other in a dark corner of the porch. Sam clears his throat, mumbling an apology and opening the door. A shaft of light illuminates the kissing duo, both brothers memorizing their faces for future reference.

The front door opens to reveal the foyer and main hall. There’s a harvest party in progress, the town is gathered, music playing in the background. Men and women are enjoying food and drink, talking quietly in groups as Sam and Dean make their way through the celebration.

Dean stops a young woman, smiling with brazen charm. “Pardon our intrusion, we’re seeking Baltus Van Tassel.”

“In the parlor sir, farther on,” she nods, glancing back to him. Ahead they find a large group of men, women, and children in a circle, taunting a blindfolded woman, you, being spun around by a barrel-chested man.

-

You can feel your head roll as Brom spins you, again and again, his large hands lingering on your shoulders for longer than necessary. Suddenly he releases you, and everyone goes quiet, avoiding your searching outstretched hands.

You circle slowly, the blindfold tightly covering your eyes, chanting the refrain that makes the children and even some of the women shiver with pleasurable fright. They stifle their giggles as you reach out, grasping at the air. “The Pickety Witch, the Pickety Witch, who’s got a kiss for the Pickety Witch?”

Lunging forward, you grab empty air, narrowly missing Brom as the crowd snickers. Dean glances back, noting the couple from the porch making their way back into the party. Sam is leading the way, trying to pass through the crowd to reach the far door.

You reach out, only to meet the solid frame of a warm body beneath your hands as the room goes silent. You’ve no idea that the room is quiet because you’ve grabbed onto a stranger. After all, silence is the point of the game, to avoid your capture.

Your hand pats the chest in front of you, he’s a man and he’s large. Reaching up you touch Sam’s face.

Sam’s looks to Dean who just grins back. “A kiss, a kiss!” a child calls out.

“She has to guess first,” yells another woman. Dean watches the man who was just outside with another woman, slip his arm around the wifely matron standing beside him. He’s only been here ten minutes and he’s already confirmed an extramarital affair. Your fingers trail across the strong jaw of the unknown man before you. You’ve no idea who it is, so you take a guess. “Is it...Theodore?” The crowd laughs and Sam clears his throat. “Pardon ma’am. I am a stranger here.” A stranger? You smile, excited at the prospect. “Have a kiss on account then.”

Standing on the tips of your toes, you stretch up, placing a kiss at his jaw, then take off your blindfold to reveal a breathtakingly handsome man standing before you. There’s a gentle smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, his bright eyes shining. But his entire expression changes when he gets a clear look at your face.

For a fleeting moment, Sam flounders, stricken by the sight of you, his composure failing him as he stares at you, somewhat stunned.

You glance down at his hand, finding no ring on his finger.

“I...um, I am looking for Baltus Van Tassel,” he manages, never looking away.

“You’re in luck.” You smile, eyes locked on each other. “I am his daughter. Y/N Van Tassel.”   “And who are you, friend? We have not heard your name yet.” Brom steps forward.

Sam gives you one last look before turning his attention to the man, roughly matching his height and size, who’s clearly unhappy with his presence.

“I have not said it. Excuse me…” Sam tries to move forward.

Brom grabs at Sam’s collar as Sam stares at him, confused at this overreaction.

“Brom!” You shout, tugging on his arm. He’s always had a delusion that he has some claim to you, but in reality, there is no love connection between you, there never will be.

“You need some manners.” Brom hisses.

“You need to release my brother.” Dean steps forward and the crowd steps back, leaving the three men in the center of the room.

“Come, come.” There’s a chuckle from the back of the room. It’s your father, Baltus. “We want no raised voices on this happy occasion.”

“Father,” you gesture toward Brom.

“It is only to raise the spirits during this dark time that I and my good wife are giving this little party.” Your stepmother stands behind your father, looking on with silent judgment.  Brom releases Sam, stepping back and you relax.

Sam shakes off the confrontation, just happy to have a focal point, somewhere to concentrate other than your wonderful face and full bosom.

“Young sirs, you are welcome, even if you are selling something!” He chuckles, patting his belly.

“Thank you.” Sam smoothes a hand through his hair. “I am Constable Sam Winchester, this is my brother, Constable Dean Winchester. We are sent to you from New York with authority to investigate the murders in Sleepy Hollow.”

This news seems to have quite the effect as the entire room goes still. You give both men the appraisal they deserve, they are rather wonderful examples of the male gender. Smart and handsome is an elusive pairing in a village as small as this one.

“What good are Constables?” Reverend Steenwyck pipes up, unable to contain his outburst. “Reverend.” Lady Van Tassel, your stepmother, gives the Clergyman a reproachful look, moving forward towards the brothers. “Sleepy Hollow is grateful to you, Constables. I hope you will honor this house by remaining with us until-”

“Until you’ve made an arrest!” Brom snorts.

To both Sam and Dean’s surprise, this gets a nervous laugh. Your father frowns and Brom snorts but all you can do is look at Constable Sam Winchester with renewed interest. He’s to stay in your home, a fact that brings interesting possibility.

Sam can feel you watching him as if he has a sixth sense that’s activated only for you. His brother, Dean, is the one who catches you appraising Sam like a prize pig, trying to hide his amusement as you look away with a sly smile. Baltus turns to his wife, “Well spoken!” Then turns to Sam and Dean. “Come, gentlemen. We’ll get you settled. Play on! Let the party resume.” The fiddlers strike up the music as you watch the two men leave the room.

[cruddyborderlandstheories]

SO idk fellas and felladies and those of you who know better, u know i don’t do too hot unless im constantly working on something so i decided i was gonna work off the stuff from the japanese descriptions of the calypso twins about you know... the whole ‘brainwashing’ thing

which is all well and good and then i was thinking about TFTBL while i was doing it and realized mmm you knooow only 2 sets of people have ever really “gone inside” a vault, being the TPS VHs and the TFTBL VHs and we know these two games were made within super close time frames to one another. SO i have a proposition for you, post readers: im here to suggest that Eleseer IS the Vault of TPS

tl;dr: i did actually do some talking about Eleseer being the ACTUAL Vault of Elpis (not the giant eridium crystal we see inside Eleseer) and that Tycho’s ribs was actually a generator/bigass key keeping the entrance opened. because that starry-background thing was also shown in the Vault of the Traveler and it made me go OH! those are the same thing. then eleseer must be inside a vault. because that actually makes sense. also the giant eridium crystal thing was just the Eridians’ version of the Claptastic Voyage turing the VHs into code.

and then i went, well im on the subject of TPS, might as well update my “the twins are going to use the chemical filth of elpis’s Vault to turn their followers into pseudo-Sirens like the Lost Legion Eternal” theory. so i did. and it was cool. there’s some concept art of the twins statues hanging out on a DAHL pumping station. and dahl did have a presence on pandora, but they were mining iridium, which is a metal. on Elpis, they actually did have pumping stations for the methane. which would make a lot more sense

also i go over the rakk-winged dude from the mask of mayhem again, because i mean... rakk wings... angel wings... i still can’t believe nobody else is talking about that. 

oh also possibly the idea that the Commander Lilith DLC ties into the Lost Legion Eternal ties into the ‘creating Sirens’ thing that’s going around right now. As in, all 3 things would be: it’s latent in person -> some outside thing activates it -> now they have their abilities/physical change. bonus points for the Commander Lily dlc tying in this plant monster thing to Eridian ruins (the mine) and the gas to the Vault Key/Map (hector uses the key/map to mass produce the gas). and that possibly tannis wanting to create a plant monster army is just foreshadowing for her creating an artificial siren army in 3 to help us defeat the twins. because i mean... why wouldn’t she. plsdon’tlettannisbeevil

so hear me out for a second

you guys know im 100% unconvinced that eleseer is actually inside Elpis. We see that giant hole in the ground, we see those eridian ruins, we see tycho’s ribs. and that, sure that is believable to me, because Tycho’s ribs is built into the ground. we see parts where the ruins are sticking out of the cryo rocks (methane rocks? hm.)

from the giant pit in the center of tycho’s ribs

the entrance to eleseer from tycho’s ribs:

and we know that Vaults only open with a key, and that key only automatically charges once every 200 years (OR according to the Vault of the Traveler, be anchored somewhere and held open by the key) and/or the key must be charged with eridium through a Siren

and i think you might see where I’m going with this.

do you remember that easter egg? Moon = Key. yeah? yeah.

Remember, every other Vault that is opened in the series requires a Vault Key (artificial or no) to be opened, and it’s not open forever.

im going to pause here and show some pictures of Eleseer for reference. compare them to those pictures of the inside of the TFTBL Vault, if you could :)

i noclipped out of the normal area to get a full shot of the platform

suspended in this weird starry night sky

which should look familiar to you now

because this is the same kind of area the Vault of the Traveler leads to

both these games were in development around the same time and i don’t think this is coincidence in the slightest

in bl1 and bl2 we don’t enter the vaults, instead whatever is inside comes to meet us, so we don’t have a frame of reference for those two vaults.

however

these two vaults look nothing like tycho’s ribs/eleseer.

not even the outside of the Vault of the Traveler looks like Tycho’s Ribs. in fact all three of these Vaults look identical. unlike eleseer and its ‘vault’

u might be saying to urself, but cruddy there IS a vault that looks like this in eleseer.

im getting to that >0>

my theory is that the Eridian buildings/ruins on Elpis (Tycho’s ribs, that big shaft/hole) 

is actually keeping the Vault of the Sentinel open at all times

and that

well that must take a LOT of power and eridium, right?

i think that’s exactly the purpose of tycho’s ribs

now im not a physics major but i would bet this is some sort of power generator

because of these pulses

and would it be so hard to reason that the eridians decided to build it in the cryo rocks/methane reserves of elpis in order to keep it cooler?

in fact i could not shake this feeling so i looked around on the wikia for tycho’s ribs

here’s a list of the areas in tycho’s ribs

compression chamber

exhaust port

maintenance access 42 (which im certain is a HGTTG reference)

observation deck

particle collection chamber

the most important of these areas i would say is 

maintenance access 42, mostly because it’s explicitly stated to be “lined up with a number of energy generators” that then leads to the exhaust port (and from there, eleseer)

sooooo break here because im about to switch gears 180%

----------------------

guess who just realized eleseer might mean ele-seer as in [Extinction Level Event]-seer [where seer is a person who is supposed to be able, through supernatural insight, to see what the future holds]- because everything in tps is named after seeing/watching. we got the Watcher, the Sentinel, even the Vault treasure is being able to see the future. considering most things are named after mythos in borderlands, eleseer is actually not a single word in mythos and uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh “ele” and “seer” both actually mean something.

that is, Eleseer should mean something like ‘prophet of the extinction’

That’s pretty metal

also no good, i guess

am i about to rewrite my entire zarpedon and the lost legion eternal theory? oh i guess i am. wheeeeeeee

oh, and given that this was the story summary of the game before the website was updated all those weeks ago, i think we know exactly what sort of extinction was being prophesied

cool? cool

doesn’t help that tannis hints at this, too

with her ‘mass extinction’ reference in Commander Lilith

“... mass extinction. i figured we had at minimum six or seven years before something like that”

(sorry for the cruddy screenshot i took it my first time through, am not up for playing the entire dlc again for that one line right now)

okay i might pull this back later on in this post, because i think i have a good idea of where to go, but just keep this in the back of ur mind. sorry u gotta deal with my dumb ass jumping between topics so often lol

---------------------------------

anyway, tycho’s ribs being the opening to the real Vault of Elpis. Yeah. I refuse to believe there’s a giant space place in the middle of the moon just hanging out. i’ve discussed in an earlier post about whether or not it was a pocket dimension fueled by Eridium, but i mean what is a Vault but that?

i mean if they need eridium to power the opening to the vault, they’ve certainly got that covered, there’s eridium EVERYWHERE in tycho’s ribs. that plus all those (apparent) power generators... yeah i think they’re covered

also somewhat off topic but have you guys noticed in TPS how rocks surrounding cryo get white/blue lines, rocks surrounding lava get red/orange lines, and rocks surrounding eridian ruins get purple lines? 

probably from all that FUCKIN ERIDIUM

sorry i get off topic so much

anyway

i think that the entirety of Eleseer is the Vault of Elpis. That the entrance is being held open by Tycho’s ribs/Elpis through massive amounts of power/eridium

and it could be possible that using all that eridium to keep the Vault from closing is what’s causing all that ‘chemical sludge’ that mutated the Lost Legion Eternal into the pseudo-Sirens they are.

and remember that the center of eleseer is a giant eridium crystal? and apparently entering it teleports you inside and then you fight the sentinel and see the future?

i think that’s all an illusion. I wouldn’t argue that you go into the Eridium. sure. But i think that the whole thing in there is actually a program/hologram/illusion, or the eridian equivalent of it.

You remember in the claptastic DLC where the Vault Hunters are ‘turned into code’ and injected into Claptrap?

don’t you think that was like... really weird concept despite being canon? it’s possibly that was gearbox’s way (because gearbox did take over for that dlc) of introducing that idea as something that IS possible in canon, as to explain that the Vault of the Sentinel actually isn’t magic

and you might be thinking

what the fuck is cruddy on, this is super far-fetched

but it’s not!

think about it, the skybox is the EXACT SAME as Eleseer. which should already be ur first clue that something isn’t right, considering you can’t see eleseer anywhere around you. Even the map is the same. If you had a side quest open, you can see that the game still thinks you’re in the correct area. even though this area is LEAGUES bigger than the actual crystal. shit, you can even seen the enemies around you still

and what animation plays when you teleport inside the crystal? the same one as the lilith teleportation

all those circuit looking things. the same exact things that are everywhere on eridian tech, including the Vault Key from bl2

but you haven’t GONE anywhere

you’re still where you were before, the map confirms this, even the skybox confirms this and yet there’s no hint of eleseer actually around you

there’s more hang on lemme get the ~pictures~

okay you see that pink 2d fire effect on the ‘walls’?

if you actually walk up to it, you’re greeted with this grid effect locking you on the platform

and this effect on the floor

which you know, screams projection/hologram to me. i mean the fire is legitimately 2d. it’s flat.

also the Vault pieces that form the Vault of the Sentinel (ignoring that we’re already inside the Vault of the Sentinel

you know...)

they’re formed out of the floor. just materialized

which again... is really weird. and i don’t think this is a real Vault for obvious reasons (we’re already inside the Vault of the Sentinel, Eleseer is the Vault, etc etc) but also just look at the Vault in general

it looks weird

again, calling back the other Vaults we’ve seen in this series

they’re all made of stone/rock

the Vault of the Sentinel is... not? if it is, it’s shiny asf obsidian or something

either way, it’s entirely different compared to the other Vaults we’ve seen in the borderlands series, it’s entirely smooth with no markings and, while it’s broken into pieces to hold that aesthetic, it’s not cracked or anything. the broken look was likely intentional

too shiny

not a real Vault

~everything in this area is fake~

even the steps appearing as the sentinel walks down is just... not real to me

like the sentinel is the one controlling this tiny pocket dimension/hologram/program/whatever you get the idea

further proof by him summoning more structures as the fight goes on, from stuff to hop onto to avoid his attacks and barriers to hide behind

hell, he even crawls out of the ground himself at one point, as a bigger version of himself, which is probably the real version of him considering that one actually dies when we kill it, while the tiny one just keeps getting brought back to life and laughs at us

i mean cracks even appear around the floor when the big boy comes in, unlike every other thing that’s summoned from this floor cracks appear only when the Empyrean Sentinel comes in. the real sentinel

like this rock (iunno lol it’s the first screenshot i found) im saying the tiny sentinel and the vault he walks out of are both fake

the big sentinel is the real one come to kill us after getting frustrated we keep destroying his avatar

he’s feeling the gamer rage lol

and you know how when you kill a Vault Monster and the Vault closes, it drags it back inside? referencing the warrior here, because idk wtf the canonical thing is for the Destroyer given when Hyperion does

instead of being dragged into the Vault we see him walk out of, the one that’s right there in front of us, he’s dragged back into the floor

there he go

oh speaking of that Vault

yeah it’s not like any other Vault we’ve seen for another reason

check out the edges on this bad boy

it’s like a bubble in a bubble wand

good shit

meanwhile the Vault of the Sentinel is all crinkly and shit

like hmmmm i don’t THINK so

and when you actually walk into that structure? you’re just teleported to the back of the crystal you walked into

which should be another indication that maybe something isn’t right here

also the Vault Treasure, while inside that weird hologram/pocket dimension/program/seriously whatever you wanna call it, is probably an illusion, too. personally, i can see the entirely of this Vault being like a huge computer, that can compute the future of whoever touches the key and show it to them

We know Vault Monsters are tied into their Vaults, like the Traveler being able to teleport just like the Vault it came out of, the Warrior being the giant living weapon, the Sentinel is probably the guardian of the timeline or whatever. He probably has 3 faces to see the Past, Present, and Future. that’s my theory, anyway. i also noticed the one on the furthest left doesn’t have eyes, while the one furthest to the right doesn’t have a mouth.

which i thought was a cool detail to tie into that theory

anyway

i was going to regale you the tale of my lost legion eternal/Calypso twins theory

but like BETTER this time with MORE evidence

cuz i can and tbh that post is getting harder and harder to find every day

lemme just copy and paste the tl;dr for everyone who doesn’t wanna read the whole thing (i meaaan maybe do because it goes pretty in depth and im gonna summarize a lot of stuff plus im about to add more stuff here so)

“The whole Tl;Dr is that I think the events of BL3 are a chain reaction from Jack opening the Vault in TPS and that Zarpedon saw even further beyond into the future than Jack did with the 2nd Vault on Pandora. Bonus, the Lost Legion Eternal and the Vault on Elpis is the key to giving the Children of the Vault superpowers because the twins kept failing. Yes, that’s a reference to the cover art easter egg.”

So for those of you who don’t know, basically the twins claim to be giving their followers “special powers”

‘Learn special powers!’

and i’ve been thinking a lot about how they’re going to do that, exactly.

because Siren powers, well, there’s only 6 (supposedly), and you can be sure Tyreen isn’t going to give up her own. Now she could just be handing out Siren powers to high-ranking cultists after she steals them (like Liliths), but we see she (or Troy) is using Lilith’s powers on the cultists to teleport them on Promethea. so that can’t be the case.

But we do know about something that’s really, REALLY similar.

We know about the Lost Legion Eternal. and i’ve been thinking about them a lot. 

in the post I go over some ties to Sirens, notably how Magus ones can fling slag balls at you, just like Maya’s melee override capstone, how Tempests have the same elemental wings Sirens get and can sling elements, one is literally called a phasewalker, etc, etc.

but they’re not Sirens. they’re super imperfect and just weird. like the slag balls aren’t perfect orbs like maya’s is, they’re weird and wobbly. the tempests wings aren’t fully formed, they don’t even have, as far as i can tell, actual tattoos

and how did these Eternals get these weird Siren powers exactly?

it’s explained that these ‘rashes’ and shit started appearing after Zarpdeon’s dig team was exposed to the Eridian ruins, specifically some vapors in the air

[callback to the ventilation shaft in tycho’s ribs, anyone?]

during her boss fight, zarpedon even mentions that the Vault is buried underneath a ‘tangle of chemical filth’

so it’s obvious this ‘chemical filth’ is what’s mutating her team and turning them into Eternals.

but they’re not like... always using Siren powers.

they’re not always ascended

they actually have a trigger to ascend. for one, they gotta be low enough health. but two... im pretty sure they gotta have Eridium on them

a lot of the LLE models have Eridium on their belts

like so. which is fair, you know? lots of eridium on elpis apparently because of tycho’s ribs.

but then there’s this

when the eternals ascend

when they come back down, they have eridium growing out of their chests/shoulders

take this tempest for example

im also not 100% sure what their ascending animation even is? it looks almost like they're throwing eridium powder on top of themselves? or stabbing themselves with the crystals? idek

maybe they’re just saluting/grabbing at their bodies as they change

there’s gotta be something there involved with eridium cause they certainly don’t have those crystals growing out of them beforehand

i almost want to say their blood has crystallized/hardened into those crystals cause if you look at Zarpedon’s death scene, she’s bleeding neon purple

just like Guardians do

which is fun

im also curious if this, in any way, ties into the Commander Lilith DLC. Like we know the plant stuff in the mine was more than likely mutated by the eridian ruins and that they’ve already gotten into everyone on earth

and Hector is using the Vault Key/Map to synthesize the gas to ‘activate’ the particles that are already inside of everyone

which ties into the Lost Legion Eternal in that they’re also not always ‘ascended’ (mutated), but they need Eridium (Vault Key gas) to become their second state. given these are both caused by Eridian stuff, I 100% can see them being tied together in some way. probably worded a helluve a lot better than i just did, too.

OH

OHHHHH YOU KNOW I JUST HAD AN IDEA

okay maybe this ties not only into the Lost Legion Eternal, like you know what i was actually getting at, but Sirenhood as a whole. in that everyone is inherently a Siren, but only 6 are ever “active” at a time

and maybe Tannis can figure out a way to force this/induce Sirenhood in people. We know she’s the one who’s been studying both Sirens and the Vault Key (and Eridium) for the longest time. and now she has experience with this sort of deal with Hector and the gas. Maybe that’s why there’s cut content of Tannis going “oh is that why... nevermind” when talking about Angel’s powers appearing at 5 instead of birth.

s o oh man okay so the twins are going to use Elpis (moon is key) to create their army of pseudo-sirens

okay

okay oh man okay

and then tannis is going to reveal that she’s figured out a way to induce sirenhood in people like officially, none of that cheap rip-off shit and there’s gonna be an all out WAR of real Sirens vs fake Sirens

im just saying you know the game devs were all like “mmm we might introduce new skill trees instead of new VHs as dlc” and IM JUST SAYING maybe those new skill trees are already in the game and they’re gonna appear when the VHs get their own Siren powers (Amara gets an upgraded version of her own, like Lilith) and that’s why Guardian ranks are unlocked until the end of the story because then we’ll be able to buff ourselves with 

alright yeah sorry i got a little too excited there

let’s ground ourselves back in reality

we know the twins are planning to somehow give their cultists powers, and we know that the Lost Legion Eternal are basically pseudo-Sirens without the need to steal and gift anyone Siren powers (which you know we don’t even know if Tyreen or Troy CAN gift the powers they steal. I’m still holding onto the theory that Tyreen passes them to Troy with the arm shake and Troy is the output and Ty is the input, but now isn’t the time to discuss this).

it wouldn’t be viable to give all their followers Siren powers ANYWAY, unless they find a way to multiply them (possibly a part of Tyreen’s/Troy’s powers? like being the main holder, but being able to gift it to others so long as you keep yours- could explain the ‘knighting’ looking thing Troy does with a cultist)

UGH I KEEP GETTING OFF TOPIC OKAY I HAVE STUFF I WANNA SAY

THEY’RE GIVING THE CULTISTS POWERS

YES

OKAY

we know in the mask of mayhem, Siren powers are indicated by Angel Wings.

What if the fake Sirens are indicated by something that’s not Angel wings. something that’s still wings- still holding Siren powers- but maybe indicative of a corrupted angel wing

like uhhhhhhhh

rakk wings?

yeah

yeah let’s go with that

you know like how bat wings are supposed to be demon wings and bird wings are angel wings okay yeah we get the tie-in

im just saying! directly below this dude (who is the cover art psycho, just you know, putting that out there, probably some sort of tie in to the gold weapons (high standing in the cult) and the robes and stuff. you knoooow you only get powers when you’re loyal enough or whatever, you know)

we have lilith with her angel wings, indicating her Siren-ness. which i don’t think is a coincidence

i got more though, because of the museum of mayhem

we know on pandora, there are hyperion pumping stations for slag and eridium, right? so if the twins were controlling some pumping stations on pandora, it’s a given that they’d be, you know, hyperion-brand

so in this concept art we see something like a pumping station, with a waterfall of purple goop, which you know, i immediately associate with those darn eridians annnnd

this isn’t Hyperion.

this is DAHL baby

and where did dahl have such a big presence and huge pumping stations all over the surface? (with bandits already everywhere, no less?)

elpis!! 

originally dahl was there mining and pumping methane all across the planet, and, while they also had a mining presence on pandora before bl1, there weren’t any pumping stations there. they were mining for iridium (not to be confused with eridium), which really wouldn’t require pumps of any kind cause its a metal

so why is this pumping station considered holy holy holy? because it’s the source of their fake Siren powers

we even see, on the mask of mayhem, giant pumps with scaffolding and ladders all around them, they even have valves and shit

which, you know, are spewing vapor which could also tie into the gas that transformed the LLE

orrrr the purple stuff is just slag runoff from the eridium refinement process and cultists are fucking weird cause it could also just be a way for the twins to charge all the vault keys they’re collecting but damn it please let me have this lmao

i mean, why wouldn’t the twins go to elpis in search for the Vault that lets you see the future? that seems like a HUGE deal to me. especially for the two who seem to have this huge, grand plan in place. “you’re my most loyal follower vault thief, you just don’t know it yet” yeah i sure don’t let’s go to elpis and see what you guys have in store for us vault hunters!

man how fucked up would it be if us vault hunters had been brainwashed from the start to think the cult was the crimson raiders and the crimson raiders were the cult

now that’d be one hell of a twist

could explain why sanctuary-iii goes from orange/gray to blue/yellow with red graffiti on it

but uhhhhhhhh that’s a theory for another time because it is 2:07 in the am and im tired as FUCK

[iamnotbrianmay]

The A Experience

Okay before any of you say anything... I'm sorry for taking so long!

This story has just been my baby for so long and I was so scared to mess it up in the last few chapter so I'm sorry sorry sorry! Also I have such a big audience with so many people that are enjoying this story that I don't want to disappoint ANY of you!

So sorry for being a chicken and not posting this earlier <3

Also! I'm sorry if I haven't been answering your comments but the response to this thing has been phenomenal and right now I have about 441 notifs on my inbox so yeah that might take a while to come back to you! However, know that I love and appreciate every single one of you and your comments, some of them have even made me cry!

The taglist goes as follows: : @seven-seas-of-why, @twotitsjohndeacon, @dancindeaky, @gee-uloser, @mozzarellamazzello, @mozzie-s, @deracine-dogma-deux, @shutupanddontjudge, @warping-reality, @demianhill , @zodiacal-dust-and-curls, @hersked

❤︎

By the time night falls, the house is full of people. Brian realises that half of Roger’s family looks a lot like the blonde, which means that he is now the only brunette in a house of seemingly perfect blue-eyed, blonde, angels. The only one other person who is not blonde is little Anthony, who is currently gurgling in Brian’s lap while munching a cookie his mother had given him.

He wished he could give the kid much more attention than what he was getting at the moment. However, Roger’s family was very interested in the guitarist at the moment, leaving him unable to play with the toddler.  

“So you placed an ad? In Tinder?” Oliver, Roger’s twenty-something-year-old cousin asked, and Brian scrunched his nose up.

“It was hardly an ad,” Roger interrupted, “that would imply that Brian offered to pay me anything.”

The whole family laughed, and the blush Brian was sporting spread from his face to his neck, “Not something I’m proud about now that time has passed.”

Winniefred wiped the corners of her eyes and smiled at Brian, “Don’t be ashamed, darling. It has to be the cutest story I’ve ever heard.”

Most of the family members agreed, and as Roger sat down beside him, the conversation focus changed from Brian to the stories of the rest of the family members. His boyfriend snuggled up to Brian’s side, “I think they like you a lot.”

Brian smiled, “Good, that’s good. I was scared shitless that they would think I was annoying or something similar.”

“I don’t think anyone could find you annoying.”

“You say that now,” Brian mumbled, placing a kiss of Roger’s hairline, “wait until we get back to the studio.”

The blonde laughed and agreed with Brian almost immediately. The guitarist let the conversation of the rest of the family wash over their silence. He admired the way that they had made Brian feel more than included in the few hours that they had spent together. From the moment that Roger’s cousin Charlie and his wife Rose had arrived. To the moment that Roger’s grandparents had smiled at Brian and enveloped him in a warm hug.

He hadn’t told Roger yet, but he had been scared that his family wouldn’t welcome him in, not because of his personality, but because he was a man. He knew that his own family wouldn’t be as accepting as Roger’s. That his grandparents would refuse to meet the blonde and that his parents would be rather adamant that this was only a fling. That Roger should enjoy Brian while he found a suitable wife and fell in love, really in love.

“What are you thinking about, Brimi?”

Brian turned towards Roger and found that the blonde was looking at him with wide and inquisitive eyes and his usual pout. He wanted to kiss the blonde senseless, but held himself back for the time being, “Thank you for bringing me to meet your family.”

“Of course,” Roger said, “I think it was time, I’m not planning on letting you go for a while.”

Brian blushed again, “Really?”

Roger didn’t answer, but instead looked around his family and met his mother’s eyes.

“I’m going to take Brian to my spot.” Several wolf whistles rang around the room, and Roger rolled his eyes, “Oh, get your mind out of the gutter. I want to show him the stars.”

It was only after several lewd comments and a few minutes of laughter that he finally managed to follow the blonde out of the house. The English countryside was breathtaking at night.

The air smelled of sweet Night-Blooming Jasmine, the breeze was soft, ruffling both of their hairs gently, and the chill that set all across the countryside seeped into their bones. Fireflies buzzed all around them, making the ground seem like an extension of the night sky.

The Taylor property seemed to extend for miles. Hills of green grass and tall trees which seemed to blend into the darkness of the night littered the place, making it look like something out of a movie rather than real life.

Roger grabbed his hand so that the taller man wouldn’t get lost in the darkness. The blonde seemed to know the terrain so well that he didn’t need the light of the sun to guide his way, “My cousins and I used to play every night out in the open. I don’t know how none of us ended up with a broken bone.”

Brian chuckled, “A miracle.”

“Now I can walk through this place without tripping, but there used to be a time in which my knees were always scrapped.”

The taller man looked around once again, taking in the view, “It’s quite beautiful.”

“You haven’t seen anything,” Roger said, “just wait until we get to the seaside.”

As Roger promised, the seaside was breathtaking, to say the least. The coast extended as far as the eye could see, bringing in the salty air and the soft rumbling of breaking waves. The sand was thick, sticking to the side of Brian’s shoes and even managing to get inside his socks.

Roger dragged him to a place on the beach where they could see everything from the old farmhouse to the farthest point in the coastline and made them sit down. But most definitely, the most beautiful part of the whole ordeal was the stars.

They were scattered across the night sky, lighting up the place and making the most beautiful sight Brian had ever seen. He had never seen as many stars as he saw now, and the mere thought of how many more he could see if he were farther away from the city left him breathless.

He could see everything from Orion to Aquila, even bits of the Milky Way if he strained his eyes hard enough. He wanted to thank the younger man, but he couldn’t find the voice to do so. It was… well, Brian didn’t have the words to describe how he felt as he watched the night sky.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Roger’s voice sounded quiet in the vastness of the night.

“I haven’t seen anything like it,” Brian whispered back, “Ever. It’s the most beautiful thing in the world.”

The blonde chuckled, “I knew you’d appreciate it. Not many like the place as much as I do.”

Brian frowned, looking down at the younger man and trying to make out his features in the dark, “Who wouldn’t like this?”

“Oh, you’d be surprised.”

Silence washed over them, the wordless spaces being filled by the soft sound of the breaking waves and the faint whistling of the air. At some point his best friend curled around him, tucking his head into the crook of the guitarist’s neck and nuzzling into his soft hair.

“You know, I wasn’t kidding.”

Brian turned to look at the mass of blonde hair, “About what.”

Roger turned towards him, and in their proximity, Brian could make out his features entirely, “About wanting to keep you for a long, long, time.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

There was a short silence in which Brian tried to map the entirety of Roger’s face in the dim light of the stars. His boyfriend looked so incredibly pretty that for a second, he missed what Roger was saying, however when his brain finally caught up, his breath was stolen from his lungs.

“I’m also not kidding when I say that I’m more than ready to start everything I have been stalling.”

Brian blinked twice, “You mean—?”

“Yes,” Roger said, “I mean Kissing, snogging, groping, even— well, everything we haven’t been doing for the past eight months.”

Brian leaned back out of Roger’s, admittedly crappy, eyesight, “Okay, not that I’m not extremely excited for this new development but, you have to remember that this will be my first kiss ever.

“Well, unless you count that one time after our date at the restaurant, which was not really a kiss since it lasted about one second, and you didn’t even fully kiss my mouth but just the corner of it. So I’m sorry if the kiss is sloppy, or too slow or—”

Roger placed a finger against the guitarist’s lips, making him stop his adorable rambling, “Can I kiss you now?”

Brian's eyes widened, then he slowly nodded, too stunned to say anything. The blonde slowly lowered his finger and looked into Brian’s eyes. Needless to say, they were both terrified.

Roger took a deep breath, willing his beating heart to stop beating so wildly while Brian tried to swallow down his rising panic. The blonde leaned forward, and the guitarist closed his eyes, waiting for what was about to come, but Roger hesitated a few centimetres away from the other man’s face.

The stars shone down from the bright night sky, the waves crashed into the seashore making a soft, rumbling, back noise, the wind whistled softly as it passed between the countless blades of grass and tree branches, and Roger pressed their lips together.

❤︎

I hope you enjoyed that! Next chapter will be picking up right where we left off!

Big thanks to my lovely beta Rose, I love you a lot darling!

Comments, Kudos, and Feedback is always appreciated.

[alexsmitposts]

BC: Why Are We Being Lied to? BC stands for NEO’s Banned Classic. This article was originally published by our journal on 30.12.13 For some reason, this article is missing from Google search results. Since this article remains pretty relevant to those geopolitical events that are taking place on the geopolitical stage today, we deem it possible to present it to our readers once again. Should it go missing again, you may be confident that you will see it republished by NEO once more, should it still remain relevant by that time. Over the past few years, there has been a general breakdown in how reality is perceived. In fact, the term “reality” itself is under assault, everything from issues of controlled news, false flag terrorism, challenges to basic physical laws and even issues of “disclosure,” the tantalizing idea that a complex interstellar world exists. A very real part of what has happened is a calculated attack on traditions and institutions through psychological warfare, a subset of “game theory warfare,” itself a subset of “chaos theory.” Thus, we doubt or believe based on a flow of controlled information and orchestrated events. However, controlling information has proven risky business. Toward that end, what had always been a “lunatic fringe” of biblical prophecy, jingoism or agenda driven “revisionism” has now been supplanted with a virtual ocean of inanity that has crept into the public domain. When traced to its roots, too often one finds powerful organizations. During the last few days, Washington think tanks have released “rumors” citing president Obama as a Kenyan born homosexual, “Bathhouse Barry,” of radical Muslim roots who attempted to gain control of America’s nuclear arsenal in order to destroy Israel. These stories and dozens like them all trace down to sources close to the leadership of the “opposition party,” the bizarre confederation of right wing extremists, the Israel lobby and those aspects of the financial industry that can only be termed “organized crime.” Sadly, up to 30% of the American public believes, not just these missives but things far stranger. Among that 30% is the majority of the leadership of America’s armed forces, security services and police, groups that have descended the evolutionary ladder at a frightening pace. As American “humorist”, Jim W. Dean, so often says, “You just can make these things up.” What the public is left with is uncertainty, in some ways preferable to blind ignorance. Though the original intent, voice in television shows such as “X Files,” in the oft-repeated theme, “Believe No One,” is to destroy public confidence in institutions, this hasn’t worked out as planned. Perhaps that’s why they call it “chaos theory.” Long ago, science developed its own methods, “epistemology,” for discerning what is “likely.” Scientific modeling or experimental method have long sense become unreliable indicators as they are dependent on the “subjectivity” of observation and the vagaries of statistical analysis, the science of making 2 plus two equal three. The real basis of analysis since the latter half of the 20th century has been the philosophy that sneaks into films. In America, some organized crime groups that had “lost their roots” reinvented themselves based on the “Godfather” films of Francis Ford Coppola. One film, “The Usual Suspects,” has a line that has served me well. “The biggest trick the devil ever pulled was to convince people he didn’t exist.” Toward that end, the modern “mainstream media seems, when their “work product” is analyzed using methodologies developed for intelligence analysis, appears to be “tasked” in three ways: Covering the tracks of very real secret societies and conspiraciesProtecting a history that is almost entirely falseSpewing a continual narrative both unquestioned and unsupportableIn the process, we have created an incubator for the rise of mediocrity. President George W. Bush has evidenced this more than any individual in recent years. A simple trip to “YouTube” will give evidence of this. His glaring ignorance and endless lapses of decorum were far from simply anecdotal. Yes, he really thought “Africa” was a country. Is it true he couldn’t find Africa on a map? I have privately been assured that though this was the case when he took office in 2001, after visiting Africa he became aware. I would only know this as author of his briefing materials on his last visit. Touching on the issue of redress, the restoration of reality or “truth” has become a process well beyond “encyclopedic.” Approaching this task, television shows in the US, be they “The Secret History of World War II” or Oliver Stone’s “Untold History of the United States,” not only fall short of the task but exist more to close doors than open them. Such efforts, and they are many, perhaps endless, are “gatekeeper functions.” The question people enjoy and ask most often is this; “Is there a secret world out there.” The answer is “yes.” What then qualifies a source as genuine and how does one discern real information from the endless “blind alleys” that have been created to channel modern day adventurers and explorers into areas of harmless or perhaps “not so harmless” confusion? Our tools are observation, reason and analysis. Beyond that, we are faced with the traditional issues of faith, what do we believe, what do we trust? More and more intuition itself has to serve, where such a thing still exists. Toward that end, we can begin a walk down several paths in such areas a “what can be told” or “what can be reasonably surmised.” At the pinnacle, one is faced with unpleasant revelations, that the world is ruled by secret societies, all of which are rooted in beliefs that can be termed “supernatural” or “extraterrestrial.” What can be told is that these organizations are both centuries old “societies” and quasi-governmental organizations whose efforts periodically surface and, in doing so, give evidence of a reality that in startling ways resembles popular science fiction. What can be told is that this coincidental similarity is no an accident. What is safest is approaching what we know and can prove in the mundane world and how it diverges from popular mythology. For Americans, the Kennedy assassination was paramount, at least prior to 9/11. As the 50th anniversary of that even passed recently, many were disturbed at the media’s attempts to restore public confidence in the Warren Report. The popular film, JFK ended such beliefs forever. Even prior to its release, the “Oswald and the Magic Bullet” theory was an obvious sham. Yet, millions of Americans were sickened when the media again tried to “put the toothpaste back in the tube.” This is the official finding of the US government, issued in 1976 by the House Select Committee on Assassinations: Scientific acoustical evidence establishes a high probability that two gunmen fired at President John F. Kennedy. Other scientific evidence does not preclude the possibility of two gunmen firing at the President. Scientific evidence negates some specific conspiracy allegations.The committee believes, on the basis of the evidence available to it, that President John F. Kennedy was probably assassinated as a result of a conspiracy. The committee is unable to identify the other gunman or the extent of the conspiracyFunny thing, nobody mentioned any of this, the public finding of the US government, when selling the “lone gunman” story to a new generation. Similarly, 9/11 has the exact same problem. The 9/11 Commission Report was rescinded by a majority of members who then asked for members of the Bush administration to be prosecuted for both perjury and withholding evidence. This is public record. Since that time, not only has hard evidence discovered a domestic conspiracy working in concert with foreign intelligence agencies at the heart of 9/11 but finding a reputable scientist that supports the conclusions of the original 9/11 Commission report is almost impossible. There is undeniable hard proof that the 7/7 attacks in Britain were also “false flag” attacks. There is undeniable hard proof that the invasion of not just Iraq but Afghanistan was planned long before 9/11, not just those nations but five others as well as stated by General Wesley Clark and confirmed by Gwyneth Todd and many others. Of recent terror attacks and mass killings, the following are known to be “false flag attacks,” orchestrated by intelligence agencies. By “known,” I mean exactly that, no doubt whatsoever. The DC sniper attacks and subsequent anthrax poisonings, the Breveik killings in Norway, Sandy Hook, the “Gabby Giffords” shootings, the Fort Hood shootings and the Boston Marathon bombings There are no “theories” involved, there is a mass of evidence and clear proof that the story given the public in each of these cases in outlandish and unreasonable. Were one to examine recent events involving Syria, the close alignment of Al Qaeda with groups within US intelligence and their Saudi and Israeli counterparts should “deconstruct” the entirety of the basis for America’s “War on Terror.” Why hasn’t it? Why does the media continue to claim that, though the Taliban ended almost all opium production in Afghanistan, the record heroin production, now over 90% of world supplies now produced there, is being flown around the world by that same organization that doesn’t possess a single aircraft? Can one see a coincidental relationship between heroin trafficking and production and CIA involvement in Afghanistan? Is there historical evidence that this is not the first time? Can we say “Golden Triangle” and “Cali Cartel?” There are areas more important to human development that simple proof that criminal elements have manipulated world events that have probably brought about the deaths of several million people. Let’s take a short look at science. To Einstein, the “holy grail” was solving unified field theory. Simply put, perhaps overly so, the relationship between gravity and magnetism and waves and particles never fit within his ideas of general relativity. Recent revelations that particles travel at above the speed of light, the result of super-collider experiments, has, in actuality, totally disproven Einstein’s original theories. There is a problem when dealing with science. As for history or “news,” it can generally be invented. In science, there are communities that share information, affirm publishings and follow events very carefully. Thus, when areas of research “go dark,” and capabilities are spoken of or even exhibited that are beyond accepted scientific advances, we are challenging something more serious than “public opinion.” Yet, exactly this has happened. Again, we enter an areas of “what can be told.” To those who work in engineering, certain scientific advances, particularly the jump from the development of the transistor to the development of the first integrated circuit is believed to be “non-linear.” This means, technologies that have no history of development have entered our daily lives. You can see where this goes, an area no one wants to travel. Remember “cold fusion?” Remember that it was a “fraud?” We were told that the first experiments were not able to be duplicated that that this “free energy” technology was a dead end? Ever hear of LENR? This stands for Low Energy Nuclear Reactions. The term actually means “cold fusion.” Billions are spent each year, by governments and private corporations, in the development of cold fusion projects. Units exist that could power automobiles, aircraft, even cities. A quick Google search will list the companies involved, the factories and laboratories, the investment opportunities and yet why is none of this reported? Would oil be worthless? Would conventional nuclear power, even wind and solar power, be worthless? Why are we being lied to, “in plain sight” as it were? The answer isn’t simple but there is an answer of sorts. The excuse given originates from the writings of Reverend Thomas Robert Malthus, who in 1798, espoused that “progress” would bring about limitless population growth that would end in disaster. So, we hide technologies. We have had the ability for decades to defeat gravity using technologies developed in Germany in the 1930s, rumored to have been given to them by extraterrestrials. The US built its first anti-gravity “ship” in 1953. I have seen it. It is old and ugly but works, sort of. Nanotechnologies developed in labs “impossibly” at “0 g” have produced semiconductors capable of creating fields that allow vehicle performance typically attributed to UFOs. One of the more common but less spoken of areas is weather modification. Energy weapons developed in “dark projects” are being used to modify weather in some areas of the world, particularly the oil rich states of the Persian Gulf. This is more “hidden in plain sight” use of non-existent technology. We have only touched on a few areas, they are endless. What we can prove is that events are not what they seem, science is not what it seems, this is clear. What is also clear is that anything we are told is suspect and not by accident. Mistrust in everything is engineered into our very being as a method of control, absolute control. Gordon Duff is a Marine combat veteran of the Vietnam War that has worked on veterans and POW issues for decades and consulted with governments challenged by security issues. He’s a senior editor and chairman of the board of Veterans Today, especially for the online magazine “New Eastern Outlook.”

[toto-doodles]

First Date

This is for the @danganevents valentines fic exchange :) I was assigned @deadpunkin who wanted komahina fluff! This was my first time doing something like this and It was a cool experience- I hope you have fun reading it! ^^

Hajime Hinata was running late.

This wasn’t a common nor uncommon experience really. Hajime’s most remarkable quality (excluding his abnormally spikey hair) would have to be how average he is. And being late occasionally is just a part of life! That was something anyone could understand and be understanding of, surely..

This is what was repeating through Hajime’s head as he dashed to the bus stop down the street from his apartment complex. Just a little bit further-

“OOF!”

Upon rounding the street corner Hajime collides with an immense and immovable object. This ‘object’ was none other than Nekomaru Nidai.

“Woah, there- What’s the rush!” Nekomaru exclaimed, helping pick Hajime up from off the ground where he had fallen. The Ultimate Team Manager was built like a brick house and running headlong into him made that especially clear.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, though your form is severely lacking!” He continued, helping brush Hajime off lightly and doing his best to smooth down the spiky mass of hair “Having heart is important but we’ll never reach play offs on that alone. If you really want to improve your run time I can help you devise a solid regiment suited to your build!” At this point Nidai had given up on fixing the mess known as Hajime’s hair and punched his fists together enthusiastically “Just give me the word an-“

“Nidai I am so sorry but also- I do Not have time for this today.” Hajime sputtered out darting around the managers’ form and making a run for it, “We can talk about this another day!” He half-heartedly promised over his shoulder, already trying to calculate how much this detour would affect his time. As he was not the SHSL Mathematician, however, Hajime soon abandoned this line of thought.

Nidai huffs to himself lightly, as the smaller student flees away in a full on sprint, “He must really have to take a shit..”

Across town a lone figure arrives at the door of Jabberwock Java, a local coffee chain renowned for its fun and exotic take on the classic café theme.

-

“Huh. I’m 15 minutes early! That’s just my luck..” He sighed before sitting at one of the outside tables to wait for 6 o’clock. Better than being late, really. Nagito had made sure to leave Hope’s Peak with plenty of time and to take the most secure path available according to Google maps. That way even if was waylaid by criminals or caught in a storm he would have plenty of time to deal with the issue.

Despite emotionally preparing for something unfortunate the entirety of the trip, it had been remarkably easy. Almost frighteningly so.

“A lot can happen in 15 minutes,” Nagito thinks to himself while thoughtfully gazing towards the horizon.

-

He made it! The bus was leaving right as he arrived but due to Hajime’s quick reflexes and the bus driver’s kindness (ie. Running alongside the bus as it started to pull off and knocking on door), he was now seated in the fourth closest seat to the door.

“Finally, something is going right,” Hajime sighs, taking a moment to try and catch his breath. The fellow bus occupants were likely judging him, but he had made it on and that’s what really counts. The person in the next seat over was openly staring daggers at him.

They would probably stop once they realized he wasn’t going to acknowledge them. Sweat dripped down the side of his neck and Hajime wished he had the foresight to bring water.

Or the foresight to just leave on time instead fussing over his stupid outfit for half an hour. Its not like he even wore anything that different from his usual clothes..

“Hajime?..”

Sure, it was a slightly nicer button down. Crisp collar, unlike his every day outfit. And the tie he chose was not the usual green- but a more grey-ish green shade than usual. Not that he bought it specifically for this or anything! He just… needed a new tie.

“Hajime!”

Oh fuck.

So much for ignoring them, “Oh! Hey there Ibuki,” he smiled in what was hopefully a nonchalant manner “What’s up?” He went to lean in to more of a relaxed slouch against the handrail but, upon realizing an outer seat didn’t actually have that, stopped before he could fall into the center aisle.

He could play it cool. Right.

“What’s up with Ibuki?! More like what’s up with Hajime!” She exclaimed loudly, almost certainly drawing unnecessary looks from everyone else on the bus, who hadn’t paid attention to his frantic pounding on the bus window a couple minutes back “Ibuki saw you run from alllllll the way by down the street.”

“Now what could Ibuki’s favorite drummer be doing running so desperately,” She crossed her arms in thought.

“Its- really its no big deal! I was just,” Think Hajime, think “Getting in my steps for the day.” Nailed it.

“Oh!! Ibuki sees,” Here she shot a wide grin, and nodded in a self satisfied manner “And after his steps Hajime always goes to treat himself with some tea! Of course!!”

“Uh.. sure.”

“And of course the best place to get tea is the Hanamura Family Diner!”

Hajime felt his heart drop.

“Which is why you are on a bus alllllll the way to Aoyama!” Ibuki continued, unaware of Hajime’s turmoil “Ibuki still needs to go there one day, but she can never seem to find it! Even when she goes to watch concerts in that area no one ever seems to have heard of it!”

“..This bus is headed where?”

-

Nagito checked his phone. It was only just after 6… Hajime probably just got lost on his way here. At this point it was almost rude to loiter outside without at least going to buy something.

Mind made up Nagito headed inside the café, deciding to order a small drink and stake out a nice spot for when Hajime arrives. He checks his phone again, as a force of habit.

No new messages.

-

After getting off at the next nearest stop and declining Ibuki’s invitation to play ‘Will I get there?’ Hajime has to be completely honest with himself.

This isn’t just a little late anymore. Assuming Nagito arrived on time (and not early as Hajime feared) he would have been waiting for at least 45 minutes now. While the luckster has come a long way from disdainful student he had been (And only seemed to be warming up to Hajime more and more every day), surely, he was pushing the others patience at this point.

Hajime was across town with no way to the café. He should just call and tell him what happened, reschedule for another day and cut his losses.

He reaches into his pocket to retrieve his phone.

Aaaaand finds nothing. Hajime blinks for a bit, before re-checking each and every pocket he has. The search comes up with his wallet, the apartment key, a pack of mint fresh gum, and absolutely nothing else.

“Ughhhhhhh..” He puts his head in hands for a moment and thinks. He had been avoiding checking the time since he first left so as not to psyche himself out too much. It must have been left at home. And if it was lost anywhere else, then… Well that would be a problem for future Hajime.

Current Hajime has very specific problems to deal with. Namely not disappointing the guy he was supposed to meet up with any more than he already has. With renewed energy Hajime stands up and looks over the map located at the stop.

The next bus he needed wasn’t coming for a good while. There must be another way to get there… Suddenly a car with deeply tinted windows pulls up next to Hajime on the curve. The window starts to roll down on the passenger side and Hajime tenses up ever so slightly. If he throws the gum then that should be enough of a distraction to make a run for it if need be.

“Hey Hajime! What are you doing all the way on this side of town?”

“….Fuyuhikyo?”

Behind the Kuzuryu heir Peko waves lightly from the driver seat.

-

Nagito is easygoing in a lot of ways. Life happens and things often out of your control can make keeping plans difficult at times. It was like his luck with its ups and downs and the unpredictable nature of things, honestly. But Nagito is also a realist.

He had his… reservations about this outing from the beginning, and it was becoming increasingly clear that so must have Hajime. It was 7:30 with no calls or messages, and no sign of the spiky haired teenager. Though the timing was unfortunate, he must have finally realized his time would be better spent with almost anyone else. It was an unavoidable outcome really. Nagito was almost surprised it took this long, even with the young man’s stubborn nature.

Either that or something could have happened to Hajime- which was unthinkable. A light shudder wracked his frame at the idea. Nagito would be fine with ignoring whatever this could have been if Hajime is okay. He would have to be okay.

For everything else the universe had taken away from him it should owe him this much at least.

With that Nagito strengthens his resolve to greet Hajime normally tomorrow, as he always does after class. He won’t mention being stood up or talk about waiting on him. He won’t push for more than he deserves.

Though only a reserve course student Hajime had so much hope in his heart. That was really the only way Nagito could put it. He had a way of making everyone around him feel acknowledged and cared for just by being there. It’s really no wonder that he had become such an essential part of the 77th class of Hope’s Peak Academy, despite being an unofficial member.

Though the two had taken a while to get used to each other and only recently started to understand one another, they worked well together. There was a base attraction that only flourished as they shared their stories, love of Hope’s Peak Academy and what it represents, even their deepest dreams with one another.

Or at least that’s what Nagito had thought.  

It had seemed reciprocated if the confession (Could it even be called that?) from Hajime was anything to go by. It had been pretty round about in the way he did it, but the intent seemed clear. His eyes had been bright and cheeks flushed as he mentioned with a forced off-handedness about this café he had been meaning to try, and ‘Gee, wouldn’t it be nice to go together, Nagito?’

Really, the nail in the coffin was Hajime insisting that they do this on a couple’s holiday. Nagito didn’t consider himself to be oblivious but the implications of that seemed... pretty straightforward.

Lost in thought and fidgeting with his long since empty cup he almost doesn’t notice the shadow that crosses his table.

“Hey.” The seat across from him pulls out as a somewhat ruffled looking Hajime takes a seat.

“Sorry to keep you waiting for so long- there was an issue with the bus and misplacing my phone. It was kind of crazy trying to get here honestly!”

Seeing how much of a mess the other boy’s hair was (Which is to say it was slightly worse than usual) and how his tie (..Was that new? It was a silky looking grey-green shade that was endearingly familiar) noticeably askew, that seemed believable. Not that Hajime was the type to lie to protect someone’s feelings, but it was comforting evidence, nonetheless.

“Oh! That sounds rather troublesome,” Nagito answered after a moment “I’m honored you invited me here in the first place, but you really shouldn’t go to such lengths just to meet with me!” He laughed a bit self-consciously.

“I wanted to.” Hajime reply’s immediately. Firmly.

A warm hand grasps Nagito’s own on top of the table. He can feel his heart skip a beat.

“Whether it’s talking about whatever comes to mind or even just saying nothing at all,” Hajime pauses as if searching for the right words “being with you is.. good, Nagito. You are really important to me.”

As Nagito begins to flush at the unexpected praise, at the counter across the room Fuyuhikyo and Peko order a couple of green tea’s and a bag of fried dough cookies to go.

“It’s about time,” Fuyuhikyo huffs lightly nodding at their friends joined hands. Peko hums in agreement, collecting the sweets bag and passing a cookie over.

“They’ve only been dancing around each other for the past three years. Sheesh, were we ever that insufferable?” Peko gives him a look that speaks volumes, and the two leave Jabberwock Java and the soon to be couple behind.

[els-writes]

A Place of Ghosts - Godless Snippet

The stack of books was growing unmanageable. Every time Maesha looked up at the pile on her desk, someone had added yet another book or two. It towered over her now, dwarfing her in the creaking chair. She put her pen down, caring little that she left a streak of ink across the thin paper. Slumping, Maesha rubbed at the rough calluses the pen had left on her dark skin. Her hands felt dry, coated in ink, and the notes in front of her were as messy and badly written as always. There was little more she could do. She didn’t want to have to try again. She didn’t want to have to keep digging through these dull books to finish it off either.

“Day! Forward!”

Maesha was never sure whether to be happy about a call forward: it got her away from the mounds of books, after all, but it rarely meant something good. If the Bookmaster wanted her, it was mostly because she wasn’t doing something right again, or to ask her to go on another study.

Oh please, let it not be another study.

She muttered back a confirmation that the caller wouldn’t even hear over the chorus of scratching pens in the college library. Tucking her chair neatly in, she flattened out her dress. Despite the thin fabric, her skin was still sticky with the heat: the library could never be properly aired out. Who used thick brick walls in a desert? She stepped back into her sandals, moving through the library as she adjusted the hairband to keep her tight curls at bay.

The library sat in the very heart of Bellon College – the College grounds and housing off to one side, and the public forums to the other. At the front of the library was where the Bookmaster received requests from the public, a small room with only three walls, allowing the breeze to ease the heat just a little for visitors. Maesha entered through the backdoor, stepping out behind the Bookmaster’s desk, where he usually sat hunched over one book or another. Today, however, he was standing on his skeletal legs, gripping the hand of a voluptuous young woman.

“Please send my gratitude to your father once again, Miss Evelone,” the Bookmaster said. “He is the only mine-owner who lets us know when they unearth something of interest.”

The woman’s eyes flickered over to Maesha, eyebrows lifting in interest, but her words were still directed at the Bookmaster. “Of course, sir. Father is so passionate about promoting learning across the world. It would be a disservice to our history to destroy any valuable archaeological evidence. Now, is this her?”

The Bookmaster’s head turned slowly, and he gave Maesha a smile she’d never received from him before. It was almost pleasant. She respected the elder scholar greatly, but Maesha didn’t deny that, for as great a mind as he was, he lacked social pleasantries.

“Yes, yes. Maesha Day,” He beckoned her forward, and Maesha took a few hesitant steps until his hand rested on her shoulder. “She’s our resident researcher in religion and religious articles. If anyone is to help you, it’d be her. She’s incredibly passionate. Came here and demanded to study when she was only… seven? Eight?”

Maesha was well aware that her passion and length of time at the College was the only things that the Bookmaster noticed about her. It was all anyone really knew her for.

She lowered her gaze to the floor, unable to even take in this woman when she was being examined so blatantly by her.

“Day,” the Bookmaster went on, patting her shoulder. “Miss Evelone requires some assistance. Please give her your attention.”

For a man who, Maesha was sure, had not a strip of muscle inside him anymore, the force with which he pushed Maesha forward past the desk was quite remarkable. The woman was still dragging her eyes up and down Maesha in her entirety, and that made her skin prickle with unease as she led this Miss Evelone out into the garden where meeting tables had been set up under the expansive arbour.

“Would you like a drink, Miss?” Maesha asked, motioning to an empty table.

“No, I’d very much like to get to the point,” Miss Evelone sighed heavily, brushing her hair from her forehead. Her skin shined, and Maesha wondered if she wasn’t used to the intense heat of Tyfe.

“How may I help you then, Miss?”

“I’m travelling with…” She paused, her lips quirking up slightly. “With some assistants of mine. We’re very interested in seeing some of the ancient religious grounds of Tyfe, as I know they are built so vastly different to the… singular and somewhat disappointing Temple we have in Clarend. However, the maps we were using to direct ourselves seem to be lacking, well, anything to do religious grounds whatsoever.”

Maesha couldn’t work out why this woman would want to see some boring religious spots, and she struggled not to furrow her brow. “Tyfe has a long and complicated history with religion. It was one of the first to build Temples to the Primaries, but one of the last countries of the Mainland to accept the concept of Secondaries. Historically, religious grounds here are seen to be something that people aren’t meant to go to, unless if they have some greater calling. Temples and the like in Tyfe have never been sightseeing spots like the Temple of Lore, or places open for common prayers and ceremonies like the Temple of the Secondaries. Thus, they’ve never been put on maps to avoid people getting the wrong impression.”

Miss Evelone listened in silence, and somehow that surprised Maesha. She held an air about her as if she believed she were far above anyone else, but she pressed a finger to her lips and sat thoughtfully for quite some time after Maesha had finished – like she was really taking in the information.

“And are the Temples still unvisited for the most part? Since the Mainland borders opened for the public, surely you have more tourists or more faithful followers from Loren and Estra, for example. Does Tyfe still keep the Temples private?” Miss Evelone asked. They were valid questions, ones that Maesha had written about in her research before.

“Um, more do visit, indeed. Hope Temple has prepared for that, however. They offer guides to help visitors learn and follow the expected protocol we have in Tyfe. If that’s what you wish to see, the guides there are knowledgeable in the history of Hope. It may not be mapped or signposted, but residents of the city are still happy to point it out.”

“Oh, we’re not interested in Hope,” Miss Evelone said.

Something about the blasé way she spoke made Maesha’s stomach twist. “Not Hope? Then… not a Temple, but somewhere seen as an important area in religious history?” She spoke hopefully, praying that this wasn’t going where her gut feared it would.

“No. The Temple of Lost Souls. That’s where we’re hoping to go.”

Maesha’s fingers dug into her knees. She held Miss Evelone’s eyes, attempting to pick apart the confidence and… challenge in her gaze.

“You can’t…” Maesha breathed.

“I’ve discovered that ‘can’t’ is a very decisive word,” Miss Evelone laughed. “More than that, it’s somewhat a belief. One I don’t invest much time in. So, yes, I can.”

Maesha shook her head. “The Temple of Lost Souls is not somewhere you can visit on a whim, Miss Evel-”

“Please, call me Spinel. ‘Miss Evelone’ is what my employees call me.”

That was very much beside the point, but it seemed this woman – Spinel – didn’t see that. Maesha glanced around, fearing what would happen if someone overheard the way this conversation was going.

“That place is not what you associate Temples with, no matter what it’s called. It’s not a place people visit. It’s a place to avoided. Hope Temple is a perfectly beautiful and renowned example of Tyfen religious builds–”

Spinel’s lips curved upwards. Resting her chin on her hands, she leant closer over the table. “Why are you so against me visiting this Temple? What’s there?”

Maesha took a breath. “The Temple of Lost Souls is not a place built in honour of the Gods – Primary or Secondary. It’s a place built for the souls unable to cross over to the Far Plains. Vengeful souls, sorrowful souls, souls who couldn’t pass on in peace. They reside in the Temple… trapped there to prevent their negativity spilling over into the world.”

A soft sigh left Spinel’s lips, and she sat back again. “Goodness, this is cliched, isn’t it? I wonder how we didn’t see it before.”

At a complete loss, Maesha could only stare as Spinel seemed to find the whole concept boring. Perhaps she was a non-believer. Clarend tended to stray away from religion and prayer since the Split, Maesha knew that, but she’d never met someone so intent on visiting the Temple of Lost Souls even after hearing the stories. Even if she wasn’t religious, surely everyone was at least a little superstitious? Maybe this strange woman was a thrill seeker like those ghost hunters Maesha had heard tales of – the people who snuck into the mass crypts closed off since the Landbreak Wars. That must be it.

“Where is this Temple, then?” Spinel asked, and Maesha’s gripped at the edge of the table, horrified.

“If I tell you, you’ll go?”

“Obviously.”

“Even after all I’ve said?”

“Oh sweetheart, you could have told me there were packs of rabid wolves around the Temple and I still would go.”

“But, why?” Maesha pressed. “What could there possibly be to make you want to go to an old, crumbling Temple with nothing but ghosts in?”

Spinel tilted her head to the side, an amused smile on her face. “The ghosts, of course.”

Hey guys look it’s Maesha! She’s finally here!!! 

Tagging: @nyxnevin @reeseweston @kriss-the-writing-nerd - if you’d like to be added or removed from the Godless tag list, please let me know! ^^

[reece-c-parker-blog]

Gay Culture; A Blight Upon Itself

How this ethical quagmire has metastasised across the lives of our lost boys struggling to find their place as men.

Originally posted on Medium

I hate being gay. Statistically speaking there would have to be a few of us. The numbers, I’m sure you’ve noticed, are kept conspicuously quiet. No, there isn’t a vast conspiracy. It simply doesn’t fit narrative.

My pubescent years fell as the millennium turned, amidst the rise of the gay normalisation movement. This time saw the rise of Will & Grace, Queer As Folk, and Queer Eye For The Straight Guy. It was a great time to feel included. Just not for me. These programs were an entry-level concept of what it means to be gay for the metropolitan audiences of the east and west coasts of the United States. The AIDS crisis had drawn the eyes of mainstream western audiences to the existence of the gay community. There was no better time to finally address what could no longer be ignored.

I had tried to engage, during these years, with the material that was expected of me. They were telling my stories, after all. Painting the canvas of life with the experiences I should experience, and feelings I should feel. Expect they didn’t. They proselytized with tired stereotypes and the bigotry of low expectation. I soon found homosexuality a talking point in my social circles — as nothing more than a kitsch cliché pulled in for reference, then reshelved until needed. Gay men weren’t making the punchlines. They were the punchline.

This was a moment of the first of many disconnects. Where I, through failures of character and assimilation, couldn’t bond with my peers. As the industry grew, and the prevalence of gay characters onscreen continued to impress focus groups, so grew my dejection. But as the list gorged itself with new examples of progressivism, and the insertions became further tokenistic, the rise of groupthink assured this lens had become a prerequisite entry point to what it meant to be gay. Suddenly, so vanished the hardships of the few — gay culture was at the mercy of almighty corporate.

Now here we are; Expected to worship towards the cultural meccas of preselected gay figures championed not for their contributions to the realms of medicine, literature, or technology, but instead to their servile attitudes in representing the hedonism that bore their fame. Gay conversation has fast adopted an adaptation of Godwin’s Law, where as a conversation increases in duration, the probability one of the conversationalists mentioning RuPaul’s Drag Race approaches 1. Though, it’s more than this. It’s the exclusivity of language attached to those cultural expectations. While language has long been in flux, flitting to the verbal needs of its speakers, allowing our language to be shaped by corporate interests masquerading as representatives borders on Orwellian. Shade, Read, Sickening, Tea, Fish, Clock, and a series of disjointed ramblings have become the core exchanges of the gay communiqué. The expectation of this adherence, a cruel hand to play for young men seeking freedom from the limitations clasped to them during their formative years. To escape the shackles of their prison, to fall into the loving embrace of a new turnkey. Oh, but this time it’s different. This isn’t some hallway bully. This one wants you. But only if you be what it wants you to be. Only if you buy its products. Only if you wear its styles. Only if you speak with its voice. And only if you, in the innocence of your youth, surrender in your entirety.

Even an article like this risks defilement through the accusation of homophobia; for calling out the failures of a community through its inactivity of service and protection of all its members. For the suggestion we have a culture of ceaseless pandering to those most visible and easily pigeonholed would net me a gay excommunication. It simply cannot be said. It’s an inconvenience too burdensome to address, and so instead we commit to the monotonous busywork of feigning outrage by the perceived slights issued by positions of power. As if, by the consternation of the gay masses, the notion things aren’t too bad is too hefty a price to concede. Understandably so. Without a rallying struggle against the alabaster crowned, black suited boogeymen, all that would be left for the LGBT community would be to accept responsibility for the establishment of reasonable behavioural boundaries and the regulation of its members. A price too high, indeed.

In many ways it reminds me of the Arcadian Pan, whose submission to lust-filled tawdriness is emulated to a design by metropolitan hook-up culture. A youth swept away by the propagandistic idiom of ‘It Gets Better’, without the nuanced discussion of whether or not this is even true. After all, Grindr recently ranked top on the unhappiness scale, with a 77% respondents rate of user depression post usage. No surprises why. In the constricting nativity of my youth, I had dabbled, seeking conversation, which at the time was perceived to be a remedy to my loneliness, from the most populated aggregate. Within one working day I had been labelled as a faggot, by a member of my own community — for simply failing to supply him with what he wanted. The entitlement. As if I were nothing but a monkey tasked to perform by an organ grinder. Words carefully chosen, as his organ was the recipient of my expected performance. It is in this shadowy field where the ego is unleashed, freed from the shackles of civility. Where an otherwise unremarkable citizen may scale a hierarchy sheathed from the view of their heterosexual peers. Where the 1% isn’t measured by economic prosperity, but instead by the congregation of required physical traits and social capital to be granted worth. Note, ‘granted worth’. As worth within this community is not an immutable characteristic inherent to the individual, rather a bestowed upon status via the idolatry of its membership. But remember. It gets better. As if the exchange of the verbal assaults of your schooling for this is somehow, by definition, superior. Of course, it is. This time it’s a choice. An opt in.

But is it? Every year when the Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras sweeps Sydney’s city streets, I can’t help feel it serves as a charming veneer — an underbelly surviving on the laundering scheme of ‘good intentions’. How respectful we are, in recognising the hard work and good character of our Australian Servicemen and women. And so we should be, their contributions are worthy of recognition. Though for some, and in numbers enough to escape the descriptor of a powerless minority, the parade and those in it are merely puppets. A necessary encumbrance to be endured before the night blooms, and the incubi feast. And feast they shall — while failing to recognise such a diet consisting of thin amoral gruel could provide anything other than little sustenance. This is not to say the Mardi Gras fails in its purpose. A brotherhood, and sisterhood, or similarly disenfranchised individuals finding solace amongst the mutual understandings of their peers is an integral cornerstone of any counter-cultural community. My query remains, why does the LGBT community repeatedly allow this message to be bastardised and accessorised by the overtly sexual?

And it is the same, hollow-toned degeneracy which snakes its way through all visual and auditory signposts, toxifying the channels of expression. The invention of preventative HIV measures has garnered responses from activist campaigns such as ‘You can fuck raw, PrEP works, no more HIV’. A delicately phrased example for a youth burgeoning into manhood. A wretched expectation of what is to come for both themselves, and their future. The normalisation of pharmaceutical dependence to enable sexual deviancy — have gay men fallen so low, they would prefer the assistance of big pharma to maintain their deviancy, rather than changing their behaviours? But of course, that is an opinion unheld. Unstated. Should that question be uttered, the tested formulaic response had already been embossed across social media. We get enough hatred from outside the community, we don’t need any hatred from within it. An interesting deflection. One that disarms all criticism. Even if it is legitimate.

One-night hook-up culture is leaving an alarming amount of young men feeling trapped. Yet, little in the way of option is offered for an alternative. Prudism is projected onto those non-participatory figures more inclined to other forms of connection. To the point, albeit most likely a problem on my behalf, I have felt rejected purely for my unwillingness to participate. The larger point is; no one should have to. The trading of bodies in a conceptualised marketplace as currency may serve the purposes of immediate pleasure, but the model itself has only been in operation for just over a decade. A time barely long enough to map the cognitive changes amongst habitual users. I often hear the espousal ‘It’s just a bit of fun’, when I vocalise even my least controversial concerns. A dismissal that I have oft found confusing. As if detachment and promiscuity held no hidden consequences. Though the citation of psychology holds little sway in this field, as it lacks the grounded and well secured architecture of reasonable discourse — instead, it’s an emotional beast. These members, with the impetus of their own desire, have decided it is fun. Thus, fun it is. Though I would argue, it takes a certain type of man to revel in such a state of emotional displacement, and not one I would imagine, many would go out of their way to willingly associate with.

For the first three years of my adulthood, bambi-like and with the same naive idealism consistent with those of that age, I was blessed with a boyfriend. Three years, you may have noted, came with an expiry date. When we, still growing, reshaped ourselves into markedly dissimilar people from who we were at the commencement of our relationship. Still, I have found these years to be the fondest of my life, and resultantly the greatest limitations to my understanding of the gay community. To be succinct for the first time in this passage — I loved him. And though this love found a place to rest, the memory of its impact remains too profound to sully with the pursuit of anything less.

But this anecdote has painted me with the status of a malcontent. One, whose bitterness and internalised homophobia, governs my actions and sews hatred and salt into the faultless fields of the LGBT. A community which celebrates the union of an autistic child and a boastful killer while they bond in front of a portrait two letters shorts of spelling rohypnol. A community who cannot stand accountable without proclaiming their victimhood — ensuring the aberrant social victimisation perpetrated within their community is kept out of public sight. Should you ever have believed racism were a plague long extricated from your neighbourhood, feel free to log into your gay phone app to source the mantra, ‘No spice or rice’. I’m sorry Mr. Rogers, It isn’t a beautiful day in those neighbourhoods, nor is it a beautiful day for those neighbours.

What is to be done? A start, perhaps, is a discussion free of the tedious pejoratives usually held in reserve for ‘The Other’. For too long the gay community has projected bad intent onto its naysayers. Understandable. But know this, a concession isn’t a loss. It’s a sign of maturity. So in the invocation of this request, I wonder — will the change prove too arduous, or my brethren too stubborn?

[meetthetank]

Peccatum chapter 5: Army of White

goddamnit I keep forgetting to post updates here I apologize

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14454675/chapters/38075438

a NieR Automata: Fantasy AU

For 2B, traveling with a platoon of strangers is a stressful endeavor. The wary stares of armed and armored soldiers put her on edge, even as she stays close to 9S. She writes it off as making sure he’s managing his injuries well, which isn’t a complete lie. There are times where his pace slows and 2B can hear him struggle to breathe, but those are few and far between. For the entirety of the last leg of the journey, 9S stays information behind the lieutenant, Jackass, with 2B beside him. The other soldiers file in line after them, their eyes rarely leaving the strange newcomer attached at the hip to the young scout.

9S tries to make conversation with her, but he doesn’t press her for much of anything this time. His hand curls around his pendant occasionally and he refuses to meet her gaze at all really. Each time one of their brief conversations ends, he casts his eyes down to the earth almost shamefully and hides his pendant beneath his thin coat. Why he feels the need to hide from her, 2B doesn’t quite understand. She had given him the charm back, that should have told him enough about her opinion of him. Humans, or hybrids in this case, sure were strange creatures.

Though 2B is curious as to what exactly the other side of 9S’ bloodline is, it strikes her as exceedingly rude to ask, especially when he seems so ashamed of it. With her limited knowledge of the vast variety of demons, it makes it difficult for her to take a guess. He definitely wasn’t any of the ones comprised of bone and tar, or the shadow hounds or the strange rider and horse. 2B has no idea which species have the capability to breed with humans as well. Perhaps some of the stronger varieties, the ones that lead the legions and give orders? She feels as if she has the right to know but now is not the time. There are too many strangers watching her every move.

Jackass, the lieutenant, occasionally tosses some short questions back at 9S, mainly to ask if he’s holding up. There’s an electric glint in the eyes of the androgynous lieutenant that sets her on edge a bit. It’s a similar feeling to how she first felt around 9S, but different. More potent in a way. The piercing blue eyes linger on 2B just a little too long for comfort, not to mention the fact that she can’t read her expression at all. It’s almost analytical, scrutinizing and dissecting every part of 2B. Between her, Jackass, and 9S, the air of distrust is almost palpable.

The smells of metal, mud, and humans hit 2B the moment a small complex of tents comes into view. Nestled among rolling hills and surrounded by thick woods is a sprawling camp populated with countless soldiers bustling about. Some brandishing a once pristine white armor with deep blue accents, others in common attire move back and forth between tents carrying crates of supplies. 2B tenses up at the thought of being surrounded by even more strangers. Maybe coming to the aid of 9S was a bad idea…

“Alright, you lot are dismissed. Go clean up and get something to eat.” Jackass says with a dismissive wave of her hand, “9S, you and your new friend come with me for debrief.”

“Yessir,” 9S responds dutifully, yet quietly. His posture turns a bit more upright.

The soil beneath them turns to well-worn grass and patches of mud, the smell of fresh rain dampening the scents of human activity. Jackass’ squadron disperses in various directions as the three pass by certain tents. Hushed whispers and pointed stares follow 2B, who simply ignores all but 9S and Jackass. If she tries to place all of the sounds and smells, she’ll be overwhelmed in an instant. For someone with senses heightened beyond what a typical human is capable of, a busy military camp is a nightmare.

Despite her focus, something familiar breaks through 2B’s concentration. A light breeze carries the delicate scent of exotic flowers and a feminine voice.

“2B?”

Her head whips around at the sound of her name, immediately set on edge. At least until she sees exactly who called her.

“2B is that you?!”

The soft padding of bare feet on mud rushes towards her. A mass of green cloth and blonde hair launches herself at 2B, who just barely manages to catch her in time. Thin arms wrap around 2B’s shoulders, and while she’s too stunned to reciprocate at first, she returns the excited embrace of her old friend. The various trinkets and charms that adorn 6O clink and jingle as she bounces on the balls of her feet.

“6O? What are you doing here?”

She giggles a bit, “I joined up a while ago, I never thought I’d see you here!! How are you? What are you doing out this far from your village? Or from the Weald for that matter?”

“Uh…” 9S approaches the two women and clears his throat, “6O, you know her?”

"9S! You're back safe!" She reaches out with the long, gnarled staff she holds and pulls him into her other arm, squeezing the both of them tightly. 9S winces in pain but pushes it down before she notices. "I was starting to worry. But you're ok! And you know 2B too? She's an old friend of mine, we met aaaages ago. It's kind of a long story."

She lets go of the two of them, luckily for 9S. He brushes some dust and dirt from his clothes as a way to mask his slightly labored breathing. If 6O noticed that he was still nursing an injury she’d never leave him alone.

“Well...I helped her, then she got me out of a jam and then we started traveling together.” He casts a quick look at 2B, who nods in confirmation, “I thought that we might help her get a lead on her lost sibling.”

6O’s smile falls slightly, “You’re looking for A2? But doesn’t that mean-”

“9S!” Jackass shouts from a yard or so away, “Not the time for chatter, the Commander’s waiting!”

“Coming!” he answers, then cuts himself off mid-stride, “Um...2B I don’t think you-...”

“Don’t worry,” 6O pipes up grabbing onto 2B’s hand with a wide smile, “2B and I have a lot of catching up to do. I’ll show her around camp.”

9S nods, “Okay, I’ll meet you two in mess tent when I’m done.”

With one last goodbye and a concerned glance at a very bewildered 2B, 9S trots over to Jackass’ side.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to leave her unsupervised,” he mutters to his superior.

“Eh, good idea. Don’t want a confused Coatyl wandering around a military camp.”

9S responds with a quiet hum and spares another quick look back at 6O chatting excitedly at 2B. He takes great pride in his job, of course. He’s one of the best scouts in this small army and as such he gets to report directly to the Commander, but there’s an immense pressure on him to present his findings perfectly because from his findings the Commander devises the next move of the entire army.

They approach one of the larger tents at the center of camp. Two soldiers in the army’s signature white and deep navy blue armor snap to attention as Jackass and 9S push past the flaps without announcing themselves.

“Joanna-...Lieutenant.” the commander rises to her full height, towering over 9S and Jackass both. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a tight bun, accenting the piercing steely grey eyes that bore into 9S with an intensity that would make a lesser man cower, “9S. Glad to see you both returned safely.”

“White.” Jackass greets with a sly upward tick of her lips which grows in response to the Commander’s scowl. She straightens up slightly as she claps 9S on the shoulder, “Go on with your reports.”

9S clears his throat, meeting the stern gaze of the commander, “I patrolled along the northern coastline, visiting small villages and scouring the surrounding woods for signs of demonic activity. There were wandering bands of Medullum, which the common folk have taken to calling ‘bonemen’, hiding out in a cave system deep in the forests. More troubling than that, however, are the Hounds and Houndmaster Jackass and I encountered we believe to be raiding parties.”

Commander White nods as 9S points to the locations of the razed villages and demon camps on a map that sprawls across the table. There are a lot more towns and villages marked with a red X than he recalls. In fact, the whole area to the north is crossed off…

“...What about the other scouting parties? Did they find anything?”

The Commander sighs, “Nothing beyond burnt farmlands and corpses.”

“Oh…And the missing scouts?”

“Still no word from any of the parties sent to the northwest of the coast. You’re the only one sent there to return.” Her head lowers a bit, “We...have to assume the worst at this point.”

9S bites back the small lump forming in his throat. He considered the other scouts his friends, and now a handful of faces are gone. He knows he should be used to people dying by now, but the toll has gotten so much worse as the war has dragged on.

“...In regards to what I’ve observed…” he says after taking a deep breath to steady himself, “And from what I can gather from the map, it looks like the demons are forcing the population to the coasts. I came across people fleeing the razed villages in droves,” 9S brings out a small leatherbound pad of parchment, “Many of them said they were heading to Vigo.”

“We think they might be trying to hop a trade ship.” Jackass interjects, “But if there’s a heavy demon presence in the surrounding area, sea traffic is going to stop and they’re going to be stuck.”

“Which is exactly what the demons would want, I think.” 9S states, running his finger along his notes, “They could wipe out the population in one ambush. They’d have nowhere to run.”

“I see…” White mutters as she scribbles something on her own sheet of parchment,

“There’s also, um…” 9S falters for a moment, “There’s one other thing I need to mention.”

White raises an eyebrow, “What is it.”

“I...Well, I met someone, a Coatyl.”

“A Coatyl?”

“Yes. Her name is 2B.”

“And she was alone?”

"Yes?"

"And she's here?"

“Y-yes?”

The Commander levels her steely gaze at 9S, “Do you realize how dangerous that is?”

“I...I did not.” he stammers and swallows hard, “Sorry, I’m not too familiar with Coatyls.”

White looks to Jackass, “Well?”

“From what I’ve seen, she has no love of demons, that's for sure. She hasn’t done anything to warrant concern on my end. She’s mentioned looking for her lost sibling as well. Doesn’t dissuade the other concerns I have about a lone Coatyl in a military camp.”

“She’s saved my life and I’ve saved hers in turn.” 9S adds, “I don’t think she’ll be a problem, and I don’t think she’ll be around for very long. She’s just looking for a direction to go in.”

The Commander looks back and forth between her Lieutenant and 9S, “...If this Coatyl is to stay in my camp, you’re going to be responsible for her behavior. Am I clear, 9S.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Pardon me,” a young soldier says before entering the tent, “Sorry to interrupt, but 21O is looking for 9S.”

“Go ahead,” Commander White says with a wave of her hand, “Dismissed.”

As 9S exits the tent, the Commander calls for Jackass to stay behind. Normally he’d linger around the tent to try and get some juicy information, but today was already too hectic to pull that kind of stunt again. Besides, he had gotten busted last time and did not want to end up on latrine duty for the fourth week in a row. Still, the temptation of hearing what the Commander herself has to say to the chief information officer is strong enough for him to slow his pace just a tad. Unfortunately for him, their voices are kept so low that they’re muffled by the thick fabric of the tent.

It’s a short walk through the camp to the aviary since most of the activity in camp seems to be winding down for the evening. Everyone who isn’t busy is probably in the mess tent for dinner or washing up after the day. A scout taking a couple horses out to graze waves idly to 9S as he passes by, which he returns with a small smile.

The agitated croaking of ravens echoes from one of the larger tents on the outskirts of camp as 9S approaches it. Worried that 21O might need some help with whatever is bothering the birds, he shoves his way through the flaps of the tent.

“Mom? What's wrong with the-”

Immediately he’s greeted by the sight of 2B in the middle of the aviary surrounded by a flock of ravens hissing and croaking at the perceived threat. She stands stiff, her eyes darting around the room, hissing in a low tone when one bird hops a little too close for her comfort. She’s so distracted she doesn’t notice 9S enter the tent.

“9S who is this.”

21O storms over to 9S, her feather patterned cloak fluttering behind her. He jumps at her sudden appearance and interrogation.

“Uh, her name-”

“6O left her here while she went to take care of something. She’s upsetting my birds.”

“Her name is 2B. She and I-”

“9S,” 2B jogs over to his side, causing the ravens to all scatter and scream.

“Mom wait let me-”

“She’s your mother?”

“Yes, but-”

9S rushes over to help 21O calm the flock of startled birds with a small device that he clicks and follows up with a treat.

“Here, 2B.” he takes her hand and places a small chunk of meat in her palm, then holds it out to one of the birds, “They’re still nervous around you. This’ll help them calm down.”

21O watches with cautious eyes as her raven snatches the meat from this strange woman’s hand. With 9S’ assistance, she repeats the process until the flock is calmed down enough for them continue with their conversation.

“Okay…” 9S begins. He recounts past events, retelling how he found 2B struggling to swim in the ocean, how she rescued him from the Medullum in the caves, their travels together ultimately meeting up with Jackass and her personal squadron. He’s taken aback in the middle of his story of how much has happened between the two of them in the short time they’ve known each other.

“...So you brought a female Coatyl you found alone into the middle of a military camp. Am I understanding this correctly.”

“Well, when you put it like that-”

“What on the god’s green earth were you thinking?” she accuses, “Do you have any idea how much danger you put yourself in?”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?!”

“I’m looking for my sibling.” 2B interjects, just barely hiding an indignant glare, “They left our home months ago to hunt demons. If what 9S told me about this army is true, then I might be able to find them here. I will move on once I have some sort of lead on their whereabouts.”

21O signs and pinches the bridge of her nose, “...And your commanding officer approved this?” she asks 9S.

“Yes, the Commander said that I’m held accountable for her.”

She stares at the two of them, this oddity of a pair. 9S seems genuine about helping her, which isn’t out of the ordinary for him at all. Yet there’s a lingering fear that makes the raven master hesitate. Of course, she trusts her boy’s judgment, but at the same time, there’s that little voice in the back of her mind that warns her to be cautious around this strange new woman. Especially one that seems so close to her son already.

But that’s a conversation for her and 9S alone.

“She’s not dangerous.” 9S says a bit definitely, “She’s not going to hurt you, or me, or your birds, or anyone.”

9S’ pale blue eyes bore into 21O. She can’t remember the last time he was so adamant about anything. Maybe when he would try to get an extra sweet for dessert when he was little, but this has more repercussions than a stomach ache if something were to go wrong.

“...I suppose the decision has been made already, then.” she sighs.

An awkward silence passes between 9S and 21O, neither one having to say much more to the other in the presence of the newcomer.

“Come on, 2B.,” he says, pulling her by the hand to leave the aviary, “Let’s go back to 6O.”

[head-and-heart]

The 100 Highlights - “Eden” (5x01)

Hey there fam! I’m starting this series in honour of the new season of The 100 that is now airing. Basically, it will function similar to review of the episode, except I will be pointing out the highlights of the episode - the things that I liked (not what I was critical of).

In light of 5x01 airing, it has become increasingly clear to me that - no matter how good an episode is - it is too easy for this fandom to get caught up on the negative aspects of it. (And yes, that includes myself sometimes.)

Being critical is good - it is a part of consuming fiction - but it is also important to recognize the positive aspects of literature as well. If not for anyone else, than for your own sanity. So that sparked the purpose of this series: for me to take a step back and think about what I enjoyed about the episode, and then share it to spread a little positivity in fandom. 

I intend to do this for every episode of Season 5, and possibly for later seasons as well (assuming we get renewed) depending on how it goes. 

So, for my first post, I will be talking about “Eden”. 

In no particular order:

The camera following the Ark and speeding down to Earth as the very first shot of the season was pretty cool and really captured the atmosphere of the episode as well as what the heart of the show seems to be: the connection among people even when they are apart, and the ways in which they fight to get back to each other.

Looking back, the cinematography of this episode was honestly stunning. The dull and bleached colour pallet of the scorched Earth versus the vibrancy of Eden is a shocking contrast and there were so many beautiful shots throughout the episode.

Loved the little callbacks to past places and characters - like the stones where they signalled to Luna, Jasper’s goggles, the stick from L.exa’s throne, Maya’s iPod, the rover, etc - it shows how all these people are still very present in Clarke’s mind (and how they are indirectly keeping her alive, keeping her centered).

The attention to detail was really strong in this episode (see above point) with all the props and the music choices (eg. playing the CL theme when Clarke finds L.exa’s throne). Due to this it ensured that, in spite of the time jump, the heart and history of The 100 remained present.

Seriously, there were sooo many cool shots. The shot of Clarke driving as the dust/lightning storm approaches was super neat. I loved how they depicted what life on Earth looks like after Praimfaya, the devastation of the planet. And also the shot of her staring into the flames as she burns the bodies of the villagers was stunning.

Having the entirety of the first 27 minutes following Clarke (and narrated almost solely by her) really nailed home the impact of her isolation and was, not to mention, a very bold storytelling decision

Music was used expertly in this episode. Tree Adams did such a great job at pinpointing when the music was needed, and when the episode was better served by using it liberally (and, on occasion, not at all). In the shot of Clarke sorting through Arkadia, the music is very light, the most prominent sound the whistling of the wind, as if to accentuate the fact that the world has gone completely silent following Praimfaya. It is also used as an homage to old characters who have passed, such as Maya, or L.exa, which I appreciated.

The scene where Clarke finds Jasper’s things was absolutely beautiful, and Eliza killed the scene with her acting. When I watched 4x13 last year I was disappointed to find that the scene where Clarke found Jasper’s suicide note was cut from the finale (it was in the leaked scripts) because I thought it meant Jasper’s memory would be forgotten. In retrospect, I’m happy that they did it this way instead, when Clarke is completely and utterly alone, and she can finally allow the emotions to hit her properly. There were so many amazing callbacks to characters from previous seasons who are no longer around anymore.

“Anyway ... in case this is the last time I get to do this, I just wanna say .. please don’t feel bad about leaving me here. You did what you had to do. I’m proud of you.” We’ve all had over a month to mentally and emotionally prepare ourselves for this line, since the trailer came out, but it remains just as beautiful as the first time.

There’s just something so badass about Clarke driving through an empty post-apocalyptic wasteland, listening to EDM on one of the last remaining pieces of tech on planet Earth. Clarke finding Maya��s iPod was the gift I didn’t know I needed.

Kudos to the makeup department for depicting their female lead realistically after almost dying of dehydration and radiation burns in the desert - sometimes this is not easy to find on a CW show.

Clarke’s frequent radio calls/narration offers up a fresh and interesting way of telling the story in this episode, revealing how Clarke has grown and reflected over the years.

There were soooo many parallels to previous episodes (eg. Clarke rising out of the water like Octavia in 1x01, the irradiated dining room in the village visually paralleling Mount Weather in 2x16, Clarke confronting her map like she did in the very first episode of the series, the shot of her face through the flames as she burns the bodies of the villagers is very reminiscent of 3x12, and everything to do with Madi and Clarke parallels the Blakes. And, of course, Charmaine’s “it means we’re not alone” is an obvious callback to Clarke’s words in the Pilot.)

No emotional beats are missed in 5x01. Clarke finding the child on the step outside the church is just one example of a gutwrenching moment in this episode that emotionally impacts us just in the way that all good media should.

“I’ve lost track of how many bodies we’ve burned since reaching the ground. God, this would be so much easier if I knew you were alive, if I knew I was going to see you again.” My Bellarke heart is singing!

Clarke gushing about berries. Enough said.

The filming of Clarke’s encounter of Madi pays homage to the horror genre, with her appearing suddenly in between the trees, or in the window frame. While not scary, it holds the same mood as 3x12 and 4x07 did - two episodes most strongly associated with typical horror films. I really enjoyed the mystery and intrigue associated with the way they approached Clarke meeting Madi.

By displaying Madi as fearful of flamekeepers, it demonstrates an alternative perspective to the Grounder faith that we haven’t gotten to see before: resistance. It also shines a light on the brutality of the conclave system in a way that is rarely addressed in the show (but perhaps should be).

Clarke performing surgery on herself? SO ! BAD ! ASS !

Clarke’s drawing of Madi was beautiful. And the little girl’s smile after seeing it? Precious.

Clarke spearing a fish? I’m turned on.

They did the absolute MOST gorgeous transition this show has ever done in this episode. And you all know which one I’m talking about. When Clarke is looking up at the stars and says, “What about them? Do you think they’ll come down too?” AND THEN IT SMOOTHLY SHIFTS TO THE ARK, BELLAMY STARING OUT THE WINDOW LOOKING DOWN AT HER AS SHE LOOKS UP AT HIM - BOTH UNKNOWINGLY. And the MUSIC. The music, oh god. Everything about it was stunning. The camerawork, the music, the thematic implications of it all. I just can’t be coherent about how amazing that transition was. Lemme go watch it another five times before I continue.

Raven beating Echo. Raven laughing. Raven. 

The dynamic among the space squad is really intriguing, and Jason Rothenberg communicated so much with so little. With just a few short scenes and lines of dialogue we can perfectly understand everyone’s role on the Ark, the tension between Bellamy and Raven, the uncertainty of Echo paired with the internal struggle of Monty, the way Emori has so seamlessly fitted herself into the group, and how Murphy has just as easily removed himself from it. It’s fascinating to me to watch how these characters interact with each other; how things have remained constant, and how they have shifted.

The fact that “Murphy” is considered one of their chores on the Ark will never not be funny (and equally heartbreaking???).

“Seconds?” “Yeah right, I choose Murphy.” I will never be over Monty’s poor, cute, little hopeful face here. It was adorable.

The Murphy and Bellamy fight scene was a blessing in every single way. First of all, Bellamy being cheeky is my lifeblood. Second of all, Murphy’s story this season is super intriguing to me. And third of all, Bellamy holding Murphy in a headlock as he forces him to admit he’s not worthless is a scene I never would have imagined I would need this much.

“You know what I think your problem is? You like being the hero; only up here, there are no heroes.” I LOVE this line because of how it delves into Murphy’s psyche and also displays him in a different way than Murphy typically is. It shows that, deep down, he really does care about more than himself. When he has so much time to wallow in his own self-loathing, he feels he needs to live up to his own expectations, and he acts out. If he can’t be a hero, then he’ll be what he knows he can be. A dick.

Also ... “there are no heroes” = “there are no good guys”. I love my otp

Bellamy is the biggest dad and I am LIVING for it.

“I’ll make sure it’s my only choice.” Cue Kate’s Bellarkean death.

“Non-violent offenders with me?” “Yeah, both of them.” Okay, I’m sorry but I’ll never stop laughing about this.

“Relax, McCreary. You’re still my favourite mass-murderer.” I loved this little exchange because it hints at the dynamic between all of the Eligius crew. Again, Jason does so much with so little words. It clearly indicates just how different these prisoners are from The 100 - how dangerous. Also ... is Zeke a mass murderer, then?

Monty and Harper’s scene together was enlightening. I’m so excited for Monty’s journey this season, and it makes complete sense for him to go in this direction. What’s intriguing is that him and Harper have almost shifted places from where they were in Season 4, where Harper wanted to give up and Monty was insistent on the need to keep fighting. He brings up a good point now: “No one should have to be that strong.” Because isn’t that the whole truth? I also really appreciated the callback to Monty’s mom, as well as Jasper, as there was a serious concern as to whether those deaths would just be swept under the rug because of the time jump. I’m happy to see that my concerns were for nothing.

Emori and Raven’s friendship is EVERYTHING. 

Nothing is brighter than Raven Reyes’ smile and that’s a fact.

Lindsey and Richard continue to have stunning chemistry and they both feed off each other so well, no matter how you see their relationship.

Ending the episode with the single shot of the fight ring in the bunker and Octavia (and her “royal guards”, so to speak) observing blankly from above was absolutely chilling. And the best possible way to lead into the next episode. 

Hope you enjoyed reading my highlights! Feel free to share some of your own. I’ll be back sometime next week following “Red Queen”.

[ikesenlemonadestandstories]

Modern AU - Messy Bun, Ready For Fun

What is the up peoples? I hope everyone has been having a decent week. Here for your viewing pleasure is the next installment of my Modern AU. Thanks for stopping by my random corner of the internet! Enjoy :)

*Got a question about POV earlier so I thought I would attempt to assist in the reading experience. For this AU I’ve been exclusively starting from ‘his’ POV, it rotates back and forth between that same guys and you for the entirety of the  installment. (Everything in his POV is first person (I/we) while you are in second person (you).) I hope this helps some!!! As always YN= your name NN=nickname. 

Feel free to send any questions you may have my way! The box is always open and (if you couldn’t tell) I enjoy conversation. :) Story under the cut for organizational purposes and because I talked to much up here this time!

Giving a holler to @little-mini-me-world please enjoy the read!

(YUKIMURA)

It was the end of August and we had been in the future for just over three weeks. Thanks to the rainy season we were caught in an aggressive downpour that had taken up the past eight days. Today was our first dry afternoon so (YN) had been making trips to the store on her bike. She seemed to be stocking up for something, but I couldn’t be sure. The click of the door and the rustle of grocery bags let us know Sasuke and (YN) were back.

Originally Sasuke hadn’t wanted to leave Shingen, Kenshin, and myself alone with the Oda forces with only Mai to mediate, but the last time (YN) and Masamune went shopping alone a few weeks ago the food they came back with didn’t fit in the refrigerator…

“Hey dummy...watch what you’re doing. If you drop it all on the floor you’ll have to go back again. Though I’m not really sure you needed to go in the first place. There’s still plenty of food.”

She smiled as I handed her the bag of rice that had been falling from her arms.

“Thanks for the help Yuki! We’re stocking up for the storm, I’ve got one more trip and we should finally be finished.”

She had picked up calling me Yuki from Shingen and Sasuke and no amount of complaining seemed to get her to stop. All I could do was grimace and move on since Hideyoshi had started talking to her.

“You keep mentioning a storm but the weather outside is fine enough. It’s gray and sticky but that alone doesn’t warrant weather dangerous enough to consider stockpiling food.”

As much as I hated to admit it he was right, it was downright gross outside, and we had taken to swimming in the pool during that day since it wasn’t thundering. Over the past few weeks Sasuke had been taking us to a few of the major points of interest in Kamakura, but it was usually too muggy outside to get more than one sight-seeing opportunity done at a time.

Walking to the TV she turned it on and clicked through a couple of stations. There was a man standing in front of a map with a giant white swirling mass moving for land. Silence, then she laughed at us.

“You guys probably haven’t seen what Japan actually looks like on a map, but there she is.”

She was pointing at the landmass on the television. Is that really it? It’s smaller than I imagined it would be.

My train of thought was broken by her continued explanation.

“This is the weather channel...Sasuke have you not showed them this yet?”

He turned to her after putting the carrots in the fridge.

“No, I didn’t think it was necessary since I was checking the weather myself.”

She looked dumbfounded I guess it didn’t occur to her we wouldn’t have been shown this already. I decided to speak up. Maybe she’d explain it then.

“If you leave your mouth open like that you’ll catch bugs...What does this have to do with stocking up on food?”

Snapping her mouth shut, her forehead crinkled as she turned, looking at me with doe eyes.

“Oh, well, like I said earlier, this is the weather channel. They use all kinds of science and luck to predict what’s going to happen outside.”

“Luck?” Mitsuhide verbalized our confusion to which Mai laughed. Apparently something about that was funny?

“Ah well they have all sorts of...equipment...to get moving pictures of the weather. They use math, science, and models to infer what it’s going to do...but since the algorithms are just helping them get predictions it usually takes a bit of luck to get it correct.”

She was pointing at the screen again.

“This moving photo of sorts is called radar. They use it to tell us what there calculations have forecast. It’s simultaneously more and less accurate than a rain dance or intuition. Hells why is this so hard to explain.”

I couldn’t help myself, I laughed. Her face was cute trying to figure out how to describe yet another future thing to us. It looked like it did the night she tried to rationalize light bulbs and electricity.

“We believe you weirdo, don’t hurt yourself thinking too hard.”

“Yuki! That is not how you talk to a lady!”

“Oh yea? It’s better than how you talk to ladies Shingen.”

…

The usual bickering between Yukimura and Shingen had picked up right in the middle of your crap explanation of the weather channel. Giving up, you meandered back over to the kitchen to help Sasuke put food away, when he leaned over.

“That’s precisely why I didn’t show them the weather channel.”

“Oh? You were afraid of Yuki and Shingen arguing? It had nothing to do with you not wanting to explain it after the light bulb fiasco?”

You could tell by the look on his face he was formulating a rebuttal and you needed to shut that down fast, otherwise you would never be able to make one last trip to the store. Yelling from your place in the kitchen.

“All you boys need to know is that the multicolored swirling blob of doom is a big ass storm, and it’s headed our way. We definitely aren’t going outside for at least two days so we may as well have enough food.”

Sasuke expelled air from his nose loud enough that you could tell that your comment had garnered a laugh and successfully ended the discussion.

“That is the least eloquent way you could have put that...multicolored blob? Doom? Really?”

“Really. You should be thanking me, I could have used the word kaleidoscopic but didn’t see that ending any better differently.”

“Ah, yes, how gracious of you....”

“Well aren’t you sassy today.”  With a slight eye roll he walked away from you to finish explaining the new can of worms you had opened.

Since this final trip to the store was for snacky foods you had decided to go by yourself. That way ‘if you couldn’t fit it in your backpack you shouldn’t be getting it’...a good control mechanism really. It was going to be interesting. It was ‘only’ a category one. If you consider 125 km/hour winds a good use of the word ‘only. This wasn’t your first rodeo and it would be unfair to assume they had never experienced storms like this in the Sengoku...honestly they had probably experienced or seen worse just based on how much building code has changed since then. The beach house you were in was fully equipped for both typhoons and earthquakes so it was a no brainer that you’d stay there, but out of consideration for everyone’s safety, nobody was going to be able to sleep in the loft...so night time arrangements were going to get interesting.

It wasn’t until a store worker approached and started speaking in broken English that you realised you probably looked like a confused tourist trying to figure out which chips were the safest to eat. Bowing in apology you grabbed the last of your groceries, paid, and exited the store, making a mental list of all of the prep you were going to have to do before Sunday when the storm was supposed to make landfall.

…

We had been busy helping (YN) get things ready for when the storm was supposed to hit. Stacking all the chairs outside and putting them in the storage room near the back of the house, along with all of the other pool equipment and patio furniture. You could see other houses starting to put up shutters on the windows around town, while ours and a few others didn’t seem to have them.

“Hey! Should I be concerned we only put wood on one of the windows?”

“Oh, not really. When my parents built the house they put in hurricane glass and storm doors everywhere. The only thing I have to cover is this window in the loft...”

“Ok...but what does a hurricane have to do with a typhoon?”

She laughed and Sasuke cut in.

“You’ll have to forgive her. In the country she’s from they call typhoons ‘hurricanes.’ So she was saying the house has already been fortified for the storm.”

“Fair. Sasuke tell me if I’m wrong, but does what she just said mean that everything is safe except where we’re sleeping?”

“Correct.”

“That’s not reassuring at all…”

(YN) jumped down from the ladder she was on, landing just a ways off from us. She jogged over.

“To be fair, you didn’t ask him to reassure you. Just answer your questions”

Man, these two are exasperating. It’s like they’re trying to make my life more difficult. (YN) had somehow managed to make Sasuke emote, apparently he found what she just said funny. I’m convinced she’s using some sort of futuristic witchcraft on him.

“Fine, then can I get some reassurance?”

Both turning to me in unison.

“Probably not.”

The next morning had started off beautifully, the sky was a bright and clear blue, but as the hours passed it grew progressively cloudy, tinting everything a dull slate gray. The air was so thick I was pretty sure I could cut it with a knife, and the calm ocean breeze I was enjoying this morning had progressed into more of a vengeful gust. The only real positive was that when (YN) came back from practice in the evening her hair was hysterical. As she passed down the hall Masamune roared with laughter at the site of her and I couldn’t hold my comment in anymore.

“What happened to you? Your hair is ridiculous...ever heard of a comb?”

She deadpanned. Crap.

“Couldn’t help it...the wind demanded a sacrifice and who am I to deny it?”

What the hell? How am I even supposed to reply to that. I was starting to get flustered, and it didn’t help that Mitsuhide and Masamune were basically rolling on the floor at her response. I tried to hide my frustration with a huff.

“Weirdo…”

All she did was smile.

“Yea, well this weirdo is going to take a shower. Have you guys moved your futons yet?”

The new sleeping arrangement wasn’t ideal but at least it was only for a day or so. Hideyoshi would be moving into the room with Nobunaga and Mai, using the futon in there, I was switching into the space Hideyoshi had been utilizing in the large tatami room, while Sasuke, Shingen and Kenshin were sleeping in (YN)’s room. Shingen would put his futon on the other side of the couch, while Sasuke and Kenshin were going to try to share the pull out bed. Try, being the optimal word. Definitely happy I’m not in there to deal with that.

Dinner had been quick and for how the trees seemed to be bending outside it was eerily quiet. I was amazed you couldn’t hear the wind whistling like I was used to in the structures from our time. Everyone was moving about at their own pace but the lights flickered, shutting off briefly before buzzing to life again, giving up on the night the group of us made for the bedrooms. Guess we would just sleep through this thing.

…

The storm was sticking around much longer than predicted and everyone was starting to get a little stir crazy. It had been about four days since anyone had left the house, even you couldn’t get out to make your practices. Fortunately you had enough equipment to workout from home so you weren’t missing too much.

You had just stepped out of the shower. Clean, dressed, and hair brushed all the way through, opening the door into the hallway you noticed them right away. While it was normal for a few of the warlords to be seen standing in the hall either waiting to shower, or just conversing with one another; you never expected to see the entire group of them crowded around your doorway shouting. Standing at the back of the pack, a worried Mai explained that Kenshin and Shingen had gotten in a spat about beds, Yukimura and Sasuke, in an attempt to moderate, had been pulled into it. The company parted and you walked into your room to see Shingen wielding one of your belts like a whip, Kenshin was standing on the pull out couch swinging around a desk lamp, Yukimura was just standing there yelling at Kenshin waving a couch pillow around, and Sasuke had made makeshift projectiles out of your collection of bobby-pins and hair ties and was slinging them at his comrades.

Marching yourself right into the fray you simultaneously grabbed your belt and the pillow from Shingen’s and Yukimura’s hands, twisting them from their grip, as you stepped onto the bed to look Kenshin square in the face.

“Put. It. Down. Now.”

He blinked, the whole room still around you. Perturbed, Kenshin put the lamp down as you started scolding them.

“What in seven hells did you boys think you were doing? Actually no...dumb question, I don’t want to know…”

They tried to get a word in.

“But…”

“No, no buts...I don’t want to know what you thought any of that would accomplish...I just want to know what possessed you to start swinging around my belongings like a bunch of crazed imbeciles?”

Yukimura shot a sympathetic yet mildly annoyed glance your way.

“They were arguing over sleeping arrangements.”

“Sleeping arrangements? This is over sleeping arrangement? Jesus…”

You were so peeved you could feel yourself slipping back into your native language, realizing two things at once you stopped and took a deep breath.

“Kenshin, bed. Shingen, futon. Sasuke...you have two options, share with me or put your futon next to my bed...either way it’s a tight fit. Everyone else, disperse.”

You slid the door shut and grabbed your headphones climbing into bed making sure to leave room for Sasuke if he decided to join you. Maybe you’d make everyone train with you in the living space tomorrow...get rid of some that energy…

Not to much later the mattress shifted under new weight, pulling you from the light sleep you had been getting. Opening your eyes you turned to see Sasuke making his way into the space you had left for him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“ ‘s okay.” To tired to formulate complete sentences. You scooted over giving him more access to your pillow and took your headphones off to sleep on your side easier.

“This reminds me of our first weekend in college.”

You smiled at his comment. Your very first weekend a group of you had gone out to a welcome party and you may have gone a lot overboard with the Jungle Juice. Sasuke, gratefully, assisted you back to what he thought was your room in his drunken state. Which ended up being his room, only to walk into his room mates arguing over their bunks. Minus the flying furniture and inebriation, it played out almost identically. You had thrown out orders to each guy assigning them beds and declared you would be sharing with Sasuke.

“I still wonder to this day how I was able to get away with that.”

“It’s because you’re you (NN).”

He shared his gentlest smile before you fell into peaceful oblivion.

…

I woke up the next morning to a steady tapping. Seeing I wasn’t the only one awake I asked the group in the room.

“Does anyone else hear that?”

Everyone but Mitsunari, who was nose deep in a book (YN) had brought him the other day, looked at me and nodded.

“Now that you mention it, there is an impressively constant tapping, should we go ask around and see what the others think?”

Masamune had posed the question to the group as he made his way out the door. As it turned out Nobunaga, Mai, and Hideyoshi had woken to the soft tapping as well.  When we got closer to the steps you could hear it get louder but now the sound was followed by a soft thump. At the exact moment Kenshin flung the door open right beside the group.

“What is that woman doing up there?”

“You mean (YN)?” I asked

“What other woman would I be talking about? Yes her. She and Sasuke were up early this morning then they went upstairs together. Not to long after this infernal tapping started.”

Now I was curious. Seeing as the rest of the group shared my sentiment we walked upstairs. Mitsuhide chimed in from the back.

“That’s quite the rhythm, I hope we’re not interrupting anything”

What could we possibly be interrupting…? As if reading my thoughts he continued.

“I would hate to walk in on something inappropriate.”

Inappropriate. What could they be doing that would beeeeh….holy hell. We need to stop! Why are we going in there? What if they’re….

Breaking my thoughts completely a breathless and breathtaking (YN) walked over smiling. This was not looking good...she was in the shortest, tightest pants I had ever seen, her midsection completely barred, no sleeves...I’m not even sure you could consider the top she had on a shirt...her hair was tangled in a bun on top of her head and she was dripping with sweat.

Shit! At least she doesn’t look mad...I was trying to sneak away when she spoke up again.

“You guys all come up to join in on our morning fun?”

“JOIN!” I couldn’t help it I just screamed completely flustered.

Shingen clutched my shoulder and laughed surmising what was going through my head. Before I could run he was volunteering us to join in.

“Of course we would princess.”

…

“Ok so we’re going to have to move in circuits.. you can group off however you want...you’re eventually going to do everything so it doesn’t matter where you start.”

You accidentally woke everyone up with your jump rope this morning, but you were sure somebody had said something to frey Yukimura’s nerves, the poor guy had been unable to do anything other than blush or snap at you since you walked over. On top of that, Shingen had voluntold everyone to work out, so you were reworking Sasuke and your morning routine to accommodate.

You demonstrated all of the exercises they were going to do before heading over to finish your pair work with Sasuke. Today it was quick cardio so you were boxing. No head shots and nothing below the belt, just enough to get your heart rate up and engage your reflexes. While you were doing that, the group circuit work would move as follows:

Group 1: Abs

30 Russian twists

15 v-ups

20 windshield wipers

1 min plank

Group 2: Arms

20 push ups

15 pull ups (using the dangerous door frame apparatus)

1 min cherry pickers

Group 3: legs

50 squat jumps

25 hip thrusts

45 sec kettle-bell swings

With each person doing every exercise three times before moving onto the next grouping. It would take about 45 minutes to complete then they would move onto cardio. Which was 5 minutes of jump rope then they split off into pairs for boxing...same rules applied. The only oddity being Sasuke and yourself would jump back into the boxing so Mai didn’t have to try to fight one of the warlords. Then maybe you’d have a tournament?

“Are you sure you’re a group of battle hardened Samurai? Those are the saddest squat jumps I have ever seen…”

Yukimura and Ieyasu mad sour faces at my comment. Though it wasn’t just those two struggling...maybe it had to do with the compound movements? ….four weeks without battle shouldn’t be enough time to completely fall into oblivion like this, plus Sasuke had taken them to a dojo a hand full of times just to keep them moving. At least they’ll all sleep well tonight.

“Finished!!” Mai exclaimed. She was beaming.

“What? You cheated! Lass, she clearly cheated!” Masamune howled

“Eh, I doubt it.” Whispering so only Mai could hear me. “We talked, and you’re going to be paired with Sasuke. He’ll teach you the basics and I’ll get to fight one of the boys. It’s a win-win.”

“Sure! Sounds good” she giggled and skipped over to Sasuke to start jumping rope.

“Why’re you making such a weird face? I don’t think I like that look.” Yukimura was still clearly frazzled as he continued to avoid eye contact.

Everyone tried their best with the jump rope. Some, specifically Mitsuhide, Nobunaga, and Hideyoshi were naturals. Others like Ieyasu, Shingen, and Mitsunari got the hang of it after a few tries. While Masamune, Yukimura, and Kenshin struggle bussed it the entire five minutes.

Next was the fun part. You let everyone pick their own partners Mitsuhide & Hideyoshi, Mitsunari & Ieyasu, Kenshin & Shingen, Masamune & Nobunaga, leaving Yukimura & you.

“What? Absolutely not, I’m not fighting crazy over there? Sasuke why aren’t you with me?”

“You said it yourself, she crazy.” He looked your way and a mischief flickering in his eyes. “We couldn’t possibly pair Mai with her, and it wouldn’t help you train if Mai was with you. So this is the only logical solution. Now even the princess can get some fighting in.”

Yukimura let out an exasperated sigh “Fine but don’t think I’ll go easy on you…”

“That’s what I was hoping you’d say. Bring it Yuki.”

Round one was taken by Mitsuhide, Ieyasu, Nobunaga, Kenshin, Sasuke, and yourself. So the new pairings were Mitsuhide & Nobunaga, Kenshin & Sasuke, and Ieyasu and you.

Round two was full of surprises with the winners being Mitsuhide, Kenshin, and You. Pitting Kenshin & Mitsuhide and Masamune, who had won the losers bracket, with you.

Eventually you lost to Kenshin who swept ranks. It was much harder to fight the God of War outside of bedroom scuffles or crowded market streets, but it had been a fun afternoon nonetheless. You’d have a few bruises here and there from some stray excited punches but everyone had held back brilliantly and there were no injuries to report on any front. Turning to the now silent group.

“So who wants lunch?”

[niivosus]

Omg don’t laugh!! Who is Gravitas? Where is he from?!

OOC

Oh, my god, how can I laugh when I want to cry? You want to know about my terrible boy! The hardest part about this is that I don’t even know where to start, lol.Let’s see: Gravitas is my original character designed for the IDW Transformers fandom. His carrier (mother) is my longtime canon muse, Cyclonus, and his sires (fathers) are Galvatron, Scourge, and Dinobot. He is, as well, the ‘twin’ brother of his sister, Veritas.Gravitas is a Cybertronian - an ancient, pseudo-immortal, and highly technologically/medically/militaristically advanced alien race of giant, sentient robots. However, his creators were already in the throes of conquering other planets and building their own empire (specifically to be the birthright to their unborn heirs) in reminiscence of the way that their own homeworld had once been, making Gravitas the prince of the Neo-Cybertronian Empire.Appearance-wise, Gravitas obtains the majority of his facial features, power, and physique (body height and shape; armour-type and weapon types; weight) from Galvatron. His beastmode, however, is  obtained from the genetics of Dinobot, making him a beastformer rather than a machineformer; specifically, he is a Fuzor beastformer on account that his beastmode is made up of more than one beast (a draconian-like reptile and a bear).There’s is an entirely other half of Gravitas’s story that involves the Dead Universe - a dark, gruesome dimension that can be accessed through any singularity (Black Hole). Anything and anyone who enters without a protective shield/forcefield of some sort becomes ‘infected’ and ‘undead’, bound to the dimension where eternal suffering, starvation, and decay is all that awaits them. An ancient god-like entity, known as the D-Void, exists there, having once imprisoned Galvatron, Cyclonus, and Scourge for over six million years, influencing/controlling them to do its bidding in order; to set in motion a mission that would allow it to feast on the entirety of Cybertron and convert the planet into a massive portal, in which it would then be able to emerge from the Dead Universe and begin to consume all life.Things, however, did not go according to plan (as all things do), and the canon-divergent roleplay story begins with Cyclonus, Galvatron, and Scourge being reborn (though separated to different corners of the universe countless millennia) after a momentary collapse of the Dead Universe; however, their sparks (hearts) remained infected by the D-Void, the entity often tormenting them in their minds (especially Cyclonus). Before the journey that had inevitably landed them in the Dead Universe, Cyclonus had been unaware that he was carrying (pregnant). In the Dead Universe, the D-Void intentionally infected and corrupted the twinsparks with its touch, and the twinsparks went into hibernation once Cyclonus escaped/was reborn, only to reawaken once he was reunited with Galvatron (his sparkmate/soulmate).When the twins were ‘born’, it was made evident in their early infancy that they were infected and afflicted with ‘Voidsickness’, a consequence that the original trio had suffered from when they were outside of the Dead Universe for too long - starvation, lethargy, agony; decaying. To mitigate this, Gravitas’ creators would periodically take them into the Dead Universe to feed and soak in the atmosphere there. As Gravitas grew older and larger, his physical appetite increased and worsened, having both the hunger from Voidsickness and from being a beastformer (and a large one at that). There are several events that take place through his childhood, adolescence, and adulthood that shape him into who is, and I still have an an old timeline (specifically when Dinobot died; he was his ‘true’ father, the one who raised him) for the majority if you’d like to take look at it!FOR INTERACTIVE PURPOSES:Gravitas inherited Sire Dinobot’s private intergalactic ship, the Axalon-2, after his death, and it has been Gravitas’ sole transportation around several galaxies. He roams the universe, following his sire’s maps for the adventure, creating a social network of his own, marking down the intricate cycles of planets for easy, periodic hunting, and terrorizing/destroying small civilizations as is his natural inclination to do as a Warlord/Conqueror-type Cybertronian (inherited from Galvatron).Gravitas possesses several pieces of technology that help him interact with others, especially if they’re a different species (or a different height):

Solid-Light Projection Generator (a.k.a. Holomatter, Holoform, or Holo-Avatar) is a piece of Cybertronian technology that allows mechanoids, like Gravitas, to create a disguise that mimics the appearance of the native life on the planet they’re visiting. A holomatter is not the same as a hologram; a holomatter disguise is as solid and tangible as another of that species, but it does possess the option to become intangible like a hologram if needed. Little bits of information (both canon and headcanon):

The projection of the holo-avatar is limited to 400-500 miles from the controlling mechanoid’s body, even when separated by solid walls. 

The holo-avatar is able to wink/blink in and out of existence without warning or traces, like a simple flick of a light switch. (Therefore, anything that Gravitas wears that isn’t a part of his holo-avatar’s original design will drop to the floor; this also means that he has the ability to ‘will away’ his holo-avatar’s original clothing.)

The updated software for the holomatter generators allows the mechanoid to customize their holo-avatar to better fit their personality/interests/beliefs (including gender; hairstyle, hair color, eye color; ethnicity; clothing fashion; permanent marks on the mechanoid’s body, such as scars, peircings, tattoos, etc.).

Gravitas’ human holo-avatar is a tall, heavily muscular, pale-skinned Caucasian male. He stands at 6′9′’ and weighs in at approximately 280lbs of muscle; his hair is shaggy and dark brown; his eyes are lilac (a carry over from his mechanoid’s design; his optical color); his right ear holds two black helix piercings (a carry over from his mechanoid’s design; his right horn is drilled through with two obsidian rings); his original clothing is a simple black, metal/rock band t-shirt (I often just screw around and give it a different band name each time it’s mentioned LOL), a black belt with a rectangular steel buckle (the design etched into it being his family’s emblem, which double’s as Neo-Cybertronian Empire’s insignia), a pair of dark, acid wash jeans, and a pair of black combat boots.  If he’s being interacted with after he’s been exiled from his family and home, then he will have a set of deep, grotesque, charred-like scars on the right side of his face (starting from the edge of his ear and beneath his eye, angled down across his cheek to the corner of his mouth and chin), inflicted by his sister on his mechanoid body. (See the timeline for when and why the attack and exile happened!)

A holo-avatar was never intended to be used in battle or as a weapon. It is strictly for the purpose of camouflage and covert operations, especially on worlds that are hostile towards mechanoids or visits from foreign alien races. The holo-avatar is only as strong and durable as the species it’s imitating. Damage or obliteration to the holo-avatar can cause death or “severe impairment" to the mechanoid “if their consciousness is not withdrawn in time”. When utilizing their holo-avatar, the mechanoid is extremely vulnerable. Those highly experienced with using a holomatter generator are capable of splitting their consciousness across both their mechanoid bodies and their holo-avatars, interacting with the environment in both forms, no matter the distance between them, and minimizing the vulnerabilty. Gravitas, however, has never felt the want or need to train himself into mastering this technique (up until visiting the Milky Way Galaxy and Earth, he had rarely had a need to use it), therefore in order to activate his holo-avatar, he must put his mechanoid form into stasis lock (a form of deep, deep sleep or unconsciousness). Because of this, his entire consciousness either enters his holo-avatar, or he has it straddling between, leaving his mechanoid frame defenseless inside the walls of his spaceship. If there were an emergency, such as his ship or unresponsive mechanoid body being threatened, shutting down his holomatter generator and settling his consciousness back into his mechanoid frame will be more dangerous and if he had simply remained in his holo-avatar. Rebooting his systems and emerging from the depths of stasis lock will put him entirely defenseless if the threat were to attack or breach his ship. If he remains in his holo-avatar, he will at least still have he ability to fight off/lure away whatever has discovered his ship as best he can.As stated before, serious injury or damage to the holo-avatar reflects injury to his mechanoid body’s neuralnet. (e.g. If he breaks his arm in his holo-avatar, the pain will be reflected across both bodies, and his mechanoid body’s arm will be unresponsive, the circuitry damaged and in need of repair, unless he allows it to heal first in his holo-avatar.)

A holo-avatar is a solid, tangible mass and is capable of experiencing/exploring most (if not all) of the bodily functions, senses and sensations of the species’ its imitating, including bleeding, crying, eating / drinking, urinating / defecating, producing sexual fluids, etc. (If they so choose, that is.) The more realism that they choose wield with their disguise, the deeper their neuralnet (brain, nervous system, ‘heart’, etc.) and subconsciousness will be ingrained into the holo-avatar, worsening their vulnerability.

His real-life and animated faceclaims:

Mass-Displacement Glove is derived from old, still-utilized Cybertronian technology that allows a mechanoid, especially machineformers, to shrink their body for certain missions or when switching to their alternate mode. The Mass-Displacement technology has been shown to come in various forms, both natural and invented, including: 

Elemental Particle Control Beam.

Parts Compression/Origami Transformation. When a mechanoid has several layers of armour that either compress or expand to makes their alternate mode physically smaller/larger than their robotic mode).

Mass Conversion. A genetically acquired ability that the mechanoid naturally compress their bodies when they switch to their alternate mode (e.g. Soundwave and Blaster, when they shrink to a human-sized version of their boombox-stereo altmodes).)

Mass-Displacement Sequence. An algorithm that can be activated and shrink the mechanoid when they shift to their alternate mode (e.g. Megatron when he shifts to an accurately sized fusion-pistol), however this method is exceedingly dangerous as the amount of mass loss gives off a violent, electrical energy discharge over the surrounding area of the mechanoid, capable of causing injury to anyone in its reach.

Mass-Displacement Gun. A weapon that can be wielded by one mechanoid to shrink other mechanoids (and then can be stored in in a convenient miniaturized state).

The mass-displacement glove is fingerless to the second set of knuckles and is made from a black, elastic microfilament mesh. It is designed to fit securely (with minimal slippage or adjusting) over the left servo / hand, moulding to its size and shape. Embedded into the wristband and the back of the hand lies the touch-sensitive system controls that allows the wielder to adjust the amount of displacement desired (whether to enlarge or shrink) before activation. It is weaponized along the knuckles with Bleedback receptors (amethyst jewel-like plating that, with every landed punch, the receptors sap the opponent’s energy from their body and immediately convert it into reusable energy, increasing the wielder’s strength and the ability to land harder, more brutal punches.  When Gravitas activates the glove and shrinks down, his displaced mass is redirected / shunted into his subspace storage pockets, private inter-dimensional transwarp spaces that mechanoids command and are able to personal paraphernalia (things as small as weapons, to as large as Optimus Prime’s trailer, to as inconceivable as one’s own mass).TL;DR:

Gravitas is a giant, alien, beast-forming robot.

He is approximately 8,000,000 years old and stands at 48ft (including his horns).

He is the son of an ancient planet-conqueror; the son of a religious warrior; the son of a god-touched Outlier; the son of one of the original beastformers created.

He is plagued by two separate illnesses that, if not carefully monitored consistently, will leave him vulnerable and/or bring him to death.

He is able to cross over into an entirely different dimension; a dimension of eternal darkness, starvation, and roaming grotesque creatures.

He possesses technology that allows him to operate in a human-like disguise (or can mass-displace his mechanoid frame to human-average height).

He possesses no morals or conscience that would immediately steer him away from doing abhorrent things if provoked. He will attack and eat anything; he will attack and abuse anything; he will attack and rape anything. He views the majority of females of any species as the ‘inferior / weak / submissive’ sex and are often his preferred choice of prey. He holds violent, supremacist beliefs against machineformers (much like his father held violent, supremacist beliefs against beastformers, that ultimately led to their genocide).

Gravitas is a VILLAIN without recognizing that he is one. He has no concept of ‘good’ or ‘evil’. Only survival, dominance, and claiming.

[schraubd]

David's Personal Top Ten Video Games

This is something I've been wanting to do for a long time. It is a personal list, reflecting the games that have stuck with me the most over the years. I'm not enough of a gamer to claim it is anything comprehensive, and it has a strong bias to the sorts of genres that I like. Nonetheless, I'd stack these games against any that have been made in my lifetime. Anyway, without further adieu ....

Honorable Mentions:

Portal 2: How can a game with virtually no “dialogue” (if that means conversations between two characters) have some of the best spoken lines in all video game history? I have both the original and a capella versions of the Turret Opera on my iTunes (yes, I have “Still Alive” as well).

Railroad Tycoon II: A brilliant simulator that makes you actually feel like a turn-of-the-century robber baron (by far, the game is most fun to play when set in the late 19th century). If every man goes through his “trains!” phase, this was mine. As in real life, I am not good at playing the stock market.

Horizon: Zero Dawn: Robot dinosaurs! Incredibly, Horizon: Zero Dawn takes a core concept that sounds like word association from an over-caffeinated twelve-year boy and makes an entirely serious game about it—and it works. It works so well, in fact, that I loved it despite the fact that the plot and entire world-building background centers around my single greatest phobia (no, not that—being alive for the extinction of humanity).

10. Sid Meier’s Gettysburg: I find it odd that very few games have sought to replicate Gettysburg’s spin on an RTS—focusing combat around regiments rather than individual units and prioritizing morale over raw numbers. But the thing I like best about Gettysburg—and sadly it’s mostly unique too—is in how it concentrates on controlling territory (and terrain). Many RTS games, for me, might as well have a blank screen over 80% of the map between my base and my opponent’s base. You build up your force, and then try to swarm your opponent before he or she swarms you. But in Gettysburg, the goal of missions is not “wipe out your opposition”. It’s to capture and hold a ridge, or dig in and hold an exposed farmhouse.

My only critiques are that I want this game to be bigger. I want it to encompass dozens of map spanning the entirety of the Civil War. I want to be able memorize even more obscure Union and Confederate generals and wonder if they really were “mediocre” or if that was just a game balance decision. The random battle generator is okay, but this game screams for user-created expansions which I’ve never been able to find.

9. Crimson Skies: A pulpy fun flight simulator taking place in an alternate history 1930s where America has fractured and Zeppelin travel rules the day. The game doesn’t hesitate to lean into its concept (phrases like “broad” and “floozy” abound), and it does a great job world-building in a relatively short period of time. Somehow, I could meet an enemy “ace” for the first time in the middle of a mission and yet still feel like we had a history of epic dogfights together of which this was only the latest. Meanwhile, each of the locations the game takes you to (Hawaii, the Pacific Northwest, Hollywood, the Rocky Mountains, and New York City) are a blast and a half.

A sequel, High Road to Revenge, was released on Xbox and leaned a little too hard into the arcade-y elements (power-ups, automatic evasive maneuvers with the press of a button, and so on). But the original PC game was just right—planes flew exactly like how someone who knows nothing about planes thinks planes fly, which is just perfect. You felt like an ace pilot because of your skill (even though behind the hood the game is really holding your hand). Piloting a gyrocopter through half-built New York City skyscrapers, or a prototype single-engine through the Hollywood "O", is great. Doing it to evade local security, then doing a loop and turning both guns on them -- well, that's the cat's meow.

8. Mass Effect (Trilogy and Andromeda): As far as I’m concerned, the definitive space opera (even muscling out Halo). Fabulous voice acting (listening to Martin Sheen play evil Jed Bartlett is one of the great joys of my life) and memorable plot lines pair with a morality system that at least inches away from “basically decent person or utter asshole.” The universe feels genuinely alive, like there’s an ecosystem and civilization that you’re very much apart, but also moves in your absence.

I can’t really separate out the core trilogy games from one another (each sequel seemed to simultaneously step slightly forward and back), which is not I think an uncommon position. What may be more uncommon is that I think Andromeda stands right in there with the core series. Yes, it was disappointing that it took us to a brand new galaxy and only gave us two new species (while eliminating many of the more backgrounded Milky Way aliens). But I was much more disappointed that there will be no DLC or sequels to continue the story and tie up loose ends.

7. N and N++: There can’t be any serious controversy that N is the greatest Flash game ever made. While Flash demands simplicity, N is not so much simple as it is elegant. It is the perfect balance of speed and control, thoughtfulness and twitch-trigger reflexes, serene relaxation and butt-clenching tension. Once you master the floaty physics and the unique enemy styles, you will truly feel like a ninja—stripped to its core essence and deprived of all the usual but unnecessary bells and whistles. A virtually unlimited supply of levels guarantees you endless gameplay.

And so it is unsurprising that N was one of the rare flash games that made a successful jump to a full true game (in the form of N++), one that has a strong claim on being the greatest platformer ever made. The developers were wise not to disturb the basic formula: run, jump, and slide around a level, dodge obstacles and traps that will kill you instantly, reach the exit. Repeat ad infinitum. But N++ adds just a splash of additional flavors and spices into the mix. A perfect trip-trance soundtrack that sets the mood perfectly (and may single-handedly stave off keyboard-smashing frustration). A few new enemy types that deepen the game without ruining its austere grace. And perhaps most importantly, it adds a bunch of extra, semi-secret challenges (which can be used to unlock still more levels) waiting for the very best-of-best players.

Of all the games on this list, I might be in absolute terms “best” at N++ (there are a non-trivial number of levels in the game where I have a top 100 or even top 10 score on the global leaderboards). And yet there is not the slightest chance that I will ever perfect this game, or even come close to it. Nor is there any chance I will become permanently sick of it. A simple concept, executed brilliantly. The perfect N++ level is also the perfect description of the game.

6. Final Fantasy IX: The question was never whether a Final Fantasy game would make this list, only which one. I’ve long had a soft-spot for FFIX, which I feel is often overlooked inside the series (in part because even on release it seemed players were already looking ahead to the Playstation 2). Yet it’s hard to find fault in Final Fantasy IX as an emblem of a straight-forward JRPG. It has a moving story, fun gameplay, beautiful music, loads of quests to do and places to explore, a fabulous supporting cast (Vivi might be my favorite Final Fantasy character ever written), and a lead character you don’t want to punch (*cough* Final Fantasy X).

Final Fantasy IX is often described as “nostalgic”, and despite the fact that it was only the second game in the series I had ever played, I got that feeling instantly. Try listening to the soundtrack for “Frontier Village Dali” without feeling a little melancholic. You don’t even have to have played. But I recommend that you do.

For the record, my ranking of Final Fantasy games that I’ve played goes: IX, VII, XII, XV, X, XIII.

5. Assassin’s Creed: Brotherhood: One difficulty in judging games within a series is how to compare an earlier game which still had some rough edges but represented a quantum leap forward versus a later game which didn’t do anything super-novel but tweaked the formula to perfection. That, in a nutshell, is the difference between Assassin’s Creed II and Assassin’s Creed: Brotherhood. Now, for me, this is an easy call for idiosyncratic reasons—I played AC:B before AC II, and so I experienced the former as both the perfected model and the quantum leap forward as compared to the original game. But I respect that for those who played the series in order, this is a harder call.

What should be easy for anyone is to agree that together, Assassin’s Creed II and Assassin’s Creed: Brotherhood represented the AC series reaching its full potential. Ezio continues to be the best protagonist the series has seen to date. Renaissance Italy likewise is the ideal setting for both AC’s vertical and horizontal platforming elements and its shadowy-conspiracy/secret-history plotline. As a franchise, Assassin’s Creed really launched the parkour/open-world exploration genre, and Brotherhood was the first game where every single element of what that genre could be came together. Other more recent games have been tons of fun (Black Flag and Syndicate are I think highlights), but these two games are the reason this series is so iconic.

4. Might and Magic VI: The same problem posed by AC2 versus Brotherhood emerges with Might and Magic VI and VII—except here, I did play them in order. Like the previous entry, I do think that VII ultimately improves upon the formula set out in Might and Magic VI. It’s more versatile, has more replay value, a touch more balanced (and that’s not getting into ArcoMage) … all in all, probably a better technical game.

But Might and Magic VI is for me iconic—it may well be the first RPG I’ve ever truly loved (and given the way this list is stacked in that direction, that’s saying a lot). Virtually all the things that characterize what I love in games today, it had in at least skeletal form. Open world exploration? Check: It was the first game where I felt like I was a true pathfinder—meticulously crawling over every corner of the map to find each obscure bandit’s cave and goblin fortress. To this day I still have the lay of the land in Enroth basically memorized. Overly detailed worldbuilding text to read? Absolutely: my obsessive-streak came out in reading every single artifact description, conversational option, and quest backgrounder (it is canon that Enroth, and the entire planet it resides upon, was blown up in a magical explosion—a fact I’m still resentful towards 3DO for long after it disappeared into bankruptcy). Slight genre-bending? The splash of Sci-Fi onto the fantasy setting was delightful to discover for someone who had never played any of the prior entries in the series. And some of the music—well, the White Cap theme is a thing of beauty, and on my computer “Adagio in G Minor for Strings and Organ” is still listed as “Church Dungeon Music.”

3. Heroes of Might and Magic III: If comparing earlier, more revolutionary games against newer more polished ones presents a problem in the Assassin’s Creed and Might and Magic series, it presents no trouble at all in Heroes of Might & Magic. That’s because the third installation in the series both represented a huge jump forward from what came before and is unquestionably the best entry in the overall sequence.

Sure, some of the expansions are a bit goofy, but they still work—sharpshooters and enchanters are massively overpowered, but they’re generally used in missions that would otherwise be impossible. But the main campaign is fabulous—a surprisingly intricate and interwoven plot that bridges Might and Magic VI and VII compliments outstanding strategy gameplay. And that doesn’t even get into the acre of standalone maps provided, plus countless more available on the web thanks to a map editor so intuitive, even I can use it (I’m terrible with map editors).

As a result of all of this, Heroes III is maybe the only game on this list that can compete with N++ regarding infinite replayability. This is fortunate, because—given the fact that Heroes III was a full-budget release and was not supposed to be “simple”—it ages incredibly well. Even the graphics hold up (no need for that remastered remake—which doesn’t even include the expansions!).

2. Witcher III: As you may have noticed, this list has a strong bias towards RPGs. My preference is toward “Western” RPGs (which have a go-anywhere/do-anything exploration mentality) compared to “Japanese” RPGs (which are more linear and story-driven), but Witcher III does an incredible job of synthesizing the best of both. It has a huge open world to explore, one that feels alive and dynamic—but there is also an incredibly rich story filled with deep, well-written characters (of which Geralt—the player character—is but one).

Gameplay-wise, Witcher III really hits the perfect balance. I simultaneously felt like the biggest bad-ass in the room, but also like a single slip in concentration or bit of overconfidence and my corpse would unceremoniously end up at the bottom of whatever cave I was in. But Witcher III particularly stands out in how it subverts certain common RPG tropes. You are a hero, but you’re not particularly well-liked. You’re a powerful warrior, but you’re still ultimately treated as a pawn in larger political machinations. Your interventions do not always save the day, and sometimes don’t even make things better. If a mission starts with a villager worrying that their beloved has gone missing, nine times out of ten that person has been devoured by a monster well before you ever get there. While many games claim to place the hero in difficult moral dilemmas, Witcher III is a rare case of following through (some games might give you the choice to let a trio of witches eat a group of kids whom you recently played hide-and-seek with, but few make it so that might actually be the more moral of the options in front of you). There’s even a quest where you help a knight rescue a lady in distress from a curse, then lecture him that he’s not entitled to her romantic attention as a reward (talk about a timely intervention in the video game genre!). Over and over again, the game reinforces the message that being really powerful and doing “the right thing” isn’t enough to fix a fundamentally broken system.

Most impressive is the emotional impact that Witcher III dishes out. Sometimes this is a result of rich character development that pays off over the course of the entire game (as in “The Last Wish” quest). But sometimes it shows up in even relatively minor sidequests—the epilogue of the “Black Pearl” quest was one of the more brutal emotional gut-punches I’ve experienced in a video game. Ultimately, this was a game where one always felt like each character was a person—they were imperfect, they had their own interests, hopes, dreams, strengths and foibles, and while you were a little better with a sword and gifted with some preternatural abilities, you were still only one player in a much bigger narrative. As a result, Witcher III might well be, in my estimation, the perfect RPG.

Oh, and Gwent is ludicrously addictive. Let’s not forget that.

1. TIE Fighter: I don’t think this list has a particularly “modern” bias. Still, there’s something impressive about the number one game on this list also being the oldest by some measure. TIE Fighter originally came out in 1994, and the definitive Collector’s Edition was released in 1995. It is, to this day, one of the best games ever made. And that’s not a retrospective assessment. Star Wars: Tie Fighter holds up even played right now.

For starters, it is one of the few elements of the Star Wars universe to get the Empire right. I’m not saying that the Empire is the real protagonist of the series. I am saying that they wouldn’t view themselves as evil—as much as naming spacecraft “Executor” and “Death Star” might suggest otherwise. TIE Fighter is quite self-assured in presenting you as being a force for law and order in the galaxy, battling not just seditious rebels but pirates, smugglers, and other anarchic forces that threaten to tear civilized life apart.

Let’s start with something often overlooked in TIE Fighter: the music. It’s probably the only context that the phrase “kick-ass MIDI soundtrack” makes sense. But that’s not even the half of it. The iMuse system dynamically and seamlessly arranges the musical cues to reflect what’s going on around you in the mission—you can literally follow important mission updates (e.g., a wingman being shot down, or reinforcements arriving) simply by the way the melody shifts. I’m not sure I’ve ever encountered anything quite like it since. To this day, the number that accompanies an incoming enemy capital ship fills me with exhilarated dread.

Gameplay-wise, TIE Fighter is almost shockingly rich. The core mission requirements are challenging, but by no means out of reach. But embedded in each level are a series of secondary and secret bonus objectives. These unlock a parallel plot of the Emperor’s Secret Order—but always present a brutal risk/reward calculus. That’s not unrelated to the fact that you’re often flying, well, TIE fighters (not noted for their durability)—but the challenge extends well beyond physical peril. TIE Fighter actually gives you an “invincibility” option if you want it, and yet even with it on some of the later missions and bonus objectives will strain every piloting skill you’ve ever developed.

Most importantly, the secret objectives usually are more involved than “blow up everything in sight.” They reward initiative and exploration. Maybe your primary mission objective is to destroy a rebel space station. But just before it goes down, you spot an escape shuttle fleeing the station. Take it out? Maybe—but maybe the occupants are VIPs best taken alive. So you switch to ion cannons and disable it for capture. Yet that extra time you just spent has given the rebels enough breathing room to summon reinforcements—now an enemy cruiser is bearing down on you. Take out its missile launchers and clear path for bombers while praying that your own Star Destroyer will arrive soon to back you up. All on the fly. All while dogfighting starfighters, dodging mines, giving your wingmen orders … it’s insanely, beautifully chaotic.

Did I mention this is all happening in 1995? 90% of games released today don’t have that kind of depth or spontaneity. In terms of playability, replayability, and just plain fun, TIE Fighter stands alone, and unchallenged.

via The Debate Link https://ift.tt/2HbDTEl

[zachsgamejournal]

PLAYING: Final Fantasy VII Remake

Previously, I kinda laughed at how much the game stretched certain sections that were quite short in the original. I was not prepared for how much they stretched the space between Bombing Mission 1 and Bombing Mission 2. Still, despite a few awkward "performances", I'm having a great time taking a deeper look at Midgar and FFVII's beloved characters!

So I’m on the train. Cloud brings up the inviso-cloaks and everyone is perplexed. Careful Cloud...you don’t know these people. The changes to the train's story beats are a little awkward. Barret gives an impassioned speech about Shinra killing the planet to a group of mid-management Shinra Employees. This is more the speech I was expecting back at the reactor--so I can appreciate that the stakes have been communicated. But this scene also points out my disconnect with Japanese storytelling. I’m not sure if it’s meant to be a joke, but the mid-managers are calling Avalanche (our heroes) “terrorists”. Then Barret confronts them, “They’re not terrorists!” screams the 8 foot tall, hulking mass of a man with 14 inch barrelled gaitingun for an arm. Shouldn’t he try to conceal that? The mid-managers comically tremble as they debate with Barret. Maybe this is culturally how the Japanese handle confrontation?? Then we get to a few missteps, to me. Jessie shows Cloud the city map, as in the original. But she doesn’t explain that they’re going under the city. And then there’s no wide shot showing the train descending into the slums. So I don’t feel like they’re really communicating this concept well. After, Cloud makes his thoughtful statement about the poor not being able to leave in the same way that the train they’re on can’t leave it’s tracks. Pretty sure in the original Barret makes a statement about not expecting to hear something like that from Cloud. It’s a small moment the two share that’s not present in the remake. ...Wait, that may have been a different moment... Back in the Slums and the developers captured have done a great job with the train station! Avalanche begins to brag in public about their success--which I was like, “Whoa, just tell everybody?!” But Barret shushes them. Now we start getting into real changes, but first: Holy Shit The SLUMS! For a place built out of trash, they did an amazing job with the Slums. The upper plates of Midgar and pillars that hold them up are ever present, both beautiful and oppressive. I found myself staring upward quite often. They also did a great job making the Slums feel like a lived-in community, with shops, children, and stray animals all over the place. This part of the original game is fairly short but slowly paced. We meet Tifa. She and Cloud reflect on an old promise from their childhood. Barret reveals he has a daughter. Also, the group doesn’t quite have the cash to pay Cloud. Cloud is about to walk out on the group when Tifa uses their childhood promises to rope him into the next mission, which starts after a night’s rest. All of this is within 15 minutes. But Remake: 4 hours later… I’m not sure how much time I spent in this extended part of the game, but I wasn’t rushing. They’ve made some good decisions here. Instead of Tifa and Cloud immediately bonding and putting “everything” on the table within a short period, Tifa and Cloud cooperate on a series of tasks to help Cloud get his due payment. Tifa also offers help and advice to get Cloud more renown within the Slums so that he can continue finding work as a mercenary. I really enjoyed this, because it gives purpose for Cloud being here. He didn’t just happen upon Tifa and join Avalanche with no plan--he’s actually trying to make a home and start a business. It makes Cloud a little more real. It also gives Tifa and Cloud a chance to hang out and reconnect. There’s an interesting moment where Cloud offers to assassinate a few characters, but Tifa doesn’t allow it. She mentions how frightening and different Cloud has become. It’s an interesting moment. Also, when I hit Shinra soldiers with my 300 pound sword over and over, are they just getting knocked out? But most excitingly--this section allowed for side quests. I think there were about 6+ side missions to do. They were simple go here and beat shit up (except for one lost cat hunt). Still, it gave tiny glimpses into the world of the Slums, and this is exactly what I was hoping for: a deeper dive into the city of Midgar. This also introduced how weapon upgrades work. I thought this was gonna be in lieu of collecting weapons since Cloud basically uses the Buster Sword for the entirety of the original game’s Midgar section. But then they immediately gave me a new sword. Also, it’s interesting how this section takes place in the day. While the upper plate still blocks out the sun for the most part, there’s still streaks of light through large openings, and the indirect light coming from the edges of the city. After this, I went to the bar where Tifa did an awkward dance to make Cloud a drink. Speaking of: Awkward Tifa Moments: I like the voice actor for Tifa. She has an interesting texture to her voice that gives some extra character to the performance. But the silly animations they give her...I guess it’s a Japanese thing, I see it in Anime quite a bit, but I can’t connect with it. It’s such a distraction to the performances. Why are people posing?? It made sense in older games when you had make what were basically Lego People communicate a wide range of emotion. But with modern tech, you can tell so much of the story with subtle expressions and movements. It just feels excessive to me. Also, Tifa has huge breasts. That’s just part of FF7. Not trying to body shame, but it seems the camera angle choices are constantly trying to focus on her boobs. Not sure if this is intentional, but her character design is already so sexualized, I don’t see the point in over-emphasizing it by looking directly at her breasts. But maybe that’s not what the camera is focusing on and I’ve just outed myself as a pig. Besides that, it’s been interesting to get to know Tifa in a way the original didn’t allow.

Back in the bar, I’m expected to wait for an Avalanche meeting to end. I started playing the darts minigame. I had planned to go to bed, but each time I played I got a little bit better. Pretty soon, I was nearing Wedge’s high score. After I finally tied him, I knew I could beat him. And I wanted to know what happens when I beat that score!! 40 minutes later, I finally get to 0 in 7 darts. I get a PS trophy. That’s it. I’m not disappointed...but I expected Wedge to come out, bug-eyed, or something. Ah well.

The meeting ends and Barret says he doesn’t need Cloud, so I’m asked to leave. There’s also a weird statement from Cloud suggesting that Tifa either was kicked out or not allowed in Avalanche. I don’t get it...I’m really not sure what Tifa’s role is. In the original game, I think they delayed giving you Tifa for gameplay reasons, but maybe this game is suggesting that Tifa isn’t quite committed to the cause??

I had a lot of fun getting to know the Slums and doing side-quests. I look forward to more diversions as the game progresses. I’ve played this section so much on PS1 that I don’t feel compelled to rush it!