#the banality of evil is at play here and nothing too interesting is to be seen; just the same old shit. also there are elves.'

[featherymainffins]

Sci-fi worldbuilding is like a thing that really hates you and wants you dead

[shadowsinger11]

Inspiration

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Requested by anon: Could you do a Fred Weasley imagine where he falls in love with Harry’s younger sister. (Maybe a after the war where he lives)

Word Count: 3.3k (my hand slipped oops)

Genre: Fluff, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining etc.

Warnings: Slight innuendo, Fred being cute and hot simultaneously

Tags: @self-ship-love @susceptible-but-siriusexual @hufflexpuff @neovannii @jenniweasley @elf-punk @heart-of-tempered-steel @itseatyourdamnapples

Message me if you'd like to be added!

Masterlist

Ottery St Catchpole, Devon, England, July 16, 2000

It was a chilly Sunday evening. The summer air buzzed with excitement and the tender aroma of magnolia as tiny white and pink petals were gracefully falling from the huge cherry trees, carried by the light breeze. Twilight painted the horizon in liquid gold and fiery red, soon followed by mellow shades of dark blue that brought countless sparkling stars.

It was getting the slightest bit colder, but it did not matter; nothing else mattered but the loud cheers and cheerful music, celebrating the official bond between a Potter and a Weasley under the wide night sky.

You couldn't have been happier for your older brother, Harry, who was currently dancing with Ginny, his now wife - now and for the rest of his, hopefully, but not really likely, peaceful life. For the longest time you've been wondering how he'd always manage to get into trouble even as a small First year with no experience in the wizarding world whatsoever. Or, perhaps, that was the exact reason as to why evil-battling and rule-breaking were such common practices when hanging out with him.

However, there was no fighting that day. There was no room for worry and fear when the entire Weasley family and their loved ones were gathered on the clearing in front of the Burrow, chatting, laughing, dancing, singing, drinking, celebrating and living for what seemed to be the first time since Lord Voldemort's fall. Danger was practically nonexistent in that blissful moment which was frozen in time, once having looked agonizingly distant and impossible to hope for. But that dream was no longer just a foolish fantasy to heal wounded hearts. It was there, and it was happening in the most beautiful way imaginable.

And suddenly, all those clichés of a married life weren't even clichés. They were simply humble wishes of people who had witnessed far too many horrors in such a short period of time, and only craved stability among the massive chaos. So when you glanced at Ginny, a twirling blur of flaming red hair and a gorgeous wedding dress, you didn't feel the need to comment on how banal the color white was. You genuinely smiled, admiring the pure, exuberant joy, visible in her eyes and scarlet cheeks. Harry looked just as, if not even happier than his wife, dancing in the ridiculous but wholehearted way that only he could, and old memories of him winning the golden egg, training Dumbledore's Army and kissing Ginny in the common room for the very first time flooded into your mind.

It had truly been a long time since you had seen Harry careless and free like that.

You yourself had spent an ungodly amount of hours preparing the yard for the ceremony all day; rearranging chairs, decorating, making sure everything was going by schedule, only to then dance your tired feet off, and though you wanted to continue having fun with Hermione, Luna and the rest of the girls waiting for you, you really needed a break. And a drink.

Excusing yourself to leave the particularly interesting conversation you were having with distant Weasley relatives, you slipped off your black flats that, despite looking absolutely stunning, hurt your feet terribly after an entire day of fussing over the color of napkins and flower bouquets. Barefoot on the grass, you walked over to a chair next to a table which seemed to have been occupied, but judging by the mostly empty glasses and plates, the guests weren't coming back anytime soon.

You tossed your shoes aside with a sigh and rushed to rub your aching toes, hissing from how sore they were.

How has Ginny been dancing like that for hours?

"Enjoying the party, I see?" a familiar deep, slightly husky voice commented, causing you to look up.

It was none other than Fred Weasley, dear friend from childhood, staring down at you, his ever-present charming smirk resting on features and hands shoved into the pockets of his dragonskin suit. But it was his flaming red hair that made your eyes widen - it was carefully smoothed back, shining under the moonlight like liquid iron.

Fred's eyes still contained their famous, loveable mischief, except now slightly tamer and calmer. His firm biceps had visibly grown in size, stretching out the fabric of his coat just a bit to give you a prominent silhouette that caught you off guard.

It had been two years; he had changed so much.

And you were afraid to admit you had too.

You blinked in surprise, processing his uncharacteristically sophisticated appearance before realizing what he had asked you.

"Would've enjoyed it far more if my legs weren't killing me," you groaned half-heartedly and leaned back on your chair. "What's with your hair?"

"What's with your feet?"

"I asked you first," you cut him off. "I bet Ginny is responsible for this."

"Actually…" Fred trailed off, and, whether on purpose or not, ran a hand through the ginger locks to keep them in place, unaware of how you suddenly wished the hand doing the graceful motion wasn't his. "Mum insisted that I looked my best. What can I say, it's not like George and I usually listen to her, but we thought we'd make an exception this time; our sister doesn't get married every day. But honestly, Ginny couldn't care less about how we looked as long we showed up."

"So like usual, you mean?" you giggled. "Showing up is an achievement for you even if you're underdressed?"

Fred beamed, pearly white smile complementing his formal outfit. You wondered if he used that exact smile to effortlessly allure costumers and business partners at work.

He rested an elbow on the table as he leaned forward.

"Come on now, darling. I know you find my messy hair irresistible either way."

His cockiness only caused you to laugh, though Fred was quick to spot the flash of nervousness in your eyes; it brought him immense pride to know he was the one to turn you from confident to adorably bashful and flustered in the matter of seconds.

He was looking at you intensely, expectantly waiting for you to deny his flirty accusation despite your shyness.

"Nah, Weasley. It only reminds me that even at twenty-two you still do not know how to use a comb."

Fred's eyebrows shot straight up to his hairline, mouth agape. For the first time, he actually needed a second to form a reply.

"Didn't see that coming, I give you that. Courageous one, you are."

Your heart fluttered with joy and you openly grinned, shrugging in half-hearted humbleness.

"Perhaps I am."

Speaking to him felt unusually energizing, as though you had jumped headfirst into a chilly lake. It was unfamiliar and it set your nerves on fire, causing your stomach to twist and turn with sensations that left you dizzy, but unbelievably thrilled. And you wanted more of it, you wanted more of him.

"Fancy a drink?" Fred offered, already pouring champagne into a glass before handing it to you, and you keenly took it.

"Thanks, I've been thirsty with all the preparations I was doing."

"Is that why your legs are killing you?"

"Exactly, I've been running around all day, making sure everything was in order… you know, a lot of organizing and the like."

"It must hurt quite a bit then," Fred commented with a pained grimace. "But I absolutely get you, Georgie and I are just like that when it comes to the shop. It's a lot of accounting if I'm being honest, though I admit he's way better at it. We need to be completely precise; we can't allow any mistakes."

"Woah," you laughed. "Control freak much?"

He wettened his lips, never breaking eye contact.

"Perhaps I am."

You tilted your head to the side, gaze piercing into his in hopes of finding out what those gorgeous brown eyes were hiding. The tiny playful flames in them were eloquent.

Shifting slightly in your seat, you smoothed out your bridesmaid dress and raised your glass, the ghost of a smirk playing on your lips.

"Cheers to us control freaks then."

Fred mirrored your smug expression and your glasses met with a clink. The bubbly liquid tingled your throat, undoubtedly refreshing you and cooling you off. You glanced at the people dancing in the centre of the clearing and giggled - Ginny had apparently thrown away her white shoes long ago, bare feet stepping elegantly on the grass.

"You see, I'd like to chat a bit more with you, but I'm afraid it's a bit too loud here. What about we go to the pond across the field?" Fred suggested, pointing at the woods behind his back. You had visited them countless times when staying with Harry at the Burrow during holidays years ago; the tall trees and the glistening waters had never ceased to bring you comfort.

The noise started to become bothersome, and you felt it even more necessary to continue your conversation somewhere private, the unknown causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach. Fred's presence could only be compared to a shot of whiskey, or the sensation of anticipating a tidal wave to crash into you in less than a second. It was wild and the tiniest bit terrifying, but oh so tempting as it pulled you in.

"I'd love that, but… you know," you grinned and playfully swang your sore feet. "Can't really walk."

But this didn't at all seem like a problem to Fred Weasley who only shrugged and stood up, "You don't have to. I'll carry you."

"Merlin, no! Please, it's not necessary."

Fred frowned, but his confused expression was soon replaced by an amused one.

"You said it yourself that your feet hurt like hell. And even if carrying you around isn't necessary, it doesn't mean I don't want to."

You attempted to tame the butterflies.

"No, no! You seriously don't have to, I promise," you frantically protested as you held up your hands in front of you to reassure him, but he only gave you a weird look. "I can walk on my own. I'll be too heavy for you."

"There's only one way to find out."

Fred walked over to you and leaned down, one hand sneaking around your waist and the other slipping under your knees. You shrieked in terror, arms flying to clutch at his shoulders, and heat rose to your cheeks from the abrupt contact. Your chests were pressed together, and you were afraid he'd be able to feel your racing heart. His skin was warmer than you had thought, and it successfully fought off the night summer chill.

"Are we going?" Fred whispered down at you, lips so close to yours that you recognized the nuance of champagne in his breath, mixing unbelievably well with the scent of cinnamon and sandalwood of his cologne.

Not only is he sinfully attractive, but he smells heavenly too?

"Yes," you breathed and let Fred effortlessly walk across the meadow with you in his arms. They brought this new, odd, yet familiar sense of security, and you allowed your head to rest against his chest, nervous gaze wandering off into the distance in hopes of not meeting his. Nevertheless, curiosity eventually took the best of you, and your eyes would occasionally flicker to his, which were now completely black under the night sky. They could swallow you whole, you swore.

Minutes later, you found yourselves in the company of old, enormous willows which surrounded the pond you so vividly remembered from your teenage years. You thanked Fred as he carefully let you down, and took a few steps forward to look around and drench in the misty moonlight that enveloped the area. The waters were crystal clear and completely still, reflecting the moon and its majestic silver glow. The bushes had grown significantly over the time you were away, and you fondly looked back at the moments when you would pick up colorful wildflowers in the summer before your fourth year.

"Shall we sit?" Fred asked quietly from right behind your shoulder, and you followed him with a nod. You found a comfortable spot on the fresh grass to sit, a few feet away from where the water met the soil and moved back and forth ever so slightly.

"It's more beautiful than I remember," you noted, lips curled up in a barely visible smile. Fred hummed in agreement.

"That's why I always make sure to come here every chance I get when I return. But, unfortunately, that's very rare in my case."

For a moment, there was only the chirping of crickets and the soft bubbling of water.

Fred turned to you.

"Remember when mum used to call for us to de-gnome the garden and we'd hide here? We could stay in the bushes for hours before we eventually came back," he recalled, seeming deep in thought. It was an extraordinary sight; for once the playful spark in his eyes was more mellow, there was no cockiness seeping into the way he was holding himself. He was just Fred, the man who was currently thinking with so much adoration and love about his childhood, the most significant memories of it being marked by you.

You wondered, given you ever had the chance to spend with Fred as much time as your older brother did, if the charismatic prankster would have fallen for you like you had done. You wondered, given the chance you had let Fred get to know you better all those summers ago, if his heart would have belonged to you by now just like yours did to him.

Had you possibly missed your chance?

"Oh, I do," you sighed, the tension in your chest vanishing as warm nostalgia crept in like an old friend. "I also remember when I got this really bad nightmare that night. I was so terrified that you took me on a ride with your broom in the middle of the night to cheer me up."

"That's true! My parents don't know about it to this day," he replied smugly. "I can still hear you screaming like a lunatic."

You jokingly smacked his arm, "I was twelve!"

Fred's grin grew wider.

"Excuses…"

This only caused you to stare at him in disbelief and cross your arms, managing your most serious expression, but Fred was aware you were on the verge of failing to keep your stern facade. He squinted his eyes as a teasing attempt to provoke you, smile threatening to split his face in two.

"Alright then, that's enough about me," you announced, and Fred nodded in mock agreement as he studied your playful pretence. "If you're so much better than me, Mr Darcy, what else do you do aside from stealing ladies away?"

"Stealing their hearts," he said confidently, flashing you a seductive smirk, reserved only for special girls back in your Hogwarts days. You giggled, finding his antic utterly ridiculous, but you hated to admit that it still turned your blood into liquid fire. Fred apparently saw right through you, because when your eyes landed on his, they appeared completely dark once again, but, you suspected, for a reason other than the lack of light.

Your throat went dry, and you found it hard to swallow down the lump that cut your breath short.

He ran a hand through his ginger hair as he began to explain, "I'm kidding, you know. But to answer your question, George and I have been working on this potion that should be able to change the color of the eyes and hair. Fun for those who enjoy experimenting with their appearance, but it can also be useful to the Ministry. They're actually going to send a team of a couple of aurors to visit us next month so we can update them on our progress and negotiate the details."

"Wow! That's certainly exciting!"

"Is it? I mean, it probably is, but I've been having second thoughts lately if I'm being honest." He scratched the back of his neck, and you realised you had only witnessed him being anxious when it came to his greatest passion. "I'm afraid we might not be done on time, there's still plenty left to improve."

You put a hand on his shoulder to get his attention, and said, "I'm sure you'll figure it all out eventually. Keep working as you normally do, try not to stress too much over the deadline, and even if things go wrong at some point, don't go too hard on yourself. It wouldn't take away any progress you've made so far."

Fred's body relaxed just a bit and he looked down at you. He couldn't deny the sense of serenity that he felt only when he was with you. Even as a careless young boy, he was able to pinpoint the way his midriff would clench every time you'd laugh at his jokes or ask him to play with you, without knowing what it all meant.

But now, as a grown man, he had a word to describe the bittersweet fire within.

"You know what?" He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "I could really benefit from having someone like you around to give me motivation."

"Motivation, huh?" you raised an eyebrow, fighting back a smile. Fred sneaked a hand around your waist and pulled you closer.

"Yes, motivation."

"Motivation for what?"

"Marketing strategies, work projects…" he shrugged nonchalantly, "...among other things."

You quickly caught on, suddenly becoming way too self-aware of the way you were practically cuddled into Fred's side, hand resting on his shoulder while his were wrapped around your waist. But his shining confidence seemed to rub off on you, because you asked.

"What's with you offering me a job all of a sudden?"

His bottom lip was tucked between his teeth as he took his sweet time devouring you with his darkened gaze. You didn't know whether you wanted to hide from it, or expose yourself even further to the way it burned its way straight to your core.

"Well…" Fred dragged out in his low, hoarse voice, and caressed your cheek with his thumb before slipping it under your chin to guide it towards his face. You could nearly taste the remaining flavour of champagne on his lips. "I've certainly been feeling…"

Fred went quiet as he got lost in the way you fit so perfectly in his arms; you had always meant to be there, he realised. His mouth crashed into yours, hands tightly gripping your waist, and you let out a gasp. Fred's lips were soft, although slightly chapped, and they moved gently but firmly against yours, turning you into their slave. Your palms naturally slid up his chest and he closed any remaining distance between your bodies by placing you to straddle his lap. The kiss was a dance of pushing forward and pulling back, two lovers having finally found their rhythm after years of living in fearful desire. You were positively drunk on his taste, on him, and you wished to never become sober.

When your need for air overcame the one for physical contact, you pulled away. Your chests were heaving with rapid, shallow breaths, hearts beating in synch like they had always done. You let a finger tenderly trace his cheekbone down to his jawline, then it came back up to draw different affectionate patterns on his face.

"What were you saying?" you asked, clearly out of breath. "How were you feeling?"

He fondly took your hand that was caressing his skin, and lifted it up to press feather-light kisses on your knuckles. His lips retraced their path until they reached the tips of your fingers, and he kissed those with the gentlest of touch.

You heart ached pleasurably from the way he was handling you with such care, much more than you ever believed he was capable of.

After minutes of worshipping you by the moonlit lake, Fred looked back at you as though you were his entire world. And replied with a smile.

"Inspired."

Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated!

Masterlist

[itsagrimm]

Imperial Tech 5

CN: soldier life in a fascist state, getting observed and recorded, violence, drug abuse, getting drugged without explicit consent, memory loss, forbidden relationship, getting carried + lifted up, tech & ONCE doing a lot of selfreflecting

Summary: The scenario plays out with Techs and not Crosshairs inhibitor chip working. Y/N is part of the elite squad working under commander Tech. Y/N gets called ES-01 or ONCE by their team somethimes. Previously, they killed senator Tarr, took the Syndullas into custody and are now on the hunt for Hera. (Basically everything just like in the show except for Tech in charge instead of Crosshair)

Imperial Tech X They Them Reader

Part 4

XXXXXX

Ryloth was starting to become Techs least favourite planet to been on. The planet had a challenging terrain, Admiral Rampart was continuously holding him back, but most importantly the dust forced Tech to clean his glasses several times per rotation.

But even with the dirt gone from the lenses the screens showing surveillance data from all Ryloth gave no clue to Hera Syndullas whereabouts.

Tech leaned back. He just needed to be patient. Hera would turn up sooner or later. Children had a high dependency and emotional connection to their caretakers and were unlikely to leave them behind even it was the most rational decision to ensure their own survival.

A part of his mind kept observing and evaluating the data. Another part wandered off. This morning Y/N had cried. Tech had wanted to keep Y/N close so that he could keep the one person calming him down safe, but he had failed. His miscalculation and lack of information about Y/N inner workings had come with the cost of Y/N breaking down into his arms. The regret of carrying out a killing order was too much for Y/N. His command was the direct cause for their pain. And yet Y/N only had whispered about the Empire and service to it itself as root for their misery. A grand and dangerous claim, still Tech could see some causality between the Empire existing and Y/N’s suffering.

But he still hated himself.

Tech had scrambled the recording in Y/N’s helmet to keep this treasonous confession off the records. And he had sedated Y/N to buy them some time to collect themselves. Extrapolating from the way the former clone force 99 had been treated the Empire would never allow a soldier like Y/N to feel regret or be critical and would punish every kind of perceived treason or weakness. And so, his report noted a minor concussion. As a trained medic and commander no one had questioned his claims. For now, he had at least in some way kept his ONCE safe even it was just picking up the pieces of his previous mistake. Another wave of self-loathing washed over Tech.

But at the same time, he felt pride swelling up his chest. The feeling of him carrying Y/N into the security of the LAAT. Their head resting on his shoulder. Half-closed eyes searching for answers from him and lips whispering Tech.

He grinned.

Oh yes, he could get used to that.

The memory was intoxicating. His overclocked mind stuttered at the thought of Y/N’s body in his arms. Like always Y/N calmed and slowed his thought process like nothing ever before.

Tech breathed in and took another look at the data before him. Still no sign of Hera Syndulla. The comm was silent as well. Surprisingly pleased he took a sip of caf before devoting his main attention to Y/N again.

Tech had arrived at the conclusion that he cared for ES-01. He wanted to know everything about them. A part of his brain spiralled around with a constant loop of thoughts about them and their well-being. And just the thought of Y/N’s physical presence near him gave him a calm he had never known before even with his brothers.

He knew that his attachment to his subordinate was forbidden. And he knew that whatever his feelings and basically needfor Y/N in his life were likely not reciprocated. He was just a clone even with his desirable mutations. And he was their commander. Any kind of romantic interaction - not even including physical interaction - was unlikely, overreaching and a danger for them both.

All he had for himself was a little mental box of lovely little memories and even lovelier fantasies of Y/N that kept him occupied in the refresher. That had to be enough.

Another sip from the caf and glance at the monitors. No Hera Syndulla to be found. Nothing of particular interest to note. He checked the comm chatter for news about the Empire or his brothers but there was nothing as well.

But it was fine to ask if Y/N was fine, right? He was their commander and he had given the order to give them some rest, so he was his duty to require report, right?

Tech thought about his brothers. They would know what to do now. Wrecker would support and reassure him no matter what he did. Echo would keep his opinion to himself until asked or in severe disagreement. Hunter would sit down next to Tech, pat him on the shoulder and tilt his head for 12,4 degrees right before giving advice. And Crosshair would just grumble about Tech overthinking again and then just pointing out the most straight forward action.

Crosshair decision making was the easiest to replicate for Tech now.

So that is what he did.

“ES-01?”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The bunk room on Ryloth was dark. Someone must have pulled down the blinds. The other members of the elite squad and commander Tech were gone. Y/N checked their comm. Apparently the team was on the hunt for the little Twi’lek girl, that had escaped. Y/N was expected to rest.

What happened?

Their memory was still foggy. The last thing Y/N remembered was being at the canyon, the overwhelming feeling of regret, of breaking down and of commander Tech.

He had…

Y/N checked their arm. A little puncture was visible there.

Yes, a part of their memory slowly returned.

Tech had sedated Y/N. He had drugged them. He had carried them and-

Y/N pulled back the thin blanket. He had removed their armour. Y/N blushed. The memory of his long fingers with little scars carefully peeling Y/N out of the plastoid was rising from the depth of their mind like a lazy fish breaking surface of a deep dark pond.

The door to the bunk room opened. Y/N looked up expecting to see one of the returning elite squad members. Instead, Captain Howzer, clone commander of all the regular troopers on Ryloth, entered. Y/N rose and saluted. He was not in charge of the elite squad, but he outranked Y/N immensely. Howzer just waved them to stand comfortably.

“ES-01, there is no need for such formalities. I hope I am not disturbing you?”

“Not at all. I was left to recover from the last mission. But I am well enough now. How can I help you, sir?”

Howzer smiled. It was a friendly smile, honest and a bit sad.

“They call you ONCE, right? And your squat uses they/them for you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mind if I do that too? Numbers and assignments are a bit impractical sometimes so us clones use monikers, but I don’t know too much about naturally born’s and their naming traditions.”

Howzers smile turned a bit shy.

“Not at all, captain. It’s alright.”

Howzer sat down on one of the bunks in front of ONCE. ONCE followed his lead and fell back on their bunk. Now they sat in the small room, their knees nearly touching and smiling like young cadets in polite anticipation.

An awkward second none of them spoke.

“I appreciate you checking on me. But I am sure you are not only here to ask about my health, sir.”

Howzer looked away like he got caught pranking.

“Well… I do think it is my job to make sure everyone on my base is fine. Even if you are not under my command and it isn’t technically my base anymore.” He cleared his throat. “But I do actually need something else from you as well.”

ONCE studies his face. He was a high-ranking officer, an experienced soldier and - like all clones - a warrior. And despite the harsh realities of war that shaped all the clone trooper’s life’s, Howzer had maintained youthfulness in his demeanour. Even now, he looked at ONCE with an open and careful expression.

“What can I do for you, captain?” ONCE finally answered and hinted at the helmet and the build-in listening device as a careful reminder that their conversation wasn’t confidential.

“ONCE, I need to know what happened up there in the canyon.”

“Sir, I am sure I can’t add to what you already know from the reports.” ONCE replied defensively. Whatever Y/N might feel about their life as a soldier, talking openly about their work was a luxury they could not afford. Especially when Y/N was still working through the fragmented memories of being carried and stripped out of their armour by commander Tech.

“The reports do not mention anyone up the canyon.” Howzer continued. “And yet I know that commander Tech had carried you nearly unconscious and a sniper rifle with you both to an LAAT ship that picked you up. And I know that the Twi’lek senator Tarr got hit by a precise blast coming from somewhere of the top of the canyon. I was there. I know what I saw. And I can add all these information together. You need to tell me why it happened.”

Howzers voice had become demanding and intimidating.

And yet he still had the expression of a young man in disbelieve of the atrocities happening in plain sight. ONCE felt hopelessness and regret rising again. Howzer just wanted to understand but it was impossible to explain the banalities of evil at work. The Empire was power hungry. The Twi’leks were resistant. And Tarr had died because he outlived his usefulness as a pawn in this power struggle, killed by ONCE. They remembered that much. But with the listening device in their helmet close by ONCE was in no position to confess without getting court martialled afterwards - if they were lucky.

There was nothing ONCE could say.

“I am sorry, captain. I can only recall very little. But it seems you already know what happened. I am sure you will understand why it happened and that I had no pleasure in following command. But I am a soldier -maybe a bit like you. We are expected to follow orders whatever the costs and then continue on like nothing happened.”

ONCE smiled, hoping he would understand.

Howzer nodded, his expression now nothing but hopeless and lost like a little boy without his family.

ONCE took his gloved hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

It was a familiar gesture between two equally helpless hostages not in control of their life’s.

A desperate look crossed Howzer before he silently formed a word with his lips, carefully hiding his message from the listening device.

Hera

It was the Twi’lek kids name that got away. The kid, that the elite squat was hunting down.

ONCE shook their head.

No, they don’t have her. Yet.

Y/N’s comm lighted up – the Commander calling in.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Commander Tech was in the observation room. Various monitors displayed a never-ending racing flow of surveillance data in aurebesh, numbers and holo transmissions.

Most of it was in in Basic, some wasn’t.

Staring at it with a cup of caf in his hands was the commander.

“How are you feeling?” He asked without looking away from the screens.

“Better.”

In the blue tinted electronic light coming from the holo screens Y/N could see Tech raising an eyebrow.

“I am not only your commander but also your medic. Are you sure you are fine and therefore fit for duty?”

Y/N considered the underlying question. Do you want to return to being a soldier?

“Sir, as long as I am well enough to perform, I am expected to serve.” I don’t have a choice but to return. I can walk steady on both my feet and hold a gun therefore I am good enough to be cannon fodder again. That’s what I signed up for.

Tech tilted his head and took a sip from his cup.

“That is valid point you’re making. As you can see, I am a bit busy with searching the run-away Hera Syndulla. Officially, I can’t examine and clear you fit for duty right now. But I will take your word under the condition you stay close to me in case something happens. Is that alright with you?”

ONCE considered. The commander was asking for a favour. He wasn’t ordering. And he had not only covered for them once but was concerned about their safety. In the oddest way possible and considering the circumstances ONCE was tempted to call this romantic.

“Yes, sir. It is.”

Y/N sat down next to Tech.

“Do you remember everything from this morning, ONCE?”

His tone was casual. But there was more to it.

“I…yes, I think I remember everything.” ONCE paused looking at Tech. His face was unmoved and impression-less. His eyes hidden behind the lenses, blue by the mirroring screens. “Sir, I am very thankful for your… actions.”

Still, nothing. Maybe all his kindness and patience with ONCE was imagined. Maybe he was just their commander and his reasons from saving ONCE from military questioning and punishment was purely practical.

ONCE felt like an utter fool.

“Fascinating.”

“I am sorry, sir?” Confused they looked at the commander.

“Comm the squad and get your full gear. We are getting attacked.”

An alarm went off.

ONCE saw several alarms popping up on the screens.

A feeling of dread and terror rose in ONCE. Returning to duty was one thing. Entering a fight was another.

Tech grabbed them at the arm, pulling them closer and forcing them to look up to his towering dark height. “Remember, stay close to me.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Y/N left Tech with a look of anxiety and confusion in their eyes.

*crack*

He grimaced painfully. He had broken the cup in his hands, caf dripping down on his armoured leg now. Maybe hiding everything about himself from Y/N would be harder than he thought it would be.

He sighted and allowed himself to linger a bit more on the thought of Y/N and before devoting himself to the tasks ahead.

Someone had attacked the refinery.

What an odd choice. Was it a coincidence with the Syndullas in custody here on the base? Or was there a plan and connection between those facts?

His eyes squinted to see better. Damn Ryloth and its dust. His googles were dirty again.

The Surveillance data showed the leaving troopers going to the refinery. Quiet a lot of them.

If all those troopers left, who would guard the prisoners?

Tech leant back. Caf dripping down his leg, glasses dirty and surrounded by idiots. What was he doing here?

Movement on the screens made Tech face the wall of monitors again.

The surveillance camera transmitted a stream from the refinery with two clones running over the fortified walls.

Echo.

Hunter.

His brothers were here. Tech felt his body respond with a rush of endorphins he quickly tried to ignore.

Think Tech! Don’t let these traitors distract you! What does their presence mean?

He was sure now. Directly attacking the refinery was too simple. Even without him the strategies of his brothers always were absurdly chaotic and erratic. The straight attack just had to be a distraction.

He opened a comm channel to his elite squat.

“Commander speaking. Come to the base shipyard as soon as possible.”

“Sir, isn’t the attack on the refinery?”

“I know, ES-04. Just follow your orders.”

“But sir-“

Tech ended his connection and rolled his eyes. His brothers never had reacted like that. They always knew he had reasons behind his actions.

Frustrated he threw away the broken cup and put on his helmet.

The shipyard was nearly empty. Most LAAT’s and smaller ship were off to the refinery. The attack had drawn nearly all forces away.

ONCE and the Elite squat waited for commander Tech. A couple of regs were with them.

“Who are those?” Tech required.

“Sir, the regular troopers were off duty. I called them in for back up.”, ONCE replied. As always, they were the only one thinking and getting what he had already figured out.

“Good. Get into position before the main gate. Facing inward.”

“The enemy is inside already?”

“Likely. And this is their way out.”

“They? Who is our enemy?”

“Clone force 99.”

The door opened.

Both troopers and elite squad raised arms. But instead of prisoners or the bad batch, Howzer stepped outside.

“Oh.” Tech stated flatly. He hadn’t considered the inner emotional workings at play. Again.

“Brothers!” Howzer call out to the troopers. “What are we doing? We came her to free Ryloth from separatist control. And we succeeded. But look around you. Now we are being ordered to target the very people we sworn to protect! And I will not be a part of it any longer.”

The captain threw down his weapon.

“Who is with me?”

For a short second no one moved. Tech felt his head running at high speed, calculating every option for further action. ONCE, standing next to him, started shaking.

He went cold.

If ONCE threw down their weapons now, they were dead. Tech could do nothing to save them from the empire. Admiral Rampart or whoever imperial was in charge would court martial them. Y/N would be dead. He didn’t need to calculate the chances for that, to know their survival rate were slim.

Please don’t leave me. Tech, suddenly ready to pray to whoever gods were willing to listen to his pleas, leant towards Y/N, unable to stop himself.

They stopped shaking the moment his armour touched theirs.

Some of the regs laid down their weapons. ONCE kept their rifle, unmovable. Relief washed over Tech.

“Arrest those traitors.” He ordered, thinking of anything else but the one person he truly wanted to be saved right now. Even if he had to sacrifice a battalion of regs for that to draw attention away from Y/N.

The elite squad and the loyal troopers moved in. Tech felt detached from what was happening. Nothing mattered. Not even the shuttle with his brothers lifting off somewhere.

He wanted Y/N, wanted to hold them and whisper sweet words and promises he damn well intended on keeping just to make sure that they would be fine and safe. He looked up to see his Y/N putting hand cuffs on Howzer, sneaking a small blade into his boot. His brain registered it but did not care. As far as he was concerned ONCE could commit every act of treason and he would still be ready to commit mass murder just to cover their tracks. Whatever Tech had thought he could keep to himself was brought bare before him the moment Y/N had been in mortal danger, his need for Y/N unable to be hidden.

>>>>>

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<<<<<<<

Part 6

[electronicdelusionstarlight]

Anyway, the Crimson Cult

Legends of Runeterra is a card game based on League of Legends Lore. It’s pretty cool, and has some interesting characters adapted as cards.

The most interesting ones are probably the 4 members of the Crimson Cult.

The Crimson Cult is the private cult of big old vampire Vladimir, an actual LOL Champion.

Anyway, Vladimir is this, like... eminence in shadow figure, waits in his big old mansion in Noxus for centuries till something big is about to happen so he can show up and go “my job here is done” while everyone else wonders what exactly did he do at all, only to then get back in his mansion and become a shut in for another couple centuries or so.

That said, when Vladimir gets back into society and stops being a gross Hikikomori obsessed with bloodplay and having creepy portraits of himself commissioned like he’s the world most self centered furry, he becomes kind of a party animal and starts setting up some sort of cult of personality over him, based around the spooky forbidden knowledge he can offer over blood magic or some shit.

Most members of the cult just smile and nod along as they use this as a chance to get high.

Anyway, LoR introduced 4 Crimson Cult Characters, and much like cards like Tyari or Cytria, they all tell a story, so to speak.

They are also particularly interesting since their 4 collective lore blurbs are all interconnected conversations they have with each other over the course of their meetings.

Anyway, we have:

The Disciple.

Her name is Clara. Social Status Uncertain but probably of lower birth (If such a thing ever mattered in Trifariax Noxus). She’s an hedonist and has a good relationship with all other members. She claims, and I quote, that “(She)'ll try anyone once” but most importantly will go from  awkwardly flirt with Ophelia when they are paired together (”I like your stile” “I like your face...”) to outright “dating” her in the flavor text (Kinda). A balancing act between being constantly Horny and being constantly High. She also seems to have a long standing friendship with Edvin and knew him from before the cult.

Given how her effects has her take damage to activate it, and some of her most suggestive lines, she’s definitely a bottom and a sub. The collar is also a big tell.

Vladimir will refer to her as “Supper” when meeting her, but will also reprimand her for her carefree way to handle blood magic.

Bad Bi Rep? Maybe, but she’s an evil bisexual hedonist in a freaky blood cult in the most sexually permissive country on the planet, what did you expect?

Her Flavor Text is, like everyone’s else, a mess to navigate through, so I’ll try to present it in order via numbers and makes with the other 3 Flavor Texts.

1) "Edvin! There you are, handsome. I was just thinking of you!" (Responding to Edvin’s 1, responded by Edvin 2)

2) "Each of us can go, now…" (Responding to Edvin’s 3, Responded by Edvin’s 4)

3) "Escort me. I'll make it fun." (Responding to Ophelia’s 2, Responded by Ophelia’s 3)

4) "Or nothing at all?" (Responding to Ophelia’s 3, Responded by Edvin’s 5)

The Aristocrat.

The other female member of the gang. Her name has been revealed to be Ophelia but is never mentioned as such in the game. As the artwork suggests she’s WLW (hence the artwork being censored in the Chinese release by removing the lesbian subtext in the art and coloring the blood purple), but also has a fairly friendly relationship with Edvin, referring to him as “finally, someone with style”). She’s a member of the aristocracy, as her title suggests, and it seems her parents are also kind of homophobic and disproving of her lifestyle, which is kind of weird in Noxus but then again they are Aristocrats so they are probably still following the Pre-Trifariax Mindset. While she isn’t exactly unbothered by it, she also doesn’t want to be disowned out of their fortune. She is incredibly arrogant and will be catty toward everyone but Edvin and Clara, with Kye being a sort of middle ground (Her: “You’re Late.” Him. “Mhm, Knew you’d wait”).

Her effect deals damage to someone to empower it, making her a Top and, potentially, a Domme.

She has no interactions with Vladimir.

As for her Flavor Text:

1) "Ah, you too? To the Reveler's B--" (Responding to Edvin’s 2, Responded by Edvin’s 3)

2) "How am I to tolerate mine?" (Responding to Edvin’s 4, Responded by Clara’s 3)

3) "Respectfully, my dear, my father would disown me. ...perhaps we should wear matching dresses." (Responding to Clara’s 3, Responded by Clara’s 4).

The Curator.

Edvin. He is the richest member of the gang, and their unofficial weed dealer. His blood potions bring all the boys to the yard, so to speak, but he seems to have acquired all his wealth by himself. He seems to not have an affluent family such as Ophelia, and in fact seems to value the gang, his new family (His Bloodkin, as he calls them) more, making this an ACTUAL, FOUND FAMILY SCENARIO. He has great relationships with the other three members of the Gang, and will in fact lament more losing his friends than actually dying when his card, well, dies (”But... My Friends...).

Shaped like a friend, and his ability, while triggered by taking damage, actually allows him to call forth the gang by drawing them in hand.

Vladimir will comment on the richness of his blood.

Has the longest Flavour Text:

1)  "Beloved companions!" (Starting Line in the exchange, Responded by Clara’s 1)

2) "Were you? Well I received an invitation." (Responding to Clara’s 1, Responded by Ophelia’s 2)

3) "--Reveler's Ball! Yes!" (Responding to Ophelia’s 2, Responded by Clara’s 2)

4) "Then we must! I shall present my family." (Responding to Clara’s 2, Responded by Ophelia’s 3)

5) "Starters before dessert, my dear. And you, Kye? Will you attend?" (Responding to Clara’s 4, Responded by Kye’s 1).

The Awakener.

Kye. He’s the eldest of the gang, and the one with the most experience with the cult. She is your classical aloof loner in anime who pretends not to care about his so called friends when in fact he cares way too much. He will appear constantly bored and disillusioned with everything, even when meeting Vladimir, but will still have positive interactions with his friends (Teasing Ophelia, having some best bros talk with Edvin, and reminiscing about their lessons together with Clara). Probably the most stoner coded of the gang.

His ability has him deal damage to all friendly creatures in play as a additional cost to be played, thus triggering Edvin’s and Clara’s abilities, both of whom he spent expensive time teaching Blood Magic, and just annoying the top Ophelia, as he does.

Vladimir reminds him about the importance of manners, and is implied he was taught blood magic by him, just like he in turn has taught it to his friends.

That would make the Crimson Cult Runeterra first Weed Smoking Polycule based Pyramid Scheme.

He has only one interaction in the whole flavor text conversation with his friends, cementing the fact he prefers to hang in the sidelines of the gang despite his supposed role as leader.

1)  "Even if I said 'no', you'd drag me along. So... sure." (Responding to Edvin’s 5, concluding the conversation).

With this we can reconstruct the full conversation as:

Edvin: "Beloved companions!"

Clara: "Edvin! There you are, handsome. I was just thinking of you!"

Edvin:  "Were you? Well I received an invitation."

Ophelia: "Ah, you too? To the Reveler's B--"

Edvin: "--Reveler's Ball! Yes!"

Clara: "Each of us can go, now…"

Edvin: "Then we must! I shall present my family."

Ophelia: "How am I to tolerate mine?"

Clara: "Escort me. I'll make it fun."

Ophelia: "Respectfully, my dear, my father would disown me. ...perhaps we should wear matching dresses."

Clara: "Or nothing at all?"

Edvin: "Starters before dessert, my dear. And you, Kye? Will you attend?"

Kye: "Even if I said 'no', you'd drag me along. So... sure."

There is then a secret, last Flavor Text, coming from Vladimir’s upgraded art, about him probably overhearing some of his guests at the Reveler’s Ball from his creepy dark corner somewhere in his creepy dark vampire mansion and going, probably as a direct response to either Kye’s lack of enthusiasm or Ophelia’s arrogance:

Vladimir: “Do you find my little fête banal, darling? Then let me give you a real show!”

Anyway, this was the Crimson Cult. A found family story hidden in a card game depicting a gang of hedonist stoners who also happen to be fairly LGBT friendly.

[safflowerseason]

veep podcast reflections

I’ve made it through the first seven episodes of the pod—which includes the appearances by Tony Hale, Reid Scott, and Anna Chlumsky—so I feel like I’ve listened enough to have an opinion about it (if anyone else is actually listening to this podcast…if you are out there and actually listening/watching, please stop by my inbox.) 

It’s aggressively fine. Nothing groundbreaking, but a reasonably enjoyable listen. The hosts are clearly professionals at being funny, and of course there’s plenty of lovely and entertaining behind-the-scenes information. I do hope they bring Armando Iannucci on (and I imagine they are trying to get JLD on as well, but she is of course very busy). It’s interesting to note the different interpersonal dynamics between various combinations of cast members. It’s also *very* obvious why Tim Simons jumped on the celebrity rewatch podcast craze…he’s a total fandom nerd! (I say this with great respect) He loves thinking about his favorite tv shows, he is clearly very Internet savvy, and he’s interested in politics, so it makes sense to me that he feels like the driving force behind this podcast. (it is very clear now that Tim Simons is absolutely the kind of person who would go look up fanfiction about the show he was on--which, btw, professional writers are legally prohibited from doing, but I guess actors aren’t.) 

I like each episode opening with a recording of a political gaffe, and the trivia game has surprisingly not been as annoying as I normally find these cheesy bits. I don’t *love* the strict scene-by-scene recap of each week’s episode…it leads to interesting conversations and anecdotes, I guess, but too often we also get stuck on banal chatter like “okay what happens next? oh right yes, then Selina goes into her office and closes the door, and Gary and Sue have a conversation about X Y Z which was really funny because A B C” interspersed with all the “ums” and “ahs” of live speech. (Maybe this is a Kast Media thing, because they also do it on the OC Bitches podcast). Maybe there isn’t a good way to recap a tv episode scene by scene on air, though, especially if you aren’t going to air audio or video clips. 

I have two qualms/issues with the pod, one kind of nitpicky, and the other more serious. First, I wish they talked more about the relationships between the different characters. Not just Dan and Amy—although obviously if this were MY podcast there would be a weekly segment on that front—but Selina and Amy, Selina and Dan, Selina and Gary…most of the “big” moments in each episode get dissected on a comedic and political front, but not necessarily on a narrative front…usually it’s the guests who end up providing insight on character relationships, like Anna Chlumsky talking about Amy’s relationship with Selina in the context of the fake miscarriage scene. (I can’t help but find it…interesting that the first mention of Dan and Amy’s particular *thing* came from one of the guests, Pete Grosz, who played Sidney Purcell—his episode was great). Maybe this will change as we move into the later seasons, though, since in S1 a lot of the character groundwork is still being laid. 

My second, bigger qualm has to do with the podcast’s emphasis—mainly via Tim Simons, it has to be said—on the “progression” or “journey” of the show’s characters toward their worst S7 versions. The words “nihilism” and “dark” have been thrown around quite a bit in relation to where the characters end up. Usually at least once an episode Simons will point out a moment or character action and say something like “I feel like here you get a sense of just how dark/Machiavellian/crazy/evil this character can go” and sort of frame it like a “preview” of the later season (S7 in particular clearly feels separate to the cast compared to the others). Like Amy’s deal with O’Brien in Episode 4 was framed that way, as well as multiple Selina moments, and in one episode Walsh and Simons had a whole debate about whether or not Selina was showing actual remorse for a gaffe she committed compared to later seasons when she wouldn’t even care. There’s a lot of talk about how Selina is still trying to honor the agreements and exchanges she makes with other politicians in a way that obviously disappears in S7.

While I understand, obviously, the impulse to look at the show as a whole and examine all the different character arcs over the course of the seasons…the difference between the early seasons of the show versus the later seasons is not strictly a question of good vs bad vs mad and powerhungry. Sure, some pretty dark shit happens in S7, but early in S1 we have Amy making a deal with a white supremacist, which is pretty damn dark too! It’s not about the “scale” of all the different morally gray/Machiavellian political calculations that are made by the characters (although I can see why some people might try and frame it that way). It’s about how the whole entire ingredients and structure of the show’s political and interpersonal worlds changed so completely, a totally different approach to plot and narrative. It’s about how in S1 even the smallest decision by Selina had political stakes and in S7 all the action took place in a vacuum with no consequences. 

So, that’s kind of frustrating, and I’m not necessarily looking forward to when they get David Mandel on, because I imagine it will just be using Trump to explain everything different about his approach to the show. But there’s a few seasons to go until we get there, thank goodness. 

[bijoharvelle]

It happens right after they get Jack back.

Or, it happens right after they get their luck back.

Or, it happens right after they get back from Purgatory for the second time.

Or --  no, sorry. Look, it’s been happening for over a decade, since Castiel laid a hand to Dean to raise him from Hell, and since Dean warned Castiel not to make him open a door and Castiel told him he would give anything not to. It’s been happening through Heaven and Hell and Purgatory and the Empty and fucking Maine.

But it finally happens, really, in the Bunker, after they get Jack back. 

Sam and Dean are thrilled and Castiel is too but he keeps flinching. Dean catches it in the corners of his eyes, like Castiel is looking over his shoulder for something, waiting for some attack. At first, Dean just chalks it up to the second guess of a thing too good to be true. They got Jack -- it’s enough to wonder at what price, what will come next.

It turns out to be much worse.

Sam and Jack put their heads together over the books, which leaves Castiel and Dean to beers. 

“You gotta relax, man,” Dean says as he slides a bottle to Castiel. “Just take the W -- we got Jack. Enjoy it for a minute.”

Castiel doesn’t look up, doesn’t respond, just rolls the beer bottle between his hands. And then, finally, in a broken voice, “Dean.”

It doesn’t happen until after Castiel spills the whole of the story out to Dean -- Heaven and Dumah and the Empty and the deal. The stupid fucking deal. Dread seeps cold and heavy into Dean’s stomach and, well, like he said: at what price? It’s worse than staring down the barrel of his three-hundred and sixty-five days till Hell because this has no ticker. A shoe hovering except the shoe was eternal nothingness.

There are loopholes and semantics abound that could be exploited based on what the thing said but Dean has a feeling they won’t be that lucky. He doesn’t think insisting that Castiel just never forget about the Empty, or never let himself be happy, will work.

“What if you weren’t an angel?” he tries anyway. His throat clicks and he hasn’t taken a drink from his beer in almost an hour.

Castiel doesn’t answer, just settles a look to Dean. His eyes are weathered, weary, and Dean can tell that he doesn’t want to fight this one. He doesn’t want to spend hours and days on end trying for a way out of his bargain. His shoulders hunch and his head tips forward and he never even opened his own beer so Dean pushes both bottles aside.

“What about Jack?” Dean asks in a rush. His hands clatter across the metal table, reaching for Cas’s, holding both of them between his. “He woke you up before, yeah? So when the big ugly takes you, he just… He just does it again.”

“Dean,” Castiel says again. He shifts his hands so that the fingers are hooked around Dean’s. Cas opens his mouth to say more but Dean looks away and there’s a horrible noise coming from his throat.

It’s a chewed-back sob and Dean tucks his face against his shoulder because this isn’t fair, this isn’t fair, nothing about their lives is ever fair but this-- “I’m the one supposed to make stupid, sacrifice deals here,” he says finally, voice raw. It’s a joke, a poor excuse for one, but Castiel does due diligence toward a smile.

“I’m very sorry for stepping on your toes.”

Dean laughs, something loud and wet and then he’s not laughing, he’s crying. “This fucking sucks, man.”, 

Castiel nods. And then, cradles one of Dean’s hands in both of his. “There’s time, though. I -- With Jack, with you and Sam, with…you.”

Dean looks back at that, finds Castiel’s blue, blue eyes and he’s been this strange constant for the better half of this fight. He had lost him, sure, to fights and Crowley and Naomi and Gadreel and then to Lucifer, to the Empty. That last time was the only time Dean really felt the loss, didn’t feel anything when he prayed to Cas (begged, pleaded, wept at the foot of his bed and asked for him to come back, come back, come back, please, God, Cas, please), was the only time Dean really believed that Cas was gone. And he was gone to the Empty and now that very place, thing, was holding both ends of Cas’s thread.

He wouldn’t be coming back again.

And so it happens, has been happening, finally happens.

Dean twists and rises from his seat and pitches toward Castiel. Their faces are an inch apart, less, Dean stops and just drops his forehead to Castiel’s. They close their eyes -- Castiel breathes out, Dean breathes in. “Cas?” he asks and his mouth is practically on his now so when Cas nods it both answers his question and does the job for him.

They kiss, noses nudging clumsily and Dean has one hand planted on the table and the other still tangled in both of Cas’s. They kiss and Castiel inhales like he’s drawing oxygen from their touch itself and Dean can feel the linger of tear tracks on his cheeks. Their lips part, just barely and Dean opens his eyes to find Castiel smiling, eyes still shut. “I could have sold my soul a little sooner,” he offers.

“That’s not funny,” Dean protests.

“Fine, then, you could have gotten your act together a little sooner,” Castiel says and it’s a tease but it still scoops something raw and throbbing from Dean’s chest.

“Cas,” he says, voice breaking and Cas saves him the embarrassment, kisses him again, firm and hot. Dean gives as good as he gets so this kiss is as rough and pleading as the first was soft and searching. The table between them becomes a real hindrance so Dean shoves back from it, notes the condensation print of his palm that marks the metal, and pulls Castiel to him, full-body.

Dean holds tight across the tops of Castiel’s shoulders and Cas reaches back, locking up around Dean’s back except where one hand just brushes through his hair and Dean might be crying again or he might be laughing again but he is for certain kissing Castiel again, and again, again.

Somehow, they find their way to Dean’s room, passing through the quiet murmur of Sam and Jack talking that drifts from further out in the bunker. It’s not a mad dash or a stumbling fit of pressing backs to walls and searing kisses. They just walk, steady and sure, shoulders brushing and when they turn one corner, Dean takes the cuff of Castiel’s trench coat to hold on to.

When the door is closed behind them, Dean fidgets and then blurts out, “Will this do it? Do you think…?” He trails, gesturing vaguely to the bed and then wincing at the implication.

“I don’t know,” Castiel answers without much hesitation -- like he’s parsed the question before Dean even thought to ask it. And maybe he has, maybe he’s played out all the possibilities: getting Jack back, Dean getting his shit together. Cas says he doesn’t know, but Dean is pretty sure this will be okay -- after all, there’s still that whole thing with Chuck to worry about, right?

But they are on borrowed time now so Dean steps forward and Cas does too and they meet in the middle. Carefully, Dean pushes off Castiel’s jacket, undoes his tie, slips the buttons of his shirt free. He creates a puddle of Castiel’s clothing and when he’s finished they’re both panting, with swollen lips and obvious erections and Dean has far too many clothes on, which is something Castiel begins to rectify with a low, throaty hum.

When they tumble onto Dean’s bed, it’s like the universe sighs. Like something deep within destiny finally can stop holding its breath.

The next morning, Dean takes a minute to get his bearings, to remember it all. Jack, Cas’s bargain, mouths and tongues. He reasoned with himself the night before that this wouldn’t be the thing to take Cas but now he can’t be sure and he holds his breath.

He opens his eyes and finds Castiel sprawled in the space next to him in bed. Castiel’s hair is reminiscent of when they first met, when Cas always smelled faintly of melting metal and looked just sideways of human, and his eyes are closed with faint lines of veins showing in the delicate skin there. Dean reaches out, puts a hand to the expanse of Cas’s back -- between the spaces where wings might rest -- and Castiel stirs.

His head lifts up and then he turns to Dean, eyes quizzical. “I really thought that might be it,” he says.

“I’m good but I’m not that good,” Dean teases. And then he shifts his weight, leans toward the angel and slides their mouths together. He ends up with one of Cas’s hands palming his cheek and interest stirring below the belt.

“You’re better,” Castiel says into his mouth and it only half-makes sense but then they’re kissing again and maybe they’ll find a way to kill a pre-primordial cosmic entity or maybe they won’t or maybe Cas will annoy the thing into submission again or maybe Jack’s love for his father will overcome any banal evil or maybe none of it matters, maybe tomorrows will come and memories will last and Dean will, at the very very least, have this and so will Cas.

[tryxyhijinks]

March Flash Fiction

"I heard you were looking for me," says the man in the back of the bus as soon as Renee sits down. She's not sure where the bus is going, but that's a metaphor for her life, isn't it? And so is this guy, with his utterly bland face and stupid taupe alligator t-shirt. His name is probably Jim.

"I doubt it," she mutters. There are plenty of open seats, but she sits down next to him. Her dull red jacket blends into the stained seat covers. Her legs don't touch the floor. Metaphors all around.

"Hmm," says Jim, but doesn't pursue it. Usually they do. Points for Jim.

The bus stops, and someone gets off to go slumping down the sidewalk toward a strip mall full of closed stores. Everything outside is grey. Everything inside is grey.

With a hiss and a clunk, the bus jolts forward again. It turns into the business park, that rolling golf course of aspirational wealth.

"Where you headed?" Jim says. His fingers lay lightly on his perfectly creased trousers.

Renee pokes her thumb through a hole in her jeans pocket. "Not here."

"Healthy," says Jim, side-eying her.

"What's your noble goal, then?" Renee asks. "What's your stop?"

The bus pulls to a halt again. Four people get off. Only three other people on the bus, not counting her and Jim. Who, she notices, hasn't answered her.

The route takes them through the two-story neighborhood, where the houses get yards and play sets and picket fences. Jim looks past her out the window. "I can see why."

"Excuse me?" Renee doesn't have her bag with her. She must have left it at work. Or at home.

Jim shrugs at the passing scenery. "Look at it. Hell, look at me. I'd run away, too."

"I'm not running away," Renee says, but suddenly she's not sure of that either. Isn't she? Where is she going?

Jim crosses one leg over the other, revealing plain white socks under disappointing brown loafers. "Well, what's next? Now that you've found me."

The bus stops. Six people get off. Wait, weren't there only three other riders the last time it stopped?

"I wasn't looking for you," she says.

"I hate to underwhelm," says Jim, but he says it with this irritating little smirk, like he's making fun of her.

"I'd think you'd be used to it," she shoots back.

Five more stops pass and ten people get off. She's not sure where they're coming from. Every time she looks around, it's only her and Jim on the bus. And the driver.

Out the window, they're back at the strip mall. Or maybe it's a different strip mall. Renee can't tell. There's a streak of rain on the glass, then another. It's a dismal spatter, and she's glad not to be out in it.

"I've got all day," says Jim, apropos of nothing, after a sixth stop outside a shuttered nail salon.

"Good for you," says Renee. "Must be nice."

"Not always," he says. "Sometimes it's like getting a prank call, where you pick up and the person on the other end just breathes at you." He gives her a pointed stare.

"Look," says Renee, "I'm not sure what you— I just don't— There's no point!"

"Ah," says Jim. "Now we're getting somewhere. No point to what?"

Renee flails at the window and the world outside the bus, where another hazy passenger has just disembarked. "Look at it! You said it yourself! It's just so filthy, but not even in an interesting way. It's banal, and evil, and just. Hard. It's hard, and there's no reason for it."

Jim steeples his fingers. "So why do it. Is that it? It's hard, so why bother? I believe I've heard that one a number of times. You're not special."

"I'm not! I'm a speck of miserable dust on a miserable dust ball full of other dust specks actively trying to make each other more miserable. What. Is. The point."

"Huh," says Jim, and falls silent for another few stops. The bus cycles through another business park, a set of crumbling duplexes, an abandoned playground, and a faded building that might be a school or might be a church. Maybe both.

Renee uses the time to try to spot the passengers before they leave the bus, but they seem to fade into existence right before they pull the stop cord. She peers down the length of the bus at the driver. They're short enough to be blocked by the seat back, but she can spot a muted red garment. Maybe faded blue.

"Where's your stop?" she asks Jim again, but for real this time.

He smiles at her. For real this time. He still doesn't tell her.

"Where's my stop?" she asks him.

His smile grows. "You should ask the driver," he says, and pulls the cord.

[watching-pictures-move]

Viddying the Nasties # 33 | The Hills Have Eyes (Craven, 1977)

This review contains spoilers.

Wes Craven’s first film, The Last House on the Left, explores what happens when decent people come face to face with real evil, and sets up a campy, innocent surface only to shatter it with unspeakable violence. I’m not a fan (its ambitions are undermined by its technical sloppiness), but there’s no denying that its strongest sequences have a palpable gut level impact. Craven’s stated intention was to reflect the way the violence of the Vietnam War and contemporaneous societal unrest had entered the living rooms of the average American family, and as clumsy as his movie may be in its overall construction, I think it achieves this aim.

A few years later, The Texas Chain Saw Massacre again brought average, almost aggressively banal characters face to face with a kind of savagery heretofore unseen on screen. This time the villains have a more clearly defined family structure (in contrast to the loose association of no-goodniks in Last House), one which suggests parody, but the comedic dimensions of their characterizations might be hard to see thanks to how assaultive the surrounding film is. I think Tobe Hooper’s film is quite a bit better than Craven’s, but both are very much part of the same strain of horror (which arguably started or at least went back to George Romero’s Night of the Living Dead), one which does away with any sense of safety or heroics that might offer comfort to the viewer, and in which society itself seems to be under attack.

The Hills Have Eyes was Craven’s return to the horror genre after a few years of unsuccessfully trying to get non-horror projects off the ground and directing a porno (The Fireworks Woman) under the pseudonym Abe Snake. In many ways it’s a continuation of the themes of those earlier movies and, I would argue, it pushes them further. The heroes here once again find themselves face to face with a kind of horror they’ve never experienced before, one which doesn’t play by their rules. This time the action is set not in the backwoods but in the middle of the desert, the harshness of the environment captured effectively by the rough, dust-caked visuals, individual frames looking like they’ve been left out in the sun far too long. Yet how Craven expands this premise is kind of daring. He mirrors the heroes and villains. And he sets up the heroes to be more than a little unlikable.

Both the heroes and the villains are defined as families, each ruled by their respective patriarchs. The father of the villains was an overgrown, feral child cast off into the wilderness by an abusive father who kidnapped a local prostitute and started a family in the middle of a desert. They’re mean and capable of great cruelty, but at the same time survival is clearly their motivation. Craven invites us to see them how mainstream, polite society viewed the counterculture or how Americans viewed the Viet Cong in the decade prior, which calls our vantage point into question. The father of the heroes is a retired cop who seemingly holds nothing but contempt for the people he was supposed to be policing, using racial slurs and other insults to speak of the life he’s left behind. The rest of his family doesn’t come across much better. The kindly mother makes appeals to their Christianity yet bemusedly remembers the time a neighbour’s dog was killed by one of their own. And frankly, the rest of the characters are pretty annoying. How much should we really be rooting for them?

Of course, once the cannibal family begins their attack, our sympathies line up pretty quickly with the aggrieved party, but even then Craven avoids settling matters too cleanly. The villains are shown to be sadistic, but also intelligent, using psychological warfare in burning alive the father and strategic-minded in using that as a ploy to break into the RV. The film alternates between the perspectives of the heroes and villains, as if to confront us with who we identify with and why (most pointedly in one scene where Papa Jupiter, the cannibal patriarch, speaks directly to the camera). The heroes make stupid mistakes early on, but eventually learn that they can only triumph by matching the savagery of their opponents. Presaging Scream, the characters show some awareness of tropes, particularly Bobby, the clean-cut aviators-donning son who pretends to be tough early on but soon has to step into the alpha male role he was previously play-acting. (That character is played by Robert Houston, the man responsible for combining the first two Lone Wolf and Cub movies and releasing them in the US as Shogun Assassin.) The patriarch of the cannibals is defeated with the symbolically loaded act of the son and daughter using their mother’s corpse as bait and turning their RV into a boobytrap, while another character brutally kills the cannibal who had kidnapped his infant daughter. The closing shot has this character staring at the audience, blinded with rage, the background turning red in a freeze frame. It’s an unpolished image, but one that hits straight in the gut. Yes, our heroes have triumphed, but at what cost?

Alexandre Aja would remake this film a few decades later, drastically upping the gore quotient. As far as remakes go, it’s one of the better ones around as it has an actual sense of texture (greatly enhanced by shooting on location in the Moroccan desert) and a pretty good lead performance, but in aligning our perspective too closely to the protagonist, it loses the original’s most fascinating quality. Aja views the material too neatly a story of good versus bad, while Craven has us questioning which is which and uneasily blends the two. Craven would also revisit the material in The Hills Have Eyes Part II, which he would later disown as a purely mercenary gig, but in my humble opinion, I don’t think it’s all that bad. It lacks the original’s sense of transgression and settles more easily into a slasher movie template, including some of the dumber associated elements (there’s a shower scene in the middle of the desert). But does have a handful of interesting elements (carried over trauma from the original, possible psychic powers) and shares the same dirty, sunburnt visual style. I was never convinced that dirtbikes were nearly as cool as the film insisted (there’s a lot more dirtbike footage than necessary), but by the standards of the average slasher, I found it reasonably enjoyable.

[thetypedwriter]

The Ruin of Kings Book Review

The Ruin of Kings Book Review by Jenn Lyons

Boy, oh, boy, was this a wild ride. 

Those of you who have been following me for a while know that I occasionally delve into adult fiction here and there. I mainly stick to my vegetarian course of YA novels, but every once in a while I can’t help but  pick up a slice of bacon, or in this case, an adult fiction book.

Or, even more specifically, I suppose it would be more accurate to say that it’s adult fantasy instead of fiction. High fantasy at that, which is characterized by a whole new world with fantastical elements and not just a novel in the known primary world with fantasy elements.

With that literary lesson out of the way, let me get started. 

The Ruin of Kings by Jenn Lyons came recommended by one of my favorite book bloggers, Paperfury. She counted this as one of her most recent book obsessions she couldn’t stop thinking about and in general I trust her judgement (although she was way way off on The Queen of Nothing, yikes). 

This massive installment is definitely not the short and sweet page length I’m used to with YA, and neither does it have the comforting and large font that makes me feel like an accomplished reader after just an hour of skimming. 

No, this installment is large and beefy and could probably give someone a concussion if you threw it at them, so just keep that in mind. 

The whole fantasy revolves around a boy named Khirin. Khirin is your typical fantasy hero, equipped with the luscious blonde hair and the sparkling blue eyes and most importantly, the wickedly sharp tongue reminiscent of a male character from the Cassandra Clare universe.

He’s sharp, he’s witty, he’s charming, and he also has terrible, terrible luck. 

Or does he?

When you first meet Khirin he is being sold as a slave to the highest bidder. He’s cold, he’s injured, he’s starving, and he’s broken. You, as a reader at this point, are completely and irrevocably confused. 

You’re thinking: Who is this boy? What is happening to him? Why are people betting so much money for him? What’s with this necklace around his neck? Where did he come from? Where are we? What world is this? Where is he going? What the hell is going on???

To say that Lyons starts out strong would be underhanded hyperbole. You are forcibly drop-kicked into the fantasy world of Qurr and its many raging empires and states, and putting them all together is frankly daunting and largely impossible until a good chunk of the book is devoured. 

Frankly, I still have trouble figuring out all the locations and gods and god-kings and factions and lore and people and how they’re all related, Game of Thrones style. But that’s part of the fun. 

One of my biggest complaints with YA is that the reader is generally treated like they’re pretty stupid. 

Often a YA author feels the need to explain every single iteration and modicum of interaction between their characters or spend too much time describing things, and it leaves very little for interpretation or inference on the side of the reader. Lyons is almost the complete opposite, which is as refreshing as it is frustrating.

As you are introduced to Khirin and this gargantuan universe that Lyons has created, you will feel stupid. To be fair, I enjoyed it most of the time. I relished the challenge of learning to differentiate all the different families of the Court of Gems, of distinguishing the Goddess Thaena from the Goddess Tya.

I liked when I was finally able to smugly look at the map at the beginning and recognize all of the city states like Doltar or Kirpis or Manol. I liked when I understood the different races like the Thriss or the vané and the implications of what that meant. 

If that was a whole load of word vomit for you, that’s okay. 

Again, it’s part of the fun. 

What I do want you to get out of this, however, is the knowledge that Lyons has created an expansive universe with multiple creatures, including dragons and witches, rivaling royal families, gods reminiscent of the Greek Gods and their interference with human affairs, a rivaling world split with so many seams that you’re not even sure who to root for, an emperor, magical jewelry, demons and even a dose of piracy and musical competition. 

This book honestly has a little of everything — which, to be fair, it should, considering how damn long it takes to get through it’s never-ending pages. 

To make this as simplified as possible, the plot goes like this:

Khirin is sold into slavery and finds himself in the hands of a group called the Black Brotherhood. Over time, Khirin learns about this group and their intentions, learns more about himself and the Stone of Shackles (the necklace he wears around his neck), divulges his past and how he got sold into slavery in the first place-his upbringing, his musical talent, his stay at the Blue Palace, his eventual betrayal at the hands of someone he loves. 

You learn over the course of each chapter what brought Khirin to his current fate and more of what he is trying to do now,: which is to return home and save the world from the likes of the two main antagonists (although not all of them by any means), Gadrith and Darzin.

I’m not exaggerating when I say that is the most bare- bones summary I have ever written. But honestly, this book is about a hero named Khirin and his adventure to rid the world of evil as he learns about himself and his past. 

Like many, many, other books before it, this book explores what it means to be a hero, what it means to be a god, what it means to be involved with the fight of good vs. evil. This book is not special in that sense regarding these themes. 

However, there are some really cool aspects of this novel that I thoroughly enjoyed that I’ll relay now that the summary (as condensed as it is, sorry) is out of the way. 

The two things I enjoyed most about this book were the writing itself and the POV. Most high fantasy novels that I’ve attempted to read have this ridiculous notion that every character must speak in some dead medieval language rife with historical inaccuracies and banal, clipped speech. Lyons does nothing of the sort.

 Her characters are creative and crass and downright funny. The dialogue is immersive and natural and oftentimes, other than the backdrop of a dragon or lizard-people, it felt like two modern-day people were having a conversation, which I greatly appreciated. 

Lyons is also a very big fan of building up her writing and then smacking you down at the pinnacle. For example:

“Before us lay the Mother of Trees.

I didn’t understand what I was seeing. I couldn’t comprehend. It just seemed like a humongous wall at first, one that had been built up with palaces and verandas, graceful pavilions, and stained-glass windows glittering like jewels. Only when I looked up could I perceive the sweep of branches, the distance velvet of green leaves. This was a tree to hold up the whole world, the sort of place where Galava must live, if any place were consecrated to her. It seemed ageless and immortal, a tree that had always and would always exist. 

Naturally, we were setting it on fire.”

I personally found this style of writing hilarious. Lyons often built up the tension, beauty, or conflict, and then would deliver these one-liners that would leave me gasping with laughter. This creative juxtaposition was super enjoyable and one that made the book a big success for me. 

Secondly, while this book is told almost entirely (keyword almost -there are some outlier chapters) from Khirin’s perspective, it technically oscillates between present Khirin and past Khirin. 

The whole book switches from one timeline to another every other chapter, with the chapter starting with Khirin being sold into slavery being the “present” and told from Khirin’s first-person POV and then switching the next chapter to his “past” and being told from Khirin’s third-person POV. 

I loved this. I thought this was so creative, and up to this point, I have never seen this done in another book. The subtle shift from first to third person every chapter, but still from the perspective of the same character, was so interesting and complex. 

I loved that we were simultaneously getting current-day Khirin, but also Khirin from two years ago telling us the events that led up to the present. It was imaginative and intriguing, and I loved trying to fill in the holes before the book presented me with it (which even then was difficult). 

In addition, throughout the whole book are also footnotes from another crucial character that offer information, clarification, and also humor. While I’ve primarily read footnotes in academic papers to cite sources or offer commentary, these footnotes were just as fictional as the rest of the story, but offered insight outside of Khirin that was often dripping in sarcasm, irony, or humor.

 I thought it was another really creative way for Lyons to get across information without boring everyone half to death or releasing a 100- page guidebook to help you along. 

Bottom line, people,: This book isn’t for everyone. High fantasy in general is not for everyone. That’s okay. It’s not usually my taste either, at least not the adult fictional kind, but something about this book really intrigued me. 

Moreso than the actual plot, which is confusing, I enjoyed the writing, the suspense, and the act of playing detective. It’s been so long since I’ve read a book that’s made me think this hard, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. That being said, the same praise is a double-edged sword. 

If you don’t want to have to think and draw out charts and make graphs on Excel, then perhaps this is not the book for you. 

If you don’t like high fantasy or made-up worlds, or very interconnected family dynamics, then this is not the book for you. This book also contains elements that can be triggering to some, like rape, drugs, character death, violence, imprisonment, slavery, etc.

When I say this book has everything, I mean it has everything. And that can be good or bad depending on the person. For me, I liked it. However, I did get frustrated at certain points at the lack of clarification more than once, just for full disclosure. 

Recommendation: If you’ve been bereft ever since the Game of Thrones disaster-of-a-finale, then you are not alone. The Ruin of Kings has everything you’ve ever wanted in a high fantasy book: action, kings, queens, palaces, war, dragons, magic and so much more. 

This book was creative and funny and complex, and if you’re willing to sink your teeth and time into a universe that demands attention then you’ll find yourself rewarded with a brand-new world to fall in love with and characters that you can’t seem to forget.

Score: 8/10

[firstpuffin]

Some constructive suggestions for The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild 2:

Breath of the Wild 2, sequel to the latest Legend of Zelda game, is currently in progress and while I haven’t bothered to look into an estimated due date, I’m hoping it will be soon. That’s also my viewpoint on the Elder Scrolls 6; call me lazy if you will but I consider it me being patient. Anyway, I really enjoyed the game as did plenty of others (although those who didn’t like it seemed to really not like it, oddly enough) and am looking forward to this new entry.

  The thing about Breath of the Wild 2 is that it’s Breath of the Wild two, which means it should improve on the first. As fun as it was, the first game was an experiment for Nintendo: open-world, different format, different clothes- it was not a very Legend of Zelda feeling game, which was only a weakness if you insisted on viewing as being another entry in the series. Which it was.

  Is there a better way of explaining this?

  Anyhoo, it was a fun game if taken by itself, but being an experiment it had some serious flaws. I don’t really do lists but here are a few improvements that Breath of the Wild 2 could do with.

 Feel like a Legend of Zelda game:

What makes a franchise identifiable? I personally feel as though I’ve been asking this question a lot recently, what with Devil May Cry 5, Breath of the Wild- and that’s all I can think of off-hand; there have been more, I swear. The answer is made up of a few things: music, visuals and gameplay are the big three.

  In the case of Devil May Cry, there was always a certain sound that the music had; a hard rock that moved into metal without quite leaning on the screaming that so many people dislike. Then DMC.5 (the reboot) and Devil May Cry 5 came out; DMC.5 went full on into metal with Cannibal Corpse and Devil May Cry 5 had more of a traditional sound to it. The Kingdom Hearts series has always had Yoko Shimomura as the composer and no matter how different the soundtrack, it always sounded like her; even the songs that weren’t originally hers.

  One of the complaints for Breath of the Wild was how unmemorable the music was and, apart from the Hyrule castle stuff, I have to agree. Yes, the themes were there and I’m listening to the soundtrack as I write this, but none of it stands out as you play.

  And then there’s the tunic: I won’t complain about customisation (I love that junk) but the famous tunic only appearing after a difficult and very optional side quest was not a good move, and the outfits that did have that telling silhouette were unlocked by the bloody stupidly rare Amiibo. Give us the option of looking like Link early on. Please.

  And then there’s the dungeons. Breath of the Wild balanced a fine line here, with shrines and Divine Beasts instead of real dungeons. Don’t get me wrong, this was probably the first Zelda game in a long time to have real puzzles, but c’mon. What’s Zelda without dungeons?

 Care for your weapons and they’ll care for you:

A range of usable weapons is a part of the customisation that I love so much, and weapon degradation was an interesting take that I liked more than expected. Despite being done so, so wrong.

  I think that this was a big problem for fans. The weapons didn’t last long, there was no storage system for resource management and worst of all, no means of repairing them. I think everyone develops a favourite weapon as they play a game, and seeing it break after maybe ten swings is infuriating. I think that most games with this system have a repair option, so it’s kind of unbelievable that Nintendo didn’t include one also.

  Having twelve different weapons that you picked up purely because you’ve lost the good ones sucks hard and was a terrible design choice. Not being able to store the good weapons for the end game wasn’t great either.

  And while we’re on it, why was I always finding two-handed weapons when I was trying to focus on one-handed? The big weapons were too slow and you can’t use a shield with them, and considering the image of Link built up through decades of these games… well, it seems clumsy.

Of course, could I really escape talking about the Master Sword? Like, I get that what with the weapon degradation they had to do something to force you to mix things up once you got it, but that’s not really hard to do.

  Rather than having the Master Sword somehow regenerate, just have it be outclassed by other, obviously rarer, weapons; except when facing “true evil”. It already gets stronger in the presence of certain enemies so just expand on that. Simply having the range of different weapons that the game already does means that people will want to mix and match. No need to force anything more.

 Speaking of mixing and matching:

Weapons and armour are an odd thing in Breath of the Wild. Why have weapon degradation but indestructible clothes? That seems almost odd as the limited dying system where you can dye some clothes, and even then there’s a secondary colour that you have no control over.

  And I could go into the bonuses that one: means you can’t mix and match without losing said bonuses, even if the clothes you are mixing have the same bonus, and two: have some really odd choices of bonus. Why increased speed at night but never day? Or all the time for that matter?

  I’d like true colour customisation, mixing and matching and, where possible, to wear the same clothes as the NPCs. Nothing bothers me more than not being able to pick up and wear a lab coat (not that Zelda has lab coats- that’s just a peeve of mine). I could comment on how difficult it is to fully upgrade the outfits, but that’s personal; more importantly I’d rather the outfits had more of an effect. Wearing a set of plate armour should surely mean I don’t get half my health eaten by an arrow, ragdoll down a cliff with momentum that I can do nothing to stop, and die. From max health.

  I don’t want to get rid of any of this, I just want it improved on. Oh, and the jewellery was great, I just wish they acted as a set bonus.

 Suck it up and poop like a regular man:

I enjoyed the cooking in Breath of the Wild, but I’d like it expanded on as well. Have meals only edible outside of combat, and have it influence hunger and stamina for the next day. Have a thirst and sleep meter-

  Or just abandon that half-explored mechanic and focus on the elixers which I preferred (for immersion among other things) and which seems less expansive than the meals. But yeah, the cooking was fun and a reason to use it other than health and other bonuses would be great. We all know the Skyrim cheese wheel memes.

 Speaking of half-explored:

This- is not a complaint of mine, but I get it. As my friend said (although I dunno if he coined it), Breath of the Wild is trying to do what other open-world games already do better. And yeah, he’s right. There is a lot of running between everything and very little to actively explore. Sure, go look behind that hill; what’s there? A korok maybe. Possibly a chest.

  There’s certainly no side-quests, or caves to explore or small towns. Let’s look at Skyrim: there’s stuff everywhere! Caves, abandoned forts, towns you likely would never go to intentionally; there’s side-quests, and characters expanding the lore and occasionally followers who desperately need to be improved for Elder Scrolls 6.

  Breath of the Wild has huge expanses with nothing; the few NPCs may say something banal and if you are lucky there’s an occasional side-quest. There are fights but they aren’t as common as you might hope. I want more places to find those one-handed frost-blades because I love them but they are rare.

  Give me various caves that I need warm clothes for, or to take clothes off for their fire equivalent. Let me explore, let me do. That’s why I spent so much time in Hyrule castle before the climax: it was probably the best place to just explore.

  I enjoyed the game oh-so-much. But I also can’t return to it because it is, honestly, dull.

 And that’s that. Yes, there’s a hell of a lot more but I don’t write this to complain, but instead hopefully to inspire.

  Not Nintendo of course, they won’t read this. But maybe someone else will and remember it when they are creating something of their own, or maybe just expect a bit more from others in future. Because quality is an acquired taste, and if we don’t pressure others for it, we won’t get it.

[whereismywizardhat]

I know I’m not the first one to say it, but the thing that has really been driving me mad every time I devote brain space to The Rise of Skywalker is that it is a thematically dead movie, that not only cheapens its own trilogy, but the original trilogy too.  Like, every negative stereotype of the sequel trilogy is represented in force.

I hated this movie.  I truly loathed it.  I put spoilers under the cut but the basics are that I’ve been ruminating on it since I saw it opening night and it’s made me more mad the more I turn my brain back on.  Any good reviews of this movie you see are probably because this movie moves faster then the Millennium Falcon, shooting stupid, pointless sequence after stupid pointless sequence into your brain so quickly that it makes you forget that what it’s showing to you is utterly banal and gross.

I think that the Sequel Trilogy is, ultimately, a failure.  A lot of people believe Return of the Jedi is the weakest of the original trilogy, that cast fatigue and the beginnings of Lucas’s drawbacks showing as a writer hurt that film overall.  If that’s the case, then The Rise of Skywalker shatters it’s predecessors because the film’s contempt for the Last Jedi in turn tells you that none of it was worthwhile.  The Last Jedi was a flawed film, but it was trying to drag Star Wars into a place that was healthy for the franchise.  Rise of Skywalker says “No”, and tells you that the sequel trilogy was afterall nothing but digging up the corpse of the Original Trilogy and parading it in front of you one last time.

Rey being born of nobody was important both as a way of getting away from the weird eugenics thing that Star Wars courted as Anakin Skywalker went from “Powerful Jedi” to “Virgin Birth Chosen One”, and as a way of differentiating herself from her nemesis.  Kylo Ren is the heir to some great dynasty, Rey comes from nothing, it’s part of their yin/yang thing.  Making her a dynasty too destroys that, brings back the eugenics in full force, AND adds a bunch of plotholes to boot.  “They sold you to save you” is probably the worst dialogue I’ve ever heard, including Anakin’s attempts at flirting under Lucas’s pen.

Palpatine being alive is... nonsensical.  A desperate plea for forgiveness to twitter after not explaining Snoke.  Going in, I assumed it was an evil force ghost, the sequel’s equivalent of that period from Legends where Palp’s rapidly decaying clones were being burnt through and he tried to possess Leia’s baby in the womb.  Not so much.  It seems Palp just... kind of appeared through a plot hole.  Exxegol is fine as a base, I thought it was Korriban/Morriband and was disappointed that they didn’t go with the Sith planet (except they did, I guess Sith all use the same firm for designing their ).

Which goes into Kylo Ren.  Adam Driver was really just... not given anything to do (a recurring problem).  To his credit, the character is on the ball for the first half of the story.  It’s just... all chemistry with Rey is gone, a problem Finn has too.  The movie doesn’t have time to take a breath to allow the actors to emote at each other, and Kylo takes the worst of it because he’s already a terse character and the mask is back so you don’t even get his face.  The film gives one moment that works with Kylo: his vision of Han.  I’ve seen some comments on this that didn’t like it, but to me it’s quite obviously the light side equivalent of Rey’s evil Rey scene.  Rey looks forward and sees evil, Kylo looks backwards and sees a version of the first films climax with what he was supposed to do.  It’s... the one moment in the entire film where I felt like there was some actual craft in what was going on.  That’s without getting into how robbed Kylo Ren was as a villain.  The Last Jedi basically set up Kylo Ren as the ultimate big bad, having achieved everything Vader wanted.  Here, he’s back to being a lackey of a weirdo in a bathrobe, who doesn’t even have the benefit of being a force ghost who he can’t stab. 

I mentioned Finn before.  Finn has... no presence in this film.  He screams after Rey, he gets a one film love interest while the previous movie’s love interest kinda just sits there scowling in the background while a hobbit whose name I didn’t catch gets more lines, he has some force sensitivity but the kind from the original movie where you squint at the screen and learn what the audience just saw while Rey has taken levels in D&D paladin.  He has about the same amount of significance in this film as Obi-wan did in Phantom Menace, that is to say none except we know he’s an important character in a movie that came out before this one and he gets one action sequence near the end.

Poe makes out slightly better, taking up a lot of screen time.  Poe has never been a consistent character in this trilogy.  One movie he’s a compassionate cool dude, the next he’s a fuckup cowboy who doesn’t play by the rules, this one is he’s a weird stand in for Han Solo, being handed Han’s smuggler backstory and acting like Han did in ESB’s first half (without the UST with Rey).  He is just as unimportant as Finn, but ALSO has to be given a lot of screen time to actually establish some rapport with his castmates because he wasn’t previously given any time with Rey and only a small amount of time with Finn.

The supporting cast from previous movies... may as well not exist.  Other then Leia, all the original trilogy characters are just around.  Chewie gets a fake out death.  Lando shows up, gives a speech, and disappears til the end.  Wedge makes a cameo ten second after his stepson dies and has no reaction to that, and the only reason I know that is because I’m so invested in Wedge that I bought the tie-in novel because it had him in it.  In fact, most of the supporting cast from Force Awakens dies.  Snap, Hux... that’s about it.  I’m sure they would have killed off Rose if JJ thought that letting her languish in the background with no lines wasn’t a worse fate for the character.  As previously noted, one of the Hobbits from LoTR has a bigger role then she does.  The movie also introduces an entire legion of runaway Stormtroopers... for no reason other then to introduce Finn’s third love interest in three movies, Tika.  She’s fine.  I’ve heard there’s a deleted scene that says she’s Lando’s daughter kidnapped by the FO.  Glad we got the weird “Who’s Your Daddy?” thing out of the way with this side character before the fans bullied the director into retconning it to being Mace Windu’s secret love child.

Consistently, this movie feels like a fever dream fan fiction with a budget.  I consider A New Hope’s original cut to be the platonic ideal for an adventure film in terms of pacing.  Prologue, Three Acts on Three Planets, with the tension ratcheting up with each planet.  It’s follow up is a slower, more cerebral film after a bombastic opening.  Rise of Skywalker takes neither option, instead going for a hypnotic, Fincher-esque pacing with no brakes.  It doesn’t want you to realize what you’re watching is shlock.  What isn’t a calculated spit in the face of it’s predecessor, The Last Jedi, is a stab at the hypothetical second JJ Abrams Star Wars film which didn’t exist to reference back to.  Rise of Skywalker exists, and it exists to appeal to the most toxic elements of the Star Wars fanbase.  I don’t think it’s salvageable.

Somewhere, out there, there is a version of Rise of Skywalker that is thematically coherent.  Maybe there’s one that actually follows up on it’s predecessor like... every other Star Wars saga film instead of an imagined film that didn’t happen.  I dunno.  Regardless, it really makes me question whether Disney actually understands what they’re doing, or if it’s all just luck and nonsense that let them become a monopoly.

I guess it wouldn’t seem so awful if the Mandalorian wasn’t just sitting there.pursuing a part of the Star Wars universe that feels fresh and original rather then ruining better films.

[venus-says]

Symphogear AXZ Episodes 01-04

One day, I’m sure we’ll know true strength.

Starting the engines for the final part of this marathon!

Like I said yesterday, I’m super excited about these next few days because from here on now everything will be new content to me, I didn’t check anything about AXZ since 2017, neither have seen anything about XV this year, so except for their posters I’m going totally blind on this and I’m loving every second of it, I feel like a child discovering new thing about the word. I can’t wait to see what this season has in store for me.

So without any further ado, let’s get going!

Croitzal ronzell Gungnir zizzl

So Episode 01 starts very interestingly. At first, I was pretty shocked with seeing the girls going on a military mission using their gears, it seemed very odd considering how reluctant Hibiki is about using her powers on other humans, but then it comes the twist and the military are somehow using alca-noises and that’s when shit goes down and this episode already won me over.

You see, Magical Girls who fight against the evil humankind do to ourselves is my perfect dream as a pitch for a show, yes I love my regular Mahou Shoujo stuff and I don’t see any problems on it but since “dark Mahou Shoujo” is a thing this is what I wanted to the most. And I got a little bit of that in here! And I’m very happy about it.

And even without this element, this is still a pretty badass fight with everything that it has going on for it. Like Hibiki stopping the shoot of a tank, and the way she completely destroyed another tank with her hands, how cool is that???? And Tsubasa’s sword getting gigantic and slashing that big ass air fortress in a single swing like if she was cutting butter? And Chris flying on top of the helicopter like a boss??? Even Maria, Kirika and Shirabe who didn’t do that much fight were pretty cool in here as well. I dare to say, this was the best initial fight we had since when G started this trend. Like c’ mon this one was just amazing.

I also like that they let the action play out smoothly first to just give us a roundabout of everything that was going on in a flashback afterward, it makes for a more dynamic episode imo. I like the concept of the Bavarian illuminatti, having a villain or a secret organization behind events from past seasons can be very good if it's worked properly, my only problem with is that I think it would be more interesting to see this in the final season and use this to tie in any plot point that may be loose from the past seasons, but I still like the concept and I’m open-minded to what they can do in this season.

And since we’re talking about the villains we get to see some of them this episode and for what was shown I think I like them? The only thing that makes me step back from having a final decision is that it seems that one of the girls is supposed to be trans, and it seems that she is the most sexualized from the group and I don’t know if that’s the best way to portrait the character...? Now I may be wrong, maybe she’s a biological woman, but I’m pretty sure her voice actor is a man and I don’t see why they would make this decision unless they were trying to make this very clear and... ugh. I just hope they’ll handle this in a proper way, I'm very doubtful, but if they manage to make her at least decent I’ll be happy with it.

Before moving to the next episode I have three questions: 1, how much time has passed from GX to AXZ?; 2, why is LiNKER still a problem? I thought the chip Ver gave to Maria was to fix this problem; and 3, is the Magical Girl Incident the name they gave for the events from last season or is this a whole new thing that happened in between? I hope we get some answers from here on now.

So before getting into episode 2 let’s give some appreciation to the new opening and ending. While I don’t really like the song the scenes playing in the opening are just amazing, even though we get some minor spoilers from there I still quite like it, my favorite moments are Hibiki, Shirabe and Maria in the training montage, they’re just too good. About the ending, while the pictures in there are nothing that special this probably my favorite ending so far.

Now to the episode itself. To starters let me leave my ode to Maria in this episode. Even though she herself hasn’t snagged any victory in this episode she still shone like no other. Her new song was great and she was amazing in her battles, especially in the second one, she was brilliant. And also that moment of her with Elfnein was just so adorable. Best girl.

The other battle of this episode was pretty interesting as well. I believe this is the first time we see a symphogear hurting a civilian and it’s quite shocking. I don’t necessarily know if shooting the boy’s leg was really the only way to save him but regardless of it is still a pretty interest conflict to develop. Now, I do think that making the boy the brother of someone who we’ve never seen before and that has a very complicated relationship with Chris was a bit too much, but I’m interested to see what comes out from it.

The backstory of the Illuminati is quite interesting as well, but they’ve shown that to us in the most boring way ever, and also I don’t like how Saint-Germain's (that’s her name right?) speech is so out of place in that situation. Like, you’re with two comrades that are on your side and probably already know the history, making her state that in that moment is just off. Just like that weird relic, which I have many questions about but I know they’ll explain it later (at least I hope so).

Episode 3 is probably the worst one of this batch. It does some nice things like giving more information about the Illuminati, I’m particularly curious about this new autoscorer and it’s weird resemblance to Hibiki, Maria and Tsubasa escape from the noise attack is also pretty good, and in the second fight, we get probably one of the cooler attacks we’ve seen so far. But that’s pretty much it and this isn’t enough to hold this episode against the bad things it has going on.

This episode starts very off and the ending of the fight that started on the last one was very anticlimactic. Then we have the big boss of this season saying to destroy the gears when this was something GX has already done. We get a boring part that was all just exposition about the gears. And the most boring part was all that technical talk about the subspace pocket that just made me confused as hell. Also, just episode 3 and we’re already over-dependant of the ignite module as it seems... I hope this doesn’t mean another mechanic that’ll make this one (THAT IS DANGEROUS ENOUGH ALREADY) obsolete and banalize another mortal thing.

I wish they’ve done more with Chris struggle more than just mention it and not really dig on it, maybe this would balance things out a little and make this episode less frustrating. Sadly that wasn’t the case so I’ll just move on before I fall asleep and don’t finish this post in time.

I’ve said 3 was the worst, but actually, thinking about it now, episode 4 is probably the worst.

How to begin this one?

For starters, what the hell was the writing team thinking when they just explicitly told that using condoms isn’t good????????? Like, I understand y’all are trying to make people fuck so the birth-rate can rise again BUT HAVE CONSCIOUS ABOUT THIS THING YOU DUMBASSES, CONDOMS DO MORE THAN JUST PREVENT CHILDREN YOU FUCKS. Gosh, I’m so mad at this I just wanna kick some people in the balls.

Then we have that Cagliostro fight THAT SERVES NO PURPOSE AT ALL. She basically just got kicked in the ass and neither sides got anything from it. It was such a waste of time, and they even managed to revert Chris to the “let everything to me, I can handle it” bullshit that pissed me off last season, I thought we were over this by this point.

And don’t you look at that, in the second fight the Ignite Module doesn’t work anymore, and suddenly the girls are way weaker than the enemies, and now Elfneim will have to spend time trying to make something THAT IS ABLE TO STAND AGAINST NUCLEAR FUSION instead of making LiNKER so the whole team can fight this treat together.

You know, I was excited about the Faust Robe thing, I liked Carol’s last season, why wouldn’t I like it now? WELL, I’M NOT GONNA LIKE THIS SHIT NOW BECAUSE THEY’RE USING IT AS SOMETHING SO OVERPOWERED THAT A FINAL BOSS COULD BE USING IN THE CLIMAX OF THE SEASON, IS LIKE TRYING TO BEAT THE POKÉMON LEAGUE WITH A MAGIKARP THAT ONLY KNOWS SPLASH. FOR GOD’S SAKE.

At least the guy gets naked when he’s practically making a small sun on his hand, I think I’d be even more upset if they didn’t, seeing how they don’t think twice before sexualizing any of the girls. So I guess that’s a positive.

The ex-FIS team also did pretty well this time, probably the only time I wasn’t scratching my head or upset at this one.

I kinda want to continue watching so that I won’t go to sleep with such a bitter taste in my mouth, but I’m sleep depraved and I need my bed more than anything right now so I’ll be going.

I wonder if I bite my hand I’ll get some sweetness from it since humans are kinda like the tomatoes from that old woman? 🤔

[okimargarvez]

LIKE EASTER

Original title: Like Easter.

Prompt: Easter holydays, Italy, Holy Week.

Warnings: reflections on my catholic faith.

Genre: comedy, family, romantic, friendship.

Characters: Penelope Garcia, Luke Alvez, (JJ, Spencer), O.C.

Pairing: Garvez.

Note: oneshot.

Legend: 💏😘❗🎈.

Song mentioned: none.

Easter holidays and Luke have a problem to solve: his grandmother waits for him in Rome for the Holy Week and wants that he’s accompanied by a girlfriend; Penelope, on the other hand, feels cast aside as the “painted eggs” festivity.

Like Easter- Masterlist

MY OTHER GARVEZ STORIES

LIKE ESTER- Part 7

Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. The first three days of Holy Week, yet three days. Which means no need to prepare for any commitment. Which means too much time to think. And get hurt. As always. Because she can't help but think of that wretch. What will he be doing now? Who will he be with? And above all: he'll find someone who knows how to understand him better than me? But this time the situation is even worse. To all these doubts add up other problems. Why in the arms of Luke I felt like I was back baby, when everything was normal, nothing special, but mom and dad were still there, grandparents came and we played, even if it was always the same games, because daddy's dad didn't want to learn new things "At my age!", and mom's mother instead was tired just finished eating, luckily there was mom's dad betting on red and black, so that unless 0 came out, he was sure to rip something at the house...

-Penelope?- they are in front of the famous Trevi Fountain. And she can't free herself even for a moment from her thoughts and live or at least pretend to be a normal person. She can very well see every particular of it and even describe it in abundance of detail: the position of each statue, the way water flows. Even what other tourists are doing. But she does really see it? No. Luke passes his hand in front of her eyes, trying to bring her back to the real world. -Are you okay?- only the worried tone of him succeeds in this undertaking.

-I don't know. This experience is proving... overwhelming- he can't help but giggle, because Garcia is too... too much. -Let's... let's take a picture?- he proposes at the end, to get rid of this embarrassing situation. And so, after several attempts and other laughter, they finally manage to have the memory of that moment. But then he insists on wanting to take one photo with her alone. -I'm not really a goddess coming out of the water...- she tries to protest, but in the end, she gives up, after receiving a good dose of warning looks. You are beautiful, Penelope, if only you could do that thing already so abused to see through my eyes, how you are... in your stubbornness, in your irony (sometimes a bit evil), in your fragility... you are beautiful.

The "tour" goes on without any hitches, until she comes out with a strange question - Do you think Fiona and Spencer are a nice couple?- Luke stops and turns to her, to see if there are any others references. But the blonde's gaze is totally innocent.

-I don't know- then he answers sincerely - but Stephen and Prentiss... I think they could be a good match.- is a thought that has turned in his head since the first time he saw the last arrived. And Walker always showed himself to be considerate to the head of the BAU, at least as much as he does with Penelope. Here, here we go again, he had to bring everything back to her. By now she is becoming his fixed center.

-Walker? But he isn't married? And anyway, Emily is engaged...- she is trying to defend her friend or herself? But she isn't engaged, not in reality, at least. She shakes her head, but the possibility has now taken shape and life in her little head and he understands it. -I hate you, Alvez.- the named laughs out of taste.

-But apart from you and Morgan- already she looks at him wrong, but leaves him the benefit of the doubt and makes nod to continue, at his own risk -there haven't been true couples, in the Behavior Analysis Unit?- he has opened the Pandora's box, and he should be aware of it. Gossip? You really want to conquer me, Alvez. She pretends to think about it for a moment and then she explodes.

"So ... at first Spencer had a clear crush on JJ, but he did not do anything about it. Because she knew Will, her husband, who is also a "cop" ... it's not as simple as you can think, they got together after years, during the case when his father was found dead ... I mean Will's father ... - the man has already regretted, he is getting a headache -after a tornado or was it a hurricane? Boh. However, they married years and years later, when Henry was born, their firstborn and... What was I about to say? Ah yes, BAU couples. Reluctantly I have to say that another possible couple, indeed, two, was between Morgan and one who took the place of JJ when she was pregnant...- but she doesn't seem very sad to talk about it... -Damn, I hate when I can't think of things...- he can't help but giggling -... it was a strange name... Jordan!- she exclaims, satisfied with herself for having took it -Here, I didn't ask for details, but it seems that they had a relationship... not very long-lasting.- she raises her eyebrows in a clarifying way -and the other one, now that I think about it wasn't inside the Bureau. He was... let's say he was a little too interested in a victim's sister. For the rest... well, the only real story, but only after she died...- she hesitates a moment - was between Rossi and the head of the section, Erin Strauss. The irony is that they were the ones who wrote the regulation, in which it isn't recommended to "familiarize" with colleagues.- she laughs and her laughter is so contagious... time passes too quickly, when he is with her. It will also be a banality, a cliché, but if so many people in different times have said it and thought about it, there will also be a kernel of truth, a reason. -And then I have to say that I'm on that list too, but not with Morgan. I was the first scandal of the BAU, as Emily had said.- now Luke has lost any desire to joke and he looks at her seriously -I've had a pretty long and rather messy story with a colleague... another computer scientist like me. But theoretically it should not count, because he isn't directly part of our team, he deals with other things. And that's all.- he adds, but only in his head, just for now.

TAGS: @theshamelessmanatee @itsdawnashlie @talesoffairies @janiedreams88 @kiki-krakatoa @yessenia993 @teyamarra @c00lhandsluke  @gcchic @arses21434 @orangesickle @entireoranges @jarmin @kathy5654 @martinab26 @thisonekid @thenibblets @perfectly-penelope @ambrosiaswhispers @maziikeen92 @lovelukealvez @reidskitty13 @jenf42 @gracieeelizabeth27 @silviajajaja @smalliemichelle99 @charchampagne14 @ichooseno  @ megs2219 @rkt3357 @franklintrixie @thinitta @chewwy123 @skisun @maba84 @saisnarry @myhollyhanna23 @thenorthernlytes

[aliform]

review of the book of dust

Alright. 

I hated Lyra’s Oxford. 

I own it. I’ve only read it once. The story promised (Lyra begins to investigate an insidious disease that kills witches but not their daemons) was not the story delivered (a witch wants to kill Lyra in revenge). 

It was a brief little moment in time that could have stayed in Pullman’s head forever--it was needless. It didn’t add to the world. It was only a happening. I was so, so angry. 

La Belle Sauvage was a little like that. Here was this book that, for twenty years, Pullman said would be about the origins of dust, an account that I thought would have layers upon layers of story-symbolism-character, and instead we get a strong, smart boy who for half a 450-page book is canoeing infant Lyra to safety. 

It’s still Pullman. Just dipping back into this world was also a journey back into myself, to the Samantha who first read the trilogy over and over, and touching that past me was just as electrifying as reading “anbaric” again. I am still all of the ages I have ever been, and there’s nothing like a book that becomes a part of you at a set age to allow you to unravel backwards and know yourself as you once were. So to read about secret societies, the carefulness of a carved acorn as a vessel, nuns carving potatoes, was also to touch back on unpolished armor and endless snow and the evilness of a little golden monkey. 

But it wasn’t enough. I realized how quickly I was reading through it. It has no density. There’s enough detail yes, but no density. The characters are enough, the plot is enough, but in sum, a boy is enlisted as a spy by a scholar, the Evil Church infiltrates the school system, there’s a flood, and the boy takes Lyra to Asriel with enough mortal and magical danger following him to cow adults. That’s really it. For almost half a thousand pages. 

The strengths were Pullman’s storytelling and authorial elegance. It should have felt wasted that Malcolm spends so much time relaying information and then discussing it, but to me it didn’t. His parents being only half-alert to his activities should have felt like an excuse for him doing whatever he wanted, but it didn’t. Of course, this made all weaknesses that...more...alarming. 

Let’s talk about Alice. 

I loved Alice. I loved her anger. I loved her violence. I loved that when she attacked her blows had heft and weight and damage. I loved that she wanted to be wanted and loved in a very 16 year-old way, knowing the adult men around her saw her as a sex object, and she knew it meant nothing beyond that, because she knows she’s not pretty. 

Then there’s what Pullman does with her. 

First, she’s groped. I waited for this to have a point. It didn’t have a point. 

Then she’s almost seduced by Bonneville, who tells her what her immature and lonely teenage heart wants to hear--she’s pretty, she’s sexually attractive, she’s enough herself. As someone who, before my bf happened, angsted endlessly over whether I was prettysmartfun enough as me instead of being the closest prettysmartfun female around for a dude to be like “well, she’s enough, I guess”, I get it! I’ve been there!  

Then she’s raped. 

Her rape doesn’t have a point. It’s rape for the sake of a teenage girl being an object to show how evil the Main Bad Guy is and to, cliche of cliches, force the 11 year-old hero to make harsh and soul-stretching (literally) sacrifices. 

I don’t know if this ruined the book for me or not, which shows the strength of Pullman’s....well, everything--his power as a writer, my loyalty to him etc., but it damaged the book. It damaged Lyra for me, and Mrs. Coulter, and Serafina, and every other girl and woman who Pullman formed and then left alone, because he made them, and then was still capable of this.  

I don’t know if Alice was a mistake or not. 

Her relationship with Malcolm is odd. He’s 11, she’s 16, they start hating each other, and up until they fled in the canoe I was worried Pullman would be obvious and make her a Betrayer. Malcolm and Alice become friends because they have to be in a way that echoed Will and Lyra a little too closely. By the time Malcolm is checking her out physically (after her rape, wtf) and accepting his crush on her, I was irritated. 

It would have made more sense if Alice was 13 or 14, except then she couldn’t have been a sex object capable of being raped (too young! haha! 16 isn’t, right?), and her forced maternal ties to Lyra would have been more questionable if she and Malcolm had been around the same age--Pullman uses her as a nanny who refuses to let our Brave Hero change her, even after accusing him of dragging her alone to take care of the baby. But her daemon hasn’t settled yet, so what is the point? What is Alice? Just a tool? Malcolm tells her what to do (and his bossiness was a little irritating when he was explaining...dare I even say mansplaining?? how Dr. Relf should fix her window) and she goes along even as she sulks and whines. During half the book I thought she was 13 and not 16 (up until the rape, which I didn’t quite believe till I realized her real age). I still don’t understand why she never, ever helped steer the canoe. She’s five years older, and a six month-old sleeps a lot. Every time I read that Malcolm’s arms were trembling with exhaustion I wanted to throw up my hands--there’s a strong teenager! In the same canoe as you! Let her do it!

The rape was a disgrace, and it threw into question most of the book for me--it was so off-kilter and banal. This is the man who gave me cloud pine, and now he is giving me glimpses of a bloody thigh of an attacked girl. 

Reading His Dark Materials was to wrap the strength of Will and Lyra around myself, to think that I would be as brave and strong and heroic as they were in the same situation. Reading La Belle Sauvage reminded me that as a woman I’m vulnerable. I didn’t want that. Ever. 

Anyway. 

What I loved 

Farder Coram’s battle with Bonneville. The intrigue, the evilness, the pacing--it was all perfect. 

Lord Asriel. 30 year-old Samantha has ummmmm an interest in him that 13 year-old Samantha didn’t, let’s ignore that he murdered Roger. 

Baby daemons. Pan as a chick! A kitten! A tiger cub! 

The hyena daemon.

The creepy group-of-butterflies daemon. 

Ayyyy Hannah has a fake leg like meeeee. 

What was meh  

All of the magical elements that Pullman introduced in this volume didn’t fit logically enough into his world. Fairy woman was awkward and her defeat simplistic. The fairy island, the dead people garden party, the water spirit at the gate, all of them felt disparate and childish when taken together--I only liked the dead people garden party for having some resemblance to the land of the dead and having a defined magical entrance and exit.  

Too many moments of just-at-the-point-of-exhaustion they get a rest!

Pullman is hardcore anti-religion and the use of children with their little murder squads was too heavy-handed. A little laughable, honestly. 

I still don’t get how the sexual predator thing was supposed to play out. Again, I thought this was going to be a heavy-handed anti-Catholic thing where some church official was going to seduce Malcolm. Was this man supposed to be Bonneville? Was his rape of Alice what was intended? I don’t understand if this was a plot hole or a really awful explanation of Bonneville. 

I will wish forever that instead of encountering dead garden party and evil fairy, Malcolm and Alice had stumbled upon a camp of witches and been cared for by them.  

Also, Pullman switched around Asriel and Marisa’s hair colors? What? 

[curlicuecal]

Public Shame

As I mentioned, I recently read Jon Ronson’s book “So You’ve Been Publicly Shamed” and thought it made some very compelling points on the renaissance of public shaming in the age of social media.  I was going to post my highlights, but then I realized I’d highlighted about 30% of the book, so instead:

I wrote down what I thought were some of the key, take-home points the book made, and pulled quotes from the book in no particular order for each of them.  It’s  still a wall of text, but feel free to wade in if you’re interested.

Again, I strongly recommend giving this book a read.

Public shaming is often motivated by a belief that one is Doing Good

Public shaming is about social conformity

Public shaming can make us LESS aware of viewpoints different that our own 

Shame works because we are all afraid

Shaming others can bring out our own brutality

Shame leads to dehumanization and “death of the soul”

Shame leads to violence

Technology has strange warping effects on how public shaming affects us (and social media shaming can have longer impacts than we expect)

There is evidence that “De-shaming” may have more positive outcomes than shaming

quotes from the book supporting each point under the cut. (bolding mine, quotes by paragraph and in no particular order)

Public shaming is often motivated by a belief that one is Doing Good

“Social media gives a voice to voiceless people—its egalitarianism is its greatest quality. But I was struck by a report Anna Funder discovered that had been written by a Stasi psychologist tasked with trying to understand why they were attracting so many willing informants. His conclusion: “It was an impulse to make sure your neighbor was doing the right thing.”

“It seemed to me that all the people involved in the Hank and Adria story thought they were doing something good. But they only revealed that our imagination is so limited, our arsenal of potential responses so narrow, that the only thing anyone can think to do with an inappropriate shamer like Adria is to punish her with a shaming. All of the shamers had themselves come from a place of shame, and it really felt parochial and self-defeating to instinctively slap shame onto shame like a clumsy builder covering cracks.”

“She was also someone whose shaming frenzy was motivated by the desire to do good. She told me about the time 4chan tracked down a boy who had been posting videos of himself on YouTube physically abusing his cat “and daring people to stop him.” 4chan users found him “and let the entire town know he was a sociopath. Ha ha! And the cat was taken away from him and adopted.” (Of course, the boy might have been a sociopath. But Mercedes and the other 4chan people had no evidence of that—no idea what may or may not have been happening in his home life to turn him that way.) I asked Mercedes what sorts of people gathered on 4chan. “A lot of them are bored, understimulated, overpersecuted, powerless kids,” she replied. “They know they can’t be anything they want. So they went to the Internet. On the Internet we have power in situations where we would otherwise be powerless.”

[On the fallacy of the Stanford Prison Experiment:] There was a smoking gun, but it was something I hadn’t noticed. “The really interesting line,” Haslam wrote, “is I thought I was doing something good at the time. The phrase doing something good is quite critical.” — Doing something good. This was the opposite of LeBon’s and Zimbardo’s conclusions. An evil environment hadn’t turned Dave evil. Those hundred thousand people who piled on Justine Sacco hadn’t been infected with evil. “The irony of those people who use contagion as an explanation,” Steve Reicher e-mailed, “is that they saw the TV pictures of the London riots but they didn’t go out and riot themselves. It is never true that everyone helplessly joins in with others in a crowd. The riot police don’t join in with a rioting crowd. Contagion, it appears, is a problem for others.”

Public shaming is about social conformity

“We are defining the boundaries of normality by tearing apart the people outside it.”

“ The sad thing was that Lindsey had incurred the Internet’s wrath because she was impudent and playful and foolhardy and outspoken. And now here she was, working with Farukh to reduce herself to safe banalities—to cats and ice cream and Top 40 chart music. We were creating a world where the smartest way to survive is to be bland.”

““But there is a chilling of behavior that goes along with a virtual lynching. There is a life modification.” “I know,” I said. “For a year Lindsey Stone had felt too plagued to even go to karaoke.” And karaoke is something you do alone in a room with your friends. “And that’s not an unusual reaction,” Michael said. “People change their phone numbers. They don’t leave the house. They go into therapy. They have signs of PTSD. It’s like the Stasi. We’re creating a culture where people feel constantly surveilled, where people are afraid to be themselves.” […] “This is more frightening than the NSA,” said Michael. “The NSA is looking for terrorists. They’re not getting psychosexual pleasure out of their schadenfreude about you.”

“But the Stasi didn’t only inflict physical horror. Their main endeavor was to create the most elaborate surveillance network in world history. It didn’t seem unreasonable to scrutinize this aspect of them in the hope it might teach us something about our own social media surveillance network.” 

Public shaming can make us LESS aware of viewpoints different that our own

“The tech-utopians like the people in Wired present this as a new kind of democracy,” Adam’s e-mail continued. “It isn’t. It’s the opposite. It locks people off in the world they started with and prevents them from finding out anything different. They got trapped in the system of feedback reinforcement. The idea that there is another world of other people who have other ideas is marginalized in our lives.”

“ We express our opinion that Justine Sacco is a monster. We are instantly congratulated for this—for basically being Rosa Parks. We make the on-the-spot decision to carry on believing it.”

Shame works because we are all afraid

“I’ve worked on dark stories before—stories about innocent people losing their lives to the FBI, about banks hounding debtors until they commit suicide—but although I felt sorry for those people, I hadn’t felt the dread snake its way into me in the way these shaming stories had. I’d leave Jonah and Michael and Justine feeling nervous and depressed.”

“ Psychologists try to remind anxiety sufferers that “what if” worries are irrational ones. If you find yourself thinking, What if I just came across as racist? the “what if” is evidence that nothing bad actually happened. It’s just thoughts swirling frantically around. But Lindsey’s “what if” worry—“What if my new company googles me?”—was extremely plausible.

“ “Growing up I was ashamed of everything… and at a certain point I realized that if I was open with the world about the things that embarrassed me they no longer held any weight! I felt set free!” She added that she always derives her porn scenarios from this formula. She imagines circumstances that would mortify her, “like being bound naked on a street with everybody looking at you,” and enacts them with like-minded porn actors, robbing them of their horror. “

“Years ago I might have thought it crazy that Donna had become so upset over such an innocuous article. But now I understood. I think we all care deeply about things that seem totally inconsequential to other people. We all carry around with us the flotsam and jetsam of perceived humiliations that actually mean nothing. We are a mass of vulnerabilities, and who knows what will trigger them? And so I sympathized with Donna. It seemed sad—given how Max and Andrew owed her so much—that as soon as she saw herself from the outside she felt ashamed, like the shame had snaked its way into her and there was no escaping.”

“A lot of people move around in life chronically ashamed of how they look, or how they feel, or what they said, or what they did. It’s like a permanent adolescent concern. Adolescence is when you’re permanently concerned about what other people think of you.” It was a few months earlier, and Brad Blanton and I were talking on Skype. He was telling me about how, as a psychotherapist, he had come to understand how so many of us “live our lives constantly in fear of being exposed or being judged as immoral or not good enough.”

“All of the shamers had themselves come from a place of shame, and it really felt parochial and self-defeating to instinctively slap shame onto shame like a clumsy builder covering cracks. “

Shaming others can bring out our own brutality

“ The common assumption is that public punishments died out in the new great metropolises because they’d been judged useless. Everyone was too busy being industrious to bother to trail some transgressor through the city crowds like some volunteer scarlet letter. But according to the documents I found, that wasn’t it at all. They didn’t fizzle out because they were ineffective. They were stopped because they were far too brutal. “

“I wondered: When shaming takes on a disproportionate significance within an august institution, when it entrenches itself over generations, what are the consequences? What does it do to the participants?”

“ I assumed that by lunchtime John would move away from shaming familiarization to other types of courtroom familiarization. But, really, that never happened. It turned out that shaming was such an integral part of the judicial process that the day was pretty much all about it. “

“Matthew’s role-play lasted fifteen minutes. His face turned as crimson as a rusted cargo container as he mumbled about corroded coils. His mouth was dry, his voice trembling. He was a wreck. He’s weak, I felt myself think. He’s just so weak. Then I caught myself. Judging someone on how flustered he behaves in the face of a shaming is a truly strange and arbitrary way of forming an opinion on him.”

“ it’s odd that so many of us see shaming how free-market libertarians see capitalism, as a beautiful beast that must be allowed to run free. “

“ But The Crowd was more than a polemic. Like Jonah Lehrer, LeBon knew that a popular-science book needed a self-improvement message to become successful. And LeBon had two. His first was that we really didn’t need to worry ourselves about whether mass revolutionary movements like communism and feminism had a moral reason for existing. They didn’t. They were just madness. So it was fine for us to stop worrying about that.”

“ ” Was he right? It felt like a question that really needed answering because it didn’t seem to be crossing any of our minds to wonder whether the person we had just shamed was okay or in ruins. I suppose that when shamings are delivered like remotely administered drone strikes nobody needs to think about how ferocious our collective power might be. The snowflake never needs to feel responsible for the avalanche. “

“Judge Ted Poe’s critics—like the civil rights group the ACLU—argued to him the dangers of these ostentatious punishments, especially those that were carried out in public. They said it was no coincidence that public shaming had enjoyed such a renaissance in Mao’s China and Hitler’s Germany and the Ku Klux Klan’s America—it destroys souls, brutalizing everyone, the onlookers included, dehumanizing them as much as the person being shamed.“

“It feels like they want an apology, but it’s a lie. […] It’s a lie because they don’t want an apology,” he said. “An apology is supposed to be a communion—a coming together. For someone to make an apology, someone has to be listening. They listen and you speak and there’s an exchange. That’s why we have a thing about accepting apologies. There’s a power exchange that happens. But they don’t want an apology. […] What they want is my destruction. What they want is for me to die. They will never say this because it’s too histrionic. But they never want to hear from me again for the rest of my life, and while they’re never hearing from me, they have the right to use me as a cultural reference point whenever it services their ends. That’s how it would work out best for them. They would like me to never speak again. […] I’d never had the opportunity to be the object of hate before. The hard part isn’t the hate. It’s the object.”

“ But I didn’t think any of those things were true. If punching Justine Sacco was ever punching up—and it didn’t seem so to me given that she was an unknown PR woman with 170 Twitter followers—the punching only intensified as she plummeted to the ground. Punching Jonah Lehrer wasn’t punching up either—not when he was begging for forgiveness in front of that giant-screen Twitter feed. “

This was especially true, he told me, because the onlookers had been so nice. He’d feared abuse and ridicule. But no. “Ninety percent of the responses on the street were ‘God bless you’ and ‘Things will be okay,’” he said. Their kindness meant everything, he said. It made it all right. It set him on his path to salvation. “Social media shamings are worse than your shamings,” I suddenly said to Ted Poe. He looked taken aback. “They are worse,” he replied. “They’re anonymous.” “Or even if they’re not anonymous, it’s such a pile-on they may as well be,” I said. “They’re brutal,” he said. I suddenly became aware that throughout our conversation I’d been using the word they. And each time I did, it felt like I was being spineless. The fact was, they weren’t brutal. We were brutal.

“The justice system in the West has a lot of problems,” Poe said, “but at least there are rules. You have basic rights as the accused. You have your day in court. You don’t have any rights when you’re accused on the Internet. And the consequences are worse. It’s worldwide forever.”

“You turn around and you suddenly realize you’re the head of a pitchfork mob,” Michael said. “And it’s ‘What are these people fucking doing here? Why are they acting like heathens? I don’t want to be associated with this at all. I want to get out of here.’” “It was horrible,” I said. “All this time I’d been thinking we were in the middle of some kind of idealistic reimagining of the justice system. But those people were so cold.” The response to Jonah’s apology had been brutal and confusing to me. It felt as if the people on Twitter had been invited to be characters in a courtroom drama, and had been allowed to choose their roles, and had all gone for the part of the hanging judge. Or it was even worse than that. They all had gone for the part of the people in the lithographs being ribald at whippings. “I’m watching people stabbing and stabbing and stabbing Jonah,” Michael said, “and I’m, ‘HE’S DEAD.’”

Shame leads to dehumanization and “death of the soul”

“People really were very keen to imagine Jonah as shameless, as lacking in that quality, like he was something not quite human that had adopted human form. I suppose it’s no surprise that we feel the need to dehumanize the people we hurt—before, during, or after the hurting occurs. But it always comes as a surprise. In psychology it’s known as cognitive dissonance. It’s the idea that it feels stressful and painful for us to hold two contradictory ideas at the same time (like the idea that we’re kind people and the idea that we’ve just destroyed someone). And so to ease the pain we create illusory ways to justify our contradictory behavior.”

“Stop and Frisk: The Human Impact.” Several interviewees said that being stopped and frisked makes you “feel degraded and humiliated.” One went on to say: “When they stop you in the street, and then everybody’s looking … it does degrade you. And then people get the wrong perception of you. That kind of colors people’s thoughts toward you, [people] might start thinking that you’re into some illegal activity, when you’re not. Just because the police [are] just stopping you for—just randomly. That’s humiliating [on] its own.” … [Another said,] “It made me feel violated, humiliated, harassed, shameful, and of course very scared.”

“A shaming can be like a distorting mirror at a funfair, taking human nature and making it look monstrous. “

“ I suddenly remembered how weirdly tarnished I felt when the spambot men created their fake Jon Ronson, getting my character traits all wrong, turning me into some horrific, garrulous foodie, and strangers believed it was me, and there was nothing I could do. “

“I’d been taught that psychopaths had just been born that way,” he said, “and that they’d only want to manipulate you so you’d get them a reduced sentence.” He pictured them like they were another species. […] “The men would all say that they had died,” Gilligan said. “These were the most incorrigibly violent characters. They would all say that they themselves had died before they started killing other people. What they meant was that their personalities had died. They felt dead inside. They had no capacity for feelings. No emotional feelings. Or even physical feelings. So some would cut themselves. Or they would mutilate themselves in the most horrible ways. Not because they felt guilty—this wasn’t a penance for their sins—but because they wanted to see if they had feelings. They found their inner numbness more tormenting than even the physical pain would be.” 

“These men’s souls did not just die. They have dead souls because their souls were murdered. How did it happen? How were they murdered?”

“The way we construct consciousness is to tell the story of ourselves to ourselves, the story of who we believe we are. I feel that a really public shaming or humiliation is a conflict between the person trying to write his own narrative and society trying to write a different narrative for the person. One story tries to overwrite the other. And so to survive you have to own your story. Or”—Mike looked at me—“you write a third story. You react to the narrative that’s been forced upon you.” He paused. “You have to find a way to disrespect the other narrative,” he said. “If you believe it, it will crush you.”

“I’d been thinking about a message that had appeared on the giant Twitter feed behind Jonah’s head: “He is tainted as a writer forever.” And a tweet directed at Justine Sacco: “Your tweet lives on forever.” The word forever had been coming up a lot during my two years among the publicly shamed. Jonah and Justine and people like them were being told, “No. There is no door. There is no way back in. We don’t offer any forgiveness.” But we know that people are complicated and have a mixture of flaws and talents and sins. So why do we pretend that we don’t? Amid all the agony, Jim McGreevey was trying an extraordinary thing.

“We kept walking—past inmates just sitting there, looking at walls. “Normal prison is punishment in the worst sense,” Jim told me. “It’s like a soul-bleeding. Day in, day out, people find themselves doing virtually nothing in a very negative environment.” I thought of Lindsey Stone, just sitting at her kitchen table for almost a year, staring at the online shamings of people just like her. “People move away from themselves,” Jim said. “Inmates tell me time and again that they feel themselves shutting down, building a wall.”

“I remembered a moment from Jonah Lehrer’s annihilation. It was when he was standing in front of that giant-screen Twitter feed trying to apologize. Jonah is the sort of person who finds displays of emotion extremely embarrassing, and he then looked deeply uncomfortable. “I hope that when I tell my young daughter the same story I’ve just told you,” he was saying, “I will be a better person …” “He is tainted as a writer forever,” replied the tweets. “He has not proven that he is capable of feeling shame.” “Jonah Lehrer is a friggin’ sociopath.” — Later, when Jonah and I talked about that moment, he told me he had to “turn off some emotional switch in me. I think I had to shut down.”

“It’s shameful to have to admit you feel ashamed. By the way, we’re saying the word feeling. The feeling of shame. I think feeling is the wrong word.” It may be somewhat paradoxical to refer to shame as a “feeling,” for while shame is initially painful, constant shaming leads to a deadening of feeling. Shame, like cold, is, in essence, the absence of warmth. And when it reaches overwhelming intensity, shame is experienced, like cold, as a feeling of numbness and deadness. [In Dante’s Inferno] the lowest circle of hell was a region not of flames, but of ice—absolute coldness.”

“Given all of this, you’d think LeBon’s work might have at some point stopped being influential. But it never did. I suppose one reason for his enduring success is that we tend to love nothing more than to declare other people insane.”

Shame leads to violence

[on an interview of random americans, finding that the majority of people have at some point entertained vengeance fantasies.] “Almost none of the murderous fantasies were dreamed up in response to actual danger—stalker ex-boyfriends, etc. They were all about the horror of humiliation. Brad Blanton was right. Shame internalized can lead to agony. It can lead to Jonah Lehrer. Whereas shame let out can lead to freedom, or at least to a funny story, which is a sort of freedom too.”

“Universal among the violent criminals was the fact that they were keeping a secret,” Gilligan wrote. “A central secret. And that secret was that they felt ashamed—deeply ashamed, chronically ashamed, acutely ashamed.” It was shame, every time. “I have yet to see a serious act of violence that was not provoked by the experience of feeling shamed or humiliated, disrespected and ridiculed.” […] For each of them the shaming “occurred on a scale so extreme, so bizarre, and so frequent that one cannot fail to see that the men who occupy the extreme end of the continuum of violent behavior in adulthood occupied an equally extreme end of the continuum of violent child abuse earlier in life.” So they grew up and—“all violence being a person’s attempt to replace shame with self-esteem”—they murdered people.

“And after they were jailed, things only got worse. At Walpole—Massachusetts’s most riot-prone prison during the 1970s—officers intentionally flooded the cells and put insects in the prisoners’ food. They forced inmates to lie facedown before they were allowed meals. Sometimes officers would tell prisoners they had a visitor. Prisoners almost never had visitors, so this was exciting to hear. Then the officer would say that the prisoner didn’t really have a visitor and that he was just kidding. And so on. “They thought these things would be how to get them to obey,” Gilligan told me. “But it did the exact opposite. It stimulated violence.”

Technology has strange warping effects on how public shaming affects us (and social media shaming can have larger and longer impacts than we expect)

“According to Google’s own research into our “eye movements,” 53 percent of us don’t go beyond the first two search results, and 89 percent don’t look down past the first page. “What the first page looks like,” Michael’s strategist, Jered Higgins, told me during my tour of their offices, “determines what people think of you.” As a writer and journalist—as well as a father and human being—this struck me as a really horrifying way of knowing the world.”

“ What had begun as a schadenfreude-motivated Phineas Upham Google alert had led Graeme into the mysterious world of “black-ops reputation management.” The purpose of the fake sites was obvious—to push reports about the tax-evasion charges so far down the search results that they’d effectively vanish. Nobody had heard of the European Court of Justice’s “Right to Be Forgotten” ruling at that point—it was still two years from existing—but somebody was evidently fashioning some clumsy homemade U.S.-based version for Phineas Upham. “

“ I told my dining companion, Michael Fertik, that he was the only person from the mysterious reputation-management world who had returned my e-mail. “That’s because this is a really easy sector in which to be an unappealing, scurrilous operation,” he said. “Scurrilous in what way?” “A couple of them are really nasty fucking people,” Michael said. “There’s a guy who has some traction in our space, who runs a company, he’s a convicted rapist. He’s a felony rapist. He went to jail for four years for raping a woman. He started a company to basically obscure that fact about himself, I think.” Michael told me the name of the man’s company. “We’ve built a data file on him,” he said. “

“Man, remember Justine Sacco? #HasJustineLandedYet. God that was awesome. MILLIONS of people waiting for her to land.”

“ And so the worst thing, Justine said, the thing that made her feel most helpless, was her lack of control over the Google search results. They were just there, eternal, crushing. “It’s going to take a very long time for those Google search results to change for me,” she said.

“and, in response to a small number of posters suggesting that maybe a person’s future shouldn’t be ruined because of a jokey photograph, “HER FUTURE ISN’T RUINED! Stop trying to make her into a martyr. In 6 months no one except those that actually know her will remember this.” [did not turn out to be true.]

There is evidence that “De-shaming” may have more positive outcomes than shaming

“Knee-jerk shaming is knee-jerk shaming and I wondered what would happen if we made a point of eschewing the shaming completely—if we refused to shame anyone. Could there be a corner of the justice system trying out an idea like that?”

“If shaming worked, if prison worked, then it would work,” Jim said to me. “But it doesn’t work.” He paused. “Look, some people need to go to prison forever. Some people are incapable … but most people …” “It’s disorienting,” I said, “that the line between hell and redemption in the U.S. justice system is so fine.”

“This has been a book about people who really didn’t do very much wrong. Justine and Lindsey, certainly, were destroyed for nothing more than telling bad jokes. And while we were busy steadfastly refusing them forgiveness, Jim was quietly arranging the salvation of someone who had committed a far more serious offense. It struck me that if deshaming would work for a maelstrom like Raquel, if it would restore someone like her to health, then we need to think twice about raining down vengeance and anger as our default position.”

“Throughout the 1980s, Gilligan ran experimental therapeutic communities inside Massachusetts’s prisons. They weren’t especially radical. They were just about “treating the prisoners with respect,” Gilligan told me, “giving people a chance to express their grievances and hopes and wishes and fears.” The point was to create an ambience that eradicated shame entirely. “We had one psychiatrist who referred to the inmates as scum. I told him I never wanted to see his face again. It was not only antitherapeutic for the patients, it was dangerous for us.” At first, the prison officers had been suspicious, “but eventually some of them began to envy the prisoners,” Gilligan said. “Many of them also needed some psychiatric help. These were poorly paid guys, poorly educated. We arranged to get some of them into psychiatric treatment. So they became less insulting and domineering. And violence dropped astoundingly.”   […] “[The new governor] said, ‘We have to stop this idea of giving free college education to inmates,’” Gilligan told me, “‘otherwise people who are too poor to go to college are going to start committing crimes so they can get sent to prison for a free education.’” And so that was the end of the education program.  [..]  Only a handful of therapeutic communities inspired by his Massachusetts ones exist in American prisons today.

[zippdementia]

Part 81 Alignment May Vary: Mirrors of the Abyss (Pissed Off Librarian)

The next part of our adventure is taken from Mirrors of the Abyss, by Ryan Durney. I highly recommend it as a rare high level adventure. Very much worth a purchase. I will be covering huge aspects of it and it will not be spoiler-free, though it is a random enough adventure that there is PLENTY we won’t see on this playthrough and some additional material for our own story. Art is taken directly from the module and is illustrated by Ryan Durney. The purpose in using it here is to show off how beautiful and professional the product is, not to claim such images as our own. I sincerely hope it inspires you to purchase the product!

Chamber 12: Her Library

The third chamber the players end up in is a library. It has multiple challenges but only one is absolutely mandatory and that is finding the “key” to escaping the room. Is it buried in the stacks of books here? Is it hidden among the artifacts laid out on the ground floor? Or is it forgotten on the third floor, where crates of ancient relics and do-nothing items are carelessly piled up on top of each other?

I’m not going to say, because my players haven’t found the way out yet in our game.

An optional challenge here awaits them at the librarian’s desk, where an attractive woman is reading and writing something in a huge journal on the desk in front of her. While Carrick, Remus, and Milosh go to check out a huge painting of the entrance to the Tomb of Horrors that is on display in the south of the room, Daymos and Imoaza go to greet the librarian.

Daymos approached the woman and gave her a wide smile. “Hello! Perhaps you could tell us where we are?”

The woman looked up and didn’t smile back. “Name and layer of the Abyss?”

“Uuuh, you mean where we are now? Vulgarea, the---”

“No, of course not where we are now. I need to know where you come from. Which layer? What is your lordly name?”

Daymos briefly looked over his shoulder at Imoaza for assistance but she just stared straight ahead. He swallowed and turned back.

“I come from between layers, from the realm of Ia’fret. I am the new lord of his domain.” It wasn’t too much of a lie, Daymos did consider himself the master of that realm. But would this being think that marked him as a proven Demon Lord?

The dice rolled across the table and... no, even with Daymos having advantage on the roll, she did not think that this qualified him as a Demon Lord. The woman rose up from the desk, rose up to seven or eight feet tall, and now they could see that her lower body merged into that of a massive serpent.

“She’s a Marilith!” Daymos hissed to Imoaza, “and a powerful one at that! Possibly a general of the Abyss, maybe one of Shaktari’s from the 531st layer.”

“That’s nice,” Imoaza said. “Do you know how to defeat her? The Weave is strong about her. She’ll be immune to our elemental magic!”

“Then it’s a good thing I don’t rely on such childish magic,” Daymos said. “Just don’t stay close, those blades will tear you apart!”

The Mar1ilith stretched out six arms, four of which she had tucked behind her back before. They grabbed six blades off the wall behind her and her tail flicked backwards to grab a seventh. Then she smiled at last and said, “Let’s see if I still know how to use these.” She whistled and suddenly a swarm of three dozen quasits, impish looking creatures wearing maid outfits and wielding tiny brooms, appeared on the stairs and began chittering excitedly.

“It’s been a while since we’ve had some fun,” the Marilith said. “Let’s smash open those artifacts and show them their power, dies.”

This combat is a cool one, and a deadly one. The Quasits are interested in moving around the room and picking up players, then chucking them into different artifacts, most of which have some negative effect associated with touching it. They also can turn invisible as a free action when they move, basically guaranteeing them advantage on their first hit each turn. They auto-grapple if they hit, which then lets them use their second attack to hurl a player at an artifact.

The Marilith is a powerhouse at close range, able to pull off 4 attacks each turn, plus a 5th with her tail as a reaction that also throws players around like the Quasits. She has advantage on saving against magical effects and has an automatic and FREE chance to block all melee strikes aimed at her, even when blinded or restrained! She is immune to basic elemental damage (fire, ice, lightning) and non-magical damage. Her damage isn’t great (2d8 for each successful strike, no bonus) but she hits pretty easily and each time she hits a random effect is triggered, indicating which of her seven legendary swords she is striking with. None of these are good: probably the most banal heal her for a little damage or force the target to try and block the next attack aimed at her. One steals items. The nastiest add a ton of damage, all but guarantee a critical strike, throw the players around, or let the sword rise up and attack on its own next turn, adding a FIFTH attack to her already deadly arsenal. Oh, and she can move 45 feet on her turn AND teleport up to 100 feet as a free action. So you can’t escape her.

So this could be a TPK, if the players aren’t prepared. Or it could be a very fun, tactical fight, if they are.

In one of my recent Adventurous Appetizer episodes I talked about how a good fight is one in which the players understand their options. I like to take my own advice (that way, I know at least SOMEONE does) and I recognize that this fight, what with all the crazy abilities and advantages the Marilith and Quasits have, could be a very frustrating one if the players aren’t aware of their options or the situation. So I give them some information. First of all, I warn them that this creature is melee proficient, just driving home something that would be obvious to their characters but maybe not to us playing with figurines on Roll20. Don’t rush this creature, or do so at your own peril!

Then I turn to all of the players and ask them if they have any abilities they want to use to try and determine good tactics here or get more information. Carrick and Milosh play their characters well, saying they wouldn’t know anything here. I give them two fate points, bonus points they can apply to their rolls to make them better, for roleplaying appropriately. Daymos has demon lore from being a hunter of demons these last few decades and so I let him roll to determine that the Marilith is a high ranking one and is probably going to have a lot of abilities normal monsters would not (this sets them up not to be taken off guard when she starts blocking all over the place). Lastly, I let Imoaza roll arcana to see if she can detect the Weave around the Marilith, which she succeeds at, and thus gets to tell the party the Marilith is immune to basic elemental damage, potentially saving them a wasted turn trying to attack her that way.

Not only does this get everyone prepped for the fight, but it also lets them play their characters and use skills that further develop their personalities and strengths.

And with that, we leap into the fight!

Fighting the Marilith General

I think this fight goes really well. The Marilith and her Quasits roll really high on Initiative, but the Marilith decides to spend the first turn trying to charm Imoaza with a high level charm spell instead of attacking. She wants Imoaza to tell her her name, which if successful will lead to something special I’ve added to this fight. I’ve taken the Marilith character and, based on her described bookishness, decided to add in some naming magic, in particular one spell that will send Imoaza, er, somewhere else for the length of this battle, if only she can get her true name. As a bonus, the spell is high enough level she can try to charm Daymos as well, who is next to Imoaza. But both attempts fail. The Marilith could pull away at this point, but she wants the players to close in and attack her at melee range, so she waits here to see what they will do, confident in her high movement abilities to chase them down if they run. The players play this smart, though, and back away, using their long range spells and actually achieving quite a bit of damage. And so on the second round, the Marilith unleashes her full force.

There’s some rounds of trading blows that I won’t go into details about, but I will cover the basics. The Marilith and the Quasits don’t get great rolls, so their effectiveness is limited. The Quasits are at least able to focus on Imoaza and drive her away from participating much in the combat, ending up tossing her in a artifact of acid (taken from the Temple of Elemental Evil). The Marilith ends up rolling the same sword over and over and it is one of the less deadly ones: the one that forces players to try and block attacks for her. Because my players are pretty fast and the save is a dexterity save, they end up being able to dodge out of the way after being compelled to take hits for her. The one time it would be very useful is when Carrick fails a roll and is about to block a magical strike from Imoaza using Crown of Stars that would be 5d12 damage, but an inspiration reroll and a fate point saves him and deals some good damage to the Marilith (I’m admittedly a little sad about this, I love when plans turn to shenanigans!)

The big turning point is when Daymos taps into some of his most powerful magic and whips out Prismatic Ray. It’s a gamble: some of the rays do damage the Marilith is immune to. But it pays off when he rolls the blindness function, which severely limits the Marilith’s ability to target appropriately and hit a target for a turn. She calls out to her Quasits to point her to a target, but they can’t spot Daymos, so they aim her at Milosh instead. Because of her disadvantage, she ends up missing almost all of her attacks against him and she can’t use teleport because she can’t see! 

A lot of stuff happens when she recovers from this. She targets Milosh and Carrick, while her Quasits go to distract Daymos. And in targeting Milosh she finally lands a good strike with her tail, cutting him and throwing him into the painting of the Tomb of Horrors, which sucks him inside...

Milosh finds himself on the top of a hill which is turning into an avalanche of stone and rubble, bearing him down towards a mouth constructed roughly of black stone in the ground beneath him, the smiling visage that marks the entrance to the Tomb of Horrors. The mouth grins then horrifically begins to move, opening to reveal a pit in the earth made of pure darkness. Milosh tumbles towards this hole of annihilation...

Meanwhile, with one party member out of the way, the Marilith prepares to unleash all of her strikes on Carrick and hopefully remove him from combat. But rather than flee her, Carrick does the brave thing and leaps directly at her, amazingly dodging her counterstrikes, getting underneath her insane defenses, and going to town on her, inflicting two massive hits that take her to the point where she decides to flee. Only one player will get the chance to go before she disappears by teleporting away from the arena, and that player is currently stuck in a painting...

Milosh was falling and he wasn’t very happy about that. Thinking fast, he turned his arm into the grappling hook feature and fired to the side, catching a piece of huge rubble. He then leaped and fired again. Almost as if he were willing it to happen, another chunk of rubble flew from the hilltop and gave him a platform, then another, and another, until Milosh was leaping up a set of improvised stairs, each step collapsing underneath him as he ran and leaped and reached for something that seemed just beyond his reach... and then he was back, back in the world of Vulgarea, emerging from the painting to see the hissing serpent tracing a pattern in the air. Something magical, for sure, and he didn’t give her time to finish. Loading his drill, he pressed forward and slammed into her side. She shrieked in pain and rage and turned to slice at him, at which point he rolled to the side, underneath the swinging of three blades. He tried to strike again, but was blocked by the tail sword. He then took a risk: he grabbed the tail, let it lift him up, and let go to land on the Marilith’s undefended side. Then he drove his drill into her back and activated it. Flesh and blood and bone ground together and sprayed around him and the Marilith screamed as her Abyssal form was decimated and her soul shunted back into the long chain of reincarnation that it would take for her to regain her form, if ever she actually did. Her last action was to reach out towards her distant desk on which her thick book still lay.

Milosh gets a bonus to his gun arm after this fight by absorbing the data from the Marilith’s wild blocks and swings. His gun arm comes equipped with its own spell slots and abilities that cost a certain number of slots. This ability costs 2 and creates a wall of blades around him that greatly boosts his AC (+1 for each of the swords, and there are four of them) and can harm creatures that fail their melee attacks against him. Failed strikes by either melee or ranged remove a blade (and a +1 to the AC) and Milosh can also grab a blade and use it as a bonus attack. Pretty cool (if I do say so myself). His gun arm slots recover after a short rest.

The great thing about this fight is that I think it was a legitimate challenge. The players don’t take a ton of damage and Remus heals them up afterwards (he is able to access some of his Paladin magic, though it is very limited). But the risk was there: the challenge came from having to think smart and dip into their wide repertoire of abilities and magic spells. Which is how it should be at high level: you have lots of options, you need to be given opportunities to use them! Most importantly, I feel like everyone had a chance to shine and do something cool, whether it was Carrick getting to go toe-to-toe with the Marilith and succeed, or Milosh cutting her down in a glorious final moment (which was very close: he had to use an inspiration to reroll that final melee attack, avoid her responsive block, and then do enough damage to kill her... he did literally JUST enough).

With the Marilith dead, the swords are the players’ to claim (we’ll cover those in a later session, the players don’t have time to examine their abilities just now). The Quasits flee and now the real challenge is made clear to them...

Esheballa’s Taunt

The fox statue made a grinding sound of stone snapping as it twisted its features into a canine grin and began to speak: “There is only one way out of this chamber and you have limited time to find it. I hope you don’t mind if I remove your ability to breath...” and with that, as the statue’s laughter slowly strained the limits of the stone and ripped apart its face, pussy blood-red and green liquid began to ooze from the statue’s teats, poised over the laughing, hungry statues of the babies feeding there. The ooze hit them and sizzled and the air began to smell acrid...

The first obstacle here was facing the Marilith. The fight was avoidable, but they fought and won, so we go onto the second part of this puzzle: finding a way out. I’ve added to this based on the players’ actions in previous sessions. For when Imoaza goes to examine the book the Marilith pointed at, the one on her desk, she finds a set of instructions there for entering the book, where the Marilith has been keeping victims trapped using their true names. And the last name on the list...

“Shit,” Imoaza says, showing the others. “It’s Hecate.”

Next time, it’s all about Not Waking the Demi Lich, in part 3 of Mirrors of the Abyss.