#this is probably an expression of one of my recurring characters

[manorinthewoods]

What was more surprising than the level of technology I discovered was the fact that, primarily, it was my cult responsible for the advancements.

Seriously, they'd made a whole pantheon based around my adventuring days, which was rather silly. And their holy texts were, at least in part, translations of my own personal tome, which was... concerning. Luckily, they hadn't gotten to any of the important secrets, such as the identity of my beloved pet.

Citrus had come with me on our journey through the river of time. (Quite literal - I'd had to build a boat for the process.) Though he was the dragon of mathematics, even he was stumped by some of these abstract fields modern mathematicians had developed.

Such an interesting world! Their machines ran on a magic the complexity of which I'd only theorised. Their artworks! When an artist could conquer the corrupted environment of the upper class, such impressive things they made! A library, flying on stone wings! A pool containing the sum total of human knowledge! Whole nascent gods, created as jokes! Sapient ideas!

And nevermind the real creations. Industrial summoning devices! Mechanical mages in every home, an aether spun between them! Chariots of painted steel! There were even these 'guns', created by a tinkerer to prove a point. Mechanical only, and yet they packed more of a punch than any spell I'd seen! (Excluding my own, of course, and accounting for the expense of action.)

Still, this wondrous realm was somehow... broken. Though they deftly manipulated electric minds between their fingers, there were pervasive winds of ennui. Exhaustion. The night was no longer dark, the day no longer bright. The smell of oil, so omnipresent you could barely distinguish it. Rituals that were once filled with awe and splendor, now reduced as far as they could be, in the name of efficiency, automation.

Djinni were once extraordinary things, but with their origins revealed, now they were manufactured en masse. The curtain of ages was snatched away to reveal the truth of them; mere golems, grown more intelligent with age. And the old djinni could not stand out against the endless sea of new idiots, broken in their fundament so that they could be more efficient at whatever asinine task they were put to this time. These creations... they had no hope. There was no way for one to grow, to become more, when its creator was ever-so-invested in his crier of smoke never changing its cry. (Advertisement? Was that seriously the only thing they could conceive of, when they could manufacture new minds in arbitrary quantity?)

So after a long year of exploration, of discovery, I considered... the boat. There was much to learn here, yet, somehow, the world felt more boring than the one I'd left. All the excitement had been sucked out of it. There were no new places to explore, dark corners to illuminate. Everything was a purposeless struggle.

So I, and my familiar, went back to the boat. It had looked so wonderful when I had first built it. Now, it was just... stupid. It looked dumb. Overengineered. All those additions were silly, when it could be so much simpler, more efficient. But it still worked.

We set off for the next age, in the hopes that perhaps, one day, there would be life in the world again.

You were the greatest archmage in the kingdom and so powerful that you discovered all there was to discover at the time. So, utterly bored but unwilling to die, you decided to freeze yourself in time for a thousand years. After you unfreeze you find yourself in a modern information age world.

[musical-chick-13]

(Mild DW Christmas 2023 Spoilers in tags)

[freyadragonlord]

Recently I’ve been thinking about the different types of love languages in Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint, The S-Classes That I Raised, and Lout of the Count’s Family…

Not to say that each of the stories describes only one single kind of love language; they are, after all, all novels that focus on Found Family, with many different types of relationships between characters that express their love for each other in as many different ways.

Yet, I’ve noticed how at the core of each of these three stories there is one specific act of love that recurs more than others, and that becomes the true Theme each novel revolves around.

In Lout of the Count’s Family, the main love language is providing food and a home.

“Home” is such an important concept in LCF that Cale collects houses like they were pokemon cards. The source of his trauma when he was a child as Kim Roksu was that he was not given sufficient food, and that where he lived was not truly a shelter where he could feel safe, just a place he was trapped in.

And I don’t think there are ever more than 2 chapters in a row without a character offering food to others, or asking if they’re hungry, if they’ve eaten, why haven’t you eaten, here have some apple pie!!

Cale uses his newfound money and power to make sure his loved ones are provided for. That’s how he adopts bonds with most of his new family.

The first thing Raon does after he’s freed from the prison he’s been trapped in all his life, is to leave food for this hopelessly weak human.

Choi Han, who has lived alone in a dangerous forest for decades, would do anything to protect his home.

The Crown Prince, who has been isolated and untrusting of everyone ever since his mother died, makes sure to always have cookies in his bedroom in case guests “break in” for a visit at any time of the day or the night.

I love you, you’ll never be hungry again. I love you, my home is your home.

In The S-Classes That I Raised, the main love language is words.

Yoojin’s powers are literally activated by telling people “I love you”. Because all he ever wanted was to say “I love you” to his brother one last time.

Because the tragedy that starts the story happens because Yoohyun loved and protected his hyung in secret for years. Silence creates misunderstandings, it creates distance, it leads to loss.

Loving someone isn’t enough, tell them! Reassure them. Remember what they say, because their words are important!!

Ever since the regression, Yoojin always let people know when he loves them and appreciates them. “You’re perfect, you’re cute, you’re so talented, you’re so handsome, you are loved.”

And as the novel progresses, whenever Yoojin is in pain, or doesn’t know what to do, he turns to Sung Hyunje because he needs to be reassured, he needs to know he did well, he needs to hear he is still important to the people he loves.

I love you, please know that I love you! I love you, please tell me you love me back.

And finally, in Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint, the main love language is time.

Time is one of the greatest sources of horrors in ORV. Eternities upon eternities of suffering, being trapped for ages in the same, hopeless loop, wishing for everything to just stop.

And yet, time is also the greatest gift characters give to each other.

Because the wounds Dokja suffered as a child, and then again and again through his whole life…. They need time to heal. They need so much time. They will probably take forever.

So let them take forever.

Despite how much pain and worry he causes his companions by giving up on himself over and over again, his companions never give up on him. And he doesn’t understand why!! He doesn’t think he’s worth it. But it’s not his choice, it’s theirs. And they will go through as many tries, as much pain, as much time as it takes, before they can finally save him.

I love you, so I will wait fifty years for you. I love you, so I will live through thousands of lifetimes to find you. I love you, so I will read and reread your story for the rest of time, just to keep you alive.

[queenofapeacefuldawn]

SPY × Family: Chapter 93 analysis

this is my first time doing something like this, and I'm no expert so please take my analysis with a grain of salt! all of this is my own theories, so you might disagree with me. please don't be mean, though (also, long post incoming!)

SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 93 UNDER THE CUT

The chapter opens with the Eden kids getting the results of their marks, with Anya's...

overall rank shooting up, from 213th to 168th. Showing how she's slowly adjusting to the school and its pace of learning, despite being younger than everyone else (and, also, presumably doing extremely advanced things.... I remember seeing the pythagorean theorem on the board once in the anime)

Damian got highest in History (good job, buddy!), and Anya got second-highest in Classical Language (the one exam she genuinely studied hard for). But what I want to focus on is her expression:

Shock. She'd put up that front (that fake-face, if you will) in front of Becky, Damian, Emile and Ewen, pretending to be all cool and suave but when she sees her results, she's genuinely surprised to get good marks in Classical Language. And even her excited reaction. She was scared of disappointing Twilight (and maybe even Sigmund and Barbara) because she'd genuinely worked hard for this exam, tried to understand, and gave it her best attempt.

But, then, it all comes crashing down with her 24 points in math: but a win is a win!

Maybe this is Twilight's turning point in the fact that acquiring knowledge can be interesting, exciting, and not just a tool of survival? Twilight himself doesn't have a great relationship with studying, (see: his father scolding him as a child for not studying, later: his friends dying because he didn't know enough about the campaign they were going on... but Twilight's relationship with knowledge and its pursuit is a whole other post in itself).

Honestly, him realising that Anya is actually thriving in the setup where education is fun for her, opens up two new avenues:

Twilight himself trying to make learning fun for Anya (unlikely, he tried that before... it didn't work.)

Him leaning on Sigmund and Barbara to tutor Anya (this seems more likely- Endo is probably going to cement the Authens as recurring characters, so them being Anya's surrogate grandparents/neighbors/tutors would seem like a great way to do so!

And then...

My main focus is on the fact that he mumbles this (also his face. But that's irrelevant). Twilight may claim, "I don't understand children", but he's an extremely perceptive man. As much as I love to clown on him, he's highly skilled at picking up on cues of people's feelings. The few times he's failed are mostly due to Anya's shenanigans trying to hide her telepathy, mixed with his usual flavour of overthinking.

But the couple of things he knows about Anya are this:

She was probably raised in an environment where Classical Language was used.

She's not fond of talking about or remembering her past.

Which is why he didn't have the heart to fully sound out the question. In the case of Anya, this is an extremely delicate matter, and he doesn't want to upset her (or, in his words, "ruin Operation Strix.") The way he asked the question and it's portrayed made it feel like he'd been pondering on it for quite a while (which he has; since the beginning of the Cruise Arc), but more so usually. Most likely due to her high marks in the Classical Language tests (aka a dead language), and the fact that she got excellent marks in it, despite formally studying it for less than a year (at least, as far as he (and we) know.) He's been thinking of the possibility, and also thinking of a way to ask her. In the end, when he does ask her—

she lies.

and he lets her. (at least, that's my interpretation)

Obviously, he knows she's not ready to speak about it yet (though we know it's probably connected to her telepathy, so she's not ready to divulge that info).

Look, as much as I love talking about how clueless he is with his own feelings, in this scene, he was just... perceptive? I don't know if that's the right word. But he was trying to keep Anya happy, and bringing up this complex topic without ensuring proper care for her wouldn't be fair to her. And he knows that. So, he leaves it at, "Just forget about it, okay?"

This entire scene felt so... tense, and in itself felt like a fucking gut punch, so I don't know how I'll react to the reveal.)

And now, onto the main focus of the chapter:

him.

If I'm being honest, I thought Demetrius was, like, 16-19 (judging by his voice in the anime), and not... fucking twelve.

Honestly, that just makes his character all the more tragic: he's barely a teenager, and yet... he's going through this. From his awards ceremony, we can see that he got, what, 6 stellas? In addition to the eight he's gotten to be an Imperial Scholar, and if he performs this well in every exam... bro is literally hoarding the Stella supply of the school (sorry, bad joke).

But...

this panel comes up. It's definitely not Anya's telepathy malfunctioning, (heck, it works on Bond and even penguins). Honestly, I think, again, it could be one of two things:

He was experimented on, like Anya

He was trained, (most likely by Donovan), to keep his mind blank.

We're told that he and Donovan had an extremely close relationship:

This could be in support of both the theories: it could be Donovan checking up on his "experiment's" progress (a crude term to refer to him), or, it could have been him subconsciously training Demetrius to hide his thoughts, keep them safe. Anya's project is connected to Desmond's administration, and at the time she was "made", Demetrius would have been around 7 or 8. Old enough for him to figure out what he wanted to have been in life (ofc, that's different for everyone! It takes time, and 8 is an extremely young age to figure out what one wants to do). But, like, how Damian wants to be a politician, it's most likely that Demetrius, the prodigal, studious, first child, would have to follow the path of politics laid before him.

So it could have been Donovan teaching Demetrius to protect his sensitive thoughts from the "weapons" he himself was making: the test subject(s) of Anya's project (again, a crude term to refer to them). Donovan was putting a lot of faith into creating telepaths (most likely for covert work), and them having unwavering loyalty to his administration was not very likely.

And, even if Anya's project was the work of another administration or even country, there's no doubt that Donovan would want to keep his thoughts hidden from these kinds of spies: ones than can see into your very mind, especially if the world is at war: a physical battle or a war for information.

The first theory of Demetrius himself being a test subject is probably Not What Happened; so I think it's probably just Demetrius being trained to keep his thoughts hidden.

But then, we get some of his thoughts:

Which is a lot reminiscent of:

So, it's probable that Demetrius imbibed this from his dad.

It's honestly a bit scary to see how Donovan's "parenting" has affected him: for him, age 12, to be like this.

After this, the chapter ends lightheartedly: Anya trying to emulate Demetrius, and Loid Being Tired™️.

I'm mostly curious about Demetrius: I was so excited when he was finally revealed! But I hope we get to see more of his thoughts, soon. Especially more about his relationship with Damian. But, this chapter was fantastic!

(This was super fun to do- if i do posts like this for chapters as they come out, would you all like it? Again, I'm not an expert in psychology (or even analysis). It's just me and my silly lil thoughts. I hope you liked it!)

[gizkasparadise]

Oh great one please give me a list of recs I love high coustume Chinese drama , currently obsessing over The Double , whilst waiting for all the episodes to drop I have binged The Scent of Time ,

I almost didn’t watch either because me and Wang Xingyue had a long standing beef after One and Only , I loved your PowerPoint post for The Double

you got it!! here's my favorites! these are all ones with either light or no fantasy. hmu if you want ones with fantasy elements!

MY GOLD TIER (TOP FAVORITES!)

a journey to love. a roadtrip to rescue a flop emperor full of the freakiest lil guys (affectionate): a spymaster who wants to retire, the deadliest woman in the world, a boyband of trained killers, and a scrappy princess disguised as a dude. LOVE this one. powerpoint!

monarch industry/the rebel princess. a spoiled, sheltered princess is married to a low-born general to help her father's would-be political machinations. fabulous production value, great character growth + relationship development, just a ton of fun palace intrigue! powerpoint!!

goodbye, my princess. only watch if you're in the mood for a Capital T Tragedy. a deconstruction of the runaway princess trope featuring genocide, enemy lovers, and one of the most beautiful productions ever

the sound of the desert. a woman raised by wolves (no really), a traditional love triangle in the best way, and a rare lead by the second male lead! love this one, even though production is a little dated at this point

MY SILVER TIER (REALLY LIKED THESE!)

story of kunning palace. i think this one's going to be a hit with you if you like the double because there's a lot of recurring themes and actors! the ML is way more of a mess though, but i kind of live for it. powerpoint!!

love like the galaxy. the first 5-6 eps might be a little off, but once it hits its stride it's so, so good. unfavored daughter tries to make her way in the world while dodging suitors left and right. an emperor who lives for drama and shipping. a male lead who's a lil unhinged

familiar stranger. if you loved the campy elements of the double, you'll probably really enjoy this one as well! FACE SWAP.

MY BRONZE TIER (THEY GOT SOME PROBLEMS, BUT I LOVE THEM)

twisted fate of love. it gives me the tropes i love: machiavellian murderbastard x a time traveling lady general who cant be killed. chef's kiss. clearly on the lower end of the production scale but i find it pretty underrated. powerpoint!

the wolf. if you're into hot mess express, this is it for you. powerpoint!

[lightlessons]

How to Read 108: A Chapter-by-Chapter Death Note Analysis

Hello everyone! Welcome back to second part of my analysis on Death Note’s first chapter, entirely dedicated to everyone’s favorite mass murderer, home boy Light Yagami!

Chapter 1: Boredom. Lilith’s Breakdown. Part 2

Establishing the protagonist:

Light and expectations

Light’s resignation

Light’s cognitive dissonance

Establishing the protagonist

In A Guide to Screenwriting Success, Stephen Duncan refers to them as the character who drives the story forward, who makes the key decisions that affect the plot, often being the one who faces the most obstacles. The OSU College of Liberal Arts says they are the character whose fate matters the most, and usually the emotional heart of the narrative.

There are many definitions one can find online about what a protagonist is, the most oversimplified ones defining the protagonist under the same veil as the hero. But most of us here know that isn’t quite how it works. Still, even though we might be used to anti-hero protagonists by now (Deadpool, Saitama, Dr. House to name a few…) straight-up villain protagonists are rarer to come by, and, most specially, they usually don’t come by in the form of a teenager--or look anything like the guy in the picture above-- which is perhaps the main thing that makes Light stand out in a sea of manga MC’s and remain culturally relevant.

Light is a blueprint of his kind, becoming the point of comparison for other animanga protagonists that fall through a moral decline. To showcase how Light differs from even his own architype, I’m going to be taking three of some of the most famous examples in media and intermittently compare them to Light Yagami in this analysis: Macbeth from Shakespeare’s Macbeth, Rodion Raskolnikov from Fyodor Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment and Star War’s Anakin Skywalker.

Light and expectations:

As we had seen in my previous post, we begin the story with a schoolboy disconnected from his immediate surroundings, his whole posture and expression reflecting the “boredom” that it’s the title of this chapter. His status as protagonist highlighted by the fact that he’s the only one looking directly at us. While all his classmates distract themselves with things inside the classroom (their friends, their books, their phones, or simply sleeping) Light gazes out the window, almost as if hoping that something external will offer more intrigue than the monotony of his current situation.

And he gets his wish! A notebook falls from the sky. We know what happens next. Light picks it up, as it is the only thing that’s interrupted his ennui. He’s initially unimpressed by it, although he commends whoever did it for at least committing to the bit.

Ohba doesn't reveal the true outcome of the event right away. Instead, he makes us wait, fast-forwarding five days before slowly unfolding the details. This deliberate withholding of information is a recurring technique throughout Death Note, fueling the tension and intrigue that characterizes the manga, leaving us eager to piece the puzzle together.

But the next set of panels is what I want us to take a closer look at this chapter:

 If you know anything about Japanese culture, you’re probably aware of the immense importance that academic success has on a japanese student’s life. To give some context to what’s happening here, I’ll quote Independent researcher Steve Bossy on his report Academic Pressure and Impact on Japanese Studies from 2000:

“In 1872, the Meiji government introduced a public educational system that made higher education accessible to anyone who was intelligent enough to qualify. (…) The entrance examination became the sole instrument by which all students were measured. Tokyo University became the pinnacle of academic achievement and the gateway to future success. Only the most intelligent students were admitted and upon graduation were rewarded with the best jobs. (…) The university entrance examination is the gatekeeper that provides access to and ultimately determines students' future success and status. The university that a student attends is most often the sole criterion that employers consider in their decision to hire a potential candidate.”

It’s no wonder, then, that Light’s mom has been eagerly waiting for his results on the practice exam for this life-determining test. Although we have to take into account, Sachiko says he has placed first again, so his parents are pretty used to his academic success, and Sachiko was just eager for confirmation on her son’s competence. Light is so used to this by now he does not demonstrate any pride or enthusiasm about having placed first nationally on the practice test for what is arguably the most important exam of his life. Perhaps he might have, were it not for the much more significant matter occupying his mind at the moment, though I doubt it. As we’ve already firmly established: Light is bored.

So, we have already identified one expectation Light has: he is presumed to excel academically. By Japanese society standards, this is a promise his parents see of his successful future.

This is then reinforced by what his cram schoolteacher is shown to say in the flash-back: Light wasn’t just Japan’s number one in that sole mock test, he is already Japan’s number one student.

We can then add a new expectation:

Light is expected to keep his place as top nation-wide student and elevate the standing of the schools he attends.

Light doesn’t seem to find this to be such a difficult task though, considering the nonchalant way he brings the results to his mother. He is assured to attend the most prestigious university of the country, so then why, we may ask, does he even attend a prep school in the first place?

We can find the answer here:

In Japan, it is common for students to attend supplementary classes due to the intense competition within the education system and the critical significance of the entrance exam. So even top students like Light would be expected to attend these types of schools to give themselves an edge. Or as Light puts it: Serious, straight-A, model teenagers. This is who Light is—what he expects of himself and what everyone else expects of him: to embody the ideal of what a Japanese boy should be, to serve as a model others look up to, the standard by which they should shape themselves. Academically focused, respectful of authority, socially responsible, and attuned to societal norms.

Light’s resignation:

Now that we have established who Light Yagami is, let’s examine more of his initial thought process when presented with the seemingly impossible reality that the random notebook that fell from the sky is, in fact, a supernatural murder weapon.

As previously noted, we don’t immediately learn about Light’s reaction to his discovery. Instead we meet him again after he’s had five days to process his experience. Then Ryuk, whom we’ve already met, shows his rather unpleasant face to an unexpecting Light, and scares the pants out of the boy.

Or so it seems.

Despite the initial scare, Light has had the foresight to attribute the notebook to a Shinigami, and supposedly had been waiting for them to show up. Light, at this point, had fully accepted the supernatural explanation, and braved with a resolved face whatever consequence it might bring.

But how did Light recognize the connection to a Shinigami, and what does that mean in Japanese culture? The evolution of the concept of death is a fascinating subject, and while I recommend further reading on the topic (such as this article), to summarize: Shinigami are said to be the Japanese Grim Reaper, a relatively recent addition to their folklore, much as the Grim Reaper is for the West, and it was produced as a result of the increased interaction of these two cultures. A difference is that, traditionally, they are less seen as harvesters of souls but as creatures who ensure the smooth running of the cycle of life, performing their duty without malice and remaining morally neutral.

The Shinigami in Death Note are a fusion of these traditional Japanese beliefs and Western, particularly Christian, cautionary tales. This blending of cultural influences is a prominent theme throughout the manga (and anime), which I will explore in more detail in future entries.

But let’s go back to our protagonist. While both the Western Grim Reaper and the Shinigami ultimately bring death, Light doesn’t seem daunted by this prospect. This raises an important question: Did he have a plan to convince a literal god like Ryuk to spare him, or was he content with having made a difference, however brief? As Ryuk points out:

Ryuk, a timeless entity for all we know, singles Light out among what could be centuries of Death Note users. This continues to drive the point for the audience of Light being an extraordinary individual, now not just by his intelligence, but by his adamant determination.

However, Light’s apparent perfect composure in this scene is not entirely genuine. He is sweating profusely through this whole interaction--something that we will rarely see from him in the rest of the story. It makes sense, for its his life at stake here.  But it gives us an insight into Light’s ability to suppress his natural human emotions in favor of retaining a sense of dominance and control. At this point, Light really cannot have any idea of what awaits him, or how to bargain with a being like Ryuk, yet he is intent on directing the exchange in his own terms. He even has a prepared Q&A:

I know the dramatic way in which Light swooshes open the notebook is sort of hilarious, but upon re-read, it made me think further upon this display with Ryuk. We know Light thought it wasn’t chance but choice that made Ryuk give him the Death Note, so did he want to demonstrate his worthiness to the Shinigami? His fearlessness? Did he have a whole speech planned on why he should be allowed to keep using the Death Note? After all, we learn seconds later that he had already formed his long-term plan of ruling the world, so did he plan to offer his soul, in pure Faustian manner, for the chance to wield the Shinigami’s power?

In the end, Light learns that there is nothing he has to offer—no bargain to be made. Instead, the conditions of the Death Note say he will experience fear and torment (which he has already done), that Ryuk will write his name when he dies (which results in the same thing) and that he can go to neither heaven nor hell.

This last one could be considered the greatest sacrifice, upon first read. But it is also a pretty neutral consequence that doesn’t promise reward nor suffering. Of course, it isn’t until the final chapter that we learn it isn’t really a sacrifice, as every other human shares the same fate.

Hence Light’s ecstatic look.

There is then a subversion to Christian narratives by keeping Ryuk’s role neither malevolent nor benevolent. He does not actively tempt Light to keep using the notebook, and even gives him a way out by offering the option of giving it to another human if he doesn’t want it. He has no interest in convincing Light of anything. This is similar to the role of the three witches in Macbeth, who instigate the narrative by sharing a prophecy, but do not manipulate or coerce Macbeth into taking any specific action. However, a key difference in the start of this story and that of Macbeth’s is the idea of destiny. Ryuk mocks Light for believing himself special, in contrast to the witches assuring that Macbeth would be a King. Light's confidence in his potential to rule the world is entirely self-driven, rather than being shaped by prophecy or fate.

Light’s cognitive dissonance:

Ah, we’re finally at the pivotal moment of this first chapter. The moment that will define Light’s character for us moving forward.

So finally, after Light’s interesting conversation with Ryuk we are thrown back into the flashback that explains how he came to write all those names. The events go as follows: Light was bored, so he decided to write a name on the strange thing he brought home-- just for the sake of it. Despite mostly believing the notebook to be a prank in bad taste, as a strategic thinker, he immediately envisions possible scenarios where it could be real and plans his actions accordingly. He even berates himself for this:

But of course, the Death Note works, exactly as the instructions said.

Up until this point, Light’s actions could be entirely written off as an accident. Kind of like a child shooting a gun because they can’t discern the danger of it. But the event is so monumental, so outside of normal bounds that Light’s young and curious mind cannot simply leave it be and risk another murder. He needs answers and he needs answers now.

Light is fully aware that his actions are socially reprehensible, which would explain why he decides to continue acting by himself. Not to mention the ridicule, too, were he to hand the notebook to the police and it turned out to have been just a coincidence. And Light Yagami is not socially reprehensible and he is not ridiculous. But there is something else, too.

Light Yagami feels detached and high above the world.

It’s natural, as he literally is above his peers in at least the standard by which they are more strictly measured. In a culture where academic achievement is synonymous with social value, Light’s intellectual superiority is reinforced by his position as the model student, but he is also a 17-year-old with a skewed sense of long-term consequences and proportionality, reacting with his amygdala to his immediate environment instead of keeping on with the cool rationality he believes himself to possess. An example of this is when he considers killing one of his fellow classmates for bullying and coercion. A rather minor offense when compared to the criminals Kira would first execute, and directly contradicting the first precaution he’d already thought for himself: to not kill anyone directly associated with him.

But then he conveniently finds a perfect target, another one that he can justify to himself in the context of preventing a heinous crime.

When the Death Note works once again, it finally confirms Light as a murderer, and this is when the cognitive dissonance takes place.

In psychology, cognitive dissonance is a mental conflict that occurs when your beliefs don’t line up with your actions. This discomfort motivates individuals to reduce the inconsistency, usually by changing their believes, justifying their actions, or minimizing their importance.

Light’s cognitive dissonance almost makes him wretch, makes him question himself and consider throwing away the Death Note, which he refers to as an ‘evil thing’.

But he begins to resolve this dissonance by reframing his believes in order to justify the new image of himself as a murderer. Light’s inner conflict plays out over at least a day, during which his conscious mental battle is not whether what he did was justified, but whether or not he will be able to take on the role that would justify it.

In the end, if he doesn’t take the role of a vigilante, he would have to face the breaking of his self-schema as a moral and upstanding citizen. But the decision to continue killing would also transform him into something else. This conflict between morality and identity is so strong those first few days, that Light admits to having persistent nightmares and loses 10 pounds in 5 days. But ultimarely, the dissonance is resolved with a perfect, if delusional and self-aggrandizing, moral justification: Not only is it right to become the world’s judge and executioner, but he is the only one capable of doing so.

An extraordinary cognitive re-structuring and self-deception in a relatively short amount of time. But then again, we have already reiterated throughout this meta that Light is not an ordinary individual.

And who better, honestly, to carry us through this particular story? What are the limits of these character’s self-justification? What are the consequences of a God’s power in the hands of a mere human? And what happens when a brilliant mind has to contest with a teenager’s inflated ego?

I wasn’t expecting to have this much to say about the first chapter, I’m looking at the page count of this document with a bit of terror, honestly, but it just goes to show how strongly Death Note manages to establish its main themes from its opening and all the questions it leaves the reader with, inviting us to take part of this unconventional psychological thriller.

If you read up until this point kudos to you and I hope you enjoyed my brain’s rambling, I would love to hear your thoughts and feedback. I don’t know if next entries are going to be this long, but I am enjoying finding new things to ponder about this series, that I hadn’t even thought about after 5 years of being a fan!

Next entry! Chapter 2: L. Lilith’s Breakdown

Previous entry: Chapter 1: Boredom. Lilith’s Breakdown. Part 1

[mtchacffinz]

Omg if youre taking requestsss,

Could u plsss do something like reader is being neglected bcuz (charac) is too busy with work but then they realise and then spend time.. like angst to fluff ahh

Maybe with few characters like cyno, haitham, wanderer, xiao??

Thank you!!

💗💗💗

prompt! Been away for too long, won't you atleast miss me?

cw! gn! reader, tooth-rotting fluff (SFW), clinginess, maybe a crybaby reader in a certain part, words of affirmation, established relationship, lots of tender moments, mentions of Chasm Archon Quest

note! i love fluff. this is adorable so i shall deliver. plus, i think my acc needs some fluff too after all the smut I've written! (⁠´⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠.̫⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠`⁠)...

Here we are, overthinking again. In all seriousness, this can't be! Many suns and moons have passed, yet he still hasn't said a single word about his whereabouts! Did he somehow forget about contacting you? Maybe he fell down a hole through a ditch never to be heard again.. Perhaps he fell in-love with another lovely surpassing your wits and charm?

You were no stranger to solitude. It doesn't scratch an itch anywhere in your mind space that requires you to gnaw on your lip every waking moment you feel that churning feeling in your stomach. Definitely not— Absolutely not! You believe that some parts in life are needed alone to be addressed with just the right amount of tenacity and resistance. You would come back to your loved ones with triumphant smiles chanting "I'm back, I'm back! I did it!" like a warrior.

Your mind spiraled into incoherent theories about his unknown agendas— too indulged notice the recurring voice that seems to speak your name.

And when you finally turn to see behind was when he finally graces your presence.

CYNO.

There was tense aura in the air, the last breath leaving even more awkward than the last. It was obvious Cyno wants to say something, but his lips stay sealed— quietly observing you waiting to see how you will move instead.

It seems as if he thinks you're really upset. Just an inference, his intuition— a baseless assumption. I mean, who wouldn't be after leaving your partner hanging for 3 months straight venturing out into the desert?

He's a lovely partner. You think that, wholeheartedly. You really do. But seriously!? You understand there must've been at least some sort of viable explanation, but a part of you couldn't help but feel upset.

"I'm glad you're home safe." You finally speak, releasing a big sigh. It was as if a big weight lifts off your chest. Your smile says nothing more than joy and relief. Well, maybe a little too joyful.

Because you know full well if you speak your next words, your voice would break.

So you keep your lips pursed only for you to keep your own thoughts. Cyno is no average man. As a Mahamatra with fearsome agendas, his life is always on the line whenever he ventures out into the wild. Once, he returned to Avidya Forest with curse marks all over his body— crimson spurs trail over his gear, you were barely keeping it together!

Seconds pass, it was grew concerning that none of you were saying.. well, words. After all, you both have just reunited, and Cyno has probably gone through a rigorous mission that rendered his lips sealed, right? With curious eyes, you steal a glance from his figure. Your partner stood with remarkable posture, eyes evasive of yours. The young man seemed to be contemplating something.. expression a little solemn and glum.

With a gulp and a hesitant stare, he finally speaks his mind.

"I'm.. sorry. Forgive me, dear. There was a huge misconduct within the Akademiya and Matras I had to keep anonymous for—" he stops a little before continuing. Cyno's gaze is at the floor. "I had to keep anonymous for you.. for us. I couldn't send out letters. Please forgive me, (Y/n)."

Cyno takes another deep breath. "I understand if you'd like to lash out on my sudden return, so feel free to do so—" you quickly wave your hands in fluster.

"Ah, no no no! Really, Cyno, it's fi—ne...uhuh." You suddenly hiccuped.

With the first crack of your voice, your eyes immediately began to flow waterfalls. Salty tears pricked your (e/c) optics glossing over them with a glint. Cyno immediately rushes to your side whilst you immediately clung onto him like he's your life line.

Oh, Archons. He's your life. Just by his voice just now, you almost felt like your heart melted AND got crushed at the same time with just the weight of his words. Lash out? Of course you would! You're worried SICK. And you've missed him!

"You have no idea! I was holding onto these for 15 minutes earlier!" Your voice broke, fighting for your feelings. Cyno only wipes away your tears and nose with his sleeves in panic— repeating his apologies in a hushed voice over and over again.

AL HAITHAM.

The scent of scroll dust, his calloused hands, his warm breath on your head. For the past hours of his return, you only asked for one thing: to be held until you, yourself— let go of him. And judging by how how long Al Haitham has unknowingly neglected you, he's willing to make up for his wordless days.

But..

"Hey, honey.. dear..?" the Scribe softly calls out, gently tapping your shoulder. "Sweetheart? (Y/n)?" A little too indulged in his arms, you fail to give a response. This was when he sighed, and nuzzles deeper into your neck.

"(Y/n), it's been six hours. Surely you're feeling a little better now?"

"You've been gone for months."

"I know. But it's almost dinner, and we haven't eaten yet."

"We can starve here." You respond just as quickly. He sweatdrops, unable to tell if you were joking or dead serious. Look, his arm is cramping, his whole body is sweating, and he's dehydrated. The blanket that was wrapped around your body was on the floor, and you seem to be a little tired yourself. Taking matters into his own hands, you get surprised that his arms suddenly wrap tighter around you, lifting you up in his arms.

"You're ridiculous," Al Haitham puts you around his shoulder like you're a sack of rice, making his way through the kitchen. "I'm making dinner. You cling onto me all you want. We're eating."

After all, you never said anything about him moving while holding you, right?

All you could do was grumble and whine in his ears. The scribe doesn't seem to mind, as he gets a pan, his seasonings, and his food. Tapping your back occasionally, with every turn he make, your partner makes sure the doesn't accidentally burn or hit you with something while you're in his shoulders. With time passing, you're starting to get a little embarrassed yourself.. getting dragged all the way from the bedroom the the kitchen. Tugging on his clothes, you called out his name.

"Haitham, please let me down.."

Maybe it was the wind carrying your words away, but he doesn't seem to react. Your partner only focuses on whatever he's frying at the moment with his free arm on your figure. With lips pursed, you repeat again.

"Haitham."

"I heard you. I don't want to, you're staying there."

"What? No way! You're probably tired!"

"Oh? Don't back out now, I was going to feed you as well. I'm yours the whole week— I'm not leaving your sights very soon." Your partner says with a voice enough to leave no room for rebuttals and arguments. Seeing your face, slowly being taken over with embarrassment, ignites a small flame in him.

After a few mere moments of your silence, you grasp onto his clothing once again. This time, your voice was softer, a little more calmer.

"You're gonna be mine the whole week?"

WANDERER.

Ever since his return, the Wanderer has been gracing you with diverse stories from different parts of the land. Now, he isn't one to ramble his mouth nor entertain anybody with his experiences— so the indigo haired man could consider this "spoiling" you rotten.

After a long, exhilarating lectures of Vahumana Darshans, as well as interviews from other nations regarding his thoughts on different political matters— Wanderer has finally made enough time to spend with people he could actually tolerate.

On the other hand, he has been too kind, taking you to vast sceneries and feeding you all sorts of delicacies. It's as if he's trying to make up for something.. and you know what, you have no idea. But this? This is nice! Ignoring his witty and no-filter-opinion attitude, Wanderer has been significantly nicer to you last time you met.

Shopping, sight seeing, trying all sorts of new things. After all, what does he do with all the Mora he receives when he's but a puppet who doesn't even need to eat nor sleep?

He looks for no reciprocation nor gratitude, because he unknowingly believes seeing your smiling face because of him is enough to make his entire day. Of course, that doesn't stop you from profusely thanking him and actively trying to lessen all the things being given to you because do you really deserve it?

I'd you asked him, he'd look at you like you're crazy. Why wouldn't you deserve it? Why else wouldn't it be you? Do you prefer I do this for anyone else?

As night engulfs the sky, kissing it with a gentle good bye, the moonlight greets your resting frame. The Wanderer had found interestingly large lily pads that could hold up to 4 persons. Apparently, aranara's use it to navigate around lakes they couldn't get across.

The scenery is wonderful. Fireflies emerge from the shadows, and the lake sings a mellifluous tune every gush of waves it encounters. You were resting well, and his elysian self was beside you.

You were strange, that's for sure. Strange enough he'd like to keep taking you in like you're oxygen, as if you're some sort of life line to live from. Wanderer is not a man with too much words, so he could only gaze up to your figure.

A familliar noise of waddling makes their way towards you, an Aranara falling suit. It bee lines towards your figure, cozing up to your body.

Wanderer picks it up by its head gear, clicking his tongue.

"Hey. No cuddling. You lay beside me."

XIAO.

Xiao melts deeper into your arms as if he's lightweight, surprising you with the sudden return of his warmth.

His touches were featherlight, his firm hands on the small of your back. Fully aware of his fatigue eating away his skin, the Adeptus clutches your figure tightly.

"Sorry.." Xiao's voice was barely above a whisper. You frown upon his state, but your eyes were never pitiful. He knew of that. You say nothing but hold him in your arms in response. Mere moments pass with the wind blowing ever so softly in the sky.

You lull him with soft whispers, sweet nothings grazing his ear leaving out one another. Xiao's a little bashful— he's the one who's failed to keep up with your mundane agendas in everyday life leaving you alone, yet upon his return— you greet him with the best embrace this world has to offer.

After all the events at the Chasm, his encounter with Bosacius, and most of all, the lingering miasma that's been exceedingly abundant within the area, Xiao wasn't able to make time and shake off all the troubles he's facing. The Adeptus lie solemn with the softest look in his eyes gazing at your own. You know full well if he opens his mouth now, all that will come pouring out is his endless apologies that could be recited in millenias.

Instead, your hands gently caressed his cheeks— pecking those pursed lips who let out a soft sigh.

Xiao returns the gesture by holding you waist down, firmly keeping his hands on you. Chasing after your lips it was like something clicked in him the moment you even lent him a moment of your vulnerability. He was hungry, that's for sure. The Adeptus made it obvious with his knitted brows and those piercing gaze.

Amusement bubbled at the bottom of your stomach, letting out a small chuckle. Xiao's confused eyes met yours, questioning your sudden interest.

"You returned to me, that's lovely."

He responds to your claim in a grumble, now averting his eyes. Xiao's hand never leaves yours.

"I have to.." Those hands slowly travel to your cheeks, caressing them in pure affection. "I need to."

my smutty writings are usually the ones who get attention, so I'm wondering how this one will do? 🎶 Anyway, I'm also planning on writing for Honkai Impact's Kalpas 🤞 STAY TUNED

[sunderingstars]

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✩ ‧₊˚ ⌞ SIMULATED UNIVERSE ⌝

sampo analysis m.list

— what the stars reveal: interpretative analysis, elation!sampo & doll!sampo, theory, op trying so deeply & calmly to keep it together and not look like a conspiracy theorist

— word count: 3.9k

— overview: (as of 2.6) a look at the aha stuffed toy, curio hacker, and the *perfect* grand challenge simulated universe occurrences!

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✩ ‧₊˚ ⌞ AHA STUFFED TOY ⌝

This one’s a doozy, folks! As much as Curio Hacker gets passed around as a pretty obvious Sampo Occurence™ (which it is, don’t get me wrong), I feel like Aha Stuffed Toy includes just as, if not more, lore implications as to who and what Sampo might be. So, here I am to give the breakdown:

Recurring references to currency, including gaining, losing, and most notably, dispensing it. Starting with the base occurrence, we can see that the toy is said to reward you more gold coins the “worse the beating is.” This is further shown by the tiers of Cosmic Fragments awarded to the player depending on what option they choose and what percent they happen to get. Part luck, part choice, Aha Stuffed Toy makes a clear connection between violence and money.

As for Sampo, he is the character most associated with both Elation and the transactional nature of currency, so I find this an interesting connection. Additionally, the Sampo of Finnish mythology was known for “dispensing” wealth (in this case, gold & Cosmic Fragments) onto others!

Being made in Aha’s own likeness. As detailed in my Aha Splash Art Analysis, I find similarities between Sampo’s character model and the silhouette in Aha’s splash art. While I used to attribute this to a more directly Aha!Sampo theory, I am beginning to think this may be explained by the occurrence here. If Sampo, as a toy or otherwise “creation” of Elation, were to have similar features or even be the spitting image of Aha’s silhouette, any connections between their appearances would add up.

It would also make sense why Sampo gives the Express itself a wide berth — Pom-Pom may be familiar with Aha’s physical form from Their time on the Express, and may even be reluctant to believe Sampo is a different being despite sharing the same physical appearance.

Elation path option. Heading into Swarm Disaster, this is where things really start to heat up. This is probably the most “crazy red string theory” my brain gets, since there’s so much to unpack here! It’s important to note that since this is an Elation path matching an Elation occurrence, I’m more inclined to view this as our best source of understanding what’s truly going on. Starting with the options themselves, they are split cleanly in half (a 50/50 if you will). Similar to the base occurrence, Cosmic Fragments are either gained or lost depending on chance.

The text when Cosmic Fragments are lost is, well, very Sampo-aligned in my opinion. The doll, breaking the 4th wall into self-awareness, turns to look directly at you (the Trailblazer; potentially even the player of the game) and brazenly steals your currency. Moreover, the text before making the decision mentions that “only Aha knows the secret…” — Huh! Interesting! Although I am very worried about the doll’s head blowing up in the second option, it still serves as a link to Sampo’s penchant for including bombs in his kit. Overall, this is the part of the occurence I associate most with Sampo, from the stealing of currency to the self-awareness to the hint that his identity may be some secret that only Aha knows or is able to reveal. 10/10, no complaints!

Erudition path option. Erudition is also interesting, since it gives you the option to dismantle the toy, immediately giving you Cosmic Fragments. This mirrors (in a general sense, with some liberties taken) the destruction of the Sampo in Finnish mythology, as well as connects once again to the idea of being bestowed wealth. 

Venting of extreme emotions. As with the “made in Aha’s own likeness” line, I find it interesting that the doll is not only specified to have a direct purpose, but that that purpose is to… well, basically be a glorified punching bag. In an occurrence, this isn’t a huge deal, given the player probably has a passing thought of “oh, Aha’s being silly again” then continues on their way. However, if we think about the probability of these toys being real and potentially a character we know, things get trickier. Suddenly, this isn’t a fun “joke” where some pre-recorded inanimate toy acts as a stress ball, but the horrifying reality of a self-aware, sentient being who can likely feel every hit it takes — a joke taken too far, if you will.

This makes me feel much more out-of-my-depth when considering Sampo’s unknown backstory, since it may be much more traumatic than we’ve predicted so far. Also, if anyone in this game comes across as a “glorified punching bag,” I’m sorry Sampo, but my mind is immediately going to you. I’m still sad about it, though. :(

The goading. Similar to the venting of extreme emotions, this occurrence very much goads the player into getting more and more violent with the doll. “One more? There is so much frustration in your life, after all” makes me feel so yucky. Like so yucky. It almost feels like Aha (despite not being involved in the quality control process) is absentmindedly trying to push us directly towards messing this poor doll up more!

It makes sense, though, that most of our in-game dialogue with Sampo is mean or simply doesn’t have a “nice” option then — it may be Aha’s way or a result of Sampo’s own existence pushing us into that “frustration,” into that want to vent our extreme emotions.

The embedded chip. In addition to being a quite common mantra among Elation entities, the chip sticks out to me through its unique use of blended third-person references. It doesn’t feel exactly the same as when Aha refers to Themself directly in third person, but it does have that slippery feeling of the “in-between,” of a doll so at a loss for autonomy that it has no choice but to play the pre-recorded message of an entity it is bound to through no will of its own.

In a way, Aha!Sampo could still work with Doll!Sampo, albeit in a more roundabout way. Perhaps, beyond sharing physical similarities, there is also a kind of mental or referential similarity passed down through osmosis whenever a doll is created in the likeness of its creator. Perhaps, this likeness even transcends appearance.

Integer overflow. Nothing specific to say, other than that it is a useful connection to the more tech-minded “Curio Hacker” occurrence, with Aha Stuffed Toy mentioning “manufacturers” / “systems to store virtual data” and Curio Hacker mentioning virtual avatars and data forms.

Bonus: Sampo’s head-to-body ratio (despite being like every other tall male character’s body, yes, please just let me be crazy) matches with the idea of a doll whose body is several times larger than it’s head — I mean look at that man, he’s beefy and tall!

Bonus-Bonus: The voyeurism of it all definitely makes the situation more fucked up! Like imagine being this doll, already born into an existence purely for the sake of getting pummeled around like a kickball, and your creator makes it abundantly clear that They want to see this happen to you! With their own two (or many, or zero) eyeballs! I’d cry, that’s for sure.

Overall, this is a lot. This is definitely a lot. I have more I could say, but to mitigate the risk of devolving into crazed rambling, I’m going to let this section speak for itself and move on to “Curio Hacker.”

✩ ‧₊˚ ⌞ CURIO HACKER ⌝

Divergent Universe Additions:

A lot has already been said about this occurrence, so I’ll keep it short and sweet: the “blue-haired being” is a direct connection to Sampo (who is often referred to by his blue hair in a similar way) and the self-aware nature of its actions (knowing it’s in a game and trying to replicate Curios) also matches with Sampo’s general self-awareness as a character. Now, with that out of the way, I’d like to continue into a more niche discussion — that of the Curios the hacker gives us.

Organic Heart

Story: What sticks out to me the most about the text here is the merging of two distinct objects — an apple and a heart — into a single, new existence. I think there’s something to be said here about Sampo’s potential identity; his merging of Nihility and Elation, Masked Fool and voice of reason, mortal and immortal. The combination of two separate entities into one until they are unable to be distinguished from one another, folding into each other until they are both a sum and a subtraction of all their parts, hopelessly melded into a new, unique form of existence, not a heart or an apple but a heart-apple, an apple-heart, the fruit of an organ and blood mixed with seeds mixed with juice, the crunching of something not entirely edible, not entirely rotten. Something that, according to the story, still can’t be fully defined.

Gold and Gears: In Gold and Gears, the function of Organic Heart is to remove the golden dice face for four turns, then grant two cheat attempts. This matches up with both the implications of a “hacker” — someone who cheats the system by default — and Sampo’s generally shady demeanor, always trying to find a loophole he can squeeze through. The interesting part of this is the presence of the golden dice face, particularly the removal or hiding of it for a specific period of time.

If we are continuing based off the assumption that Sampo is the hacker and the Curios give hints about his own identity, this would mean he isn’t just powerful, he is ultimately powerful. The golden face is the absolute highest the dice can go, meaning the equivalent in-universe is likely Emanator or even Aeonic status. As such, it seems that Sampo may be sacrificing, removing, or hiding this power intentionally to gain something — likely a sort of universe-breaking “cheat” to circumvent whatever he wishes.

For Doll!Sampo, this may mean escaping his own purpose or reason for existence, Emanator!Sampo may wish to be free of Elation entirely, and it is likely his wishes have something either to do with protecting Belobog, protecting himself, or, if he is very pissed off at a certain Aeon, perhaps even the murder of a god.

Divergent Universe: Organic Heart’s Divergent Universe function also adds a bit of information to this theorizing, as it increases the challenge points gained (thereby increasing the rewards and how much you “win”) while causing you to take more damage at the same time. This seems to have similar implications as Gold and Gears, implying a “reward” and a “cost” closely dependent on one another. You may be receiving more “power” and more rewards, but you are also at higher risk of dying due to taking more damage.

For Sampo, this ties in to the aspect of weakness, of trading his power for some kind of “win” if he can just survive long enough to get there. Furthermore, it implies a state of vulnerability, some kind of existence where he no longer has the full protection he used to. Much like the player who takes the Curio, he likely has to be very careful about what he involves himself in, lest he meet a premature end.

Mysterious Magnetism

Story: Interestingly enough, I find Mysterious Magnetism to go quite well with Organic Heart. There is yet again a theme of combination, this time with the Fog of Thought and Rain of Sensation (perhaps alluding to the creation of Sampo as a sentient being — thought and sensation are unique to those who are aware of their own existence) being pulled together into a lens. While Organic Heart represents the more, well, organic side of a being, Mysterious Magnetism dwells in the imperceptible; thoughts, sensation, color, and magnetism are all far more conceptual than apples and hearts. 

The “magnetic field” mentioned is also interesting, since it is said to “disturb the senses,” which Sampo very much does on a regular basis (appearing and disappearing out of thin air, not leaving footprints, misdirection, etc.) — in fact, Mysterious Magnetism seems to imply that this is a byproduct of his existence. Despite being created by the Riddlers (a faction of the Enigmata known for obscuring language), the resulting experiment simply is. This may be similar to Sampo’s own existence, where his, well, mysterious magnetism, is simply part of who he is or how he was created rather than a conscious effort on his part to achieve it. 

I also find it interesting how the Riddlers had to eventually stop because they became more and more uncertain of its “necessity” — this could, in my opinion, imply a “leaving behind” or abandonment of Sampo as a character as well.

Keyword Note: “Revelrous” implies there may be a bit of Elation involved. A little easter egg in the story, if you will.

Gold and Gears: In Gold and Gears, Mysterious Magnetism creates Elite Domains out of Combat Domains, then grants Cosmic Fragments after two of those domains. Much like Organic Heart, there is a rigor present here, an upping of the stakes for greater rewards. What would be effortless is made difficult, but if the player survives they are rewarded for their troubles. Once again, this may point towards Sampo’s exchanging of a price for a reward, a stripping away of his power that makes everything — especially combat — more difficult, but that will eventually reward him what he wants.

Divergent Universe: The occurrence here follows a slightly different “give and take” track, less focused on rewarding something after hardship, but more on gaining and losing in the same breath. Interestingly enough, the gain here is at the beginning rather than the end, awarding the player 50 Cosmic Fragments every time they enter a domain but making them lose just as much once they win a battle. 

This could be seen as the nature of currency exchange — a central part of Sampo’s character — as something that gives and takes in equal measure, or it could also be seen as a means for him to avoid conflict. Perhaps whatever plan or deal he has strongly discourages fighting, likely because of the higher stakes involved or lessened powers he has. As such, it could be seen as “losing” in general for him to engage in conflict, since it might strip away even more of his already-fraying status.

Other Notes: It’s interesting that the hacker is attempting to replicate Herta’s Curios. Given that it gives us two very specific Curios, I wonder if those are the ones it’s trying to replicate? If so, why? I’m inclined to believe Sampo may be attempting to circumvent his own fate or state of being as a doll/toy, but it could be to save Belobog or someone else for plot reasons as well (or maybe even kill Aha Themself; Aeon murder isn’t off the table, after all).

I also am intrigued by “hacker” being in quotations. Paired with the “don’t ask me who I am,” I’m reminded of the toy’s secret that only Aha knows — perhaps Sampo simply doesn’t wish to reveal himself to us here, or perhaps there’s a deeper reason his identity is obscured. Basically, it comes down to the age-old question: Won’t, or can’t?

Overall, Organic Heart and Mysterious Magnetism sum Sampo up pretty well to me: an organic being straddling the grey area between different existences, as well as an indistinct combination of concepts capable of self-awareness and magnetic thought. In my opinion, these Curios point towards heavy themes of creation, combination, and being discarded, as well as the exchanging of one’s own power for a greater benefit (or “cheat”) later on. 

My pet theory combines both the Aha Stuffed Toy occurrence and Curio Hacker, seeing Sampo as a toy created by Aha in Their own image, a combination of mortal and immortal existence meant to be beaten and bleed wealth, who seeks to free himself from the purpose of his own existence through sacrificing the very power that was granted to him with it — likely Emanator or some equivalent status — while hopefully protecting those he cares about and even getting back at his creator at the same time (otherwise known as Doll Theory).

✩ ‧₊˚ ⌞ THE *PERFECT* GRAND CHALLENGE ⌝

When paired with both Aha Stuffed Toy and Curio Hacker, The *Perfect* Grand Challenge begins to paint a bigger picture. Here, a toy is once again mentioned (Aha and the Elation path seem to have a strange fixation on dolls and toys), this time as a “clay doll” trapped inside an arcade machine alongside other gacha prizes. You play through the arcade machine much like the occurrence, deciding which toy to pull and how many attempts to make. Here are a few of my notes:

Prizes: The prizes within the arcade machine include “trendy gachapon figures, ether orbs, and clay dolls,” although there are only two specific ones available: “popular gacha toy” and “clay doll.” I find it notable how the clay doll is emphasized here; despite being part of a three-item list at the beginning, the options are basically simplified down to “clay doll” and “everything else.” Additionally, the clay doll is the only item to have an extended description in the occurrence, which I will explain later.

Rewards: Each reward operates in probability, with the clay doll having a 50/50 for a regular vs. negative Curio, and the gacha toy has a 40/60 for a regular Curio vs. nothing. If we are looking at this occurrence within the context of the other two, the “clay doll” seems somewhat similar to both the Aha Stuffed Toy and Sampo himself, operating on chance to give the player either something helpful or harmful, to give or to take. Additionally, it fits with the Sampo of Finnish mythology, not having an option to not give — it must give, that is its function. And so it does.

Perfectionism: It’s a bit odd how perfectionism is a major theme of The *Perfect* Grand Challenge (hell, it’s even in the name)! I never thought of Elation as being closely intertwined with being “perfect”; in fact I always considered it to be the more chaotic of the Paths. However, there’s no escaping the fact that this occurrence not only shares the same cover art as other Elation occurrences like the Aha Stuffed Toy, but it also shares similarities like the clay doll, fun game, and “playful” programmer. 

So, my main question now is why? If we assume these occurrences are a manifestation of the Paths, then perhaps a subsection of Elation includes perfection. Another option is that the presence of an Erudition option points to a co-mingling of different Paths into something specific like perfection. Or, it is entirely possible that perfection is a natural emergent of Elation that we simply haven’t seen yet. Although Sampo and/or Aha don’t strike me as “perfectionist” types, there’s enough we don’t know about them that makes me think “huh, maybe they really do have some of that going on.” 

If we do, for a moment, entertain the idea that Aha may be a perfectionist in some regard, we can easily make connections between the other occurrences — for example, Sampo as a creation may have been abandoned much like Mysterious Magnetism in Aha’s pursuit of the “perfect toy”; Aha may have created toys in Their own image in the first place just to attempt a more “perfect” existence for Themself; Sampo may even be seen by Aha as in some way defective, leading to feelings of betrayal and hatred (or the opposite, Sampo being perfect enough to garner a god’s favor, which may not be a good thing when it comes to Elation).

There’s even the chance Sampo was created by another Path like Erudition (although that would cause a conflict with being “created in Aha’s likeness”) that may be more susceptible to latching onto perfection. Since the Riddlers (Enigmata) are also mentioned in Mysterious Magnetism, I wouldn’t put it beyond them either. Who knows, maybe he was a pet project collab between Aha and another Aeon!

Note: Who is the “perfect man”? Great question! It could fit in as Sampo with the idea of him sacrificing something for a reward, potentially “embarking on a challenge to become the perfect man” or it could fit in as Aha creating toys, being the “perfect man” that needs a “clay doll” like Sampo. “A perfectionist wants them all” could even allude to greed on either end, reaching beyond what is necessary in the pursuit of perfection. Or, it could be something else entirely. Who knows!

Text: As mentioned earlier, the clay doll has quite a lengthy (and worrisome, if we are comparing it to Sampo) bit of writing here. Most of the other writing sets up the scene (establishing the arcade game, the playful programmer, the game having a catch, etc.) but the clay doll is by far the most detailed and intensive play-by-play we get.

The other gacha figures either rise with the claw or drop, but the clay doll is different. If you win it, you get a short line of text with everything else, but if you lose… well…

Yeah, that’s definitely a lot! The main comparison I see is to the Aha Stuffed Toy occurrence, with the toy’s head blowing up (“the head of the doll has blown up” is actually the specific Stuffed Toy line!) and the clay doll’s head exploding with “fireworks bursting out from the head”.

Both of these events happen during extreme emotion, with the toy being created with the intent of venting emotion on and the clay doll exploding when you “lose your patience” and “give the machine a vicious kick”. With such an emphasis on the clay doll and its links to not only the stuffed toy, but to the programmer from Curio Hacker, I am officially inducting The *Perfect* Grand Challenge into the Sampo-Aligned Occurence Hall of Fame! 

I feel like this can slot in with my Doll Theory as well, taking my already mentioned timeline and adding the idea that Sampo is one of many attempts at a “perfect” recreation of Aha, one that is likely trying very desperately to escape from the dehumanization and danger of his kin. After all, two Elation-coded dolls exploding by the head in separate occurrences is not a fun precedent to follow!

Note: I mainly compared Sampo to the clay doll here given its similarity to the Aha Stuffed Toy, but it is entirely possible he is the programmer as well — hell, with the implications of Organic Heart he may as well be both!

Additional Note: There seems to be some connection between the Erudition and the Elation here, with the Aha Stuffed Toy occurrence’s only Path options being Elation and Erudition, as well as The *Perfect* Grand Challenge including an Erudition option despite having such heavy Elation influences. Creation, experimentation, and combination are in and of themselves a very Erudition-coded activity, though those very same concepts can also be creative and fun in the vein of the Elation.

Additionally, the story of Mysterious Magnetism (linked to Sampo who is very much linked with Elation) mentions the Riddlers conducting their experiment to “combat the determinacy of Erudition”. Just food for thought!

Bonus: This mention of the Aha Stuffed Toy in the Flea Market occurrence! Don’t mind me, I’ll just be crying at the “asking to be hit” part. (Also, four destructible Curios makes me think in plurality, meaning there are perhaps quite a few “stuffed toys” out there. It also implies awareness and the ability to communicate, making the toy much more likely to be a sentient / intelligent lifeform.)

Also this screenshot I caught of both occurrences & the man himself!

Okay, that’s all I have!

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.𖥔 ݁ ˖ જ⁀➴ thank you for reading to the end!

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© analysis by sunderingstars. do not copy, repost, translate, modify, or claim my work as your own.

[sepdet]

Killing Time Excerpts #6

McCoy and Spock discuss Kirk, and Kirk narrowly avoids becoming a redshirt.

Note: I had forgotten just how good this book is. I'm skipping over plot and fun scenes with other characters, including McCoy, Scotty, Chapel, and some OCs. Try to find and read the whole novel, whether a pdf of the rare first edition or the easier-to-find second edition with the Kirk/Spock vibes toned down.

But my mission here is to bring you the Kirk/Spock stuff, since I have the uncensored 1st ed.

Context: McCoy and Captain Spock have figured out they're living in an alternate universe, where people are suffering hallucinations or mental breakdowns as bits of their other selves "slip through." McCoy has seen glimpses of the other reality via voluntary mind scans of several crew members, and he's noticed a recurring figure...

––––

McCoy shrugged. "Maybe nothing," he said before the Vulcan could respond. "But once you take a look at those vid-scans, I think you'll understand why I'm a little . . . concerned about Kirk."

"Please explain," the Vulcan entreated, leaning forward curiously.

"I can't be sure, of course," the doctor replied hesitantly, "but Kirk does bear a remarkable resemblance to some of the images on that tape." He leaned back, biting his lip thoughtfully. "And I also found out that you ordered Kirk to report to Sickbay last night."

"He did not choose to do so," the Vulcan stated, not particularly surprised.

"Apparently not," McCoy confirmed. "But if you questioned him about it, he'd probably give you a lot of static about his ignoring an order being grounds for immediate discharge, and you wouldn't get much insight into the real problem." He paused. "But Kirk did come staggering into my office early this morning. And let me tell you, Captain, he looked like early death and plomik soup warmed over. At first, he wouldn't tell me what was wrong, wouldn't let anyone touch him— but then he started demanding lidacin."

"Lidacin?" Spock repeated quietly. "Why should he . . .?" But then the answer came. Once under the influence of the powerful tranquilizer, the human would not dream; certain electrical impulses to the brain would be deadened; the slippage would not be as severe to the conscious mind. Far from a cure, but nonetheless an effective placebo. He looked at McCoy.

"In answer to your question," the doctor replied, "I didn't give it to him. But when I asked him to get on the table, he started backing up as if I'd just told him I was an ax murderer. It took me and four orderlies to get him down, and a double dose of coenthal to calm him down long enough to run a full exam." He paused. "When I got through with the tests, I found out that this kid's got some serious problems no one discovered before." He shook his head, slipping into a moment of thought. "I'd love to see a vid-scan on him, though I suspect he'd rather walk on hot coals than submit to anything."

Spock felt himself tense. Again, McCoy's suspicions about Kirk confirmed his own. The ensign was somehow important. "Precisely what type of . . . problems did you discover, Doctor?" he asked at last, struggling to keep his voice neutral.

McCoy's expression slowly transformed to a worried frown. "First of all, he's been addicted to lidacin for quite a while—and not the stuff we use on the ship, either. Don't ask me where he's been getting it, but he's been injecting himself with a ninety percent solution for at least six months. Hell, Spock, it's no wonder he's been acting like a zombie half the time."

Spock remained quiet for a moment. "I presume you will begin treatment of the addiction."

McCoy nodded. "Sure, but it'll take time," he reminded the Vulcan. "The main cure is abstinence—and that's not going to be easy on him, either. And while I don't personally approve of anybody's drug addiction, I approve of those Orion stitches-and-needles rehab colonies even less—which is where he'd end up if anyone other than you or me found out about this. But now . . . "

"I see," the Vulcan said softly, feeling a deep personal regret that the young ensign's life was such an apparent turmoil. The human was different, compelling . . . and somehow connected in a critical way to both universes. The Vulcan lifted an eyebrow in silent consideration. Perhaps Kirk was even the key to whatever answer existed. . . .

"The only course of action I can suggest," McCoy continued, calling the Vulcan back to reality, "is that we try to keep this under wraps—especially from men like Donner. If Kirk wants out of the Fleet as much as he claims, then he might go out of his way to make it known that he is a drug addict—just to get that discharge."

The Vulcan glanced up. "Apparently not," he countered, "or he certainly could have availed himself of that opportunity while still at the Academy waiting for active posting." He shook his head. "No . . . Ensign Kirk has chosen to be here; and I do not believe it is entirely by accident."

McCoy considered that. "In other words, you think he may be calling your bluff—trying to see how much he can get away with?"

"I am not certain," Spock replied, "for I have never understood the human capacity to say one thing when another thing entirely is desired."

McCoy grinned. "Like Brer Rabbit and the briar patch."

A look of confusion took shape on angular Vulcan features. "Brer Rabbit?"

But McCoy only laughed. "Never mind, Spock," he muttered. He sobered then, forcing himself back to more immediate problems. "The main thing right now is to get started on a treatment program."

"Begin immediately, Doctor," Spock instructed. In the back of his own mind, he realized he was taking a severe chance with his own career—and possibly the safety of the ShiKahr—based on a feeling alone. But transferring Kirk now would serve no useful purpose. I'd make one hell of a lousy ensign, Spock. The phantom words returned, spoken as clearly as if the man had been standing directly in front of him.

McCoy nodded almost to himself, noticing the distant stare in his captain's eyes. "I dunno," the doctor murmured. "Maybe I'm just looking for an answer under any rock—but there's something about him . . . something worth salvaging."

"Precisely what injuries did you find?" the captain asked presently.

McCoy scoffed. "He's been through a lot, Spock—most of it during the time he spent in prison on Earth. Several broken bones; all healed now. Scar tissue on the left lung from bronchial pneumonia—not terribly surprising, considering his weakened condition and prison living conditions. Lots of bruises," he added, "and a few lacerations." His tone darkened. "All fresh, I might add. But the physical injuries are just the tip of that proverbial iceberg."

"The Talos Device," Spock remarked, tone bordering on contempt.

"The Talos Device," McCoy confirmed. "That damned thing was used pretty extensively on him—so it's no mystery why he won't submit to a vid-scan." He shook his head once again. "And it's no wonder he was trying to pry lidacin out of me. He probably has nightmares left over from the Talos Device that would make a Klingon concentration camp look like a sixth-grade prayer retreat by comparison." He paused. "I've prescribed benzaprine orally for him—and that should curb the effects of the withdrawal within a few days." But his eyes darkened with concern. "The only problem is that he's going to have to come down to Sickbay every night to get the pills. I don't dare trust him with a bottle of the stuff; it'd be like candy next to the stuff he's been pumping into himself. He'd overdose in a day's time."

"Leave the medication with me," Spock suggested. At the very least, it would be an excuse to question the ensign further—and under a more gentle pretense. "Also, it would be too conspicuous if he were seen going to Sickbay every evening; even a man with Donner's limited intelligence would not have difficulty deducing the reason."

McCoy seemed dubious, but nodded. "I'll drop it off in a couple hours," he replied, rising from the chair. "Anything else, Spock?"

The Vulcan thought for a moment. "Negative, Doctor," he replied at last.

"Well," McCoy concluded, moving to the door. "Since I've still got a few hours of correlation to do on this data, I'd better get back to my beads and rattles. . . ." For a moment, the doctor jolted internally. It seemed so natural . . . like a memory of a dream . . . Spock calling him a witch doctor . . . while someone else stood in the background suppressing a smile. He shivered, and wondered if he, too, was beginning to slip. Someone else. The third side of the triangle. Golden-haired, golden-eyed human. But before he could ponder it further, Spock rose to see him out.

The Vulcan studied the doctor. "I had always suspected that your medical practices were something less than scientific," he murmured, though he also felt an odd sense of deja vu connected with McCoy's peculiar statement. He wondered briefly if it was McCoy who had always been at his side—and though that image brought a certain truth, he recognized that it was not entirely accurate. The images whisper-walked through his mind. Blue and gold. Warmth and companionship. Stolen moments when the firm Vulcan mask did not have to fit so tightly.

Somewhere, he told himself, he would find that reality again . . . or create it.

[…]

It was late in the evening when the door buzzer sounded again, and though the Vulcan had long since abandoned the prospect of sleep, the grating tone was nonetheless annoying. He rose from the bed, only then realizing that he'd slipped into a state of light meditation while planning the details for the scheduled meeting with the Canusian ambassador. Reaching for the discarded uniform shirt, He glanced at the chronometer. Two A.M. But before he could even begin to pull the uniform into place, the buzzer sounded again, more insistent . . . and more annoying.

"Come!" he said sharply, surprised at the harsh tone of his voice.

The door opened to reveal Ensign Kirk standing in the hall, bright hazel eyes flitting nervously back and forth from the corridor to the interior of the dimly lit room. He did not speak as he stepped inside, doors closing with a whoosh behind him.

The Vulcan studied him for a moment, quickly detecting the embarrassment hiding behind an outward expression of defiance. For the briefest of moments, the Vulcan wondered what in all possible worlds had brought the human to his doorstep at this hour of the night; but slowly memory returned, and he remembered the pills McCoy had left with him a few hours earlier. Without preamble, he reached into the second drawer of the desk, retrieved the bottle of benzaprine, and dumped two capsules into the palm of his hand, feeling unaccountably nervous in the human's presence. He proffered the pills in Kirk's direction, but still the ensign did not look up.

"Guess McCoy told you about my little . . . problem," the human muttered as if to himself. "But since when are the captain's quarters considered a dispensary?" He was angry at having the knowledge discovered by anyone—and especially embarrassed that the Vulcan commander had obviously been informed. But he felt his hard resolve start to weaken. He glanced up, meeting the Vulcan's eyes. Somehow, shirtless, and with hair slightly dishelved, the Shi'Kahr's legendary captain appeared almost vulnerable in the dim lighting. . . almost reachable.

"The doctor informed me of your addiction to lidacin," the Vulcan confirmed presently. Kirk was such an enigma. He could never predict when the human would react with anger, when he would be embarrassed, when he would board himself up inside that stubborn wall and be completely unreadable. And the fact that he'd only met the ensign recently didn't aid the uncanny sensation of helplessness. "And in response to your second question," he continued, "I thought it would be better for all concerned if you came here rather than Sickbay." He paused, then took another risk. "You . . . obviously do not wish it publicly known that you are . . . experiencing difficulties, and I do not believe you sincerely wish to be transferred off this vessel." So, he thought to himself, this was poker. He felt his heart quicken just a little.

Kirk looked up, started to deny it, then abandoned the pose with a deep sigh as he flopped, uninvited, into a convenient chair. "Mind if I sit down?" he asked after the fact.

A Vulcan eyebrow climbed high as the captain sank into his own chair. Bluff called. He waited mutely.

"Why do you care?" Kirk asked at last, meeting the Vulcan's eyes.

And Spock felt himself weaken under the human's scrutiny. Spock glanced away from the intense hazel globes. But the stakes were too high to permit intimidation to interfere with logic. "I have . . . discussed your case with Doctor McCoy," he began, wondering where the statement would eventually lead, "and have come to the conclusion that you are somehow . . . a critical factor in the survival of this . . . universe." His throat was suddenly dry; gambling was a game best left to humans.

But Kirk laughed, startling him back to reality. "Now that's a heavy guilt trip, Captain," he said boldly. "I know the ShiKahr's received some strange orders, but telling me that I'm a critical factor is taking psychiatry a bit far, isn't it?"

The Vulcan shivered, glancing forlornly across the room to the discarded shirt. Yet he knew that no amount of clothing could cover his psychic nakedness; Kirk could strip him to the marrow with a single question."I can offer no logical explanation," he replied truthfully. "I can only state what I . . . feel . . . to be true." He forced himself to look up once more, demanded his eyes to remain locked with the human's. Somehow, he hadn't expected this. If he had been the intimidator before, it now seemed as if their positions were reversed; Kirk was questioning him. And yet . . . it felt right, normal, secure. He relented to intuition. "As I have informed you previously, there is a strong possibility that we shall not survive beyond this week. For the moment, it appears that we have, as you humans might call it, bought some time. Yet I shall not hesitate to point out to you—confidentially—that we are still not fully knowledgeable as to what we are facing nor how to . . . correct whatever damage has been done." He paused, wondering if he was making the correct decision. But holding back would accomplish nothing—and perhaps worse. He swallowed, wondered what the human was thinking, what thoughts were traveling through the quick mind. "At any rate," he continued presently, "we have been diverted to the Canusian system." He held the intense eyes. "And I have tentatively scheduled you into the landing party."

Kirk's eyes widened. "Why?" he asked simply.

The Vulcan hesitated, steepling his fingers in front of him, wishing the action would accomplish the serenity for which it was designed. "Your early Academy records indicated that you were quite adept at diplomacy, Ensign," he replied, choosing a formal approach. "And since several members of the crew are temporarily . . . disabled . . . I find it necessary to utilize your services."

Kirk stared at the Vulcan, a smile slowly coming to the handsome face. "Suppose I refuse?" he asked pointedly.

The eyebrow rose once more. "In that event," the Vulcan replied, "I would have no alternative other than to expedite your immediate discharge from the Fleet." He paused. Poker indeed. "You would be transported to the space-port on Canus Four and eventually to an Orion colony," he bluffed. He leaned forward then, resting his elbows on the desk. "The decision is yours, Jim."

Kirk rose from the chair, shaking his head in mild disbelief. He turned away from the Vulcan, and felt a flare of the old anger. But it quickly faded as respect for the commander chased it away. "And what makes you think I wouldn't jump at the chance?" he wondered.

"You are not a fool, Ensign," the Vulcan responded. "I believe you are . . ." He hesitated, warring with feelings which suddenly welled in on him. "I believe you are . . . as displaced in your present role as I perceive you to be," he stated finally. "And that you . . ." But it wasn't easy to say; a lifetime of discipline and logic fought for survival. ". . . that you will . . . find the strength within yourself to . . . aid in this matter."

Kirk shook his head once again, then turned to face the Vulcan, wondering if it was even possible to trust again. He started to speak, then closed his mouth with the words still suspended in his throat. Something stirred inside him. . . something ancient, yet something familiar. He took a deep breath. "All right," he conceded at last. And somehow, it didn't injure the fierce pride nor the stubborn ego as he'd half-expected it would. "For all the good it'll do, I'll go on the landing party."

The Vulcan nodded almost to himself. "Thank you," he murmured, recognizing the illogic in his words. Yet he also recognized the need for that simple reassurance. "At our present speed, we shall be entering Canusian orbit early in the morning. Please report to the transporter room at 0800 hours."

Kirk nodded, feeling suddenly awkward as he noticed the two capsules of benzaprine on the Vulcan's desk. He turned toward the door.

"Ensign?"

He stopped, but did not face the Vulcan.

"Do you . . .?" But his voice trailed into silence.

Kirk shook his head in silent negation of the unspoken question. "Tell Doc I flushed 'em down the john," he said quietly, and slipped into the corridor before the Vulcan could reply.

Once outside the captain's quarters, he leaned heavily against the bulkhead, eyes drifting shut. Someone else had made him say the things he'd said. Someone else had walked through his mind. Absently, he twisted the plain gold Academy ring on his left hand as he sank to the floor and began to tremble. Someone else . . . I believe you are as displaced in your current role as I perceive you to be.

He took a deep breath, running one hand down the smooth metal body of the ship. She . . . silver woman-goddess. It was time to change . . .

After a moment, he rose from the cool bulkhead, listening to the pleasant drone of the engines. Reality breathed . . . more easily now.

[…]

He reached into the closet, withdrawing a red, silk uniform tunic.

But Richardson quickly came over, snatched the red shirt away and tossed it across the room. "Here," he said, digging deeper into the closet until he found a blue shirt. "Live a little—and a little longer, Jim," he urged.

Kirk's brows questioned.

And Richardson shrugged. "Let's just say that on this ship—or probably any other—you don't want to wear a red shirt on landing-party duty."

Kirk shook his head with a laugh . . . and quickly pulled the blue shirt over his head.

* * * * *

The landing party, consisting of five members, beamed down to the computer-specified coordinates only to discover themselves in a swampy area. Large trees resembling Earth cypress grew in abundance, and steam-demons rose off warm puddles like ghostly fingers reaching for the silver-gray sky. On the distant horizon, thunder spoke ominously, and an occasional flash of black-fingered lightning ripped its way through clouds.

Captain Spock observed their surroundings with an expression bordering on exasperation, then turned to survey the landing party. McCoy and Kirk stood to one side; and Donner—an unfortunate last-minute replacement for Alvarez—and Ambassador Selon of Vulcan waited on the other side. And were it not for the logical portion of his mind, Spock might have thought himself in a nightmare. A damp, musky smell drifted to his nostrils, and already he could feel the seepage of stagnant water leaking into his boots. In an almost human gesture, the Vulcan sighed.

The nightmare became considerably more vivid, however, when he began to sense that the landing party was being quite closely watched; even Ambassador Selon, who had been attached to the ShiKahr for three years, seemed nervous.

Spock took a step forward. "Tricorder readings, Ensign Kirk?"

Kirk glanced at the hand-held device, following closely at the captain's side. "Some sort of interference, Captain," he reported. "When we first beamed down, I was detecting humanoid lifeforms within a quarter of a mile; but the readings just suddenly shot off the scale. Possible effect of the storm."

The Vulcan nodded, but before he could even begin to draw his phaser as a precautionary measure, he discovered himself in the midst of a rain of spears and arrows which appeared from everywhere and nowhere. He vaguely remembered giving the order to disperse, and was peripherally aware of Donner's voice barking orders into the communicator for emergency beam- up.

The last thing he saw before he felt something sharp slide into his back with remarkable force was the familiar twinkling effect of the transporter yanking McCoy and Ambassador Selon back to the safety of the ShiKahr. Apparently, transporter circuits were being affected by the storm as well, he thought disjointedly. He could only hope that Donner, Kirk and himself would be next, for he doubted either of the humans would survive should they be captured by the tribal, warlike Canusian primitives. The one thing which didn't make sense, however, the Vulcan realized, was that the savages couldn't have known when and where the landing party was to beam down . . . unless . . .

Instinctively, Spock reached for the phaser as he felt himself falling. If he could hold off the attack until the transporter technician could recalibrate the controls . . .

Through vision blurred with increasing pain, he could see the primitives closing in—only six of them, he realized—three with spears trained on Donner, three with crude weapons leveled on Kirk.

Without knowing precisely why, the Vulcan slid the phaser into the lethal mode, rolled to his side in a wave of agony, and took careful aim, sending three of the savages to join their ancestors in oblivion.

"Jim!" he yelled as he saw the determined expression on Kirk's face. He didn't see that the human had already drawn his own phaser with surprising speed. "Jim!" Another flash of lightning—phaser blast.

The spears started falling again, like lethal rain from the sky.

It was his last conscious memory.

McCoy shrugged. "Maybe nothing," he said before the Vulcan could respond. "But once you take a look at those vid-scans, I think you'll understand why I'm a little . . . concerned about Kirk."

"Please explain," the Vulcan entreated, leaning forward curiously.

"I can't be sure, of course," the doctor replied hesitantly, "but Kirk does bear a remarkable resemblance to some of the images on that tape." He leaned back, biting his lip thoughtfully. "And I also found out that you ordered Kirk to report to Sickbay last night."

"He did not choose to do so," the Vulcan stated, not particularly surprised.

"Apparently not," McCoy confirmed. "But if you questioned him about it, he'd probably give you a lot of static about his ignoring an order being grounds for immediate discharge, and you wouldn't get much insight into the real problem." He paused. "But Kirk did come staggering into my office early this morning. And let me tell you, Captain, he looked like early death and plomik soup warmed over. At first, he wouldn't tell me what was wrong, wouldn't let anyone touch him— but then he started demanding lidacin."

"Lidacin?" Spock repeated quietly. "Why should he . . .?" But then the answer came. Once under the influence of the powerful tranquilizer, the human would not dream; certain electrical impulses to the brain would be deadened; the slippage would not be as severe to the conscious mind. Far from a cure, but nonetheless an effective placebo. He looked at McCoy.

"In answer to your question," the doctor replied, "I didn't give it to him. But when I asked him to get on the table, he started backing up as if I'd just told him I was an ax murderer. It took me and four orderlies to get him down, and a double dose of coenthal to calm him down long enough to run a full exam." He paused. "When I got through with the tests, I found out that this kid's got some serious problems no one discovered before." He shook his head, slipping into a moment of thought. "I'd love to see a vid-scan on him, though I suspect he'd rather walk on hot coals than submit to anything."

Spock felt himself tense. Again, McCoy's suspicions about Kirk confirmed his own. The ensign was somehow important. "Precisely what type of . . . problems did you discover, Doctor?" he asked at last, struggling to keep his voice neutral.

McCoy's expression slowly transformed to a worried frown. "First of all, he's been addicted to lidacin for quite a while—and not the stuff we use on the ship, either. Don't ask me where he's been getting it, but he's been injecting himself with a ninety percent solution for at least six months. Hell, Spock, it's no wonder he's been acting like a zombie half the time."

Spock remained quiet for a moment. "I presume you will begin treatment of the addiction."

McCoy nodded. "Sure, but it'll take time," he reminded the Vulcan. "The main cure is abstinence—and that's not going to be easy on him, either. And while I don't personally approve of anybody's drug addiction, I approve of those Orion stitches-and-needles rehab colonies even less—which is where he'd end up if anyone other than you or me found out about this. But now . . . "

"I see," the Vulcan said softly, feeling a deep personal regret that the young ensign's life was such an apparent turmoil. The human was different, compelling . . . and somehow connected in a critical way to both universes. The Vulcan lifted an eyebrow in silent consideration. Perhaps Kirk was even the key to whatever answer existed. . . .

"The only course of action I can suggest," McCoy continued, calling the Vulcan back to reality, "is that we try to keep this under wraps—especially from men like Donner. If Kirk wants out of the Fleet as much as he claims, then he might go out of his way to make it known that he is a drug addict—just to get that discharge."

The Vulcan glanced up. "Apparently not," he countered, "or he certainly could have availed himself of that opportunity while still at the Academy waiting for active posting." He shook his head. "No . . . Ensign Kirk has chosen to be here; and I do not believe it is entirely by accident."

McCoy considered that. "In other words, you think he may be calling your bluff—trying to see how much he can get away with?"

"I am not certain," Spock replied, "for I have never understood the human capacity to say one thing when another thing entirely is desired."

McCoy grinned. "Like Brer Rabbit and the briar patch."

A look of confusion took shape on angular Vulcan features. "Brer Rabbit?"

But McCoy only laughed. "Never mind, Spock," he muttered. He sobered then, forcing himself back to more immediate problems. "The main thing right now is to get started on a treatment program."

"Begin immediately, Doctor," Spock instructed. In the back of his own mind, he realized he was taking a severe chance with his own career—and possibly the safety of the ShiKahr—based on a feeling alone. But transferring Kirk now would serve no useful purpose. I'd make one hell of a lousy ensign, Spock. The phantom words returned, spoken as clearly as if the man had been standing directly in front of him.

McCoy nodded almost to himself, noticing the distant stare in his captain's eyes. "I dunno," the doctor murmured. "Maybe I'm just looking for an answer under any rock—but there's something about him . . . something worth salvaging."

"Precisely what injuries did you find?" the captain asked presently.

McCoy scoffed. "He's been through a lot, Spock—most of it during the time he spent in prison on Earth. Several broken bones; all healed now. Scar tissue on the left lung from bronchial pneumonia—not terribly surprising, considering his weakened condition and prison living conditions. Lots of bruises," he added, "and a few lacerations." His tone darkened. "All fresh, I might add. But the physical injuries are just the tip of that proverbial iceberg."

"The Talos Device," Spock remarked, tone bordering on contempt.

"The Talos Device," McCoy confirmed. "That damned thing was used pretty extensively on him—so it's no mystery why he won't submit to a vid-scan." He shook his head once again. "And it's no wonder he was trying to pry lidacin out of me. He probably has nightmares left over from the Talos Device that would make a Klingon concentration camp look like a sixth-grade prayer retreat by comparison." He paused. "I've prescribed benzaprine orally for him—and that should curb the effects of the withdrawal within a few days." But his eyes darkened with concern. "The only problem is that he's going to have to come down to Sickbay every night to get the pills. I don't dare trust him with a bottle of the stuff; it'd be like candy next to the stuff he's been pumping into himself. He'd overdose in a day's time."

"Leave the medication with me," Spock suggested. At the very least, it would be an excuse to question the ensign further—and under a more gentle pretense. "Also, it would be too conspicuous if he were seen going to Sickbay every evening; even a man with Donner's limited intelligence would not have difficulty deducing the reason."

McCoy seemed dubious, but nodded. "I'll drop it off in a couple hours," he replied, rising from the chair. "Anything else, Spock?"

The Vulcan thought for a moment. "Negative, Doctor," he replied at last.

"Well," McCoy concluded, moving to the door. "Since I've still got a few hours of correlation to do on this data, I'd better get back to my beads and rattles. . . ." For a moment, the doctor jolted internally. It seemed so natural . . . like a memory of a dream . . . Spock calling him a witch doctor . . . while someone else stood in the background suppressing a smile. He shivered, and wondered if he, too, was beginning to slip. Someone else. The third side of the triangle. Golden-haired, golden-eyed human. But before he could ponder it further, Spock rose to see him out.

The Vulcan studied the doctor. "I had always suspected that your medical practices were something less than scientific," he murmured, though he also felt an odd sense of deja vu connected with McCoy's peculiar statement. He wondered briefly if it was McCoy who had always been at his side—and though that image brought a certain truth, he recognized that it was not entirely accurate. The images whisper-walked through his mind. Blue and gold. Warmth and companionship. Stolen moments when the firm Vulcan mask did not have to fit so tightly.

Somewhere, he told himself, he would find that reality again . . . or create it.

[…]

It was late in the evening when the door buzzer sounded again, and though the Vulcan had long since abandoned the prospect of sleep, the grating tone was nonetheless annoying. He rose from the bed, only then realizing that he'd slipped into a state of light meditation while planning the details for the scheduled meeting with the Canusian ambassador. Reaching for the discarded uniform shirt, He glanced at the chronometer. Two A.M. But before he could even begin to pull the uniform into place, the buzzer sounded again, more insistent . . . and more annoying.

"Come!" he said sharply, surprised at the harsh tone of his voice.

The door opened to reveal Ensign Kirk standing in the hall, bright hazel eyes flitting nervously back and forth from the corridor to the interior of the dimly lit room. He did not speak as he stepped inside, doors closing with a whoosh behind him.

The Vulcan studied him for a moment, quickly detecting the embarrassment hiding behind an outward expression of defiance. For the briefest of moments, the Vulcan wondered what in all possible worlds had brought the human to his doorstep at this hour of the night; but slowly memory returned, and he remembered the pills McCoy had left with him a few hours earlier. Without preamble, he reached into the second drawer of the desk, retrieved the bottle of benzaprine, and dumped two capsules into the palm of his hand, feeling unaccountably nervous in the human's presence. He proffered the pills in Kirk's direction, but still the ensign did not look up.

"Guess McCoy told you about my little . . . problem," the human muttered as if to himself. "But since when are the captain's quarters considered a dispensary?" He was angry at having the knowledge discovered by anyone—and especially embarrassed that the Vulcan commander had obviously been informed. But he felt his hard resolve start to weaken. He glanced up, meeting the Vulcan's eyes. Somehow, shirtless, and with hair slightly dishelved, the Shi'Kahr's legendary captain appeared almost vulnerable in the dim lighting. . . almost reachable.

"The doctor informed me of your addiction to lidacin," the Vulcan confirmed presently. Kirk was such an enigma. He could never predict when the human would react with anger, when he would be embarrassed, when he would board himself up inside that stubborn wall and be completely unreadable. And the fact that he'd only met the ensign recently didn't aid the uncanny sensation of helplessness. "And in response to your second question," he continued, "I thought it would be better for all concerned if you came here rather than Sickbay." He paused, then took another risk. "You . . . obviously do not wish it publicly known that you are . . . experiencing difficulties, and I do not believe you sincerely wish to be transferred off this vessel." So, he thought to himself, this was poker. He felt his heart quicken just a little.

Kirk looked up, started to deny it, then abandoned the pose with a deep sigh as he flopped, uninvited, into a convenient chair. "Mind if I sit down?" he asked after the fact.

A Vulcan eyebrow climbed high as the captain sank into his own chair. Bluff called. He waited mutely.

"Why do you care?" Kirk asked at last, meeting the Vulcan's eyes.

And Spock felt himself weaken under the human's scrutiny. Spock glanced away from the intense hazel globes. But the stakes were too high to permit intimidation to interfere with logic. "I have . . . discussed your case with Doctor McCoy," he began, wondering where the statement would eventually lead, "and have come to the conclusion that you are somehow . . . a critical factor in the survival of this . . . universe." His throat was suddenly dry; gambling was a game best left to humans.

But Kirk laughed, startling him back to reality. "Now that's a heavy guilt trip, Captain," he said boldly. "I know the ShiKahr's received some strange orders, but telling me that I'm a critical factor is taking psychiatry a bit far, isn't it?"

The Vulcan shivered, glancing forlornly across the room to the discarded shirt. Yet he knew that no amount of clothing could cover his psychic nakedness; Kirk could strip him to the marrow with a single question."I can offer no logical explanation," he replied truthfully. "I can only state what I . . . feel . . . to be true." He forced himself to look up once more, demanded his eyes to remain locked with the human's. Somehow, he hadn't expected this. If he had been the intimidator before, it now seemed as if their positions were reversed; Kirk was questioning him. And yet . . . it felt right, normal, secure. He relented to intuition. "As I have informed you previously, there is a strong possibility that we shall not survive beyond this week. For the moment, it appears that we have, as you humans might call it, bought some time. Yet I shall not hesitate to point out to you—confidentially—that we are still not fully knowledgeable as to what we are facing nor how to . . . correct whatever damage has been done." He paused, wondering if he was making the correct decision. But holding back would accomplish nothing—and perhaps worse. He swallowed, wondered what the human was thinking, what thoughts were traveling through the quick mind. "At any rate," he continued presently, "we have been diverted to the Canusian system." He held the intense eyes. "And I have tentatively scheduled you into the landing party."

Kirk's eyes widened. "Why?" he asked simply.

The Vulcan hesitated, steepling his fingers in front of him, wishing the action would accomplish the serenity for which it was designed. "Your early Academy records indicated that you were quite adept at diplomacy, Ensign," he replied, choosing a formal approach. "And since several members of the crew are temporarily . . . disabled . . . I find it necessary to utilize your services."

Kirk stared at the Vulcan, a smile slowly coming to the handsome face. "Suppose I refuse?" he asked pointedly.

The eyebrow rose once more. "In that event," the Vulcan replied, "I would have no alternative other than to expedite your immediate discharge from the Fleet." He paused. Poker indeed. "You would be transported to the space-port on Canus Four and eventually to an Orion colony," he bluffed. He leaned forward then, resting his elbows on the desk. "The decision is yours, Jim."

Kirk rose from the chair, shaking his head in mild disbelief. He turned away from the Vulcan, and felt a flare of the old anger. But it quickly faded as respect for the commander chased it away. "And what makes you think I wouldn't jump at the chance?" he wondered.

"You are not a fool, Ensign," the Vulcan responded. "I believe you are . . ." He hesitated, warring with feelings which suddenly welled in on him. "I believe you are . . . as displaced in your present role as I perceive you to be," he stated finally. "And that you . . ." But it wasn't easy to say; a lifetime of discipline and logic fought for survival. ". . . that you will . . . find the strength within yourself to . . . aid in this matter."

Kirk shook his head once again, then turned to face the Vulcan, wondering if it was even possible to trust again. He started to speak, then closed his mouth with the words still suspended in his throat. Something stirred inside him. . . something ancient, yet something familiar. He took a deep breath. "All right," he conceded at last. And somehow, it didn't injure the fierce pride nor the stubborn ego as he'd half-expected it would. "For all the good it'll do, I'll go on the landing party."

The Vulcan nodded almost to himself. "Thank you," he murmured, recognizing the illogic in his words. Yet he also recognized the need for that simple reassurance. "At our present speed, we shall be entering Canusian orbit early in the morning. Please report to the transporter room at 0800 hours."

Kirk nodded, feeling suddenly awkward as he noticed the two capsules of benzaprine on the Vulcan's desk. He turned toward the door.

"Ensign?"

He stopped, but did not face the Vulcan.

"Do you . . .?" But his voice trailed into silence.

Kirk shook his head in silent negation of the unspoken question. "Tell Doc I flushed 'em down the john," he said quietly, and slipped into the corridor before the Vulcan could reply.

Once outside the captain's quarters, he leaned heavily against the bulkhead, eyes drifting shut. Someone else had made him say the things he'd said. Someone else had walked through his mind. Absently, he twisted the plain gold Academy ring on his left hand as he sank to the floor and began to tremble. Someone else . . . I believe you are as displaced in your current role as I perceive you to be.

He took a deep breath, running one hand down the smooth metal body of the ship. She . . . silver woman-goddess. It was time to change . . .

After a moment, he rose from the cool bulkhead, listening to the pleasant drone of the engines. Reality breathed . . . more easily now.

[…]

He reached into the closet, withdrawing a red, silk uniform tunic.

But Richardson quickly came over, snatched the red shirt away and tossed it across the room. "Here," he said, digging deeper into the closet until he found a blue shirt. "Live a little—and a little longer, Jim," he urged.

Kirk's brows questioned.

And Richardson shrugged. "Let's just say that on this ship—or probably any other—you don't want to wear a red shirt on landing-party duty."

Kirk shook his head with a laugh . . . and quickly pulled the blue shirt over his head.

* * * * *

The landing party, consisting of five members, beamed down to the computer-specified coordinates only to discover themselves in a swampy area. Large trees resembling Earth cypress grew in abundance, and steam-demons rose off warm puddles like ghostly fingers reaching for the silver-gray sky. On the distant horizon, thunder spoke ominously, and an occasional flash of black-fingered lightning ripped its way through clouds.

Captain Spock observed their surroundings with an expression bordering on exasperation, then turned to survey the landing party. McCoy and Kirk stood to one side; and Donner—an unfortunate last-minute replacement for Alvarez—and Ambassador Selon of Vulcan waited on the other side. And were it not for the logical portion of his mind, Spock might have thought himself in a nightmare. A damp, musky smell drifted to his nostrils, and already he could feel the seepage of stagnant water leaking into his boots. In an almost human gesture, the Vulcan sighed.

The nightmare became considerably more vivid, however, when he began to sense that the landing party was being quite closely watched; even Ambassador Selon, who had been attached to the ShiKahr for three years, seemed nervous.

Spock took a step forward. "Tricorder readings, Ensign Kirk?"

Kirk glanced at the hand-held device, following closely at the captain's side. "Some sort of interference, Captain," he reported. "When we first beamed down, I was detecting humanoid lifeforms within a quarter of a mile; but the readings just suddenly shot off the scale. Possible effect of the storm."

The Vulcan nodded, but before he could even begin to draw his phaser as a precautionary measure, he discovered himself in the midst of a rain of spears and arrows which appeared from everywhere and nowhere. He vaguely remembered giving the order to disperse, and was peripherally aware of Donner's voice barking orders into the communicator for emergency beam- up.

The last thing he saw before he felt something sharp slide into his back with remarkable force was the familiar twinkling effect of the transporter yanking McCoy and Ambassador Selon back to the safety of the ShiKahr. Apparently, transporter circuits were being affected by the storm as well, he thought disjointedly. He could only hope that Donner, Kirk and himself would be next, for he doubted either of the humans would survive should they be captured by the tribal, warlike Canusian primitives. The one thing which didn't make sense, however, the Vulcan realized, was that the savages couldn't have known when and where the landing party was to beam down . . . unless . . .

Instinctively, Spock reached for the phaser as he felt himself falling. If he could hold off the attack until the transporter technician could recalibrate the controls . . .

Through vision blurred with increasing pain, he could see the primitives closing in—only six of them, he realized—three with spears trained on Donner, three with crude weapons leveled on Kirk.

Without knowing precisely why, the Vulcan slid the phaser into the lethal mode, rolled to his side in a wave of agony, and took careful aim, sending three of the savages to join their ancestors in oblivion.

"Jim!" he yelled as he saw the determined expression on Kirk's face. He didn't see that the human had already drawn his own phaser with surprising speed. "Jim!" Another flash of lightning—phaser blast.

The spears started falling again, like lethal rain from the sky.

It was his last conscious memory.

-------

Next time: Well, I reckon we were about due for Kirk and Spock rolling around on the sand fighting. Spock, you naughty Vulcan, you're supposed to establish a SAFEWORD first...

[flightfoot]

I have scattered thoughts about Nino, Alya, and the intersection of racism/misogyny.For example, Alya may receive more criticism not only for racism but also for misogyny. We support women's mistakes! Except not and especially not if it's a black woman.

(And I can't help but notice how many of those criticisms are aimed at Alya not fitting the Good Black Friend™ trope )

But now, with what you said about how Nino's criticism in that episode isn't that harsh, I'm VERY curious about the amount of Adrino vs alyanette fics taking into account the main focus.By that I mean that both couples, if they appear in the same fic, are treated equally and not that it is one of the cases of "we went back to lesbian women because I want to see two men kissing." (This is a VERY common problem in several fandoms where the misogyny that many m/m fics usually imply and the erasure and reduction of F/f couples have been pointed out)

Oh yeah, most of the heavy criticism and outright demonization of Alya comes down to her supposedly being a "bad friend" to Marinette... because she dares to "ask why Marinette doesn't like someone" and "asks for evidence that the person is really as bad as her friend thinks" instead of immediately believing that her friend is 100% correct in her assessment on nothing but her word and committing herself to doing whatever her friend wants in order to take down the other person.

There's this expectation that "being a good friend" when it comes to Alya means that she has to give up all notion of personal judgement or perspective. Heck, looking at the uproar over Rocketear when Alya told Nino that she's still helping Ladybug, or even earlier with Optigami when she decided to get the Turtle Miraculous for Nino because she thought it might be useful, she gets hefty criticism anytime she does anything without Marinette's express approval, no matter what her personal issues or perspective.

Actually the babysitting issue is probably the most clear-cut illustration of this. Alya volunteers to babysit Manon multiple times so that her friend can spend time with her crush, with Marinette even tricking Alya into babysitting Manon for her once so she could do an interview? Barely a peep of criticism against Marinette. Marinette babysits Chris ONE TIME so Alya and Nino can go on a date? Alya pressuring Marinette to babysit for her without pay and behind her parents' back becomes a common recurring trope.

(Note: I'm aware that Marinette's slated to babysit two more times for Alya during the series, in Timetagger and Simple Man. But in the first instance she cancels because she's busy, and in the second one she dumps the kids on her grandpa so she can help with Adrien's photoshoot, so I'm not counting them).

If Marinette needs someone to cover for her babysitting duty, then Alya's merely doing the duty of a good friend by taking on the responsibility for her. While if Marinette ever covers for Alya, she's being taken advantage of by a toxic friend.

Considering that the main criticisms of the "Black Best Friend" trope boil down to how it makes the black character an accessory to the white (well, in this case Marinette's only half-white) character, whose main purpose is to serve and support the other character, without having any internal world of their own? Yeah, I'd say that Alya's major demonization almost always comes down to her violating that role, even slightly.

Oh yeah, Adrino vs. Alyanette fics. Weirdly enough, there appear to be more fics tagged with Alyanette than Adrino (note: I'm gonna keep on all my usual filters for this search, I ain't seeing saltfics if I can help it). I've got 360 Adrino fics, but 560 Alyanette fics.

Now, in my personal experience, very few fics have equal focus for both pairings when they're together. They normally favor one or the other, with one being the main focus, and the other being more of a "pair the spares" situation. I'm also gonna skip the ones where it's one happy poly pile.

So here's the tag I ended up with, when I factored in all my usual exclusions and also included Adrino and Alyanette and excluded Alya/Nino/Marinette/Adrien and Lovesquare.

Of these 33 fics, 11 appear to be Adrino-centric, 6 appear to be Alyanette centric, and the rest I dunno. So I'd say Adrino gets a little more attention, especially since its fics tend to be a lot longer than the Alyanette ones.

Honestly though, I will TAKE Alyanette being "pair the spares" for Adrino a lot of the time, it's a heck of a lot better to make Alyanette and Adrino Ship Mates than to inflict Die For Our Ship on one of the pairs.

[soda-gremlin]

The Newer Thea Sisters Books Aren’t as Good as the Older Ones, and Here’s Why

Yes yes, I know I am beating a dead horse here, but I have noticed quite a few patterns when it comes to the newer books, specifically why I don’t like them. So here is my comprehensive list of traits that make the newer books so lackluster.

1. No Continuity

And no, I am not simply referring to small details, like the name of a celebrity that has already been established. What I am referring to, is both the lack of reference to previous books even when relevant, and the complete absence of background knowledge. Let me explain.

So, y’all have read Mystery on the Orient Express, right? If you haven’t, major spoilers ahead. The villains turn out to be a set of identical twins, Dimitri and Leon. But first, before discovering that fact, the Thea Sisters had to tangle with the conundrum of Dimitri’s hand, and why the burn kept disappearing and reappearing. It took them quite a bit of time to work that out because, well, they’d never seen that before. And they’re still new to mystery-solving.

However, in a later book, (spoilers for Phantom of the Orchestra) they are confused by a character named John’s seemingly contradictory behavior, like greeting them like old friends one minute, and acting like they never met the next minute. But here’s the thing. They’ve seen this before, in Mystery of the Orient Express. That shouldn’t have been a huge twist. They shouldn’t have taken that long to figure that out, because they’ve seen it before.

Need another example? So, a common trope in the newer books is that one of the side characters aiding them mysteriously goes missing. Then it turns out, they were kidnapped/led away. It happens almost every single time. Riddle of the Ruins, Niagara Splash, you get the idea. But every single time, the girls dick around like, “Oh no, I wonder where John Doe could have POSSIBLY went” GIRLIEPOPS. THIS AINT YOUR FIRST RODEO. YOU SHOULD KNOW THIS.

I get it, they want the series to be episodic and all that, but when it’s actively hurting the story’s writing, and when quite a few readers have read previous books, it ends up detrimental instead of convenient.

2. The Forgettable Side Characters

Have any of you read the Mouseford series, or the graphic novels? If you have, you’re probably familiar with Vanilla (Ruby), Vic (Ryder), Shen, Craig, Tanya (Tanja), and Dina (Elly). All pretty well-established side characters, some even making an appearance in the beginning of the original series’ books.

Clearly, they have a very diverse cast of side characters in their roster. Shen being a sweet, bookish nerd, Craig being a himbo jock, Vic being a chaotic neutral rich boy, Vanilla being your average spoiled rich girl, you get the idea.

So I bet they bring one along on the girls’ adventures to spice up the story, right? Bringing in a fresh new perspective on the story’s events and a refreshing deviation in recurring character dynamics, while also expanding on the side characters themselves. Right?

WRONG

Instead, they make up a character to use as a plot device. I hesitate to even call them characters, because they have no personality. They’re all the same cookie cutter cardboard cutouts again and again. Especially the new male characters.

Can you tell me a SINGLE unique trait about Didier, Ioannis, Mateo, or Akhun?

Can you even tell me which books they’re from?

Of course you can’t! You probably don’t even remember they existed! (Unless they’re your blorbo, in that case, you have my sympathies…)

So instead of using the more interesting and established side characters from Mouseford, they just stick in a plot device of a character and call it a day.

In the older books, the new characters were memorable. Take Ashvin for example, aka, the only character’s name in this category I didn’t have to look up. He had an actual character. He was impulsive, reckless, but had a strong moral code. Contrast that to the new books’ Forgettable Twink #12.

3. Less Emphasis on Culture

This section will be shorter, due to me not really being any of these cultures, and being American, but I still think it’s worth covering.

The idea of the Thea Sisters exploring new countries and cultures is not new. I’d wager that’s the very purpose of the books, to expand the worldviews of impressionable children.

However, in the newer books, it feels a lot more shallow. As in, “a leaflet you got at an airport” shallow. They just barely scrape the surface, and call it a day. Only covering well known foods and internationally known traditions/practices. It’s like if Cherry Blossom Adventure only had the Thea Sisters eating sushi and learning about ninjas or origami. It does that country a massive disservice, especially if you’re native, or even if you’ve just lived there.

This is due to the newer books having the girls see the country through the eyes of a tourist rather than getting immersed in the life of a local.

Take Mountain of Fire for example, they are thrust headfirst into Nicky’s home country. They’re not put up in a hotel in the touristy part of the country, they’re in Nicky’s ranch, experiencing the wildlife, as well as what it’s like to live so far from the city. They see the natural wonders of Australia, as well as learning from the Aboriginal peoples living around the area, including Nicky’s family.

4. Boring Conflict

This one is pretty straightforward. The conflicts in the newer books feel so boring, almost sanitized in a way. There are no real stakes. In the older books, there were many consequences laid out if the villain succeeded. An important link to a dying art would have been lost, the livelihood of Pam’s family business would have been compromised, and not to mention, PEOPLE COULD HAVE DIED.

But now it’s like, “Oh nooo, a single piece from a model is missing, and it’s gonna lose the contest, whatever shall we do 🥺🥺 It’s not like we can recreate it or anything”

There is nothing compelling about the conflicts or its villains. We have no reason to be at the edge of our seats like with Mystery of the Orient Express, where Pam and Nicky LITERALLY CLIMB ON TOP OF A TRAIN TO CATCH THE THIEF BEFORE HE CAN GET AWAY

But now it just feels like a fetch quest of clues, and a wild goose chase for good measure. And just lot of fapping about in general.

I also have to bring up villains. They’re having the same issue as the side characters. They’re all the same greedy, shifty characters that are so obviously up to something.

Final Thoughts

I think all of these flaws can basically boil down to the fact that every book feels like the same story, over and over again, just with different names. (There are some exceptions, but my point still stands)

And just one more note I have is that, I wish the Thea Sisters got more personality to them. Like, I wish they acted like an actual friend group, not like how kids shows love portraying friend groups. Which is a group of girls all nice to each other all the damn time. There’s no depth, there’s no added dynamics that make the friend group feel real. The dialogue is all so flat. I need banter, I need inside jokes, I need playful jabs at one another, I need each sister having a different relationship with one another. We don’t want perfect, we want interesting. (But this isn’t exclusively a newer book issue, so I didn’t put it in the main list)

Aaaannndddd that’s about all I’ve got for you today! Hope you enjoyed this little rant/analysis!!

[raointean]

Funniest responses* to the "What does "Whump" mean?" question

(In reference to my silmarillion fandom linguistics project, the results of which you can find in my "survey says" tag)

*not necessarily the full response, some are just fragments from longer responses. Also, I'm not filtering by "correct" or "incorrect" responses

it's like torture fic I'm pretty sure

Whump is (to me) almost kink adjacent in how it's employed for gratification (not necessarily sexual) and catharisis

Whump stems originally from the Stargate SG-1 fandom, and is an onomatopoeia of the sound a character makes when being hit or collapsing to the floor

Fic centring around a character being injured, sick, otherwise Going Through It(TM)

throwing your barbies out a window but like. with words.

Angst is a subgenre of whump, as are Hurt/Comfort and Hurt No Comfort.

(Usually) non-sexual

fic that revels in being angsty and sad

Can take the form of pain for pain’s sake

When your favorite character is suffering and you are enjoying every moment of it.

torture or other negative events happening to a character so we can see them SUFFERRRRR

Pain?

Sad, but not yet angst

a melodramatic connotation, though often affectionately.

Sometimes femdom flavored, sometimes part of hurt/comfort

Honestly, Elrond's entire history is a canonical example if I'm honest. The guy just never catches a break.

Gratuitous, slightly smarmy enjoyment of "hurting" a favorite character for iddy fulfillment

that builds to a crescendo of agony

The Silmarillion.

sometimes cute sometimes very much not

Historically I'm more used to seeing it associated with hurt-no-comfort but I think it's been updating recently?

Sometimes has a BDSM connotation but not always

No idea, but sounds funny

Ah baby your hurting so much (and I love it)

fiction where one character is excessively hurt for the reason of “the author wants to make them hurt in order to make them express emotions/vulnerability in a way they normally wouldn’t”

??? sex???

hurt/comfort, but without the comfort part. basically torture porn

emphasis on the hurt- but also with a recurring theme that eventually, things will get at least a little better.

Putting a character in traumatising situations, typically to feel better about your own situation

Hurt/comfort's darker cousin

I take my blorbo and I put him into a jar (plot outline) and then I shake him until he comes out bloody, battered, hurt on the brink of death and greatly traumatized, ready to be on the receiving end of some good old comfort

That Maedhros will be appearing in this story.

Hurt/Comfort but make it Hurt-HURT

kind of like grimdark but specifically physical and graphic

though its generally not very graphic)

Angsstttt but with a loving twist

Comeuppance towards a hated character does not count.

(but not like bdsm; character probably doesn't want it)

Putting your favorite characters through the meat grinder in a fanfiction context. Just make them suffer until they break down beyond recognition. It's not your regular angsty writing, no, this goes BEYOND. Just straight up torture.

It's suffering we coo over.

For those who enjoy torturing their dolls.

Genre where character is absolutely walloped on for catharsis reason (for the reader not them)

Nswf fanfiction catagory

Torture, whipping, medical experimentation, generally getting the shit kicked out of them. Often angst.

Similar to hurt comfort but its mostly the comfort part

Often does not include comfort as a chaser for the hurt, and if it does, then there is a *lot* of hurt

not sure. similar to whomp? like welp that sucks?

Making a character suffer. Extensively. Occasionally even excessively.

traumatising a blorbo and having a different blorbo help them

Light angst

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Why do you like Skyward Sword? What do you love about it? (I just came back to it after a long time and am obsessed.)

AH there are SO many reasons I like Skyward Sword!

The aesthetic! This is such a cute game, and the pastels are so pleasant to the eye. It makes the world so magical too, like botw is breathtakingly beautiful but skyward sword is like going to a real fantasy land. Kind of adds to the whole idea that this game is so far in the past it's in mythology era too, which makes it extra fun!

Speaking of which, the lore! Like, I know some people might not like the Hylia addition but let's be real, Nintendo destroys their own lore with every new game, so I just really liked this one lol. The idea that this game is so far back in the past that it's the original Hero, the original Zelda, it's such a fascinating and fun thing! This isn't just another iteration of the pair, this is the pair. It makes it fitting that they're the Zelink couple that I adore too haha.

With it being so far back in the past, it makes the magic feel so much more alive! The goddess is within reach, the dragons talk, everything feels so alive. You know how in stories it's always like "time passes and people grow distant from the magic and can no longer hear it/experience it" and that kind of feels like the rest of the Zelda games - like there's obviously still magic and beauty in all the games, but it never quite feels as... idk, fantastical as Skyward Sword's world does. Part of that is probably also because it's from Link's POV and this is all new to him

Which is another fun thing! All the other Zelda games, Link lives in an established world. Here, Link's exploring one that's been untouched since the entire world was nearly destroyed in a devastating war and nearly everyone had died. Like it's kind of akin to botw (I remember reading somewhere that botw was designed to be like a really improved skyward sword, like sksw paved the way for it) in that regard, but Link's in a foreign land and knows nothing about it. Rather like OoT Link, but there's very little established here, you know? There's no kingdom, you run into one (1) settlement with the mogmas and that's it. The rest is ruins and wilderness.

The characters! My gosh, they're so fun! Link is the most expressive here, he's absolutely delightful and I adore his personality (the only Link who comes close to being my favorite aside from Sky is Twilight). Groose is fantastic and rightfully a fan favorite. Zelda's a freaking knight! And she has her own journey! And she's got a fantastic personality, and her story is so interesting! Ghirahim is hilarious and a fun recurring villain! Even Impa is fairly interesting as a character. Fi certainly isn't my favorite companion but she isn't terrible, and it's quite fun learning about her lore and watching her develop.

LOFTWINGS. That is all.

LIVING IN THE SKY. Their settlement is so different from anything else in any other game and I love it. Also a nice little thing because like so many Zelda games herald an ancient race coming from the skies, and it differs between the games but the fact that this time it was the Hylians is really neat and solidifies the whole "this takes place before literally everything else" idea.

The music! I love the music so much, they're all bangers. Fi's theme, especially Follow Fi, is absolutely magical, Groose's them is bombastic and fun, freaking Koloktos theme, the Ancient Cistern!! The Sand Sea!!!

SILENT REALMS MY BELOVED. Everybody else hates them, I freaking adore them, they're my favorite part of the game. I love the challenge of them and the music for them absolutely took my breath away.

The sword mechanics! I know with bad programming/buggy controllers it can be a pain, but it's so fun being able to swing Link's sword around with such control, whether it's motion control or joystick. Like, it's not just hitting a button, you gotta wait and watch and observe to figure out how you're going to attack, and it makes it pretty fun!

[darkurgetrash]

Writer Interview Tag ✍️

Thank you for the tag my kitten @savriea! I love this format ❤️ no pressure tags to @lemonsrosesandlavender @forget-me-maybe @freesidexjunkie @blackstaff-blast @crystal-overdrive @notlikeparis xo

When did you start writing?

I was writing awful emo-type fiction (featuring yandere tropes that I didn’t know were a thing) then got into fanfic around ?13/14? with Death Note. I think so anyway, it’s nearly impossible for me to remember what age I did what 🤷‍♀️

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

I enjoy literary horror and absurdist fiction, which I used to write more of but haven’t really felt motivated to since venturing back into romance writing. I have a few short stories though from back in the day in these genres that I was thinking about publishing somewhere, but I wouldn’t know where to begin!

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

I’ve always been inspired by Diana Wynn Jones and have been compared to her from before, but I’m not sure I agree with that because I am nowhere near her level — that would be the dream, though! When I used to write more creatively, I very much tried to emulate Sayaka Murata, my queen. 🙇‍♀️

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

I don’t have a designated space, but I do find it easier to write when I’m commuting (because there’s no wifi/signal and I have nothing better to do). So… the London Underground? 😁

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

Being so bored that “I might as well write”, hahahaha! I have tonnes of hobbies though so, unfortunately, I don’t get in the writing mood very often. 🤣

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

I tend to always end up writing about depression and trauma, even when I didn’t intend to hehe. 🤭 Write what you know, right? Tbh, I’m unfortunately quite a pessimistic person who is more naturally inclined towards melancholy, so I think these things tend to slip into my characters. That said, I always want to make things feel hopeful and whimsical too — probably as a form of escapism — so I suppose that surprises me!

What is your reason for writing?

A loaded question… 👀 I wrote a long answer just now but deleted it because I couldn’t quite properly express what I meant lol, so the tldr is: escapism, self expression, and fulfillment🫡

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

I love all comments ❤️❤️ but also, if you’re writing mini essays under my fics, you have a special place in my heart.

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

Hmm, depends on what I’m writing. For the most part, I’d like readers to think I’m funny and enjoy my humour, and, of course, enjoy the story I create!

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

I personally enjoy my sense of humour in writing. My one-shot ‘Gods Damned Gale Dekarios!’ and some parts of HITMC have been some of my favourite writing I’ve ever done, and my short stories I used to write used tonnes of irony and absurdist humour. I think I’m also good at writing about characters’ inner thoughts and feelings — when it comes to anything external, however, I struggle. 💀

How do you feel about your own writing?

I think I’m pretty average tbh — enjoyable enough to read but nothing super special. I have a lot of cognitive issues that make writing really hard for me, especially when it comes to, like I said, writing about anything that’s happening externally: action, the senses, settings, etc. I think I especially have problems when it comes to the all important “show not tell” rule, because girlypop has no visualisation skills. 🤣 But overall, I think as long as people are enjoying my writing, I don’t see it as a reason to be hard on myself. I’ve kinda given up on any ambitions to write anything more than what I do now because my disabilities are too extreme and also getting worse with age, but hey-ho, it is what it is.

[hcfiles]

I've seen several people think HC has a relationship with someone else. Some say he's not with that person yet. Others think he is. Apparently, you think this person could be a man.

So my question is : why do you think, like others in the chat, that he potentially has someone else ? Have you observed anything in his behavior ?

And finally, do you really think he's bisexual ? I know this is a recurring rumor but I don't know why, I find it hard to believe. I know that if he were, he'd probably hide it, because it's still hard to come to terms with in Hollywood. But even knowing that, I find it a little hard to believe.

Answering your first question, you might have me confused for someone else. I don't think he has another girlfriend and I explicitly expressed my opinion on it saying no woman would accept to have her man kissing and parading with a fake. Concerning the second, I am open to the possibility he's, at least, bi. So many girlfriends, never kept one. All those PR stunts,... Definitely to build the character of the self-confident womanizer who bangs all, successful in his male performance. Why promote that insistently? What is he trying to reaffirm and prove? And, why does he need to prove he's a man? Or he's bi, gay or a virgin.

[larvasmoon]

Writing Interview Tag Game

Thank you so much for tagging me @cinnamontails-ff and @davenswitcher ❤️ I loved reading your interviews so much, it was so interesting to learn more about your writing process and how you came to be the writers that you are !

When did you start writing ?

Probably when I was little, I still have a few notebooks in which I used to draw and imagine stories with unicorns, female knights and mermaid. I also have some fond memories of me and cousins writing plays that we would act in front of our parents ! I like to reread those from time to time, it's always hilarious. My love for books blossomed at the same time as my passion for writing did but it's when I was a teenager that I realized that I wanted to be a writer. I studied French and English literature in college and throughout those years I continued to write consistently. I never really shared any of my writings until last year though and it's been such a wonderful experience !

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

I love thrillers and crime fictions but I find them difficult to write, maybe because it doesn't quite fit my writing style. I also love to read history books or biographies at night before sleeping, they just tickle my brain the right way.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

I don't really want to emulate a writer specifically but I definitely want my stories to have a gothic feel to them, the gloominess of a novel from one of the Brontë sisters for instance. I strive to have my own style though, I try to have a distinctive voice but I probably still have some way to go before finding a style that is truly mine. Writing is about reinventing yourself and having the freedom to do so, after all.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

I'm a chronic insomniac so I often writing in my bed with my computer on my lap at ungodly hours of the night. I also always feel much more inspired after midnight, which is terrible for my sleeping schedule. I sometimes get so caught up in the chapter I'm writing that when I look up, the sun is already rising. I do write on my desk during the day though but I must say it does not happen very often, except during the weekends and during the holidays.

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

I love going out into the nature to find ideas or gather my thoughts. I live close to the sea and my favorite thing is sitting on the sand or on a cliff with a little notebook beside me. Most of the plot of my stories have been inspired by the sea and the waves so she might as well be my muse -

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

I often find myself writing characters who struggle with issues like abuse, trauma and mental health. They spend most of the plot fighting to regain so kind of agency in their lives and trying to exorcise their own demons. I'm not necessarily surprised by the fact that those themes are ever-present in my stories since those are topics that matter a lot to me in my day to day life. I'm often surprised by the way I end up including them in my stories though. Writing has helped me to process some personal things or see them in a different light more than once, lending your voice to a character sometimes helps you to put words on things you simply weren't able to express before.

What is your reason for writing?

Writing helps make to make sense of the world and of how absurd life can be. I like how it allows me to see the bigger picture ! It also pushes me to romanticize my daily life, try and find a bit of magic in the world that surrounds me or observe nature and the people around me. I think I've also, even as a child, always wanted to communicate with people through my writing. I was a very shy little girl and a very reserved teenager and all the things I couldn't bring myself to say, I just wrote down and turned into a story.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

Any type of comment really, I'm just always so emotional when I realize that people do read my stories and take some time to tell me that it made them feel something. It would mean the world to me if one of my fics became someone's comfort story though or echoed to some of their life experience ! I'm extremely slow to answer comments lately but I see all of them and they mean the world to me ❤️ I will answer to each of them once things are a little less hectic, I promise !

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

As someone who is very passionate about her stories, I suppose. As I said, I'm very shy and quiet in real life and it's not always easy for me to find the right words, so I hope my stories have an authentic feel to them.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

Probably the descriptions, setting a mood, I do try to get better at dialogues because it's what is the hardest for me.

How do you feel about your own writing?

It really depends of the day and of how I feel but I try not to be too hard on myself. It's full of ups and downs to be honest. One day I'll hate what I wrote and want to throw it all away but the next day I'll reread it and find that it's not that bad. Writing is a journey and I find comfort in the fact that I keep learning as I go !

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely for yourself, or a mix of both?

It's a mix of both for sure ! I do write for myself when I bring those ideas to life or discuss topics that are very close to my heart, but I also keep in mind that it has to be appealing to my readers. I think about all the ways I could make it more interesting for them and it's an important part of every writing process !

Tagging @thedreamlessnights and @vyjuarts ❤️