#to most people death is a rarity to avoid. to me its just a part of life. every few months im holding something as it dies.

[pyrriax]

goodnight-not-goodnight tumblr :)

(im going to go curl up and write for a while. probably also work on writing down some concepts for fics i need to work on)

[dropintomanga]

“Look Back” - 140 Pages of Raw Emotion

Koyoharu Gotoge gets all the attention right now, but the real manga superstar of the future (or soon-to-be) is Tatsuki Fujimoto. His previous known works, Fire Punch and Chainsaw Man, have developed passionate followings. But his one-shot about creativity and the bonds that form as a result, Look Back, solidifies Fujimoto as one of the very best in depicting real human emotions during terrible moments.

Look Back focuses on the artistic journey of Ayumu Fujino, a 4th grader who loves to draw manga. She draws comic strips for her school newspaper. However, Fujino sees that a fellow peer of hers, Kyomoto, draws even better than her. Fujino becomes more determined to be better than Kyomoto. However, family and peer pressure causes Fujino to change her priorities during 6th grade. It isn’t until she is asked by school staff to deliver Kyomoto’s elementary school graduation diploma to the latter’s house that she gets back into drawing manga again. Fujino draws something on a blank 4-panel strip she finds at Kyomoto’s place. Kyomoto, who’s a shut-in, sees the strip and tells Fujino that she’s been a fan of her art since 4th grade. Fujino becomes ecstatic in seeing her work recognized after constant criticism from her peers. Fujino and Kyomoto begin to work together on manga since then. Both got recognized by Shueisha multiple times over the years to the point of having one of their works becoming an anime series.

Shortly after the anime announcement of one of their works, a rift between the two starts to happen when Kyomoto tells Fujino that she wants to go to art school to get better at drawing. Fujino argues that Kyomoto’s social aloofness is too much for the rest of the world and that it’s better for Kyomoto to stick by her. Kyotomo still goes to art school regardless. Years after their separation, Fujino watches the news one day and finds out that someone attacked the art school Kyomoto attended with multiple dead victims. Kyomoto was one of them. Fujino begins to criticize herself for Kyomoto’s death, but after visiting Kyomoto’s drawing space and seeing how much Kyomoto loved her, Fujino continues to draw as a way to move forward.

I can’t speak on the creative process of a mangaka and mangaka relationships (though I know several mangaka have commented on Look Back for its honest take of being a creator), but I can definitely comment on Fujino blaming herself for Kyomoto’s death. “Drawing is useless,” she says. Fujino imagines a scenario where she saves Kyomoto from her attacker. Fujino was once told by her older sister to practice karate and she feels that maybe she should’ve taken it more seriously. What if she didn’t draw that strip back in 6th grade? What if Fujino and Kyomoto actually met during the art school incident instead of 6th grade?

Those “What ifs?” get shown in vivid detail. And it’s heart-wrenching. There’s always constant reminders to treasure those around you because you never know what will happen. It’s hard to do that sometimes when certain cultures always avoid issues like death and the inevitability of it all like they’re not worth talking about. Also, I think we’re always told that we can save someone if we tried hard enough. If they never get better, society will say that it’s our fault. No one wants to talk about how random life gets. That’s because no one wants to admit that they can’t control everything.

The most powerful moment was Fujino realizing that drawing isn’t useless. She notices a small strip at Kyomoto’s place while in grief. This panel says it all.

It’s nice to have someone with the same interests as you be your friend. But more importantly, it’s even nicer to have someone who literally gives a shit about you. Someone’s who willing to guide you, take in your pain, and be vulnerable with. Fujino exposed Kyomoto to the outside world during their early mangaka days and Kyomoto expressed her gratitude for that. It’s so hard to find people like that. I mean, if you know you’re about to die, it’s worth knowing that at the very least, you met someone that loved you and got you to feel life was worth it, right? I often hear there are many people who don’t feel they’re truly being heard among their relationship circles. Their connections aren’t as deep as they would like.

What this also says is that if you’re working on something that almost always feels undervalued, there’s always someone out there who will tell you that they are inspired by your work. Maybe I can speak on this a bit. I sometimes feel that blogging is a drag given all the mass attention is going to other outlets. Like why write? Especially on a platform that’s been crapped on the past few years. I realize that this isn’t the case. There’s people who dislike “hot takes/clickbait tiles/news promoting discourse.” I think about what Roland Kelts said about anime discussion in this interview.

“What sucks is that the discourse on social media is so coarse. When you go back and read exchanges between diehard anime fans on Usenet and old chatrooms and forums from the mid-2000s, they read like middlebrow literature compared to what you see on Twitter, Reddit, and Discord. So many social media posts are made just to get hits, not to communicate or share ideas, and the most provocative, cruel, or just plain daft stuff gets liked and retweeted a thousand times.”

I feel that there’s still a place for me and if I can still communicate ideas worth thinking about, I’ll keep going as long as I can. Plus, trying to appeal to everyone feels like a trap because it sometimes requires sacrificing certain core values that you might hold dear. When I look at Fujino and Kyomoto, they held on to their core values and found solace in one another. Just find “good enough” people who are willing to love and respect you. I’m glad Look Back got published because finding bonds with other like-minded folks and developing very close relationships with them is sadly a rarity during these times. You also can’t put monetary worth on creativity that inspires people to do what they want to do and/or find reasons for living. Hobbies and creative ventures aren’t “side hustles/distractions” - they’re part of a universal cry to be human.

I think it’s safe to to say that we will really look back on this one-shot for years to come.

[bitch-for-a-rainbow]

So there's a blanddcheadcanons post that says that "Kara is the mortal avatar of Rao" and I really don't like it, especially in the context of SG 3x04 (The Faithful). At best, as was pointed out to me by a friend with whom I discussed this post, the House of El is likely blessed and somewhat sponsored by Rao, which probably doesn't do much but produce Krypton's greatest heroes, given what the word "El" **means** in Kryptonian. I'm interested in your thoughts on this (pls post your answer).

    I reject the headcannon solely because if it were true it would mean Coville was right and I fucking hate that bitch.

     In all seriousness, though, this is an idea I've seen a lot and I'm not a huge fan of. I don't know much about Raoism beyond what appears in the show and that which can be inferred off of the show. One thing I would point out though is that El in Kryptonian (while obviously being intended to mean God by the original comic writers) can mean Sun or Stars, and since the Kryptonians in the show are, as far as I can tell, monotheistic, and worshipped only one particular star, the El family is not necessarily named God. It would, however, signify their enormous prestige on Krypton and contribute to the famous El pride (or rather, arrogance). I’m not sure it would necessarily have to mean anything more than that-- that the Els are a respected house who have produced a variety of successful politicians, civil servants, and scientists. And (this time reaching a little bit) that they are perhaps so old and respected that their house name was once a title. 

      There is a certain allure to the theory, for sure. Kara is a paragon character. She always, always does what she thinks is right, regardless of the cost, personal or global, and regardless of what other people might think of it. She has a very direct moral compass, and there are only a handful of times when she doesn’t follow it, all of which involve saving Lena. Ship who you want, but it is notable that Kara routinely prioritzes Lena’s life over that of others given the rarity of that happening otherwise. She never even considered breaking Rick Thompson’s father out of prison when he kidnapped Alex, and all he’d committed was bank robbery. Kara has lines she does not cross (though murder is clearly not one of them). She is a character that has seen some of the worst that sentient life is capable of, has seen more death and suffering than most people could imagine, and she came out of it with an all-encompassing desire to protect others. She lives to give people hope. Plus, the humor of having Kara-- the one person most offended by the idea of being an Avatar of Rao-- turn out to be an Avatar of Rao is great.

       But, I would also say that having Kara want to do good because she is the avatar of a benevolent god is reductive and not particularly true to her character. It is true that helping and protecting people is a large part of the core of who Kara is. But there is a difference between altruism and the self-destructive, bordering of suicidal desperation to save absolutely everyone that Kara practices. And to anyone who doubts the suicidal bit, I direct you to the season 1 finale where Kara literally goes on a goodbye tour because she thinks if she goes out to fight Non she’ll die. She still goes because she has hope, but that hope is that she can at least save Earth with her life. She doesn’t fight because she is certain in the ultimate victory of good and justice. She does it because she more afraid to lose another family than she is to die. Kara doesn’t become Supergirl and risk her own life because she believes in good, she does it because she can’t stand to listen to people suffer-- because she has suffered. To use Alex’s words in 1x13 “You fight everyday to keep people from struggling like you have.” Notably also in 1x13, Kara wakes up from the Black Mercy and her first words are “Who did this to me?” and then she goes after Non in what could arguably be described as a homicidal rage-- a rage that is fueled entirely for personal reasons, not the greater good of Earth (though that comes as an added benefit), which is.... not very befitting the avatar of a benevolent god. 

     A major part of season 1 is Kara dealing with grief and rage. She nearly breaks a guy's arm in episode 6 because he screamed at her for damaging his car, to hell with the children he'd almost hit with it. In season 3's Midvale flashbacks we see her first put both hands through a lunch table, then attack Jake when she suspects him for Kenny's death. She gets better at controlling it as the seasons progress, but during Crisis she very nearly melts Lex. Also not particularly godly of her. 

     Then there is the fact that so much of who Kara is is shaped by fear: fear of the government, fear of humanity, fear of abandonment, and fear of herself. In her civilian life, Kara is, for the most part, unnoticeable. She's polite, soft-spoken, doesn't wear a lot of bold colors or styles, and is often a pushover. As shown by her encounter with Red Kryptonite, Kara would not dress or speak the same way to people without the pressure of hiding her identity (though much of her dialogue is purely the loss of her "don't be an asshole" filter, some of it is stuff she had every right to say before and just didn't). I have always found that episode to be very interesting purely for the fact that Kara doesn't actually seem to be seeking harm on others so much as seeking their attention. Her argument with Alex is almost entirely about how much she hates having to hide and pretend to be less than she is. Kara drops Cat off the balcony and then catches her. She attacks the police when they point weapons at her but doesn't kill or even hurt them that badly, instead of destroying the car they're using as shelter. Red-K removed her inhibitions, made her angrier, yes, but if her goal was to actually hurt people, she could have done so-- would have done so, and with great ease. She goes to a public bar and uses super strength to smash bottles by flicking peanuts. Why do that at a crowded bar? Why not just flick potato chips at the windows in her own apartment?

      This is Kara at her absolute worst-- but does she seek out the DEO agents who shot her out of the sky? Does she go after Maxwell Lord or Non? No. She tries to make people pay attention to her. Her most shameful and hideous desire is for people to give her respect. (Admittedly, respect gained through fear, but still.). Kara's a nice person-- much, much nicer than average-- but a lot of that "nice" is just her avoiding conflict to avoid attention.

      Kara is a good person. Kara inspires people. But that is because Kara gets up every day and chooses to be good and to inspire. It's one of the reasons I enjoy Non as a villain so much-- he and Astra are Kara's narrative foils. They also remember Krypton and grieve its loss. They also were trapped in the Phantom Zone. But where Kara had the Danvers to convince her that some good people existed and would risk themselves just to help others, Non and Astra had Alura sentencing them to eternal suffering rather than helping them save their planet (through the means they thought necessary) and then landed on Earth and found it headed on the same path as the planet they'd just lost. Kara had people to help her grieve. Non and Astra were surrounded by misery. They lost hope. Kara discovered it.

     Kara is the Paragon of Hope because she has been hopeless. Because she has suffered so much, seen so much, and because she chooses to believe in a better future. She didn't have hope her first time in the Phantom Zone. She didn't even have hope for a while on earth. From what we can gather, Kara's choice to start actually believing in the future was a gradual shift that occurred sometime after Kenny's death and has lasted her ever since. For Kara, hope is learned. She chose to hope and she won't let it go, and to assign that incredible victory off to her being a God is an insult to her growth and to her character. 

   Now I personally thought “The Faithful” handled this concept very well. 3x04 is one of my favorite episodes of television in general, let alone in Supergirl. Season 3 is my second favorite season, and that says a lot for its good episodes when the bad of season 3 is so, so very bad (To say nothing of the episode to episode production value, we have the waste of Argo, Mon El’s return as obviously he’s grown he has a beard Mon El, and whatever the hell was going on with Kryptonian genetic engineering eclipse causing witches). To this day I don’t know why Kara had magic dreams. The show did nothing to explain it and I can’t imagine up a reason. 

     But “The Faithful” works because it highlights the whole paragon part of who Kara is. When you realize that every person in the room of Coville’s cult is a person she has personally saved-- that hits hard. Especially since only a fraction of the people she’s saved would ever set foot inside that building with the totally not-creepy, entirely wholesome way they deliver the invitations. (“Your daughter is special. She has been chosen. As have you.”) It works because it focuses on how the average human must view Kara, the ones who don’t see her argue with her sister over potstickers and crush her phone when she gets mad. It works because of how desperately hard Kara tries to be a human. It works because the writers know that we, the audience, do not see Kara as anything but a regular person with irregular abilities: a kind and remarkably devoted person, but not a god. 

[pagingdoctorbedlam]

My final potion for @quirkyseastone ‘s “Brew a Love Potion” event is complete! Hope you’re ready for the fluffiest darn thing I’ve written for this fandom (and possibly ever).

Characters: Franky x Reader

Genre: Sci-Fi AU, Fluff

TW/CW: Mentions of loss/death

Inspiration: Kudos to “A Long Way to a Small Angry Planet” by Becky Chambers for inspiring this fic~

Word Count: 2.7k words

"Alright, we've successfully docked. Good job, crew." You sit up from the captain's chair and gaze out at the starport outside your window. It's been some time since you'd landed on one of the Sabaody Moons, but you've always found the view breathtaking. The moons are more tree than earth, and bubbles slowly float from the roots up toward the stars. While some of the moons are still hives of scum and villainy, others seem almost paradisiacal as beings from far-flung galaxies intermingled in the Sabaody ports.

Before you can get too far from the bridge, the intercom of the Thousand Sunny buzzes to life. It's Franky, the A.I. that runs your ship. "Hey Captain, can I nab a word with ya' before you go on shore leave?"

"Sure thing. Need me here, or down in the core room?"

"Core Room, if ya' don't mind. I've got a super new design to run by you." Though Franky works admirably as a ship A.I., he'd originally been coded to design ships, including the one he now ran, the 1000 Suns (colloquially the Thousand Sunny to you and your crew). Even though his focus is now centered on ship diagnostics and flight procedures, the A.I. still delights in crafting new machine schematics, and you have a rule that he needs your approval before he modifies the ship.

You wave off the rest of the bridge crew, and they're all too eager to touch solid ground again after months in space. You are too, but if Franky's waited this long to check on you, it's likely something for your ears only while the rest of the crew is offboard. You stride through the winding metal hallways that make up the ship's guts, flashing your clearance badge here and there until you are down in the deep bowels of the ship, close enough to the engines that you can hear the machinery thrumming as the ship went through cooldown procedures. It's familiar. You come down here more often than others would expect, enough that you've got a futon and blanket stashed nearby for nights you don't spend in your own cabin.

"Franky? Said you wanted to see me?" You call out as you entered the Core Room. The entire room is covered in segments of a giant computer, with retractable screens and limbs for interacting with others; all of this is Franky. In a way, you're standing in his brain, which is something you try not to think about too much. What catches your attention is that all the screens are down, a rarity when Franky has company.

"Sure do!" His voice echoes, but not from the speakers. "Got a surprise for you. Close your eyes a sec, alright Captain?"

"Franky..." You're sure no other ship A.I.s play games with their commanding officers, but then again, you've yet to meet an A.I. with half the personality Franky has. You close your eyes and cover them with your hands. "Alright, ready when you are."

You expect to hear wheels, a cart with some sort of prototype wheeling into the room. Instead there are footsteps, heavy and so in-sync that it borders on unnatural. Then a hand on your shoulder, warm and soft. Too curious to resist temptation, you open your eyes and peek through your fingers.

"Franky, is this...?"

"An android body? It sure is!" He spins you around and takes a step back so you can take in his full visage. He looks human for the most part, even if the muscles in his forearms are overemphasized and patches of metal poke out from his skin. Still, he has skin, the medical-grade sort often used for replacing lost flesh in humans, and hair that's sculpted into a bright blue pompadour. He must have borrowed clothes from someone in medical too, though he's only wearing a floral patterned shirt, sunglasses, and a speedo. You suppose he was too excited for the big reveal to finish getting dressed.

"You made this, Franky?"

"Yeah, alongside Dr. Chopper and the rest of the medical team, plus Usopp over in Engineering. Surprised none of 'em spilled the beans." He flexes to show off the musculature of his arms. "We'd talked about what happened to your last ship, and figured we should make me a back-up body in case I ever needed to leave the ship with you all. Not that I plan for anything to happen to the Sunny..."

"But better safe than sorry." You still miss Merry, your sweet A.I. lost with your previous ship. She and Franky would've gotten along well, you think. "It's a good plan, I approve."

"Excellent! Now I just need to take it for a spin, test it outside the ship. Seeing as we've docked for the time being..."

Ah. Now you see what he's getting it. Pretty sly, for an A.I. "As your Captain, I'll accompany you on your first excursion out on the spaceport, to make sure everything's in working order." You offer an arm. He raises an eyebrow. "Loop it with mine. Like this...there we go. Now let's get going, shall we?"

 Even among the strangest aliens, Franky stands out in his own way at the space docks. This is only partially due to his lack of pants: he claims this is because he designed his legs to vent most of the heat his body builds up, and you wouldn't want him to overheat and faint on his first outing, would you? No, he stands out because even though he's clearly an android, there's an excitement to him that would rival even the most starry-eyed space explorers.

"Would ya' take a look at this, Captain?" You'd expect to find Franky gawking at any number of the docked spaceships, and indeed he's gushed about many of them already. Instead, he directs your attention to one of the tree roots. A trail of iridescent beetles scurry up the bark, and overhead, a couple smaller Southbirds (rare here, likely escaped cargo from the planet Skypiea) call to each other as they watch the busy port below.

"Thought you'd studied all these, Franky." After all, he's a powerful computer who can research multiple ideas at once, and innately curious as any inventor tends to be. And he's asked you and the crew many, many questions about the world beyond his metal hull.

"Yeah, but no matter how advanced the notes and visuals might be, it doesn't compare with the real thing. I mean, look at 'em!" He points at one particular beetle as its shell reflects the lights of the spaceport back with an opalescent sheen. "Even if you could theoretically simulate all this on a computer, most wouldn't think to do so on their own. Out here, stuff just...happens."

You have never seen an A.I. quite so excited about life outside, but then again, you've never met an A.I. quite like Franky. "Yeah, I guess that is pretty exciting when you put it that way. Part of the wonders of space travel; you never quite know what's going to happen out here."

Then a realization hits your brain with the full-bodied force of a supernova. "Franky, you've spent so much time traveling through the stars, but have you ever actually seen them the way we do?"

Franky looks up at the sky overhead. "Hard to see 'em from up here, even if I zoom out my eyes to max. Watch this!" His eyes...actually telescope out of his head. That's a bit disturbing with how human he looks. "Figure that's due to light pollution, though. Pretty bright out here."

"Sure is." You offer your arm to him again. "Come with me; I'll show you how folks groundside go out to look at the stars."

 Years ago, you'd come out of the harshest space battle of your life. Your crew narrowly avoided becoming space dust, and after giving her all to save you, you lost Merry. The ship that had been with you since the beginning, the A.I. with the biggest heart you'd ever met. As her files corrupted and her hull fell apart, you'd honored her final wish and set her ablaze once you reached planetside, cremating her as one would a human. You still carry a vial of her ashes on a necklace, so you never forget what you've lost to get this far.

You'd wandered through the streets of the moon of Water 7 in a daze. Hadn't even paid attention where you went as the rest of the crew licked their wounds. Before you knew it, a robotic voice called out to you from the depths of a starship demolition yard.

"What's got you down, Captain? Can't be you're sad to be out among the stars!"

You'd blinked, not recognizing the source of the voice. But you called back, "I just lost someone important to my crew. My ship." You didn't care if most folks didn't see A.I.s as people. Merry had been more than a crewmate to you. She'd been a friend.

Even though the voice emanating from the demo-yard was auto-tuned monotone, it took on a warmer tone somehow. "I'm sorry to hear that. But you say you're looking for a ship? I might be able to help with that." A crackle of static. "And if you'd like, you can tell me about your lost pal. I can't bring 'em back for you...but I've heard that talking about these kinda' things helps."

"You don't even know who I am."

"No one does when they first meet, do they? Speaking of which, call me Franky."

Somehow, pouring your heart out to a stranger was easier than talking to your crewmates. You'd wandered into the heart of the scrapheaps and talked to the mysterious Franky, his voice surrounding you from so many static-filled speakers. You'd watched as overhead, he controlled cranes to start putting pieces of a mighty vessel together. He'd asked about your specifications, what you'd loved about Merry both as a ship and a friend. You'd cried. He did too. And when you'd asked how much the ship would cost, he said the only charge would be that he could come along.

You agreed willingly, overjoyed to have such a skilled shipwright onboard. It was only when you talked to the demo-yard owner that you learned that the person you'd poured your heart out to was an A.I.

That didn't stop you from doing so again once the Thousand Sunny was complete, and Franky took to his new home in his core room. You'd wander down into the depths of the Thousand Sunny whenever you needed a second opinion on the ship or a mission, and soon after that just to talk. You'd spent hours surrounded by the computer that served as Franky's brain for so long, talking and laughing just as you used to with Merry. Except, it was more than that with him. He wasn't just a friend, you'd realized over time. But you'd shoved those thoughts away. It was ludicrous, falling in love with an A.I. whose brain you could walk through, whose body was a starship you controlled with the push of a few buttons.

But now he has a body. You can squeeze his giant hand, and he squeezes back so softly as he gets used to his own strength. He smiles the way you always imagined he would, grinning with pearly white teeth and eyes that (literally) glow with joy.

He follows you with infinite curiosity as you weave through the Sabaody streets and gather supplies for your excursion. You ask about his body's capabilities and discover his fuel source is...astonishingly close to soda, so you pick up a few colas along with some food for you. Franky gets to carry a blanket hand-woven by the locals, and you catch him marveling at the texture when he thinks you aren't looking. Finally, you rent a small paddleboat to traverse the moon with, and a map that lays out the canals and waterways of this particular moon.

"You know, it'd be a lot faster if I rowed," Franky says, mouth quirked into a lopsided grin as your comparatively tiny arms pull the oars back and forth. It's amazingly, how perfectly imperfect he looks, more human than any other android you've seen even with all the metal bits.

"There's an old human adage about the journey being more important than the destination, Franky. Take in the experience."

You watch as his attention zeroes in along the waterways, eyes zooming in on every detail until they're pulled away to something new. You expect him to be interested in the flora and fauna, as opalescent leaves bigger than your boat stretch over the water to shade you from the encroaching moonlight and soft purple creatures vaguely reminiscent of otters circle your boat before chasing each other down the river. But the entire world is new to him, and you find him fascinated by even the dirt or the buzzing insects swarming your head.

"Aww, look. I think it likes me!" Franky lifts one giant finger, where a mosquito (why did those have to be a universal constant?) tries and fails at piercing his skin.

"It probably thinks you're human and is trying to suck your blood," you point out, as the bugs try to use you as a personal juicebox. This only gets Franky to smile. Must feel validating, having even nature recognize him for what he is in his heart.

It takes a bit more rowing, but you finally arrive at your destination. A small island, mostly shore, with a small field and a lone tree with leaves that glow silver in the moonlight. You dock the boat on the shore, then set up the blanket and food for a small picnic. You motion for Franky to sit with you, and can't help but laugh a little at the faces he makes when touching sand for the first time. Then you lay back on the blanket. Franky joins you, and his eyes go wide.

A ribbon of starlight glimmers overhead. Hundreds of constellations twinkle overhead. You'd ask if he knows any, but you keep quiet so you don't break his wonder-filled gaze.

His giant hand encases yours. "Space seems even bigger from here than it does when you're in the middle of it. I mean, look at all those stars! I read that you could see 'em from so far away, but seeing it in person..."

"This is what inspired me to go into space," you say. Your finger drifts up to the brightest star in the sky. "I'd look at that one and say, I'm going to go there someday! Didn't care how far away it was, or even what might be around it. Just wanted to head to the brightest star I could."

Franky narrows his gaze up at that star. "That's over eight light years away. Might take a bit, even with a warp drive like mine. But if that's where you wanna' go? I'll take you anywhere, Captain. Long as we're together, I'll explore every corner of the universe with you."

For a moment, both of you are quiet. The air fills with the gentle rhythm of the flowing water, the buzz of insects, bushes rustling as creatures move in the night. In the distance, the hum of a starship engine taking off from the port; you soon see its lights trail across the sky as it ascends back into that void above, the space that's so comforting because it holds planets and stars and spaceships and you and Franky all together in its embrace.

"I think this is the part where one of us says 'I love you'," Franky says softly.

You smile and squeeze his hand back. "You're such a romantic. But yeah, you're right. And I do. I love you."

"Love you too, Captain. And thanks. For, y'know, helping me be human."

"Franky, you've got more heart than most anyone I know. You're plenty human already. I'm just here to steer you steady. And I always will."

You pass the rest of the night watching the stars overhead. And for the captain and A.I. of a starship, you wouldn't have it any other way.

[oh-for-fic-sake]

A Witcher's Pack Chapter One

Masterlist

Chapter Two

Warning: Adult situations +18 SMUT, Breeding Kink, A/B/O

A/n This is the brainchild of me and @havenoffandoms who helped me a lot with suggestions that I hadn't even thought of xx this will be a short chaptered fic hope you enjoy

Geralt finds his omega and Jaskier helps.

A Witcher's Pack Chapter One

You sighed watching the younger children running playing, weaving in and out of the sparse stalls in the village market. You sighed wistfully as they played chase, not a care in to world. You was jealous. You had that at some point, a reason to laugh, smile and play. You hand tightened on the basket as you were spotted by one of the mothers she was glaring at you. A beta. Most people here were betas there was only two alphas in the village. One an old waif of a man long past his prime and the other a young teen who had only just presented now that puberty had hit him and it had hit him like a brick wall, you smirked as you recalled the mouthy little shits wails as his senses were overloaded and had caused him to erupted in the most unsightly of ways.

You smiled as you remember him kicking, screaming and groaning, how he could be an alpha was beyond you ,he was a well known mamas boy even now at eighteen he hid behind her skirts. Your bet was on black magic Alphas presented at puberty he was eighteen summers old. But of course his presentation was a good omen and there was a celebration over it. You sneered 'yes it was fine for them'. You hissed in your mind as you strode across the market picking up vegetables for the week. Quickly taking your share you turned leaving the market without a second glance heading through the gates, the village didn't need a wall but apparently you was a threat. you almost felt honored they had been so wary of you they built a wall to keep you out. How thoughtful. You quickly walked to the old granary shack it was tiny but you'd been condemned to on the outside of the village. We wouldn't want the omega to seduce the villagers with her evil sinful ways now would we?.

You cringed remembering that day. You was eleven. Playing with the other children much like the ones in the market today and you began to feel unwell. The bakers son sven who you was sweet on, walked you home. That night you got the shivers your mother tried to help but the fever persisted and got progressively worse. By dawn you was moved to the healers cottage. You remembered how every breath was agony, the air was freezing in your heated lungs you truly thought you was dying as each breath was a struggle. Sitting by the fire you could still feel the pain, reliving it your bones ached and your head felt fuzzy then it happened it felt like you had been drowning your whole life everything muted and suddenly you was above the water hearing, smelling, seeing for the very first time. Terrified the village was convinced at first it was a curse, or maybe they hoped it was. You never really found out all you knew was that after the awakening came the cramps and your first bleed. The pain that sealed your fate was agonizing and nothing soothed it. You was an omega, it was a daunting realization. Omegas are a commodity around these parts either sold to an alpha to produce more alphas or sent to whore houses, but our village didn't have either and you had presented young a whore house probably wouldn't pay much, you didn't have tits yet.

The next option was killing you, an honor killing they said before you could disgrace your family with your depraved instincts. Your mother was against it, she was torn an omega was a bad omen believed to only present just before a disaster that would kill many the thought being the omega would repopulate and replace those lost and on the other hand you was her little girl, her youngest, miracle child who was born without breath yet somehow managed a cry after being declared dead. So at her insistence you was banished from the village, you could enter for commerce but nothing else, they couldn't risk you tainting them anymore then you had. you cringed as a cold wind swept through the shack planks were missing from the side and your hearth consisted of a small pit in the center of the space with rocks haphazardly strewn in a circle to try and avoid the place burning to the ground, a rug was your bed with a thread bare blanket for comfort. you survived on vegetables and berries, no one in town would sell you weapons for hunting they refused to waste the meat on you that was for there own.

Not you.

Luckily you had managed to dig through the soil with your hands and plant some of the seeds you had carefully picked from the food you was allowed to have.  you watched as the sun began to fall below the walls casting a red glow above them. You wanted them to burn. It may be bad but you didnt care. Three days was all it took for you to become an animal to them. A child they had watched grow and flourish, was cast out without a second thought. You sighed poking at the fire adding a some tinder and curled up before the fire trying to preserve as much body heat as you could.

"Geralt are you sure this is the place? it looks to- well its not exactly high brow is it? i though witches like fancy places not back water villages" for once Jaskier wasn't spouting nonsense.

Geralt sighed looking up to the sky. it'd be snowing soon, he really should turn around and make his way back to Kaer Morhen for the winter. He glanced down from roach at the bard who was still trailing behind him. he found himself doing that more and more recently, checking the beta making sure he was still there. looking forward again as he contemplated what exactly that meant, witchers didn't have packs. Or at least they weren't supposed to but Geralt had found himself classing Jaskier as pack and now couldn't help but look out for the weaker male wanting him to remain close. he shook his head irritated tho he was a witcher he was also an alpha and that was something the mutations couldn't take. But it wasn't all bad he summarized, he didn't endure ruts and didn't fall prey to heats like other alphas that's not to say he didn't find omegas appealing, they were a good fuck responsive and fed his ego, called him alpha and let him do as he pleased well until they realized he couldn't knot them then things changed very quickly. They went from wanton bitches to spitting hellcats so fast that even he couldn't keep up. He glanced forward sitting straighter seeing their destination peak over the long stretch of tundra.

A village that had rumors off a witch casting dark magic across the village or that's what he had been told when he was asked to come, normally witches struck places that held valuable artifacts or rarities. The meager defenses of wooden stake walls and simple slat gate that he could probably scale with roach didn't suggest there was anything here of value.

"I'm sure bard, lets get this over. Its probably just a widow and nasty break out of fever" he grunted already thinking this as a waste. But the coin was good and if it meant he just had to place some protection runes to give them piece of mind he'd be a fool to pass it up. He began feeling funny as he closed in on the village noticing something off as small barely standing shack sat outside of the makeshift walls. A scent it was pleasant, very pleasant it didn't burn his nose like most did now. Rosemary, mint and something else he couldn't put a name to. It wasn't thick like most. Many scents felt thick and muggy to Geralt's witcher senses but this was free and wafting. He took a deep breath enjoying the scent more and more as he approached the shack wary it was different, too different from anything he had ever smelt ,even Jaskier seem to be inhaling deeper.

"What is that? oh it smells divine" he said without thinking the bard followed the scent. Geralt swore getting down from roach following the beta that was probably about to be caught up in some form of trouble. They both followed the scent until arriving at the door to the shack. He peered in. His heart stopped as the scent washed over him making him growl low. he took a dominant pose squaring his shoulders. Omega. But what the fuck was she doing out here?! she should be inside the walls not sleeping out her almost freezing to death!. He wasn't sure just where this immediate protectiveness came from but he was ready to slit the throats of who ever had allowed or forced the young female out here.

"Oh an omega." Jaskier said sadly almost sympathetically, he wasn't angry . Why wasn't he angry?. He should be omegas were rare. Rarer now then ever as attitudes had changed. But that was just it attitudes had changed. Omegas were no longer cherished as they should be, as they had been when Geralt was younger. the reality was that She was most likely abandoned. Geralt felt his rage shaking him to the core as he peered over the tiny malnourished omega she shivered in her sleep pulling her knees to her chest. His gaze took in the room. This was not a nest. No comforts for her, Nothing soft for her to sink into. Nothing to defend herself in her heats. Not even a proper fucking hearth. 'I will make her a nest. She will be safe'. He was disturbed by just how his thoughts turned he had never had this reaction to an omega before even when they were in the depths of heat pining fora male.  Jaskier moved to her side about to stroke her face. With no control over it Geralt snarled and snapped at him fangs dropping.

"No!! OFF!MINE!" Jaskier slipped back nearly toppling over unprepared for the out burst as Geralt lunged forward at him. His .His omega. He heaved deep breaths watching Jaskier with predatory eyes. He was challenging him for the female. Jaskier shaking and completely frazzled only just managed to present his throat to the feral witcher, surrendering to his alpha. That seemed to pacify him as Geralt swung his cloak off draping it across the female smiling as she snuggled into it and her shivers ceased. he sat down heavy beside her casting axi on the dying fire bring new life and a burst of heat. after a few moments Jaskier slowly made his way to him and sat cautiously.  

"G-Geralt what was that? is- you called her yours... I thought witchers didn't you know?" he was hesitant with his question. Geralt cast him a fleeting glance.

"We don't... Well not normally... Honestly we aren't taught about it just told that we are impotent and wont have ruts... But I suppose it could be like all mutations, they are all expected to do certain things but all mutations have varying results and mine are different anyway." he looked down at the content female by his side. His omega. Thats what his lesser had called her. And it wasn't a lack of judgment either. Once the words left him it had clicked , A soulmate just for him, A scent tailored to for him. That would be why she didn't smell like any other. A mate. A pack. He lifted a finger to her slowly running a knuckle across her slim cheek. She would never go hungry or cold again. Now that he found her he wouldn't let her go.

"Bed down for the night we will talk to the master of the village tomorrow." Jaskier nodded uneasy going to roach to retrieve the bed rolls.

You whimpered coming to you was warm. Oh my god yes. You groaned melting into the warmth that encased you feeling a large heavy fabric like a huge warm hug. And the fire before you was roaring hot on your face and the scent of meat filled the space. You wiggled a little pressing your face into the hot firm cushion below , must be a dream. You flinched as other scents followed two. Male. Both intoxicating one of herbs and something tangy and addictive the other was musky and sandalwood-no oak like an aged whisky barrel deep masculine and alpha. You tensed as you came to then frowned warm? no that's not right and the fire? that dies every night something was seriously wrong, you squeezed your eyes tight whimpering dreading opening your eyes in case you found yourself sold to a whore house. You fears grew when you felt a huge hand scratch your scalp lightly

"sshh its ok don't worry I've got you now" you opened your eyes there was a male in front of you sleeping soundly on a bed roll he was a beta you- you just knew soft kind features he looked healthy and you bet he had a glow when awake he was resting peacefully. So the one stroking your hair must have been the alpha. You gulped taking in your surroundings you was in your home still. They had broke in. You shivered getting hot ,sweat beaded across you as the scents swirled around you in a delicious overwhelming mix. Effecting you like a sorceress potion. You panted panicking lifting your hands to the hand in your hair pulling expecting resistance but instead he let you remove his hand.

He sighed shushing you again a deep voice that vibrated through you. A large warm hand landed on your shoulder rolling you to your back. It was then you realized that he was sitting cross legged you'd been using his thigh as a pillow. You looked up gasping as you met two amber irises long silver hair fell framing his angular face slight stubble donned his face making him even more handsome. You wanted to panic. Should have panicked but you instead had this overwhelming urge to bury yourself into his chest. To drink in as much of his scent as you could. You whined crying softly as the heat that had begun to race through your body became a scorching fire. Torrents of boiling and uncontrollable lust flooded your body leaking onto your skirts. This mus be it. The disgusting shameful desires of omegas you was spat at for. You'd had heats but never this way. It was coming fast and merciless, you watched as the alphas nostrils flared  he released a slow breath.

"No wh-what hahahah i cant - What have you done!?" you panicked as your body was bending to his will and you didnt understand why. had the village done this? sent him to seduce you? or have they done what they always threatened and sold you to an alpha?. you cried out thrashing hitting him.

"no wh-what hahahah I cant Wha-what have you done!?" you panicked as your body was bending to his will and you didn't understand why. Had the village done this? sent him to seduce you? or have they done what they always threatened and sold you to an alpha?. You cried out thrashing hitting him.

He wouldn't allow you of his lap instead lifting you into it. Your bottom on the floor knees bent over one leg back resting on the other.

"Its ok.....Its ok omega... I'm your mate, your true alpha your body is responding  it want's to mate... wants to bond" your cries must have woke the other male as you both looked to a new voice.

"Ge-GERALT! What are you doing to the poor thing?!?" he called moving to remove you from him. The alpha, Grealt growled as he went to touch you.

"Fuck off Jaskier I'm trying to help her, I've sent her into a proper heat!" Jaskier stopped scenting the air before going pink embarrassed.

"Well she looks terrified! you should explain to her, i doubt they teach omegas here especially considering she is out here not in there" Jaskier gave a small smile.

"Do you know what you are love? Whats happening?" you nodded then shook your head sobbing yelping as another cramp, worse this time longer tighter and lower.

"I'm a harlot, bad" was all you could get out as you fell into your more basic state not capable of coherent thought. Geralt growled at that then crowded you holding you close wanting to sooth you.

"No...No your not bad.... Your good such a goood girl... It hurts I can make it stop...Please let me make it stop it will keep getting worse until I do please..." he kissed your face cradling you into him his need to help his mate was almost to much but he would not touch you if you refused him. Unlike other males he did not use instincts as an excuse for such things. Jaskier watched unsure of what to do, he didn't doubt his alpha for a second but this female was young uninformed she was fragile and frightened and he suspected that she didn't know much about what she was or what was to come. She cried grasping at Geralt

"H-how?... I-help please make it stop its bad..... Really bad" you pleaded weakly with him. unable to move as your body quivered in pain as it felt like one continuous cramp. The alpha called his beta over ordering him to help rid of her clothes, he would stay and help. Jaskier gaped, alpha's generally didn't let anyone else near omegas in heat but it would seem his alpha was different on many levels. Quickly recovering you felt hands pulling and tugging the sticky dress from your body discarding it quickly you created as your slick made your cooled your heated skin you felt dirty, shameful. Wailing trying to cover yourself from them as Geralt quickly striped himself cock relieved as it sprung up tall and proud. He wont waste time pushing Jaskier before her as he moved her into position she was to far gone to try and protest as she was bent over on hands and knees then GeraLt pressed between her shoulders angling her for him. He wont bite not today. No he would get her threw this and then when she was back down to earth he would talk to her. Or at least that is the plan.

"Jaskier help her stay calm and still." he ground out watching with bright eyes as Jaskier crouched by you head letting you reach out to him clutching as his hands scared not sure what was happening as Geralt poised himself then quickly drove forward sheathing enough to quickly break threw the barrier that he knew was just inside wanting it out of the way as soon as possible.

"AAAHH! NO I-STOP!" you scrambled tying to dislodge him constricting your walls to push him out whimpering as he held firm holding the same position, his hot calloused hands cupped your waist holding you still not allowing you to move an inch from him when you bucked forward and he followed. You leaned so far that your knee slipped and Geralt had to catch it before you fell ripping him out of you. He growled

"Jaskier fucking help her!" he grunted still tucking his chin to his chest trying desperately to refrain from moving for your sake the worst was over. The beta quickly cupped your face wiping the tears away reassuring your quaking form.

"shh shh its ok the worst is over now... good girl I know he's a grump isn't he but its fine...... so good" he winced as you cried pitifully he knew you would be soothed in a moment but it was gut wrenching for him to endure try and temper your cries. Slowly Geralt began pushing forward dragging you back on him impaling you as gently as he could. You keened as you stretched to accommodate his lust, so full and taught almost felt as if you was tearing apart at the seams. Grunting lightly as your passage rippled across him he groaned moving a hand across your back rubbing soothingly.

"Yes that's it relax...... OH FUCK.. Yes that's it so precious..... See it feels better now doesn't it? all that fuss you made" you tried nodding it did feel better almost as if you'd applied a healing balm to your insides. You moaned digging your nails into Jaskier's hands. panting as Geralt's hips finally pressed into yours his balls resting on your little bud making you squeak and try to rub back against him trying to grind up into the light taps they delivered.

"Ha-oh is that it?... You like that?.......All you needed?.... Good girl all there now" his praise made you glow  he rocked slowly , just enough to reward you with soft pats from his balls against your clit. You gasped trying to buck against him.

"AH! Please-Alpha PLease I want!" you panted forcing the words

"Oh I know what you want... you want to be bred like the good little bitch you are" his words were filthy derogatory and perfect, Jaskier watched wide eyed as Geralt placed a hand below you rolling the pad his finger against your erect bud . Gulping Jaskeir closed his eyes, face on the rug beside you drinking in your moans and pants that went straight to his own cock, he moaned softly a hand sneaking to his bottoms cupping and rubbing, smoothing his digits around the engorged flesh. His eyes popped open glazed and hazy as you moved a hand to his crotch slim and dainty holding him through the fabric. You cried out as Geralt withdrew and pushed back forcing your body to give way to him.

"Don't you .....omega you want to be bred? full and round..... your so fucking ready for pups aren't you?" he grunted as his pace quickly escalated as he lost himself faster than he ever had. His own words revealing his own darkest desire. A pup of his own. Watching his mate swell with proof of there coupling. Yes. He closed his eyes relishing in the impossible image. You screeched holding Jaskier's thigh moaning and crying your pleasure all the way. Your walls fought him at every plunge of his hard flesh, resisting his punishing deep thrusts as he kissed at your cervix yet at the same time clutching at him trying to take as much as it could, muscles trying to capture him properly as nature intended but at the same time clenching to push him out. It was cruel and delicious  Jaskier couldn't help it you look to appetizing he leaned down licking into your open mouth coaxing your hand down into his bottoms you clutched him underneath his palm as he began making you stroke him in fast even strokes he groaned loud a beautiful high sound that, to Geralt was much better then his singing. Grunting, Geralt's fingers pried and pinched your clit and flicked the tip of the swollen bud that peaked from between his tight fingers you screamed squeezing Jaskier he faltered as your hand was ripped off him. Geralt was powerless as his fantasy became to much of a temptation making a snap decision, as he saw Jaskier on the floor beside you crying and panting himself trying to fuck into your hand faster and harder.

"Jaskier here now!" Geralt couldn't stop he needed it. Needed to see it, to feel the kick of pups in the telltale bump of his omega. He longed for the soft heart beat's he had heard enviously in the past. He relished in the glow that all omegas had when full with a litter. He wanted that happiness for his omega. He would give that to her one way or another. Jaskier was confused but obey rounding the rutting couple unsteady. He was caught off guard as Geralt pulled him to rest his forehead to his still pulling and pushing into the small wailing female. The alpha kissed him not deep or lewd a chaste kiss and pulled back holding the smaller male's gaze.

"wh-what? I cant do that?" Geralt growled as he felt his end coming trying to fight it until this was sorted.

"YOU! have a cock don't you?!? do it bard SHE needs it!" you moaned not hearing much of anything as you tucked your hands beneath yourself rocking quicker and quicker chasing something needing more.

"PLEAASE! please pleaspleas I-I dont know wha-I need please alpha!!" you brawled scratching and digging at the rug. Jaskier looked between you and his alpha the desperation that you both leaked was to much, he bit his lip then nodded. Relieved Geralt finally let loose roaring his release spraying his useless load into you the force hitting your cervix grunting low as you came at the sensation, howling into the floor below. panting Geralt sat back on his heels grabbing Jaskier by the scruff sitting his ass on his thighs ignoring the bards protests as he shucked his trousers down and gripped his cock using his scruff to raise him into position

"I-I cant do it-ger-GERALT!" he shouted gasping as geralt lined him up with your entrance the witcher thrust his pelvis forward forcing the beta into your quivering heat. You squealed as your sensitive walls caressed a new cock, although not as large it was still an addictive feeling you lowered back down pressing your chest to your makeshift bed pebbled nipples rubbing skimming the rough fabric as they swayed with each rock of your body.

"AH-OOHH! please yesyesyes... please fill me!" you withered below the new male as Geralt was on his knees behind Jaskier still holding the bard by his neck.

"Don't worry love..... You'll be full soon enough...Well you better be..." Geralt threatened as Jaskier took over holding you and rocked into you grunting quietly trying so hard not to think of the alpha watching as his cock disappeared into you. You cried as you felt a familiar hand return to play with your tender clit your body spasmed violently finding a second release with a loud high pitched cry. Geralt held Jaskier up not allowing him the chance to bite a mark into you at the same time he ground his pelvis to the his ass pining him still and deep as your twitching passage milked him with a loud series of grunts he came into you not as powerfully as Geralt but still spurting pleasantly tickling your insides.

"Jaskier deeper- I want her bred" Geralt stated noticing that as the bard finished he had arched removing an inch of so as he did. Sighing as Jaskier was to lost moaning and rocking he rolled his eyes at the beta. Omegas were the best fucks and this was most likely the last time he would fuck you he would want to make the most on of it. Geralt hooked an arm below your hips tugging you back you cried as you was forced still and tight against them. Jaskier still leaking small streams of cum this time you felt it at your true opening wetting and burning as his seed trickled past it. you cried.

"oh-OH fuck its- done yes fuck I-hot its hot" you babbled trying to raise up stopping as you heard a growl

"No stay there let it keep going... Good girl.... I'm so proud.... Cant wait to see you round with them....Fuck yes you'll be so good" Jaskier stayed still awkwardly clamped between the tow of you. Amazingly enough feeling like the third wheel even if it was him pumping you full. geralt slid back patting jaskiers rump

"Stay... I'll be back" then left Jaskier blinked smoothing his hand across your back.

"you ok down there?" you nodded sleepy folding your hands below your head content and ready for sleep. Geralt returned carrying a pack then dragged the bard off you dropping to the floor  legs spread placing you between them his inner thigh against your pussy pressing tight trapping everything inside you leaning you back cradling you he tugged a black shirt of his from the pack sliding it across your arms and buttoning it up. Jaskier sighed pulling up his trousers

"dont bother with them you'll need to give her another load soon." Jaskier sputtered

"I'm sorry? what?"

"Beta or not if your going to breed my omega you'll breed her like an alpha, now drop em" Geralt said seriously as he reached over to the almost forgotton meat tearing small chunks bringing it to your lips. You took the bites happily still lost in your haze.

"I'm sorry Geralt I'm not an alpha I cant just pop one off on demand"

"Not with that attitude you wont, sit eat your going to need it breeding is serious business" the bard was speechless then huffed throwing the trousers to the floor he wasn't going to win so whats the use, taking a seat by you both helping himself to the meat deciding that he should fuel up if this was going to last for a whole heat. Secretly excited about the prospects of the new addition to the small pack and pups.

You sat there thrilled some primal part of you understanding that your alpha was tending to you, Feeding and providing for you and had called the other pack member to eat with you. You took several bites before turning away from his hand. He tutted.

"No you need your strength, come on open up we need you big and strong for the pups." you contemplated the words agreeing as you let him continue to feed you. Jaskier just stared watching Geralt drop all walls for the first time. He looked happy. Truely happy. There was a slight worry for the future but he brushed it away choosing to bask in the glow of the newly formed couple.

[spacerangersam]

for reasons unknown to me, i wrote a small archvist!martin and spiral!sasha fic. warning: it’s miserable. it’s literally just two monsters bonding over being lonely

His fists were aching by the time the door appeared, the shattered glass clogging up the sinks and littering the floor like sharp, shiny confetti.

Martin silently joined them, sliding against the wall until he fell to the floor in a slump. The glass dug into his skin, even through his clothes, but he did move. He swallowed back the lump in his throat as a door that had not been there before creaked open.

He should have been scared, should have felt something- anything, but nothing could bloom through the heavy layer of misery in his chest. 

The door was made from a warm, wooden oak, and the patterns on the wood were hard to look at, constantly twisting, shifting. So, he didn't look at them, instead focusing his attention on the creature in the doorway.

Sasha looked almost the same as she had the day she died. Her hair seemed to be a slightly different shade of brown every time Martin blinked, her Marilyn beauty mark changed location every few seconds, and the pattern on her clothes was hard to look at, but it was still Sasha.

It looked like it was still Sasha, Martin corrected himself. But it was half-hearted. He couldn’t muster up the enthusiasm nor the conviction to convince himself that this monster wasn't who they used to be. That was more of Tim’s thing.

At this point for Martin, it just felt like reciting a script for a part he knew he’d never get the chance to play- silly and pointless.

"Hello, Blackwood,” she greeted. Her words bounced sharply off the walls, rattling in his ears.

He let out a deep and shaky breath. "James."

Martin wasn't sure how they'd come to call each other by their surnames. He wasn't sure how they'd got to talking at all. They hadn't been that close before...before her death. He hadn’t known her birthday or what her favourite colour was, if she preferred cats or dogs, or why she’d even come to work at the institute in the first place (he Knew now, but he didn’t like to think about it).

But maybe that was why. 

Tim couldn't even look at her whenever she showed up, spat harsh words and curses her way, and Jon wouldn’t enter a room until he’d counted all the doors and jumped every time one of them creaked. But Martin? He just put on a small and greeted her with a cautious 'tea, James?'. 

(She never drunk it, but she’d pretend to, which a small, strange part of him appreciated. It was more than what the other two were willing to do these days)

Maybe whatever was left of Sasha wanted something familiar, and Martin was the only one willing to play along.

She stepped into the bathroom, her door vanishing behind her, looking out of place amongst the dull white tiles and plain black stalls. She tipped her head to the side, just a little too far to be comfortable and asked: "What are you doing on the floor?"

He let out a slightly hysterical laugh. That was the most normal thing she’d ever said since becoming distorted. 

“You have a strange sense of humour,” she commented. “I didn’t realise humans found broken glass funny.”

The words tumbled out before he could stop them. “They don’t, but I suppose I’m not really human anymore.”

It was an unsettling admission. 

Sasha just laughed, the noise high-pitched echoing, as if there was several people laughing instead of one.

“No, I suppose you aren’t. But I am still curious to know why you’re down there.”

Martin opened his mouth to force out some half-baked joke or lie, but he stopped himself. Why lie? She didn’t need any reassurance that he was fine, and it wasn’t like she was going to run off and tell someone what he’d said. Who would she tell? Some sorry sap she’d trapped her in her hallways? He shuddered slightly at the thought, but it was weak, the horror bland on his tongue.

 “Having a breakdown, I guess.” His lips twitched in a poor facsimile of a smile.

“You seem to be having a lot of those these days. But why?”

"Because I don't know what to do,” he admitted in a quiet voice. “I can't- I wasn't supposed to become this, I-I'm not even qualified enough to be an assistant, never mind an archivist a-and now, fuck, look at me."

With trembling fingers, he pulled off the faux-leather gloves he'd be wearing, holding out his hands. His fingertips were black as coal dust, thin black lines appeared and disappearing, flickering wildly over his skin. And then, of course, there were the eyes, all over, glowing lime green.

Martin felt sick looking at them. He didn't wait for a comment from Sasha before clumsily pulling the gloves back on and hugging himself tightly.

The eyes had kept below his wrist so far, but he knew that wouldn’t last. Was he going to wake up one morning covered in them, from head to toe? How long would it take for the static to catch up? He violently pushed the thought away.

Sasha sneered at the hidden eyes for a second before her expression softened, brows slightly furrowed. "...She was like you when I chose her, you know? Scared of Becoming."

He Knew.

"I don't want to Become anything," he stressed, throat tight. "I just want to be Martin."

She blinked once (a rarity, she didn’t often blink anymore) and silently sat down beside him, resting her head against his shoulder, hardly heavier than a pound. She didn’t breathe and her hair brushed against Martin's wet cheeks, sharp as a blade. Then, it was soft again, soft as a cloud, but he could feel a small drop of blood sliding over a tacky tear trial.

He didn't wipe it away or look for a plaster as he might have done in the past. What was the point?

Sasha's hand curled over his arm. Even through the thick jumper he wore, he could feel the burning heat of her grasp.

Martin couldn't say how long they sat there in silence, on the cold, disgusting, glass-covered floor, listening to the taps drip. Perhaps it was a few seconds, perhaps it was an hour, perhaps it was an eternity. He could Know, if he wanted to, but Christ, he didn't. He didn't want to Know anything anymore.

He just wanted to be normal, boring Martin Blackwood who wrote bad poetry, made good tea, and occasionally went on terrible one-off dates just to convince himself that he could date if he really wanted to. Who trailed cats down streets just for a pet and a good picture, who laughed at Tim’s jokes even when they were bad, who always fancied the wrong men, who knitted Sasha the jumper she was wearing the day she died-

But he didn’t get to be that Martin Blackwood anymore.

He could still see the disgust and fear on Tim's face when he saw Martin's hands on Monday morning, could hear the shake in Jon's voice as he hovered outside of Martin's office, quietly asking 'do I have to take this in?'. No amount of tea or forced smiles was ever going to fix that. He would know, he'd tried. God, he'd tried so, so hard, but what had that got him? Two paranoid assistants and Elias' smugness pricking at his brain like a sharp needle.

Sasha made a small, strange noise and dislodged herself from Martin's grasp. He mourned the loss of warmth but said nothing as she stood in front of him, tall and strange, eyes determined.

"One way or another, you'll lose yourself, Blackwood. I'm afraid you don't get a choice in that. But you get a choice in how and when."

"...What?"

The thing that had once been Sasha held out her hand. Her fingers were just an inch or two longer than they should be, two of them missing nails, and she was still wearing the onyx ring Tim had given her for Christmas.

Martin's heart ached at the sight of it, falling into a rabbit hole of memories. He almost forgot what they were talking about.

And then, in a firm, echoey voice she said: "Join the Spiral."

For a few moments, his mind went blank. Then, all at once, everything came back, hitting his consciousness like a freight train. 

"I-How? I thought it only had one avatar?"

Of all the things to focus on, why that? he scolded himself. Sure, it was a fair question, but it wasn't the most important one.

Sasha shrugged, not moving her hand. "It does. It will. Or perhaps it won't. Who's to say what will happen to you, to me, to us? Perhaps we will be two, perhaps we will be MeandYou. Perhaps you will you’ll take over, or perhaps I’ll eat you.’

She grinned, teeth straight and white.

It didn’t scare him as much as it should.

"...Why are you offering this?” he asked.

Why not just take it, like she’d- like it had taken Sasha? Like it had taken Michael and so many others. The Spiral didn’t play with its food, it just ate.

She looked away for a moment. "…It is lonely, in my corridors. I don't think I want to be alone anymore. Tim won’t come, and Jon won’t come. But I think you will.” Her fingers twitched and she looked back at him. “And because you are Martin Blackwood, and I care."

Her words rattled in his head. When was the last time anyone had cared? He’d been so isolated since becoming the archivist, more than he’d ever been in his entire life…

Sasha took a step forward.

“I know you’re lonely too. I can smell it on you, thick like a sea salt perfume. Tim and Jon, they avoid you too, don’t they?”

His lips trembled at the reminder, and he reluctantly nodded. “I-I keep telling them I’m not going to hurt them, that I won’t Know anything or compel them, but-”

“Such is human fear, irritational and not.” She tapped her foot against his knee. “You have no one else, do you? It’s alright, Sasha didn’t either. That’s why she liked you, why she wants you here. You understand me better than anyone.”

For some reason, that caught Martin off guard. Sasha had no other friends? Or- wait, was that a lie?

“Really? I thought she would’ve had loads. She was so…”

Nice, normal, well-adjusted. The kind of person who was just naturally liked.

“I never cared to make friends. I thought I didn’t need them. I had Tim, I had Jon, I had you…and I had my research. That’s all I needed. But since I took over from Michael…”

His heart ached in sympathy, but he tried to push away the feeling. Deceit and deception, that was the Spiral’s game, he couldn’t fall for it.

“Sounds like a terrible deal, if you ask me,” he said with an awkward laugh. “You get some company and I get, what? A headache? Death?

“Company too. And freedom.”

His mind latched onto that last word that a life jacket and refused to let go.

“Freedom? I- what do you mean?”

She leant down, body bending at an unnatural angle, eyes wide. “You do not like the Eye. You want out. As I said, there is no escape without sacrifice, but the Spiral will treat you kinder than your current master. There will be no seeing, Knowing, no compelling- just the freedom of confusion. And you do not fear confusion, do you?”

Even just the thought made his chest feel light, made him feel as if he could finally breathe for the first time in months. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew what she was offering – twisting deceit, monstrosity in another form – but then why did it sound so good?

She was right, after all, it was the Eye that haunted him, not the Spiral.

"Will...will it even accept me?"

"The Eye has a tight grasp on you, but I think I have the power to undo it."

If he was to be a monster, if that fate was inescapable, then goddammit, why not on his own terms?

He took her hand.

She helped him up, nails digging into his skin, digging into the flickering black. Soon, he thought, giddy and nauseous, that will be gone.

"This will hurt," she warned.

"I Know."

She smiled. "You won't for much longer."

Three hours later, Jonathan Sims entered the bathroom to find it covered in glass, one of the mirrored shattered. He made a move to leave, call a janitor, when he saw something on the floor- two things, tucked into the corner behind the sink.

A pair of familiar, cracked glasses, and a shiny black ring.

[im-gay-and-mentally-unstable]

~Vampire! Nicphie Au~

Sophie was bored. Not in the way she felt most of the time, the curse of being centuries old, she was horrendously, unexplainably, unorthodoxly bored. She wanted to scream, to destroy, to set fire to her mansion and never look back, to do something that wasn't so plain and mundane. Instead, she sat next to the window in her bedroom, nails tapping on the surface. As she watched the pouring rain, quickly turning into a storm, she wished for a miracle.

Where were the good old days? She yearned for them. The rush, the pretence, the intrigue, the bloodshed. Life now was, to the liking of the ordinary folk, more peaceful. And she detested it. Blood and death had their magnetism. She didn't expect their simple little brains to comprehend it, of course.

But there were days where she was worshipped as a goddess. People brought her their treasures just for the price of a small smile, she seduced monarchs, then drained them of blood and left with their finest jewellery. And now she was forgotten, a mere monster in the face of mortals.

It was just her and the stupid, dilapidating mansion she spent all her time stuck in. She had to lower herself to drinking the utterly disgusting animal blood, since the hunt for prey became too dangerous. To her misfortune, people didn't just come to her gates and wait to get slaughtered.

Well, they usually didn't. But now, the universe has listened to her pleas and sent her a fun thing to play with. Before her door stood a woman, tall and muscular, curiously inspecting the Victorian architecture of the house.

Sophie's expression brightened, she was delighted by the turn of events. She almost jumped to her feet in anticipation of a feast, but then stopped herself and regained her dignity and composure. “Just nice and easy darling, you can't scare her away,” she told herself as she reapplied her lipstick and fixed her hair and graciously came down the stairs. She was sure she was a sight to behold, even though she's never seen herself in mirrors.

As she opened the front door, the woman didn't seem to be bothered even a slightest bit.

“Well hello darling, may I ask what are you doing here?” asked Sophie, trying to make her voice as pleasant as possible.

“Trying not to get hit by a lightening,” said the woman sarcastically.

“A truly spectacular idea. I was thinking about why are you on my porch though.”

“Oh. Of course. I can leave if you want me to, I just assumed this house was abandoned. I wanted to hide from the storm.”

“Why don't you come inside? It's too cold for you here.”

She hesitated, but then gratefully accepted the invite, she was already soaking and shivering.

“Don't worry, darling, I don't bite,” said Sophie, smirking at her own joke.

Sophie finally managed to get a good look on her as she took off her coat and hat. She forgot just how mesmerizing humans were. How soft her skin looked to touch, how lively and gleaming her eyes were, how she smelled like black coffee and old books...

No. Not all humans were quite as charming, that was for sure. She hoped her blood would taste at least half as good as she smelled like.

She wanted to try already, but she contained herself. All the good things need time, right?

“So, what's your name, darling?”

“Nicola.”

“Pleasure to meet you. I'm Sophie. Would you like some tea?”

“Isn't it too late for tea?”

“That's where you are mistaken, it's never too late for tea.”

“Really, I don't want to cause you any trouble.”

“Oh no, don't worry, it's a pleasure to have a visitor. I'm quite lonely here.”

Nicola already wasn't paying attention to her, she was curiously inspecting Sopie's long time collection of books and paintings, most of them centuries old. She definitely was going to stay for a while.

Sophie guided her to the dining hall, also used as a ballroom before, in its long-gone glorious times, and let her seat herself as she walked into the kitchen. The shrivelled, old silhouette of her servant stood there, his face blank and eyes empty. He was the only one now, before, she had plenty of them, ready to make her tiniest frivolous wishes come true, but they were gone now, died of having too much of their blood removed or old age.

“Make us some tea, will you?”

The man nodded.

“Good.” Sophie already begun walking away. Just looking at him disgusted her, she despised old people, she always did, maybe because she was eternally young and beautiful and was scared of being like them one day. But there was no way she would and it kept her satisfied.

When she came back, Nicola was inspecting the gramophone Sophie kept at one of her shelves.

“It's a bit dusty but it still should work,” she nonchalantly commented. The other woman turned, surprised by the lack of noise Sophie made.

“I would be surprised. It would need some serious fixing, it was maintained terribly and it shows.”

“Nonsense, it works just fine,” said Sophie and tried to turn it on, but then failed.

“See?”

And then Sophie slapped it and surprisingly, it started playing. Nicola almost choked at the sight. “You're not supposed to do that.”

“But it worked, so I see no problem.”

“You could have damaged it beyond repair, do you have any idea how much this stuff costs-”

Sophie chuckled. “I bought it. “

“Well, but you still shouldn't be so careless, it's a true rarity-”

“It sure is,” interrupted Sophie, not seeing anything important about it. But then she had an idea. She smiled and asked: “Would you spare me a dance?”

“I don't dance.”

“Truly a pity. Come on, just one quick round,” Sophie gave her the most charming and adorable smile she could manage. And Nicola reluctantly agreed.

Dancing was the room's purpose. It was made for this, even after years of waiting to fulfil its cause. The notes filled the perfectly acoustical room. The pure sound was only interrupted by their footsteps and quit banter.

Sophie couldn't wait for the next part of the evening, her personal favourite. The hunt. All of her body was aching to finally enjoy some tasty food, but she stayed patient. Her visitor was quite a pleasant company and she hasn't danced in years and she preferred giving her victims false sense of safety.

As the song was getting to its climax, they were getting nearer each other, their bodies intertwined. Sophie could feel her heath, the warmth and the softness of her skin, her strong, gentle arms around her waist, her breath so close to her face.

And Sophie realised how striking she was. What a waste is it going to be when she is going to be drained to a bloodless shell, left to die, long before fulfilling all her dreams and goals. Maybe if she lived longer, she could have been captured into a painting or a sculpture, just like the ones that Sophie loved so much to collect. Maybe she would make a good servant... Sophie quickly dismissed the thought.

She enjoyed her being so close and Nicola seemed to feel the same way. Suddenly, she was painfully aware of every place their bodies touched. What was the last time she felt like this? Was it even this century?

As the last notes were played, their lips collided, both leaning in at the same time with the same intention. As their lips touched, Nicola just closed her eyes and enjoyed the moment for a while. And everything seemed fine for a while, just like things were meant to be this way.

But then she remembered the odd, otherworldly cold and the sharpness of her teeth and against her brain's wishes, she pulled away.

“You're a vampire,” she remarked.

“Of course I am, darling. You aren't surprised? That's unfortunate, I didn't want to spoil the fun so soon. So, I suppose you aren't in for another dance? Ah, a shame, really. Now, would you mind if we skipped the formalities and went straight to the part where I make you my dinner? No? Ah, you don't want to die, do you?” Sophie scoffed. “Well, of course, you can try to run away. I'll give you a headstart, how kind of me, don't you think? Go on darling, I don't have all day. One...”

She let go of her and Nicola trailed off, disappearing behind the numerous corridors. Sophie counted to ten loudly, enjoy the way each word rolled from her tongue. She wasn't in a hurry. If she ran after her, it would be no fun, no mortal could ever equal to a vampire. And of course, running in high heels would be too bothersome.

So instead, she strolled slowly, enjoying her inevitable victory. Oh, how she missed this. The joy running through her veins, keeping her wide awake...

She walked behind the first corridor, not expecting Nicola to be there. The thrown knife caught her by surprise. It missed only by millimetres. Nicola lurked in the shadows, waiting for her. Her eyes lacked any trace of warmth or mercy.

“What? You thought I would go down without a fight?”

Another knife flew at Sophie. The shot was deadly and precise. She certainly knew what she was doing.

“You're going to have to try little harder than that.”

Another knife Sophie barely had time to dodge. Her irritation grew with every second. She didn't play games she wasn't sure she could win. And this was one of them.

“I've come prepared for you. I mean, I came here specifically for you. Do you honestly think I just came to your door by chance? I don't want to spoil the surprise for you, but people actually notice if you don't wear anything other than Victorian gowns and avoid going outside at day.”

A vampire hunter then. Words can't describe the way Sophie despised their kind.

“What? You are not so brave now the tables have turned? Or are you just not used to people at your level?”

Sophie scoffed and recomposed herself after barely dodging another knife, puzzled by where did she hide them all. “The fact that you consider yourself my equal amuses me. Well, about the time I actually put in a bit of effort, don't you think?”

She ran at Nicola. With one slash, she was going to rip her throat. It would have worked on almost everyone. But Nicola dodged and caught her hand and spined. Sophie unwillingly ended up pushed against the wall. Instantly, her arm shot up to Nicola's neck. The only thing stopping her from ending it was another knife, pushed against her chest, one stab away from her heart.

“This is quite unfortunate. What now? Do we kill each other?” stated Sophie calmly, fully aware of the checkmate situation they were in.

“That's pretty pointless, don't you think?”

“I'm not too keen on dying either.”

“Great, so let me go,” said Nicola.

“And what will stop you from killing me?”

“And if I wanted to, I'd have a full right to do so. You've murdered innocent people.”

“And what makes you think the vampires you've murdered weren't innocent?”

“You drink people's blood.”

“You eat animals. There's no difference.”

“I'm vegetarian.”

“That's your personal choice. I can't survive without blood.”

“Can't you survive on animal blood?”

“Listen, this is quite a tough moral debate to have and I'd rather not have it while being pressed to a wall with a knife this close.”

“I can't let you go.”

“Oh, am I that irresistible?”

“That's not what I m-”

Sophie leaned in closer, her lips almost touching Nicola's ear. “Really?”

“Yes. I don't want you shredding me to pieces the second you let go of me.”

“You don't trust me? You're very right not to do so, but my feelings are still hurt.”

Nicola sighed. “So, are we going to stay like this forever?”

“Just until you give up.”

“Just say forever then.”

“Why don't we spice things up a little then?”

“What-” The rest of the sentence was cut off after Sophie kissed her.

After a long time of trying to figure out who takes the lead, they had to breathe, well, Nicola had to breathe. “Maybe I'm staying for a cup of tea. Or two,” whispered Nicola between gasps for breath.

Sophie smirked and nodded, pulling her closer yet again. She was going to keep this one for a while.

[essays-for-breakfast]

One Summer Day

Melizabeth Week Day 2: Past/Future

Elizabeth strolled down the busy avenue of Liones capital, exchanged smiles and polite greetings with passersby, and enjoyed the fantastic weather. The sky presented itself in a marvelous blue dress, dotted with a handful of fluffy white clouds that stood almost still without a breeze to carry them far.

She couldn’t have wished for better conditions on her birthday.

In a way, she found it odd to celebrate her human birthdays with the full knowledge that she had passed the same number Margaret had plastered onto the obligatory apple-pie with pink lines of cream and sugar a handful of times already. Elizabeth possessed memories of over three thousand years and had witnessed the rise and fall of kingdoms and even the great war from millennia ago. The tiny number ‘seventeen’, regardless of how large the digits had seemed on her birthday cake, did not fit her in the slightest. And of her past seventeen years in this human body, only the last one held particular meaning in her vast pool of collected memories.

A merchant tipped his head and bowed with a gleam as he recognized her as the third princess of Liones, and Elizabeth answered with a twirl on her heels and a smile just as wide. Even though she had the powers of a Goddess and had fought on the front lines in the New Holy War alongside the Seven Deadly Sins, people remembered her as a princess first in foremost. Maybe her silver hair, a rarity this far away from Ishtar and the land of the Druids, or the fine, expensive silk of her white dress gave her identity away. Her identity in this life.

The one that counted.

A flash of nostalgia overcame her as she entered one of the capital’s largest plazas, an open field of cobblestone fenced by tailor shops and dusty taverns designed as a perfect square that had to make room for another building to house a small part of the city’s rising population. The first vendors had set up shop for the market this afternoon to sell fish and bakery produce to early customers, and the smell of their goods tickled her nose. Back when Elizabeth had been a child, she had played catch with Veronica between the crowds of people many times. Gilthunder had joined them every so often when he hadn’t stayed behind to train or play guard for Margaret.

That must have been after the Seven Deadly Sins had been framed for murder, when Gilthunder had begun to drown himself with his duties. After Meliodas had left.

No matter what life Elizabeth had lived, no matter where she had been born, Meliodas had always found her and had accompanied her every step of the way. She didn’t remember all 107 times she had met him, sometimes she had been too young when fate and their curse had arranged for their paths to cross, but she could recall enough. And once they had made out each other’s faces in the crowd, he had never left her side until she eventually faded from this world to be reborn and meet him anew. And because of his undying loyalty, the ten years of her life as adopted princess of Liones where he had been away felt all the longer.

Back when she had been a clueless little child, she had failed to realize what had been missing, but now she was certain it had been Meliodas all along instead of the call of adventure as she had told herself when she sat on her carpet in the middle of the night with a book in her hands because she couldn’t sleep. These years without him had given her precious memories as well, moments of happiness with her sisters, a caring father, and all the luxuries bound to the life as royalty. But Elizabeth had never felt complete until she had stumbled into Meliodas’ tavern to begin their journey.

Now this journey was over, and Elizabeth and Meliodas were freed from their curse to live out a life of peace far away from the hardships that had plagued their past. The question remained how long this life would last.

Elizabeth stopped in front of the graveyard running alongside the road, and closed her fingers around the spikes of the cool metal fence. Within the vast lawn square, rows upon rows of gravestones gathered in the shadows of a willow, plates of slate to remember the fallen of the Holy War and those who had passed since. One of these days, soon compared to the longevity of the Goddesses, Elizabeth would grow old and die to be buried in a graveyard like this. While Meliodas would live for centuries to come. To be spared the worry about losing him due to old age should comfort her, but a selfish part of her hated the thought of saying goodbye.

The smell of tulips from the vendor across the street pulled Elizabeth out of her dark thoughts, and she shook her head to free herself of the shackles of her troubled mind. She had no reason to worry. She had all she could have ever dreamed of, she was with the man she loved. And nothing, no threat, no war, no irony of fate could take this happiness away from her.

With newfound energy, Elizabeth turned and scurried down the street, almost running. She shot the crowds of people she hurried through apologetic glances, but never eased her pace. She had wasted too much precious time already.

Meliodas awaited her in front of the tall metal gates marking the border of the city, and a wide grin enlightened his face when he spotted her amidst the sea of faces. Elizabeth gave him no time to meet her halfway as she crossed the distance with so much energy one could think they had been apart for years and flung her arms around his neck to make them both stumble.

“Happy birthday,” Meliodas whispered into her ear, and Elizabeth pulled away to meet the joy in his expression with a frown.

“You promised me we wouldn’t count the years.”

“Yeah, but that shouldn’t stop me from wishing you a happy birthday. Besides, Bartra was eager to make sure the whole country knew what day it is today. He sure loves his celebrations. Don’t worry, I didn’t get you any presents this time around.”

At least he had kept this part of their agreement in mind. “I don’t need presents anyway. You already gave me the most important gift when you stayed with me throughout all these years and broke my curse. And you have overdone it with presents too often in the past. Do you remember when you bought me a white horse for my twentieth birthday back in Caerlon? Or the pure sapphire as large as my thumb?”

Meliodas grinned. “Course I do.”

They made their way through the gates and ambled through the fields of wheat and summer grass, their fingers interlaced. Elizabeth had walked these narrow, trodden-out paths a hundred times before, she knew each bend, pond, and crooked apple tree from her childhood memories. But the landscape had never seemed this lively and filled with hope. It had to be Meliodas’ presence that filled the air with energy, their shared laughter as well as their shared silence whenever they didn’t dare to taint the value of each other’s presence with words. The New Holy War had been won to allow peace to return to the land a couple months ago, but they hadn’t found the time for a walk like this. There had always been one or another issue on their mind that had demanded their attention, meetings and goodbyes, funerals and celebrations.

If this walk went on forever, if this sandy path between the fields never ended, Elizabeth could not have been happier.

When the sun had passed its peak and midday lay behind them, Meliodas and Elizbeth rested in the sun on a grass-covered hill, their faces turned towards the endless blue sky. Elizabeth snuggled her head against his shoulder and brushed over the fine lines of his palm. She remembered each contour better than those of her own hands.

“Meliodas?”

He hummed as an answer, his gaze locked onto the heavens, lost in thoughts and memories.

“You know how grateful I am for everything you gave me and for everything you did to keep your promise to me. I remember the pain of death and all the times I went through it. But I never suffered as much as you did. If I had been forced to lose you this often… I don’t know if I had possessed the strength to continue.”

“Sure you would have. I only made it through because I remembered your strength. Your determination during the Holy War moved mountains. It convinced the terrible Demon prince who knew nothing but violence to betray his clan and fight for peace. A measly curse wouldn’t have stopped you for a second.”

Elizabeth sat herself straighter to meet Meliodas’ eyes. “Still, I want you to know that even if you hadn’t done all of this, if you had moved on to avoid all this pain, I would have continued to love you. Nothing will change this. No matter the hurdles that come between us.”

“I will always love you, Elizabeth,” Meliodas said, and the truth in his emerald eyes could not have shone more brightly.

“Even when I’m so old that I can’t leave bed, and you have to spoon-feed me with oatmeal?”

“And long after that.”

He grinned that infectious grin Elizabeth loved so dearly, and she let herself be pulled down to rest her head on his chest. His heartbeat, echoed seven times through his chest, calmed her more than any music ever could. Together, they admired the cloudless sky up above.

The future was indeed bright.

[maydaymemer]

Reviewing every Hitman level - Part 1: The PS2 Trilogy

Part 2 here: https://maydaymemer.tumblr.com/post/635417183293423616/reviewing-every-hitman-level-part-2-world-of

Today is Hitman’s 20th birthday, as well as yesterday being the reveal of IO’s new James Bond game ‘Project 007’, and for the occasion I’ve put together a review of every good mainline Hitman’s levels, and by extension a review of the games themselves. C47 and Absolution for a later date after H3 comes out and I can do a full franchise review. The only exception to this post will be escalations and Elusive Targets from the new games, since they’re reliant on the base locations to begin with. Let’s begin with the original Hitman 2SA:

Anathema - 4/5

This level, more than even Traditions of the Trade, feels like the template IO uses for designing levels nowadays. You start outside a big area you’re supposed to get into, and by looking around you discover multiple ways of varying difficulty to get into the area. In this level there’s three major ways to get in: via flower delivery, taking out a peeing bodyguard or taking groceries to a chef. This is a solid level but I feel it’s let down by Hitman 2’s AI problems and having to pick up a key from the targets corpse to get into the basement, which discourages far away kills. If there were multiple keys or an option to break it open with a crowbar at the cost of an alert the level would open up a little more.

St. Petersburg Stakeout - 3/5

This level makes a great first impression with its sniping setpiece, but on replays it’s not particularly engaging. There are ways to kill the target without sniping it’s just that it’s the way you’re encouraged to use and it’s the path of least resistance. I’m fine with the occasional linear level but if the target and description was picked at random from the five generals at the meeting it’d be a little less brain dead killing him again and again. You’d have to listen to and make note of Diana’s hints ala The Vector because you wouldn’t know who it is off memory. Normally this wouldn’t work in a Hitman level, but normal Hitman levels have more options. Not a bad level, it is fun to sneak up to your spot and the first time you have to snipe the guy it’s really impressive and cinematic, it just pales in comparison to the more open levels of the rest of the game.

Kirov Park Meeting - 4/5

This level is pretty neat, giving you multiple cinematic ways to kill your targets but also having enough leeway to go up to the guys and stab them normally. You can plant bombs on both of their cars and blow them up, you can snipe them both, you can plant the bomb on one car and snipe the other guy so he explodes himself trying to flee. Even a more scripted kill like that is satisfying due to its set up and has multiple ways to do it, a lot like the more in-depth scripted kills from a WoA location like Mumbai. If you use certain sniper spots the AI can get a little iffy but that can be fixed by using the tower much further away. Getting into the place also requires going past the infamous guard AI in disguise but once you’re in there pretty much no one is watching you kill them. So essentially it’s a pretty good level, just a shame it’s in Hitman 2.

Tubeway Torpedo - 4/5

The majority of this level is very non-traditional for a Hitman level. The main objectives are based more around sneaking into the base itself and avoiding guard sightlines rather than planning an assassination, since unfortunately the target here isn’t really a challenge to isolate or kill. In fact the start of the level gifts you one of the kill methods as a mandatory objective. However, the sneaking itself is very fun and satisfying. I really like having to essentially stay in post in alcoves so the guards won’t find me suspicious, sneaking into the surveillance room to kill the cameras, or blow the exit open before I rescue Smith so we don’t get caught running through the sewers. It’s the assassination itself that I don’t find fun, since sometimes the phone and pager don’t work for me, and with any kill method the general can pull a gun and kill Smith mid-death through a wall. But other than that I think the level’s a fun change of pace and the AI actually works pretty well this time. I rarely have issues with it.

Invitation to a Party - 5/5

The second ever God-tier level of the series, and the only one of this game. Invitation is open, atmospheric and fun to play. I like not only the fact you can kill the general and agent anywhere but also that the latter isn’t even required as a kill if you play your cards right. Makes me wish they had a Russian party level in the WoA trilogy.

Tracking Hayamoto - 3/5

It’s a St Petersburg issue of having a really neat signature kill, poisoning the fugu, but having all other options be incredibly obtuse. This time the AI really busts your balls if you try actually delivering the meal to Hayamoto Jr. personally, so you’re forced to take the path of least resistance and prepare the meal for someone else to deliver. Which means you’re spending the next couple of minutes standing at the exit waiting for Junior to die. Not a bad level, the atmosphere and geometry are great and the small scale makes it feel like a classic Hitman puzzle box but it’s still marred by restrictive design decisions.

Hidden Valley - 1/5

One of the worst Hitman levels ever. While Tubeway Torpedo worked within a confined space and at most 2 guards per encounter, this heavily luck-based sneaking mission expects you to avoid up to 10 guards in wide open spaces, where it’s very easy to get caught. The only good thing about this mission is if you just run to the exit you can avoid just enough gunfire to get to the exit.

At the Gates - 0/5

The worst level in the franchise. Take the problems Hidden Valley had and add an objective that requires walking near and potentially aggroing instant kill snipers to get to it. Which means that this level doesn’t have Hidden Valley’s more forgiving design, which is saying a lot. You have to play at least somewhat slowly in order to avoid getting killed, which is difficult for such a painfully unfun level and that’s why I prefer the more infamous Hidden Valley over this.

Shogun Showdown - 4/5

A great level to make up for the last two. Sneaking around the old squeaky castle is a great stealth concept and making a dash for the exit after killing Hayamoto Sr. is very chaotic and fun. This level is more of a pure stealth with an assassination at the end rather than a proper puzzle box, the verticality is great and is somewhat of a hint towards our next set of levels in Malaysia, but there’s still alternate ways to get rid of Hayamoto like with the “Bomberman” opportunity in the museum. Another thing I have to single out is how fantastic the music is for the setting and how it gives off a bombastic secret agent vibe.

Basement Killing - 4/5

I love this level. While the target himself doesn’t move at all the ways to get to him are varied from disguising as a pizza boy to setting off an alarm and going down to the basement as a fireman. Or just becoming a guard and walking down yourself but risking the guard AI sussing you out. What I really like with the former two is how it sets you with a time limit or restriction for your disguise if you go with them. The pizza boy cannot take guns through the metal detectors, so the secondary objective becomes more difficult, and the fireman disguise is only allowed down there for a limited time after the alarm goes off. It’s that classic Anathema design, multiple ways to get in of varying complexity and difficulty, where this time all of them seem more equally viable.

The Graveyard Shift - 4/5

A no target mission that’s actually pretty good. With how the rating system works the puzzle of this mission is figuring out what’s you can do: minimum bullets, minimum kills, minimum alerts - before you lose your silent assassin. It’s a simple and small puzzle box level, but much better than Tracking Hayamoto with way fewer guards to deal with in large volumes.

The Jacuzzi Job - 4/5

Another great puzzle box level, giving you the objective to rob the target before killing him. This level is really fun for suit only as you can avoid most guards either in the dark or via sneaking. The one big criticism I have is that night vision goggles lock the game to first person, so I just turn up the brightness to get around.

Murder at the Bazaar - 4/5

An atmospheric and fun mission which is easily doable suit only. The first target is a little easy but the second is way harder to isolate, but you can just shoot him in the face and book it for a Silent Assassin rank.

The Motorcade Interception - 2/5

I’d put this in a similar league as Curtains Down, a gimmicky level that has a cool idea it doesn’t quite nail. The sniper is way too inaccurate for landing a far away shot on the target while he moves unless you’re a God at prediction and aiming, and the spots are far too close to guards to enable a quick getaway without being caught. Expect a lot of reloads.

Tunnel Rat - 3/5

This level doesn’t get a lot of love but I do kinda like it. I think the objective that requires knocking out people at the helipad is stupid, and the target just stands still admiring his pirated copies of Hitman, but it’s a Tubeway Torpedo situation where it actually does sightline stealth really well. I love skulking around in the sewers to avoid guards, it works in this game’s weird guard logic since they don’t look down too much, and I like if you’re quick enough you can slide out the elevator to kill the target and end the mission immediately (a rarity for the franchise) if you’ve cleared the pad beforehand.

Temple City Ambush - 4/5

Another really unique level concept, where you have to assassinate other Hitmen gunning for Smith. Like with the agent in Invitation some of the assassins can be avoided completely if you’re quick enough and get a close spawn for Smith near the exit. I kind of wish the main targets were more proactive however, they do go after you if they see you but I think something like Murder of Crows where they actually tried to look for their mark would’ve been neat.

Death of Hannelore - 3/5

While there’s some great level design with multiples ways to get into and to the top of the hospital, this mission suffers from a very poor gimmick. Having to drag the titular target into a closet is one of the weirdest objectives the series has ever had. The reason why this is a thing I think is to discourage potentially sniping the target on replays and finishing the level in 2 seconds, but I don’t know for sure. I feel like this could have been alleviated if poisoning her coffee worked with the new game’s rules, and gave you the tick for the objective since people would think she had a heart attack like in the WoA trilogy logic. I think the in-story reasoning after all is so the cult leader doesn’t become suspicious his personal doctor died, which is one of the few times the franchise’s narrative actively impeded the gameplay quality.

Terminal Hospitality - 3/5

Great level design where multiple disguises are easy to get thru exploration and are viable to get around in, but I wish there were more methods to kill the target. Like Soders in Situs Inversus, Zipmaster is confided to an operating table, but the new game clearly did a lot to flesh out this idea whilst in this level some obvious kill methods like sniping thru the vents aren’t possible.

St. Petersburg Revisited - 2/5

Garbage. Even if you sneak up on the target guards will still come flooding in and will soon find his body, compromising the disguise you need to take off him in order to exit.

Redemption at Gottrano - 2/5

The second of old Hitman’s traditional action-orientated finales. This level really doesn’t work, as it’s trying to emulate action gameplay in a stealth framework. Hitman 2SA’s gunplay is pretty fun but not when you’re shooting around corners trying not to get instant killed by one of the many guards wielding sniper rifles. It says something when a point blank SMG or AK is more manageable when you’re at low health than when you’re facing a sniper with a full life bar.

The final totals for the original Hitman 2 are:

1 God-tier Level

9 Good-to-Great Levels

5 Average-to-Good Levels

3 Bad-to-Mediocre Levels

1 Really Bad Level

1 Horrible Level

Out of all the good Hitman games this is the only one I’d say aged poorly. There’s a lot of times great level design is ruined by the game’s bad AI, or when IO’s evolution as a game developer made old levels seem quaint by comparison. Still a good, sometimes great time for the most part, but a good quarter of the game’s levels are bad. Which would lead to the game’s sequel trimming the fat exponentially.

Hitman Contracts:

Asylum Aftermath - 4/5

This level is really good for what it is, great atmosphere and lots of detail in the Asylum, but it’s really at a disadvantage for being an overly simple tutorial. No target, no secondary objective, just get to the car outside.

Meat King’s Party - 5/5

A God-tier Hitman level, if you’ve played this game you know the power of the Meat King’s Party. One target has a roaming pattern with multiple chances to catch him away from guards, another sits still but can be sniped or confronted directly with the use of a guard disguise, or you can sneak up a weapon inside a chicken while in a butcher’s disguise. Even the objective to save the Client’s Daughter from the Meat King’s brother is great, you have to sneak past this monster and be quick or else he’ll come back when you get her. Actually scared me once or twice when I forgot about him. I also won’t give away any story or environment details but if you’ve played this level you know what I’m talking about. It’s awesome.

The Bjarakov Bomb - 1/5

Sandwiched between two beautifully crafted levels is this bizarre train wreck. The Barajkov Bomb is boring, 80% of the level is either walking to the next objective without threat of being detected or waiting for the set up to an objective without threat of being detected. Hitman is a game that requires patience, but even by the standards of this franchise it’s a slow-moving level. The easiest way to do this mission is to wait 10-20 minutes for an opportunity to bomb the two targets when they’re near the submarine you need to blow. However, this doesn’t consistently work and will most likely require a few reloads, because sometimes Commander Bjarakov (despite being caught in an explosive blast that kills people right next to him) will only be injured and not killed. It’s not a good level.

Beldingford Manor - 5/5

Another God-tier level. Atmosphere is great, the level of detail in the geometry is almost 2016 levels of good and the targets are legitimately fun to kill if a little simple. This feels more like an inspiration for Sapienza than Anathema because it’s also got a lot of unused space that’s not got much to do with the mission but is still well designed and could’ve been used in the mission effectively. Not that what we got is lacking, both targets have unscripted ways to kill them which is always going to be preferable for me, but this level almost rivals the new game in how many signature kills there are the designers planned out. Winston can be suffocated, sniped, poisoned and strangled in the toilet whilst Alistair can be strangled where he sits, poisoned by you or the butler, shot at thru the door with a rifle on display and bombed using gasoline on the fireplace. Can’t wait for the spiritual successor in Dartmoor in Hitman 3.

Rendezvous in Rotterdam - 3/5

This level isn’t bad, but it feels kind of forgettable. Which is weird because it involves disguising as a journalist to infiltrate a confederate biker gang in Rotterdam and killing a guy that’s already been captured and tortured by the bikers. It’s also a prequel to the Rotterdam levels from Codename 47, but at best this level is sort of meh. I could complain that the biker disguises don’t give enough visual clarity as to what is allowed there, but the journalist disguise circumvents any and all challenge becoming a guard could offer. Sneaking around the basement isn’t bad, the other target doesn’t have a bad route or bad signature kill opportunities. You can meet him as the journalist but also poison his tattoo ink ala Maero. But all in all the level just has boring box-like level design. I can give praise that even with the imprisoned target there is variety in how you can kill him, for example you can stab or even snipe him. Plus there’s lots of disguises and exits within these buildings.

Deadly Cargo - 3/5

This level is a heavily streamlined version of C47’s Gunrunner’s Paradise/Plutonium Runs Loose Mission. All you have to do is kill a single target and escape. I think I would love this mission if the AI didn’t feel so weird in this specific level. It seems that they glitch out and do stuff they just don’t do during other missions. Like turning around and walking back if you walk near a trespassing zone, for example. Still, this mission I have to mention shines on replays, while at first you don’t start with a sniper if you bring one with you your second time round you can snipe and escape without even needing to get on the boat or trigger the SWAT’s assault.

Traditions of the Trade - 5/5

The first ever God-tier Hitman mission is still great and maybe even better here. You can now poison Fritz, who’s considered a proper target this time, you can snipe him, there’s an added ghost Easter egg, you can break the glass cabinet to cause a distraction and turn off the alarms and you can even easily do the whole mission suit only! It’s got everything great about Codename 47 and (for the most part) more.

Slaying a Dragon - 3/5

This mission suffers from the same problem Asylum Aftermath has with it being way too simple to beat. They did add a lot more sniping spots and extra detail, but it doesn’t really matter when the level is so easy. Sure it’s a fun 2 minutes but I don’t have much incentive to explore when I can finish the level as fast as I possibly can with very little practice.

The Wang Fou Incident - 4/5

I really like the two extra targets they added. Even with the simplicity of the car Bomb assassination you still have two more targets to take out, which I usually sneak up to the upper floor and snipe when the guard moves away. There’s also some extra exploring with the Ort-Meyer key.

The Seafood Massacre - 4/5

I love this mission. The secret sniper spot alone makes this one of the coolest missions in the game to me. The hidden body thing actually makes sense this time and you can get rid of the Chief of Police and Blue Lotus in multiple ways from the two birds one bullet method with sniping, becoming a chef and poisoning them or just meeting up with them and strangling them if you’re not a complicated person.

The Lee Hong Assassination - 4/5

Pretty good mission, I don’t think it’s as good target wise as TOTT or Seafood Massacre but the multiple decisions you can make with getting the Jade Figurine add a lot of depth to the mission and what decisions you make. I also like that there’s a secret passageway to sneak around and get to Smith, I love details like that. Even when you’re not killing anyone it’s clear thought was put into the level design. Maybe when I experiment more with Lee Hong’s routine in his mansion I’ll appreciate the mission more, I do go for the boring route, but right now this mission is simply solid.

Hunter and Hunted - 4/5

Probably my favourite of the old Hitman climaxes since it can actually be stealthed. Fournier is a pretty terrible target but avoiding the SWAT and trying to escape after killing him is fun and frantic. It’s a very different vibe than what Hitman usually does, it reminds me a better version of what Absolution did for its first third.

The totals for Contacts are:

3 God-tier Levels

5 Good-to-Great Levels

3 Average-to-Good Levels

0 Bad-to-Mediocre Levels

1 Really Bad Level

0 Horrible Levels

While Blood Money I prefer mechanically, honestly when our neck and neck I don’t know what I prefer when it comes to level design. Contracts to me is way more consistent, its average and good levels I do prefer over Blood Money’s, but Blood Money has some killer God-tiers as I’m about to go over with that game now.

Blood Money:

Death of a Showman - 1/5

A terrible tutorial which is way too linear and teaches you to play it like a shooter. It’s also downright silly in its portrayal of gangsters.

A Vintage Year - 4/5

Very solid true opener for Blood Money. It really shows off how manipulatively the AI is, you can lead them to cliffs or balconies to snipe or push them off. There’s also a hidden detail where if you join the tour you can go into the normally-trespassing winery.

Curtains Down - 2/5

While this level is iconic I think it really grates on replays because there’s not a lot of substance there. Specifically there’s not a lot of substance to Delahunt. If you’re not a speed runner or experienced enough to know how to get his guards out of his room and are able to do it consistently he’s not moving out of there unless you do one of the scripted opera kills. Which is a shame as the other target actually has a route where you can intercept or manipulate him without resorting to increasingly boring, linear kills.

Flatline - 3/5

This mission would be a lot better if you could skip the mid-level cutscenes. Rescuing Smith isn’t a particularly great segment of the level, it doesn’t feel as well designed as Lee Hong’s, but the unskippable scenes of him talking really slowly are unbearable on replays. The targets make up for it, they do have obvious signposted ways of killing them but if you follow their very detailed routes and experiment you can find kills of your own. Like all great missions when you go off the beaten path the mission doesn’t break down, it gets better.

A New Life - 5/5

A legendary mission. A puzzle box with a highly manipulatable target and multiple ways just to get into the house. You can give the FBI agents guarding him donuts (one of the few problems with the level is this gives you the best disguise easily), you can dress up as a clown, you can use tranq rounds in an air rifle to KO the dog guarding the side passage, you can become a caterer or you can just go in suit only, lure everyone under the skyline and shatter it with a coin, killing everyone in an accident. The ways to speed run this level are so crazy and that’s a testament again to how highly manipulatable the target is, you can get a guy who stays in his house all day to run outside and get hit by a car. Brilliant stuff.

The Murder of Crows - 5/5

Another fantastic level. While the level’s purpose of showing off crowd tech isn’t as impressive as it once was this level is one of the most fun to route in the series. One target has a route that’s varied and long, one stays in one building across from a sniper spot and the last appears randomly from a choice of three buildings, carrying a sniper rifle. You can kill Raymond, take his sniper and take out Mark Jr. while Angela runs after you for killing her “boo”. Or you can bring a sniper, kill Angela while she roams near the sniper spot, shoot Mark and then use Angela’s walkie talkie to locate Raymond. Not that Mark can only be sniped, there are three disguises that get into his building and the library connected to it which you can rig with an explosive is somewhere you’re allowed in with just the suit. The briefcase trailing is an interesting objective and to help with replays it’s completely optional. In fact this level’s only got one signature kill, dropping the piano on Angela, which is a bit of a shame no one else gets anything specifically made for them - a sniper or explosive can be used on anyone in this game - but that also makes it a more pure form of Hitman. Getting to and killing the targets without being seen, rather than creating silly domino effect scenarios to secure a kill like usual.

You Better Watch Out - 5/5

Three God levels in a row is a testament to how this game picks up after the first quarter. This level has great atmosphere and setting but also a surprising amount of ways to kill these (when compared to someone like Angela or Vinnie) immobile targets. Lorne and Chad can both be sniped with a secret spot via climbing, not to mention Chad can be manipulated to go out the jacuzzi via aphrodisiac. There’s even a secret target. I admit however my love for the level is due to the pure level design, there are ways to get around that are fun to use but you’ll never really go for usually. But they’re fun to try out to shake things up, there’s even stuff like that with the targets themselves. Chad’s glass can be poisoned but you’ll get caught immediately, which just makes me want to try it even more to see if there’s a way to get it silent assassin. You can also dress up as a drunken Santa and feed a dog a sausage, which is a pretty good puzzle element to getting rid of a witness to Lorne’s death. Yes the dog is a witness.

Death on the Mississippi - 4/5

Honestly a pretty underrated mission. Again manipulating targets is what I find the most fun to do, and since we’re on a boat it means it’s accident central with all around the place there’s ways to throw people off. And since accident kills are allowed on innocents and keep your SA you’re going to be doing that a lot. Sure the secondary objective is pointless and the exit is poorly designed, but throwing gangsters off a boat is a good time.

Til Death Do Us Part - 4/5

Great level concept, great targets and great opportunities but it’s a bitch to get into the mansion itself. The guards of this level have unique behaviour befitting the setting, where if you’re caught trespassing they pretty much open fire 9/10 times. If you don’t want to lockpick in then you have to wait for a guy passing out in order to get an invite and that takes a bit of waiting. Like I said patience is required for Hitman but if the invite is so easy to get, there’s no risk of being caught stealing it, why not have 47 start with it in the first place? Still, the targets are alone often and when they’re not they’re near an accident kill, the accidents themselves are entertaining from dropping chandeliers to pushing Pappy into an open grave. Not to mention the absolute brilliant moment where you can become a priest and perform the wedding ceremony for the two cousins (we’re in the sticks, after all) and then strangle him when everyone turns around and starts shooting. You can also open carry in this level, the only time you can in this game.

A House of Cards - 4/5

Another entertaining level brought down by waiting. The Sheikh arrives about five or ten minutes after the level begins, which gives you way too much time to kill the other targets. Killing all three is entertaining, the first two have long routes and go to rooms with good sniper sightlines, and Sheikh while not as good can still have some entertaining kills set up with bombs and scripted opportunities. It’s just a shame the pacing is killed by the mandatory waiting, if IO programmed a workaround so he showed up immediately if you have already killed the two targets that’d improve things tenfold if not outright fixing the problem.

A Dance with the Devil - 4/5

This level is cool, Martinez has a good route and the idea of finding two counter-assassins is great, but I feel it’s a little overrated. It used to be one of my favourite missions, but I found that my enjoyment came from just doing the same thing every time which isn’t the draw of Hitman. It’s still fun to experiment where you can, I’m not going to knock a level for being a little bit linear as you’ll see with the next one. I just think the counter-assassins could’ve used at least one other way to kill them. Eve has sniping and using the computer to move her to the room you’re in, but John literally has only one dev-intended way to kill him. The other ways to kill him with silent assassin are speedrunning/suit only tricks that use luring, which is good that he can be manipulated but the guy has such a terrible route otherwise. It’s still a good level, Vanya and especially Martinez have some variety in their kills and you can even take both out at the same time during a meeting but they’re not as varied as something like A New Life and Murder of Crows, and the other two targets are laughably linear in comparison even to them.

Amendment XXV - 4/5

This level idea would be the one I’d like IO to tackle now. Infiltrating the White House is a fantastic concept, and the infiltration is fun to do but it’s way too linear and easy to cheese. I like Daniel Morris’ route and Mark III’s I’ll even defend for some of the ways you can catch him off guard, but starting off on the East Wing and then having to make it over to the West from there makes the progression of Amendment XXV basically going from one corridor to the next. I still like how much actual stealth you can do with trying to sneak through trespassing zones to get loose disguises, and as a climax to a game set around 47 in America it’s suitably bombastic and out there. Heck even the idea of having a kind of boss fight at the end is great, even if it can end almost immediately. In conclusion I like playing it and swapping disguises and doing what kills I can do with Mark, but Daniel Morris’ route is probably the only things I wouldn’t change about it. The rest doesn’t live up to the potential of a White House assassination.

Requiem - 3/5

Redemption at Gontranno but better. There’s really nothing to say about this mission, you shoot everyone and this time you can actually not die.

The totals for Blood Money are:

3 God-tier Levels

6 Good-to-Great Levels

2 Average-to-Good Levels

1 Bad-to-Mediocre Level

1 Really Bad Level

0 Horrible Levels

Blood Money is the magnum opus of the series by a lot of people for a reason. While I’d disagree with that in favour of WoA, the start is a bit of a slog with some inconsistent quality, I’d say the game really picks up after Flatline and is a great time. Mechanically it paved the way for almost every other Hitman after it, and the good levels serve as templates for WoA’s design philosophy. Even with sequels improving on it I’d still say it’s worth playing for what it does do better.

[theangrypokemaniac]

@nyarthsis

If Team Rocket 'always had a heart for unpopular Pokémon', that's an admission their Alola catches aren't particular loveable creatures, so I'm not thinking anything too controversial.

You're saying they take pity on the animals no one wants, as in it's normal for me not to find them adorable.

Some Pokémon, such as Lucario, become fan favourites without the advertisement of a regular role the anime. With Wobbuffet, Bewear, Stufful, Mareanie and Mimikyu, do people like them for themselves, or because of their association with Team Rocket?

I think its the latter. I can't imagine there would be such interest in them were they to be owned by a Twerp or appear as a one-off. Really then, it's not what or who they are, it's to whom they belong that matters.

Alola has really devalued catching. Rather than be true to the source material, so battering a Pokémon into submission, as Ash did with Bulbasaur, Primeape, Muk, and many others, now you have to ask their permission!

Bewear didn't even get that. She hung around for no reason, and her 'friend' Stufful was belatedly tacked on. I see why those two were left behind, as Team Rocket had no right to take them elsewhere.

In terms of welfare, Mimikyu and Mareanie are better off staying with them, free and safe, rather than locked in the insalubrious depths of H.Q., but then it never bothered the writers sending previous Pokémon into an uncertain future, so what difference does it make now?

It can only be that, like their predecessors, there is no intention to ever bring them back, but unlike the rest, the fans can't even be allowed the vain hope of a return, not with this rather awkward disposal.

It's feasible that Jessie and James could call their base and request old monsters to join them, but it's difficult to imagine they'd fly across the world to Alola, wander through the woods, pick 'em up and go all the way back again. Why make parting so final and irreversible?

It does imply that Game Freak don't like them, so why should I?

I keep noticing this fickle attitude. A new era starts, we're expected to fall instantaneously in love with every element, beg for more and yet more. Then, once the next region arrives, this adoration asked of us is meant to evaporate and immediately transfer to the next batch.

Well why start to like them, if eventually the makers don't care, to the extent you wouldn't even know previous Pokémon had ever been alive?

Have you heard one mention of Seviper, Yanmega, Dustox, Cacnea, Carnivine, and Mime Junior since they left?

Why were they happy to chuck Wobbuffet after Sinnoh, yet fetched for Kalos?

How could Team Rocket live without it for an entire generation but suddenly it's indispensable again? What do you imagine the rest of their Pokémon felt about that?

Have Jessie and James wondered allowed how Arbok, Weezing, Lickitung and Victreebel are doing?

What of the last two generations?

What is this nonsense where every character is so detached from the past?

Supposing I was to force myself to appreciate them: since they've gone, never to return, I'd be dissatisfied with the show, thus no better off than I am now.

My feelings don't run on a switch. I can't find myself besotted one minute then dump the object of affection without a second thought, just because Nintendo want it from me.

Even if I had a more positive opinion of the current interpretation, there's no benefit to becoming involved when it's all so fleeting.

Mareanie is ugly, with three teeth. I think he's a sea anenome, so ought to be more attractive, but it's covered in nipples instead!

It looks like a bonsai tree growing breasts, reminiscent of the hideous content lurking within an Hieronymous Bosch painting.

The idea that all Mimikyu copy Pikachu, the most famous Pokémon, when in their world it's nothing special, is too stupid for me to accept. How could that be coincidence?

It's referencing reality, acknowledging the real world's view of Pikachu as the star, so if it's breaking the fourth wall, it invites disbelief.

Wobbuffet does sod all. It's a complete dead weight and has no attacks. Yet it's the one to survive generation after generation. Where's the logic in that?

I suspect his popularity rests on being there so long he's considered part of the furniture, the sole catch in which you can invest an emotional connection whilst fairly certain he'll remain around.

By now it ought to have developed some semblance of a personality, but it's as faceless as ever. Other Pokémon that have been and gone had a bit more about them, but Wobba's so bland no one can summon the energy to write him out.

If he went, what would you miss? Breaking out of his ball and hissing 'WAAAAAHBUHFEH'? Is that so integral?

I have several objections:

What is it meant to be?

Why does its tail have eyes?

Why is that never mentioned?

Is it a sort of quadruped, or has it only one foot with four toes, arranged like the bottom of a medical walking stick?

A lot of my reactions to Pokémon are influenced by encountering them in the games. With Wobbuffet, I remember first coming across it in the cave near Blackthorn City, and just as you're winning the fight, it pulls out Destiny Bond and suddenly you're both down.

When you finally get one, it's tricky to train. You have no choice but to guess whether the opposition will launch a physical or special move, and mostly you get it wrong. He never learns anything else and doesn't evolve, so it's that forever.

Persevering with Magikarp is worthwhile, but what's to be gained from taking any time out to fight with Wobbuffet?

The anime eliminates this problem. You're aware of the nature of the approaching onslaught because you can see it coming, and the opponent said it aloud.

In this context Wobbuffet should be the most powerful Pokémon in the universe. Come on, it can deflect every attack!

Is it? No. It has a successful defence about once a generation, and still loses the battle. I can't say if it's worse to be utterly pointless, or to not fulfil one's potential.

I resent it muscling in on the motto, as if it's considers itself of equal rank to Meowth. No it's not!

When I was young, there was a tendency for magazines to refer to Team Rocket as a duo. Meowth was judged to be in the same position as Pikachu: a main character yes, and valuable enough to be accorded the privilege of liberty, but still very much owned by people.

You would see references to Jessie and James as his Trainers, though how they assumed this worked went unexplained. Even if shared, one had to have to caught him, thus be his proper owner.

Later on this developed into them being three equal members, and the term 'TRio' emerged, but now, although perhaps not officially recognised, there's an attitude of treating them as a quartet.

It's just wrong! Wobbuffet's not been around since day one. He didn't join Team Rocket voluntarily because he had nowhere else to go. It was a choice made for him by his original Trainer, so out of his hands, or rather his flippers.

If he was an independent Pokémon who just tagged along one day, that would be different, but it belongs to Jessie. Promoting one of hers means James is lesser, and no longer equal.

In each generation Team Rocket catch at least one local Pokémon, but as Wobbuffet's there, it ends up with Jessie having more on her side than James, and I dislike the imbalance. Plus the one he does get is violent.

It can't be solved by giving him another new one, as then he's captured two in the region, and she has only one, so again it's skewed.

Whilst Wobbuffet does count in numbers, he's not on the level of the rest, who fight regularly. He's both there and not simultaneously.

I'm still irked the way Lickitung was ejected to make room.

It was the best Pokémon they ever had! It took out Pikachu, Vulpix and Bulbasaur with one move! It would've won those Princess Dolls for Jessie if the writers hadn't changed the rules so that Lick only affects those of sound mind!

It was as if they realised their mistake too late, and so Lickitung was featured less and less to avoid it dominating a fight, then hurriedly traded away for something reliably feeble.

The following analogy you may not understand, but I think it fits rather aptly:

There's a game called Final Fantasy VIII. One of the side quests involves you racing through a castle under a time limit. If successful, you are rewarded with Odin as a Guardian Force, which is a deity that will provide a defence.

Unlike others, he is out of your control, but every so often, as you enter battle, he turns up and annihilates your opponents. It's very welcome.

Unfortunately this game was programmed by bunyips, who clearly didn't want the last section of the game to be accidently easier for you. Oh no. If you're progressing, it ain't gonna be through luck, or turning the console on and off until he arises.

Therefore, towards the close, you come up against ex-friend Seifer. Odin is fixed to rush to your aid, but when he does, bloody Seifer slices him in half, horse and all!

He killed Odin, the ancient King of the North! The Lord of Valhallah! The Father of the Vikings!

It's not normal fighting death, it's irreversible. He's gone for good.

After this Gilgamesh introduces himself as a replacement. He too will randomly appear and set about the enemy.

The problem is that whilst Odin destroyed monsters unfailingly, with Gilgamesh it's a rarity.

He uses four swords, and which you get is also a lottery.

One is the same as Odin's, two deal average damage, but not death, and the worst one depletes 1 HP, so it might as well not have bothered.

Not only does it arrive but a fraction of the time, but it's in a fraction of those times that it's of any assistance, which is something of a comedown.

Lickitung is Odin: didn't see it often, but it tore the place apart!

Wobbuffet is Gilgamesh: once in a blue moon it provides rescue, but it's on a lot lower percentage than it's predecessor.

It's difficult not to be disappointed.

[kaaras-adaar-a]

TAGGED  BY : i stole it from @theharellan​ TAGGING :  Honestly whoever. Tag me so I can see <3 

—    BASICS.

▸     IS    YOUR    MUSE    TALL    /    SHORT    /    AVERAGE ? Kaaras would be considered tall (as he’s taller than most humans), but he’s also on the shorter side for qunari. I headcanon that the average for qunari is probably around 7 feet (males most likely taller). Kaaras is 6 foot 7. While standing near humans, people definitely notice his height advantage, but if he’s standing with a bunch of qunari, he would be the shorter one and it would be noticeable. 

▸      ARE    THEY    OKAY    WITH    THEIR    HEIGHT ? He’s fine with it, and just sees it as it is what it is. Growing up around humans, he did have a difficult time as a young boy, especially being taller than others his age, but he got used to the bullying. Kaaras is insecure about a lot of other things, not his height. Other qunari have called him short as well, but it’s not really an insult worth getting heated over. Kaaras has no quarrel with his height, or lack thereof with whoever he is with. 

▸      WHAT’S    THEIR    HAIR    LIKE ? Kaaras was born a redhead, but it began to lighten as he got older and is now a butterscotch blonde. His hair is thick and he has lots of it, it can also feel course compared to other races. Kaaras would probably be considered ‘hairy’ for a qunari (as he also has little bits of body hair--although not much). He does not like his hair long and feels it’s impractical in his line of work, which is why he cuts it short (and shaves it). In the warmer months on the farm, he’d shave it into a mohawk, but he grew it out when he began work as a mercenary. When he began working with nobles, he wore it slicked back, but he once again shaved it into a mohawk as it’s warmer up north where he was working, and he’d kept it like that for a while now. 

▸     DO    THEY    SPEND    A    LOT    OF    TIME    ON    THEIR    HAIR     /    GROOMING ? Kaaras is very finicky and he is a groomer. He keeps his stubble in check, and prefers to have some kind of stubble over a clean shaven face (as he feels it makes him look like a baby face without it). However, Kaaras also doesn’t like his beard growing out. He’s VERY finicky with his hair. As for body hair, no. He doesn’t really need to groom considering he doesn’t have a lot of body hair, and the one time he did end up shaving himself, he regretted it... Overall, he’s well kempt. 

▸      DOES   YOUR   MUSE   CARE   ABOUT   THEIR   APPEARANCE   /   WHAT    OTHERS    THINK ? He absolutely does. He’s come from a life of heavy racism and feeling like he’s a monster compared to everyone else. Being a qunari in Ferelden is like being a sore thumb. People always looked at him differently because of the rarity in Ferelden to see qunari. People often were scared of him just be appearance. Growing up as a poor farmer with little in his name, or little clothes, Kaaras felt that fancy clothes could make him feel beautiful. It’s not so much what OTHERS think of him, it’s a lot of what he thinks about himself, and the years of always being looked down upon by others. When he began working with nobles, he took a real shine to the fancier styles he could wear and he felt more himself, more beautiful in them. They make him feel confident and professional in his line of duty. He also believes that clothes can keep up an appearance, although he is never one to judge a book by its cover either. It’s more personal to Kaaras than what others see in him, it’s a lot to do with his own views of himself.

—    PREFERENCES.

▸     INDOORS    OR    OUTDOORS ?  Outdoors ▸     RAIN    OR    SUNSHINE ?  Sunshine ▸     FOREST    OR    BEACH ?  Forest ▸     PRECIOUS    METALS    OR    GEMS ?   Gems ▸     FLOWERS    OR    PERFUMES ?  Flowers ▸     PERSONALITY    OR    APPEARANCE ?  Personality ▸     BEING    ALONE    OR    BEING    IN    A    CROWD ?  Alone ▸     ORDER    OR    ANARCHY ?  Order ▸     PAINFUL    TRUTHS    OR    WHITE    LIES ?  Painful truths ▸     SCIENCE    OR    MAGIC ?  Both. ▸     PEACE    OR    CONFLICT ?  Peace ▸     NIGHT    OR    DAY ?  Day ▸     DUSK    OR    DAWN ?  Dusk ▸     WARMTH    OR    COLD ?  Cold. ▸     MANY   ACQUAINTANCES    OR    A    FEW    CLOSE    FRIENDS ?  Close friends ▸     READING    OR    PLAYING    A    GAME ?  Reading

—    QUESTIONNAIRE.

▸      WHAT    ARE    SOME    OF    YOUR    MUSE’S    BAD    HABITS ? Kaaras’ moral high ground can be a predicament at times, especially when he comes across people who are more chaotic than he is. He believes in law and order, and his moral standards can also make him appear to be better than others. While he’s an open, caring and compassionate person, it does mean he can struggle to understand others and there can be conflict. He tries not to be judgemental, but it can appear he is when there’s a conflict like this. In saying that, it doesn’t mean he won’t bend the rules depending on the situation, but his moral standards ARE very high. I’m pretty sure he also has a martyr complex... If it didn’t come to the world needing him, I’m pretty sure he’d have self sacrificed himself by now. Kaaras can also be incredibly stubborn and moody, he snacks a lot and stress eats, and he suffers from OCD when it comes to being neat and orderly, which can bother other people. 

▸      HAS    YOUR    MUSE    LOST    ANYONE    CLOSE    TO    THEM ?      HOW    HAS    IT    AFFECTED    THEM ? Kaaras has, unfortunately, lost a lot of important people to him. His father was his first greatest loss, and it impacted him horribly. He blamed himself for his death and in many ways still does. It caused quite a rift in him and his mother’s relationship, with Kaaras pushing her away because of his own self blame and hatred. He became unstable and turned to alcohol to ease his pain. Although he recovered after a few years, growing emotionally with thanks to others, he still never fully forgave himself. The second loss was his trainer, which was pretty much like a second mother to him. It caused him to leave his ex lover and the company he was working with. This was probably one of the best things Kaaras did for himself, though. It did make him the man he is today, and he became a leader. Unfortunately, that ex lover also dies during Inquisition, and it’s another loss. He didn’t quite forgive himself for never telling them he loved them properly while he could, but he also knew that their splitting had done him well. Kaaras takes any loss very personally and he’s not very good at coping with it. He suffers in silence, but people know when he’s in a bad mood, it’s obvious considering he’s such a nice and positive person in general. Seeing him gloomy and moody is a telltale that something’s wrong. 

▸      WHAT    ARE    SOME    FOND    MEMORIES    YOUR    MUSE    HAS ?   Oh gosh, anything growing up with his sister, spending time with his father and his parents when he was still alive. Kaaras cherishes the very small moments in life, the sun rising every day, the people he cares for smiling and laughing. There’s nothing more precious than those simple moments. 

▸     IS    IT    EASY    FOR    YOUR    MUSE    TO    KILL ? He’s rather avoid it. Killing for Kaaras is a last resort. Kaaras, by default, is not a violent person, but he also believes that there are moments where it is the only way out. When it’s a life for a life, a moment of survival. He also is a strong believer in justice. He is merciful unless there should be no mercy (I guess that’s subject to whatever it is at the time). The only time Kaaras is willing to kill is if it’s just (someone is not redeemable and cares not to redeem themselves for their actions) or in defence (out on the battlefield). He doesn’t take killing lightly, and he DOES have to turn his emotions off out there to get his job done. But that’s part of being Inquisitor. 

▸      WHAT’S    IT    LIKE    WHEN    YOUR    MUSE    BREAKS    DOWN ? Kaaras doesn’t like showing others he is weak. It’s nothing to do with masculinity or anything, he just doesn’t like feeling like a bother to anyone, and he especially doesn’t want it to effect his leading and his troops. He’s very emotional, though. Kaaras wears his heart on his sleeve. He IS a very emotional man, and when he becomes overpowered by his emotions, he becomes a mess. There’s a lot of self loathing and blame he turns towards himself when something happens that makes him break down. It takes something pretty serious to make him break down, though, as he’s a positive person and prefers not to linger on negative emotions. But he also is the kind of person who keeps everything locked away inside until the flood gates open and there’s no going back. 

▸      IS    YOUR    MUSE    CAPABLE    OF    TRUSTING    SOMEONE    WITH    THEIR    LIFE ? Absolutely. He does every day with his men out on the field. If anything, Kaaras may trust TOO easily sometimes. He puts a lot of faith in people doing the right thing (which can also get him into trouble). But yes. He trusts every one of his party members, his close friends, his family, with his life. If there’s anything that Kaaras learned from a young age, it was how to protect people, and that he always had a family willing to protect him. He would die for his friends, and he believes they would do the same. 

▸      WHAT’S    YOUR    MUSE    LIKE    WHEN    THEY’RE    IN    LOVE ? Kaaras is a romantic. He always has been. Finding love has always been something he’s wanted. He’s shy and awkward at first, but Kaaras is also a very forward and blunt person at times. Although he’s awkward and shy, he will come forward and won’t let his coyness beat him. Kaaras is a physical lover. He loves the idea of simply being with his lover, spending time with them. There’s nothing more important to him than someone willing to give him the time of day, and his time is also precious considering his job. But he’s also a very independent person. While his lover will be the light of his life, and he will worship every part of them, he is in NO WAY a clingy lover. He needs his alone time, as he’s very independent. In fact, clingyness is a huge turn off for him. He is vocal about how he feels, wanting his lover to know that they are important. He is willing to do anything (within reason) for them, he simply wants his lover to be happy. Kaaras is a compassionate, giving and selfless lover, and once you break the ice with him and he gets comfortable, you will see a very different side to him, a funny, less serious, sweet side that people who aren’t close don’t really get to see. Kaaras has many layers in that sense, and depending on your relationship with him, you may never see some sides of his personality. A lover will see all. 

[sinfvlsovls]

LEVI BOHAN : AN INTRODUCTION.

( theo james, thirty, male, he/him )  — whoa, was that LEVI ISAAC BOHAN i just saw at HARRIMOND STATE PARK? i’ve seen them around town before, they’ve been here for 11 MONTHS. from what i’ve heard, they work for the DELUCA family. for a DEATH DEALER, they’ve been known to be -CYNICAL and -TEMPERAMENTAL, but can also be +ASTUTE and +DEBONAIR. i hope they don’t cause too much trouble!

* insert matthew mcconaughey voice here. * alright alright alright!!! s’up angel faces? ‘tis i, your friendly neighbourhood loser chrissie and boy am i excited to be here among all you talented souls! anyways, i’m gonna attempt to piece together some semblance of an introduction here but forgive me if it’s rubbish ( or waaay too rambly ), i’m the worst ever. you should know, i’m utter plot trash and a major sucker for all of the angst so put the two together and i’m totally there but honestly, throw any plot at me and i will welcome it with open arms. the best place to reach me is on discord ( nep#1610 ) so consider yourselves officially invited to spam me with plots and head canons please and thank you!!! 

THE BASICS.

NAME: Levi Isaac Bohan. AGE: Thirty. GENDER: Cisgender Male. NATIONALITY: British. ORIENTATION: Heterosexual. OCCUPATION: Death Dealer. AFFILIATION: The DeLuca Family. 

THE PERSONA.

The only sentiment that could be expressed about Levi is that of his debonair haughtiness; the perfect balance of an eloquently confident intellect all wrapped up in an artfully sarcastic and impulsively reckless man. Yet there remains a concealed element to him, one he’s perfectly mastered the art of hiding beneath the surface. Ones initial opinion of Levi might be that he appears shallow, the kind of person who is self-absorbed, caring about himself only. To those on the outside looking in, Levi might seem somewhat superficial. That all there is to him is his satirical tongue, aloof nature and a permanent subtle smirk etched into the corner of his mouth. Although on the surface he appears to be a carbon copy of every brooding, mysterious man, adorning all-black attire who drives a jet-black 1963 Corvette Stingray, deep down there is more substance contained within. Despite his suave manner and borderline sarcastic flirtations, deep down, Levi remains the same man who adored his wife.

There is no doubt that Levi carries an air of mystery around him which is further amplified by his lack of opening up or exposing his emotions. Equally, there is no denying that he is incredibly talented at wearing a mask to conceal his feelings 99% of the time. In spite of his volatile tendencies and underneath his sarcastic and cocky demeanour, Levi has a big heart and possesses the capacity to care for a select few people, those he will put before himself; which is rare yet remains to exist inside the crevices of his puzzling persona. This is an element of his persona he’d rather keep in the shadows as he believes it displays weakness and he’d hate for anybody to exploit his Achilles heel. One could say that the attire Levi selects, the facade he plasters on every day is just an act to cover up the fact he is a well-mannered, old-fashioned man who has never been able to shake the wistfulness and memories of past eras from his soul. Where he may come across at times as an indifferent character, Levi is extremely ambitious, always feeling the need to prove himself; a man who is highly skilled and equally as intelligent as he is adept at the majority of things he puts his mind to.

On the flip side of the arrogant and mocking element within, there also lies a segment of Levi that can be extremely persuasive; the portion of him that is aware of his looks which he exploits for his benefit. He knows just how to turn on the charm and talk his way out of situations. His evasive and pretentious attitude can make him seem cocky and unfeeling but as soon as he begins caring for someone, he transforms into an entire polar opposite version of himself. But this is a rarity and so he usually fails to become attached enough to someone to change. Although this vulnerable, caring side of Levi exists, it is important to remember that buried deep down underneath his abundance of angst, Levi’s core is that of a smart ass with a sense of humour. The ease of narcissism and offhand sardonic quips accompanied by a roguish simper the basis of his character.

When he is alone and his flawlessly fashioned charm crumbles to the ground beneath him, the reality of his situation and past decisions kick in, becoming a myriad of memories; a plethora of emotions that overwhelm him to an excessive extent. It is in those vulnerable moments when Levi reaches for the only cures he believes might one day work. The comforting warmth of alcohol burning his throat or the draw of a strong cigarette filling his lungs is what he uses to aid his relentless thoughts; to hush the ghosts that consistently haunt the deepest, darkest cracks of his restless mind. Of course, his actions throughout his life have provided him with more than enough damage, much more than alcohol or nicotine could ever give him. Such catastrophes caused by his self, those are the cause of his burdened soul.

THE HISTORY.

For the most part, Levi’s upbringing had been altogether a positive one. He experienced a sheltered life where he wanted for nothing. His family held a very secured position in society with his father being a renowned criminal lawyer and his mother being a neurosurgeon. It would be safe to say Levi had a lot to live up to.

Growing up a lot was expected of Levi and his future had pretty much been mapped out for him by his parents. Levi didn't mind all that much but his younger years weren't entirely his own. 

Eventually, after Levi had obtained a law degree, he began working alongside his father. Naturally, his father had been proud of his son, going as far as even changing his firm’s name to Bohan & Son.

All in all, Levi had a pleasant life and he often wondered how things could get any better for him. Then along came Olivia, a beautiful woman who immediately captured Levi’s heart at the age of twenty-three.

Eventually, the two wound up married. Those blessed three years Levi spent with Olivia are what the man now clings onto desperately for he knows he’ll never feel happiness like it ever again. 

Levi was twenty-seven when Olivia was murdered. Levi had arrived at their home to find his wife lying in a pool of her own blood and it was clear to the man who was responsible. After he had successfully managed to win a case against a notorious member of a drug cartel, a man known to have committed many atrocities, murder included, that was the moment a target had been placed on not only his head but that of everyone he cared about.

Levi had been warned the guy wasn't to be messed with, he was advised by his father against taking the case in the first place. He can still recall his father urging him that the man had connections and the likelihood of them gunning for him was extremely probable. But the case was massive and some selfish part of Levi wanted to prove he was worth his salt, to advance his career. For a small moment, he didn't care about anything else but putting the man behind bars. It had taken a hell of a lot for the police to get their hands on him so the media coverage was colossal as was the sudden interest in Levi. It was short-sighted and to this day, the biggest regret Levi has. That one night had cost Levi everything he held dear in life and it was something he would never forgive himself for. 

With a deep-rooted rage and an overwhelming thirst for revenge, to see blood spilt, Levi set out on a mission he was determined to accomplish. It had taken him many months and sure, it was risky as hell but somehow, maybe through divine intervention, he managed to pull it off. He managed to hunt down and put down the man who killed his wife. It made him sick to his stomach and when the reality slapped him in the face that he was definitely on a hit list, he had no choice but to run. 

With blood-stained hands and a guilt-ridden heart, Levi fled London; an overwhelming sense of hollowness riddling his chest. It felt as though the organ itself had been carved straight out of its confines, that it no longer existed.

Unable to live with himself, Levi moved around a lot in the following years, looking over his shoulder, until he eventually wound up in New York almost a year ago. Presumably dead to all who mattered to him, Levi remained a desolate and hopeless man, scarcely more than a shadow on the streets of Manhattan. 

For the first few months of his residing in New York, Levi spent his days alone in the bars, drinking himself into a stupor and his nights running wild, getting into fist-fights, drawing blood if some unfortunate soul crossed his path. He had a lot of anger. A lot.

Levi used to be destined for greatness, a brilliant, bright-eyed boy and now he was the man people avoided, crossing the road to get to the other side of the street. He no longer cared about much at all. It no longer mattered how much he had loved Olivia, nor did it matter if his father spent the majority of his remaining existence wondering where his son had disappeared to. 

As Levi continued to spiral, a gradual loathing toward himself settled deep within the crevices of his darkened mind. In the end, Levi was left in the dark, alone; broken and believing himself to be worthless and undeserving.

At least, that was until the DeLucas came along and offered him a job. Well, that's what Levi prefers to refer to his line of 'work' as. Outright calling himself a murderer was far too excessive for his taste. 

At first, admittedly, Levi had been sceptical about the proposition until he figured he already had blood on his hands and it would never dry; there was already a black mark on his soul, no point in caring now. 

Initially, Levi thought that taking the life of another human for the second time would have the same effect as it did the first time but when the guilt he expected never came, he realised he felt nothing. Emptiness, even. It was at that moment Levi accepted that he was capable of doing bad things and he was capable of doing them well.

These days, Levi is a shell of the man he used to be in those blissful years with his family. At one point in his life, Levi firmly believed he would have his happily ever after, but when his chance at happiness had come knocking, a cruel twist of fate had to snatch that away from him. Nowadays he has resigned himself to the reality that contentment is never going to be an emotion he will feel in his heart again. 

Levi is closed off and secluded for the most part. He is mysterious, full of rage and self-loathing and holds everyone in his life at arm’s length, afraid to let them in; only permitting people to see what he wants them to see and know what he wants them to know. 

EXTRAS.

For further information, I have a stats page HERE. I also made a Pinterest board for Levi ( because I’m a sucker for the aesthetics, sue me ) so you can check that out HERE. As for wanted connections and potential plots, I’m working on a page for that but here are some I’d absolutely love:

Fellow assassins ( people he knows who share the same line of work as him; could be DeLuca or O’Hara affiliated. ) A clash of personalities ( someone who challenges or disagrees with him and he returns the favour although they could be friends or enemies. ) Former flings/hookups ( again, can be affiliated with any family and could be angsty or chill. ) Confidant/best pal ( I mean, he doesn’t really do the whole best friends thing but everybody needs a friend, right? ) Friend-ish ( people he can actually tolerate and stand to be around for more than 5 minutes without wanting to either punch them in the face or stab himself in the eye with a fork. ) Drinking buddy ( pretty self-explanatory; the man’s got issues so booze is his friend and who wants to drink alone? )

Give me all of the connections from friends, frenemies, enemies, rivals and everything else in between. Added bonus if there's angst or drama. If you have anything in mind feel free to throw it at me, I’m open to the majority of things and have zero triggers so come at me bro.

[scribeofmorpheus]

His Girl Tuesday {Part 1}

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Tuesday Adams x  Billy Hargrove

[Prologue] [Series Masterlist] [Main masterlist] [AO3]

Series Warnings: This series will contain NSFW, Language, Drug use, horror themes, potentially gore and the occasional racist depictions (because it’s the 80′s people)

Words: 3k

Part One: Infectuous

The plastic bottle pressed between Tuesday's palms shook slightly. The trapped water inside, sloshing against the flimsy material that was pressed inwards -deforming with rounded indentations on contact with her fingers.

Tuesday felt numb to everything. The rapid pounding of her heart beneath her breast reduced to nothing more than a distant thrumming of white noise. The shake in her limbs transformed into a tingle of discomfort that refused to subside. But most notable of all was the outward silence.

There she sat, in a crowded, bustling mall. A dizzying panorama of people laughing, talking, arguing, chewing, stomping, and yet, everything was so distant. It was as though someone had turned the dial on her piece of junk television set and now static was the only thing blaring through the dust-covered speakers. Leaving only one voice to speak up inside her cranium. One confounded voice.

She needed to find her way out of this maze, she needed to return to the now.

"One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi..." she counted idly by within the safety of her private thoughts. Savouring that one truth that still held true. Unless…

Tuesday pried her eyes away from the air bubbles trickling to the surface of the water bottle, placing her attentions on the group of kids across from them in the arcade, "She can't read minds can she?" 

Steve drummed his fingers on his thighs, lips pursed in a half show of amusement and concern, "No," he replied. "At least, if she can, she hasn't told me about it. I don't typically ask too many questions. It makes it easier to hold onto my marbles."

Feeling redundant, Tuesday rotated the lid until it popped off and rolled away, devouring the contents of the plastic bottle as if she'd been tittering on the precipice of unquenchable thirst. It hadn’t helped. The liquid, though refreshing, didn’t freeze up her mind. She yearned for her action potentials to stop racing across her wired synapses so she could stop hearing the singular overlapping sound of her own voice inside her head. The voice kept multiplying into a cacophony, overlapping over itself again and again.

Steve ignored the meandering rivulet of water making its way from her mouth to the space between her breasts –moving awkwardly in his seat.

Tuesday wiped the cool liquid from her chin and the underside of her jaw using the side of her shirt -overalls half peeled off at the waist.

This was turning into the kind of day where Billy's proximity was sorely missed. His dominant nature made him an overwhelming persona to be around. It was demanding and dark, a crack in the universe that led to a solitary grotto away from everything.

Some days Tuesday felt as if she was viewing her entire life through neon coloured glasses accompanied by that electric hum that was always present, even in the dark recesses of her mind. Billy was her sedative. He kept her in a state of euphoria, an enticing escape from her woes.

There were two things that sent her over the edge, into that euphoric bliss she craved. One of them was Billy. The other was the smell of his cigarettes. Lucky Strike was his go-to brand, he always had a burning fag in his mouth at one time or another. It's bitter and oaky scents mixed into a heady blend when it diffused together with his musky aftershave. It was an intoxicating mix. A cheap odour that she'd grown accustomed to. And now she found herself scanning the crowd for puffs of smoke, looking desperately for that distinguishable red dot on a filmy white packet.

"Look, I don't mean to be pushy but..." Steve leaned closer. "What are you planning on telling your boss? About the freak accident you narrowly avoided? Heck, what are you planning on telling anyone, period?"

She almost didn't hear him, his gentle nature was a rarity to her, it didn’t demand to be seen, instead, it whispered. "Do you have a smoke?" she asked, her nails scratching at the mystery bruise on her arm.

Steve's eyes skittered about before he said, "Uhhh, n-no. I'm trying to lay off."

She hissed as she scratched at her scalp, ankles springing with pent up energy underneath the table. "Shit."

"Listen, I know all this can be overwhelming, believe me. But you have to promise to keep this a secret. She may have superpowers but she's just a kid, and all she wants is to have the same kinda life as any other regular kid," there was compassion in his words. The way his tone fluctuated from a serious whisper to a soft muttering informed Tuesday that Steve actually cared for those kids.

She wanted to listen, wanted to be wholly attentive, but she just kept searching for a white stream of cigarette smoke. Her mind drifted away again as he continued his plea: "And it's not just her life that would be affected either. I mean, Dustin, Mike, Will, Max, they're great kids and--"

"Wait, Max?" she careened her head. "As in Hargrove?"

"Y-yeah. You know her?"

"In passing. Why isn’t she here?"

"Sick with the flue apparently."

Tuesday's mouth stayed agape until she caught sight of a man with a moustache sucking in the air through the cotton filter of a cigarette bud by a clothing store. "Excuse me a minute."

She dashed from the table with a near-jog. Butting into the strange man's conversation to ask if she could bum a smoke. When she returned, she had a fully lit cigarette strategically placed under her nostrils so she could be bombarded by the smell. It wasn't Lucky Star, but it was a close alternative.

After a satisfied inhale, she turned to Steve, fully present this time.

"Well?" He pressed after she spent a whole minute just staring blankly at his face.

"Well what?"

"What are you going to tell your boss really happened?"

"Jack?"

He was confused by that, "I guess.”

She looked back at the kids all hovered around a Mrs Pac-Man arcade game. "People survive near-death experiences in inexplicable and miraculous ways all the time. Perhaps my guardian angel finally awoke from its slumber. Maybe it was divine providence. Though sometimes it's best to leave things unexplained."

Steve nodded a thank you in gratitude, stress leaving his face with a deep exhale. "Thank you, Wednesday."

"Tuesday," she corrected like it was second nature. "Wednesday Adams was the nickname Tommy H. and Carol gave me in high school."

"Oh," regret was present in his eyes.

"Ingenious, I know," she chortled sarcastically. "Don't sweat it. We were all a little screwed up in high-school. It's no one’s fault I was a little weird too."

She noticed him push back his hair, an old habit she would have swooned over had they been sitting at the same table two years ago -before Billy.

“Doesn’t make it alright,” he said.

“C’est la vie.”

He fidgeted, "I always wondered…" he trailed off, unsure if he should be treading over these particular eggshells.

Tuesday recognised that look. "If my name is somehow a rip off of a popular 60's television show?" she finished his unspoken question for him.

He nodded.

"No," she blew the miniature logs of ash off the table. "At least, I don't think so. My dad says I found my way to him on a Tuesday morning. He was never one for television. I guess it was just another stroke of divine providence is all." she joked flatly before standing from the table. "I'm beat and I feel gross. I'm gonna head out. And don't worry. I'll keep your secret."

 Tuesday didn't have the energy to towel dry her long hair, the wetness of it made it look blacker than coal. Her head fell back onto her thinly stuffed pillow, the landing much harder than she intended. She could feel the moisture seep into the cotton pillowcase, but she was content with ignoring the coldness at her back so long as sleep came quick. And it did. She went out like a light.

***

Eyes filled with terror. A stench of copper and urine turning the air humid. Fear clung around opened sweat glands. A nauseating feeling upturning stomachs as Tuesday's vision was impaired by the spin of vertigo.

The unfamiliar room was a striking show of gestating entropy; shadows born from pale, sickly, yellow lights; dust covering every crack and crevice; the smell of gasoline and burning rubber ghosting off a rusted metal drum placed next to tattered and torn couches. This was a den. A derelict place of rest. And someone had claimed it as their own.

The lord of this domain sat on a leather chair, the whites of his eyes and the stained yellows of his teeth were the only thing visible about him. Tuesday stood under a circle of light that flickered out of beat.

"Who are you?" her voice came out distorted, a ringing echo that morphed into the voices of others –those she had heard whispered to her during the day.

He shifted closer to the light. No. It was more like the darkness had peeled itself back, like a cloud he could control hovering around his body. Even with the dark cloud pulled back, he was still enveloped in blackness. It was slick, wet. Like his body was drenched in tar.

That's when Tuesday realised that here, in this wretched place, he was darkness. From his aura, to the veins around his aqueous humors and the chipped off nail polish on his bitten down fingernails. He was void and Tuesday had unknowingly trespassed into his domain.

She was unwelcome here. The weathered concrete walls leaked of despair. Seeping out like a pustulous boil. It made her want to retch. But there was something else too. Something primordial and infectious rolling off his menacing presence. It snaked its way to her through the soles of her bare feet, veins turning black the higher up it climbed.

Tuesday was petrified in fear as this unwelcome sensation burned at her toes and her ankles and her knees and her stomach until finally, it blocked out all the light in her eyes. She looked down at a materialising pool of oil and what she saw made her scream –only no sound came out of her. Her eyes, they were gone, replaced only by orbs of blackness. She was like him now.

His body turned to air and mistified off the couch, materialising a second later behind her, the stench of stale beer and cigarettes trickling off his pierced tongue. "It feels good, doesn't it? Rage."

She swallowed but her throat remained parched.

"Do you know why you came to me? Why it was so easy for me to worm my way into your pretty little brain?" He dug a fingernail into her temple, the pulsating vein turning dark, spreading like a stain. "Someone tried to hurt you and you can't let such an injustice go unpunished. You can’t bear it for a moment longer."

He appeared a mere inch from her nose now, his eyelids carrying the same epicanthic fold as hers. "Are you going to lie down and take it, like some weak, powerless, frightened little girl who's too afraid to leave her pathetic life behind? Or are you going to give in and do the one thing you've been thinking about since that car nearly crushed you?"

His words were a cajole to join him in his darkness. A temptation to embrace her baser instincts. An awakening of a vehement desire. A violent urge.

Now she was grinning, as he was grinning, their faces mirrors of each other.

"Atta girl," he praised before turning into mist and tunnelling down to her chakras through her nasal cavity and throat. And then she was burning, a fire burning through her flesh.

She was infected now.

***

Tuesday's eyes flashed open, but her body remained relaxed. It was noon, the sun still high up. She washed her face, noticing a dark purple outline encircling her eyelids. Then she grabbed her car keys off the hook, dropping the note that that was stuck onto the pinboard, stepping on it with her dusty boots. It went unread.

 The sputtering sounds of her engine vibrated through the entire car. Tuesday set in in park, but kept the motor running. Sam and his brothers were welding off car door hinges, stripping it for parts. The red flashing signpost of their establishment blinked in the back, several bulbs blown: Carson Bros Metal Works and Junkyard.

One of Sam's brother's noticed her arrival, peeling back his welding helmet, "Yo, Sammy, we got a visitor."

Sam Carson was not the most refined specimen Hawkins had to offer, and that was about all Tuesday cared to noticed of him. His entire body stunk of sweat and burning, the tell-tale signs of leading a life that relied on scraping by. The smell stuck to him like flies over rot. All his foul persona was missing was that constant buzz that accompanied large house flies.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the beguiling Tuesday Adams," he snorted with a pinch of his nose.

Tuesday bit down on her teeth until they sent trembles up to her cochlear nerve. "Can you even spell beguiling?"

"Yeah," he leered, thumbs in his back pocket. "I believe it goes: B-E-Blow me!" He mocked.

Tuesday narrowed her eyes and he bent his pelvis so he could look at her at the same level.

"Can you even see when you squint like that?" his brothers let out huffs of amused noises and Tuesday balled up her fists. He noticed her fingers strain under her shaking fist and he held up his hands as though he were innocent of whatever feelings of antagonism she held towards him. "Oh, hey now. Don't get your knickers in a twist. We're just making light." He propped his frame on top of a newly salvaged JTO. "What brings you to my place of business?"

"Jack brought over the car-jack yesterday, he said you told him you fixed it." It was a statement, but it implied something else.

"Jack? I don't know no Jack. You must have your wires crossed honey," he leaned further back with a smug smile on his heat blistered lips.

"Your botched up job nearly cost me my life," she was seething now. "I nearly got crushed!"

"Yeah, well," he pulled out a cigarette from his breast pocket, lighting it with a match. "I can't be held liable for any accidents that happen at other people’s businesses. It's not my fault your boss is a negligent cook. You get what you pay for, and he’s the one who wanted to play hardball. Take up your grievances with him."

Tuesday could feel that infectious rage swirl inside her, her breathing rising and rising the same time her knuckles turned white. She didn't come here to talk. In that moment, she knew exactly why she came here.

In a flash, her hand swung back as she planted her feet and powered her right hook into the unsuspecting Sam's cheek, his cigarette spitting out on contact. Her form was off, sacrificing technique for power and as a result, a cracking sound came off her proximal phalanges.

Sam was sent reeling into the dust, his brothers scattering to come to his aid and gang up on the very riled up Tuesday.

"You bitch!" He sucked on his split lip. "Are you fucking insane?"

He picked himself off the ground and in an instant of red, he struck Tuesday with a heavy open palm. She landed on the hood of the car, trading places with Sam, a gasp of air knocked out of her lungs. She massaged her jaw muscles and spun around to promptly kick him in the crotch. Her fists pressed to her cheeks.

Sam groaned, buckling to the floor again. One of his brothers rushed at her but was deterred from his path by a threatening Trans-Am almost ramming into him.

Billy got out of the car with flaring nostrils and a baseball bat.

"Get the fuck back," he growled as he strode over to her side. The bat pointed at each of the men lick a swinging pendulum. "Tuesday, get in the car."

She didn't listen to him, in fact, her focus was fixed solely on Sam. She made a motion to advance, to trade another blow and this time Billy snaked his arm around her waist and heaved her off the ground. Tuesday was dragged, kicking and screaming, into Billy's car. Face turning beat red from anger.

Billy walked back up to Sam after he locked Tuesday inside, he walked with his usual slow, swaggerful gait. He appeared to be extending a white flag when, without warning, his bat abruptly crashed onto Sam's knee, making him howl in pain.

Billy pulled him by the collar and threatened him, "The next time you lay hands on someone, you better pray it's someone I don't know." He pushed him back into the dirt and taunted his brothers, arms wide open. "Anyone else?"

They all took an instinctive step back when Billy motioned to step forward. He spat at the ground before climbing into his car and speeding Tuesday home.

 "The fuck were you thinking?" his voice was harsh as he grabbed a packet of frozen peas from the fridge.

Tuesday stared at her reflection in the television screen, the voice from her dream returning to taunt her: "Someone tried to hurt you and you can't let such an injustice go unpunished."

The cold press of peas to her face brought her back. She looked into Billy's eyes, so filled with anger and worry. Her right arm stiff from the tight bandage Billy had wound around her undoubtedly fractured hand.

"I- I don't know what came over me..."

He sighed, placing his forehead to her knee. "Something could have happened."

Tuesday was reminded of the harrowing image of the car hurtling towards her small frame, "Something nearly did."

“How did you learn to fight like that?”

“I was raised by a single dad…”

Billy didn't move and for a while, neither did she. They just sat there, stewing in their unpleasant emotions until they proverbially pruned.

Her eyes caught sight of the note that had been stamped with a dusty boot print, "Hey Champ. Won't be home for dinner. Don't wait up. Taking a double tonight. Love dad!"

Her chin quivered, barely. "How did you find me?"

Billy sat up, removing the bag of peas that turned soft. "I went over to the garage. Jack told me what happened. When no one answered the door I figured, if you were anything like me, you'd be itching for payback. I got lucky." He turned her head to examine the red palm mark. "It won't bruise."

Tuesday noticed he sported a new bruise beneath his shirt, she trailed a finger over it and he shivered, biting down hard. "How'd you get this?"

"Does it matter?"

"It does to me."

Billy held her gaze, and now she was reminded of their proximity. Of the cheap aftershave and cigarette smell that turned her limp. She pulled him close, savouring the feel of sedation. And then her lips found the sensitive stop of flesh behind his ear and he groaned, fingers digging into her back.

Without a word or look or a warning, Billy pulled her off the couch and carried her towards the bedroom where he proceeded to fuck her against her old, creaking dresser -the wood groaning and legs lifting from his fevered intensity. Their kisses all tongue and teeth and with no propriety -it was a primal instinct fuelled by heat and savagery. When he flipped her over and backed her into a wall, legs locked around his waist while he increased the power of his strokes, he noticed her hand had been kept over the bruise she had seen earlier. Her unintelligible whimpers fuelling him to go even deeper -harder. When he came, he had pulled out just in time. They leaned against the wall, ragged breathing, raspy voices and aching limbs. He watched his cum slide down the length of her inner thigh, waiting for it to reach the dip in her knee before he let her drag him to the bathroom.

That night, as he held her in his arms, he couldn't help but notice that the purple-bluish marks had almost faded into the yellowish-brown of a nearly healed bruise. Billy ignored the strangeness behind the colour change and focused on smoothing the raw skin of her cheek as she let out small breaths through lips agape.

***

Tuesday was drawn back into the dreamscape from before, but this time it wasn't drowning in darkness. The red and orange hues of the sunset covered the room in orange paint. The man from before looked less animalistic and spectral. He resembled a simple human now.

He held a bloody bat over his shoulder, the plasma smearing onto his wrist as he craned his neck to the side and side-stepped so she could see the fruits of his depraved labours. On the ground, a man in a security guard uniform lay barely breathing, incisors surrounded by splotches of blood around his face, no longer rooted in his mouth.

The nightmare-man turned to her, and with a mockingly high pitched tone, he screeched like a deranged parrot, "What are you? Some kind of ffrrreeeeeaaaaakkk?!"

His yellow teeth in full view through thinly pried lips.

And then she was forced awake.

***

Tuesday grumbled when she was conscious again, an epiphany dawning over her now that she was sober and in full possession of her bearings.

“Damn it,” she cursed as she realised she had left her car at the Carson’s Junkyard.

To be continued...

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[iamcinema]

IAC Reviews: #009: Extreme Life & Death: The Blair Witches of Shockumentaries: Part One (2000)

Warning: The following film contains graphic imagrey that’s considered NSFW/NSFL, and should be avoided by those who are faint of heart and don’t like the sight of real death media and violence. While the following review delves into such topics, it contains no stills from the film and is marked as safe. If you wish to view it to judge for yourself, it’s readily available online to view via Archive.org.

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After disappearing for 84 years, I’m back in the saddle to bring in something new...or old rather. So, what’s a better way to mark my return than with a genre staple of my morally questionable childhood? We’re back in action with another shockumentary title, and this has been one of the more elusive titles thus far.

Extreme Life & Death: The Blair Witches of Shockumentaries is a three-part series akin to others of its kind; bringing us highlights and reels of death, mayhem, and tragedy caught on film. This includes the usual suspects like vehicular accidents, terrorism, natural disasters, and fantastical human feats and achievements - thus the name, Extreme Life & Death.

There’s very little information about the company, DMP Entertainment, out there as the IMDb pages for these entries are barren with nothing to them beyond their tags to explain what they were. You can find a company called DMP Entertainment online, but whether or not they’re related is hard to tell for sure. However, the cover art for Part Two bears a striking resemblence to the artwork for Death: The Final Journey, an expansive seven part series that touches on the same topic, released by Wayne Enterprises and DMN Productions around the same time. Given the similarities, my guess is that DMP Entertainment and DMN Productions are the same company - and oddly enough, both appear to be currently active with their main focus being on music production. Interesting. So, much like the legend about the Blair Witch herself, it’s tough to find solid answers as to the mystery behind these strange titles. While they may not be the most obscure or even potentially sought after, they do raise a brow as to what the hell you’re in for.

Extreme Life & Death; Part One in One Gif:

Hmm, okay, let’s try to talk about this one because I had a hard time doing so elsewhere. Also, I apologize for the strange choice in a photo since I wasn’t able to find a stand alone VHS scan of the tape for some reason. So, shout out to /u/Str8Jeffin over on the VHS sub for being lucky enough to find this. The comments on it are either those who haven’t heard about either film, or applaud him for finding two rarities in the wild - and yeah, I’ll get to Zombie Bloodbath eventually.

Now, the part I’ve been dreading when it’s come to getting to writing this is figuring out how to. As I said previously, this has been a very weird film to dig for and I wouldn’t have known about it if it wasn’t for the few shockumentary lists on IMDb that even acknowledge it and other oddball titles like Traces of Gore, More Than Smashed Pumpkins, and Snuff R73. Much like some of those titles, this applies to even production credits or cover art to confirm the validity of their existence. I wasn’t even sure if I’d be able to do much in terms of potentially reviewing this or not at all, but someone managed to find all three films on a Spanish or Portuguese website and saved them before the site went under. So, if you want to see these, I’ll provide a link at the end for you to get a taste of the action.

Now, onto the first installment...

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Judging from just the release dates alone, my guess is that it tried to follow the train of titles of the 1990′s and the dawning of the new millenium; so Traces of Death, The Many Faces of Death, and Death File. There’s a bit of a saying that once you’ve seen one of these films, you’ve seen all of them, and in a way it’s true.

A good portion of shockumentaries are just recycled and repurposed clips and archived footage from other shockumentaries and documentaries, and after one uses something fresh to bring to the table, it’s dead on arrival and bloated up the river by the time it gets in the hands of others to spread around. For some, this can kill the mood and experience if you’re seeing rehashed films you’ve already seen before and you know what to expect. For others, they don’t necessarily see it as a bad thing or wholly disappointing. But, hey, to each their own I suppose. I guess that’s up to you with where you sit on the matter. This also rings true for the topic of narratiors and whether or not they add to the scenes or take away from it, with a sort of set in stone range from traditional documentary style narrations by Dr. Francis B. Gross and Dr. Flellis of the Faces of Death series and the brutal, in your face of Darrin Ramage and Dr. Vincent van Gore of Traces of Death and Faces of Gore, respectively.

I bring this up, particularlly the topic of narrators because you won’t find that here - well, sort of, and it goes hand-in-hand with the old saying.

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Exteme Life & Death: Part One is as simple and bare bones as they come, which is strange to say for a niche subgenre where the raw heart of the matter is just a showcase of death, carnage, destruction, and the like. I say that because others of its kind have more, I guess you can say, substance to them in the form of a soundtrack, narration, or chapters to help steer things along to be more organized. However, these things are noticably abscent from the film if it wasn’t previously supplied with the archived footage.

In a similar manner to how I talked about The Act of Seeing With Ones Own Eyes in my review of Le Poéme, this will either make for a rather boring watch or something more intimate and direct with the viewer because it throws you right into the heart of it with no filler. On the other hand, this can also make the film appear to be more a more cheap, thoughtless, and lazy cash-in with it’s rough, copy-and-paste style of editing. It’s really just a matter of preference for what you’re into, I suppose. While I can understand not providing either for emotion or context as a means to just push the viewer into the chaos of the scenes, I don’t get having the ability to do so out of being cheap or incompetent - which feels to be more of the case, at least in my opinion.

My process for coming to this conclusion comes in the form of many of the scenes provided, which have been recycled from previous shockumentaries of times gone by. While those films provide exposition for their origins, this film uses black and white captions to tell the limited background information instead. For example, one of the more notable scenes comes in the form of firing squad execution footage that was smuggled out of Iraq sometime in the early 1990′s. This scene has been repurposed and reused in other films with exposition, but this time around we just get a similar copy-and-paste style method of explaining what’s going on. Whether or not this cheapens or degrades the experience is up to you, because, then again, there’s the crowd that found the narration and delivery method for the early Traces of Death films to be so boring that Damon Fox was told people would just mute the film and blast their death metal albums over it.

So, enough on this topic. What can one expect if they want to see this?

I feel that the opening sequences tells you what exactly we’re in for as far as quality goes, which is that of a woman walking around a cemetery sobbing as she throws herself onto the tombstones to mourn. It feels rather cheap and forced, which doesn’t really help it that much at all. The editing style feels rather sloppy as the scenes don’t really have much direction for them as far as how they’ve organized things. To go back to Faces of Death, we have general chapters that attempt to string things along in a seamless transition; with natural disasters, animal cruelty, capitol punishment, and human atrocities being served up. Here, it feels like there’s no rhyme or reason for the direction things want to go. So, it’s not out of line to see air show disaster footage one moment and then something unrelated the next with no explanation. The footage in question isn’t particularly graphic either and is relatively on the tame side compared to other films; with some of the more gruesome scenes being that of a city block after a potential bombing, a corpse discovered in the jungles of Nicaragua, and last rites given to a man who was fatally hit by a truck.

_________________________________________

So, with all of that being said, what do I think about this one? Honestly, I don’t know. In a way, it does try to hold up on its own with trying to stand out compared to it’s bloody brothers and sisters, so I can’t say it didn’t at least try. Well, maybe “try” is a bit generous.

I’m not sure.

There’s a part of me that thinks it did it’s job alright, and there’s another that feels like it didn’t want to bother putting in the additional effort to really push things to the limit or reach it’s full potential - plus, the title alone can give you an impression as to what it’s trying to do and whether or not you feel that’s a good thing is up to you. I want to say that if the makers went there to at least give us something a bit extra (as a treat), like music or even a mediocre narrator, this could have been more of a recognized name...even if that in of itself is weird enough. It makes me wonder how many people followed in the steps of early Traces of Death viewers and just flipped on their goregrind albums to add anything at all to the experience.

Now, it’s up for you to decide what to make of this. If there’s enough interest, I can attempt to do reviews for the other two parts, even if it means repeating myself. If you want to get a glimpse of what I was talking about, you can view all three parts over on the Internet Archive that got added back in September 2019. If you’re into shockumentaries, then I’d say to give it a watch at some point, even if it’s just to say you’ve officially seen everything. For those who are new to the subgenre, then I’d say you would be in good hands to start with something like this if Faces of Death is too much for you - even if a good chunk of the franchise is recreated footage. However, if you’re into shockumentaries and this hasn’t swayed any opinion you have, then don’t fret because you won’t lose much sleep if you pass on this one.

RATING: 3/10

[rutilation]

there isn’t a new chapter but i feel like I should still...write things

Fool that I am, I thought that since there wouldn’t be a chapter this month, I could just quickly type up a post about some hnk things that have been on my mind, but haven’t been immediately relevant to the new chapters. Easy Peasy.

Now it’s 5,000 words later, I’ve started ranting about geology instead of my usual literary bullshit, a couple cookie recipes have snuck their way onto this word document, and the Euclase section has ballooned far beyond its original scope.

Anyway, click the read more if you want to see the following topics:

Hot takes about Euclase

I attempt to psychoanalyze Cairngorm’s fashion choices

Visual symbolism from the cover of the artbook

What type of microcrystalline diamond aggregate is Bort anyway? ft. the etymology of Bort’s name

Crazy snail theory

Since Euclase is a bit of a hot topic at the moment, I figured that I might as well expand a bit on my thoughts towards them.  Somehow, I ended up writing a big ‘ol essay.  Then I erased most of that essay.  But there were some good bits in there, so here’s what I thought was worth salvaging.  First though, I should lay my cards on the table, and explain why I’m not on team Euclase Did Nothing Wrong.  

In the days following the release of chapter 71, I’ve heard a couple people say that this line:

was not translated with the appropriate nuance, and that Euclase wasn’t blatantly saying “lol, I’ve found their weakness.”  However, the fact that Padparadscha regards Euclase’s words as emotional manipulation in the very next scene indicates to me that that’s still a probable reading of Euclase’s actions, even if they’re not being as unsubtle about it as the translation implies.  I don’t know much Japanese though, so I can’t really comment on any translation issues that may or may not have occurred.

I think my sticking point with Euclase is that I have trouble buying that they’re acting in good faith or that they’re really committed to the ideals they’re espousing.  Granted, most of what they’ve been saying and doing seems reasonable, especially compared Phos’s short-sighted flailing.  They haven’t displayed any malice, and they’ve at least paid lip service to wanting positive change and demonstrating pro-social behavior.

But here’s the thing: if they truly value change, and they simply want to go about effecting positive change in a way that’s more sensible than Phos’s bull-in-a-china-shop strategy, then why are they so consistently reactionary?  (I mean this in the most neutral sense of the term, btw.)  They didn’t value an equitable relationship with Kongou until Phos made it impossible for the Kongou-centric monarchy to continue. They felt no urgency towards Cinnabar’s plight until they became useful in warding off the moon gems.  They showed no concern for Phos’s crippling lack of self-esteem until they could use it to try and persuade Phos to defect to their side.  Even though they have reputation among the other gems for being kindhearted, from what I’ve seen, they’re only ever as kind as is absolutely necessary to maintain group cohesion.  The only time they’ve been considerate of someone else’s feelings in a proactive manner is with Dia, specifically regarding their issues with Bort.  And since those two are the gems’ strongest non-comatose defenders, it’s prudent for Euclase to concern themselves with their issues.

Like, compare Euclase and their partner’s respective reactions to Phos in chapters 21 and 22.  The story goes out of its way to show that Jade doesn’t mob Phos like the other gems, and they express concern over Phos’s insomnia.  Euclase meanwhile, has no compunctions about ganging up on Phos with the others, and only apologizes when they need to ask a favor of them.  I kind of expect a bit of tactlessness from the other gems, because most of them, on top of being single-minded, are implied to be pretty childlike on account of the highly static society they live in.  And even those who aren’t very childlike kind of don’t have their shit together.  But since Euclase has positioned themselves as wise and compassionate authority figure, that sort of thing stands out.  And when they’ve cultivated a reputation among the other gems for being kind, it’s really off-putting when the narrative drops hints that that kindness isn’t sincere.

Couple all that with Padparadscha’s wariness towards them and that creepy face they made in chapter 60 and my predominant emotion towards them is

Which isn’t to say that I hate them or anything.  To the contrary, I think that it’s valuable that their perspective--that of someone who is stalwartly on the ‘society’ side of the whole ‘individual vs society’ theme that the manga has going on—is a valuable one to acknowledge in the story.  Furthermore, I find them to be quite the interesting character at this point. They’ve come a long way from their initial role as “that one minor character who follows Jade around.”  I also find characters who are in some way secretive or two-faced to be a lot of fun because I get a kick out of trying to wade through the miasma of subtext and half-truths to try and get to the core of a character (looking at you, Craig-Greg.)  Anyway, in Euclase’s case, I don’t even think they have bad intentions; but at the moment, the impression I’m getting is that they only value other people insofar as they can contribute to the maintenance of society, whatever form that society takes, rather than seeing society as something that should exist for the sake of enriching the lives of inherently valuable people.  Despite the fact that Euclase is a staunch team player, I’m gonna go on record and say that I don’t think they care all that much about other people, they’ve just come to the conclusion that being cooperative and not rocking the boat as a general principle is the most rational way for them to go about their life.

If at some point in the future Euclase demonstrates that this isn’t their mindset, then I’m prepared to eat humble pie and admit that I was interpreting all their actions in the most cynical light possible and jumping to conclusions from there.  But for now, I am Mr. Krabs.

Getting away from “It’s about ethics in gem society” for a moment, I suspect that, unlike a lot of the other gems, Euclase isn’t really coming from a place of willful ignorance.  They’re not incurious and their words and actions have been quite deliberate.  I think that they know—or have at least inferred—some truths about their world that a lot of the other gems look away from. Their oft remarked fondness for statistics might have given them insight into some discrepancies in the narratives they’ve been fed by Kongou.  For example:

They’re probably well aware of the fact that no one on the moon has ever come back, and that if they themselves are captured, they’re gone for good.  (According to Aechmea this wasn’t always the case; but it’s quite possible that the gems who were returned to earth and promptly recaptured lived before the gems started keeping written records as well as before any of the current characters were born.)

If we compare the number of old gems to the number of young gems to the number of middle-aged gems, it’s clear that the old group is the smallest in number, and that most of the gems who make it to old age don’t patrol often for one reason or another.  Even though the gems go about their lives under the assumption that if they’re careful, they’ll never be caught by the Lunarians, that assumption is clearly not based in reality.  And Euclase, who apparently knows how old each gem is down to the day, is probably well aware of how illusory their immortality really is.

What I’m getting at is this: they’re likely one of the few gems who have wrapped their head around the concept of death, and like all the other gems who’ve come to understand that they’re not as immortal as they’ve been lead to believe, this knowledge has informed their outlook on life and their actions.  But while someone like Phos has taken a carpe diem approach to dealing with the fleeting nature of life, it seems to me that Euclase responded by maneuvering themselves into a position where they never have to take risks and, thus, never need to die.  As one of the little character intros mentioned, Euclase is skilled enough for any job, but the job they’ve chosen is one that apparently allows them to avoid patrolling and stay out of danger.

Something I find interesting which I expect to be brought up in the story later is Euclase’s insecurity about their brittleness, which was briefly mentioned in chapter 8.  To expand on this, Euclase has three planes of cleavage, one perfect and two distinct. This aspect is actually something they share in common with Phos.  Euclase, like phosphophyllite, is considered among gemology nerds mineral collectors to be a beautiful mineral that would make for great jewelry...if it wasn’t so rare and brittle.  Both of them also have names that reference their brittleness--euclase means “easily broken” and the -phyll part of phosphophyllite references its perfect cleavage.

Since many of the gems have one or more aspects of their characterizations based on the physical properties and/or cultural associations of their minerals, and since breakage is a major motif of the work, I think there’s probably significance to the fact that Ichikawa decided to make a gem so thoroughly associated with brittleness into a major character.  That’s how it is with Phos anyway.  To paraphrase a bit, Ichikawa said in this interview that phosphophyllite’s much lauded beauty and rarity juxtaposed against its unsuitability as jewelry was the inspiration behind Phos as a character being bold yet perpetually ineffectual (and of course very, very breakable, both literally and figuratively.)

So, this character, who is shaping up to be an antagonistic(?) force has a similar—and thematically relevant—existential condition to our protagonist, and they deal with it in a strikingly different way.  It’s a bit early to say where this element of the story is going to lead, but it’s worth keeping an eye on.

As I’m typing this, I’m starting to wonder if the reason why Euclase misinterpreted Phos’s words in chapter 70 as insecurity about their hardness is because Euclase themselves is insecure about their brittleness.  In fact, that might also be the reason why they didn’t show themselves in chapter 70 until everyone was down and out, and why their overall plan involved shooting first and asking questions later.  The chance of breaking and showing weakness—either literally or figuratively—isn’t one they want to take, even at the cost of a lot of casualties/toxic mercury spills.  Additionally, when the Lunarians reported that they observed no changes in the earth gems’ behavior, Padparadscha comments that it seems like something Euclase would do, and doesn’t elaborate any further.  I think this aspect of their character is what Padparadscha was getting at, that Euclase is loath to show weakness, and goes to great pains to never be the first one to blink.

Going back to chapter 8, they also talk about how the gems’ immortality predisposes them to be ignorant of danger, and how they somewhat envy the bugs and plants that can react promptly to changing stimuli.  At that point in the story, it just seemed like one wistful observation on immortality among many, but looking back on it, it may have been just as much a window into Euclase’s anxieties as that line about their brittleness right after.  For someone who wants to organize the world around them and dislikes uncertainty, it must be frustrating for them to imagine that some inherent aspect of their nature predisposes them towards ignorance.

To pull back a bit, I imagine that the point of making statistics Euclase’s beloved hobby is to help set them up as a foil to Phos.  It’s a way to allow them insight into the flawed and tenuous nature of their society and their own existence without having them actually go out into the wide world to experience those answers for themselves like Phos does, since they’re not the type who’s willing to take risks.  So unlike say, Melon or Hemi, they’re not wallowing in their comfortable yet stagnant existence because they’re willfully ignorant and simply don’t want to inconvenience themselves.  Instead, they’ve spent their life running cost-benefit analyses and have come to the conclusion that they should maintain the status-quo to the best of their ability and avoid putting themselves out there.  It may seem like a distinction without a difference, but I think that’s what Ichikawa is going for.  Not to mention, it’d be kind of lame if everyone who decided to go against Phos and stay on earth was doing so out of incurious stubbornness or simple concern about the logistics of Phos’s plan.  For one of the gems to oppose Phos due to irreconcilable differences in worldview seems a bit more meaningful to me.

So, the core of the conflict between Phos and Euclase is that Phos finds value in risking failure as a means to finding something better, while Euclase believes that if they can simply play the system forever, they’ll never have to reap the negative consequences said system doles out.  This kind of goes without saying, but I don’t think the narrative is going to side with them in the end; looking at the story as a whole, I doubt that “If you keep your head down and play your cards right, you’ll be able to avoid suffering,” is a conclusion it wants to reach.  

But much like the rest of the cast, Phos has forced Euclase to change.  See, as much as they like to control the environment around them, they don’t like to let on that they’re doing so.  To me, their blurb on this page indicates that the reason they stick to Jade and subtly direct their actions is because it allows them to micromanage everything to their heart’s content while letting someone else take on the nominal position of authority and all the attention and responsibility that comes with it.

But now that Kongou has ceded power, Euclase doesn’t have the luxury of pretending to be middle management anymore.  Since no one else was willing to step up to the plate, they had no choice but to do so.  And now that the gems are split in two, Euclase has been forced to publicly stand for something.  Even if they’re trying to mitigate possible risks, they’re still operating well outside their comfort zone, and given that this manga is a veritable meat-grinder, it’s only going to get harder for Euclase to keep their world in order.

To sum it all up: yes, Euclase is a snake.  But they’re, like, a complicated snake.  A snake whose character flaws spring forth from very real insecurities. A snake who just wants to spend their days lounging on a comfy heating pad without having to worry about Actual Chaos Elemental Phosphophyllite mucking everything up.

(Ichikawa please validate my interpretation or else I’ll become Boo-boo the Fool.)

Anyway, Euclase isn’t the only character insecure about their brittleness…

Naturally, I continue to have thoughts regarding The Artist Formerly Known as Craigory.  There are times where I wish I had gotten attached to a more respectable character, but honestly where’s the fun in that?  I stan disasters!  

I mentioned in my last write-up that the glove Cairngorm is now wearing over their left arm pretty blatantly displays their desire to cover up the part of themselves that’s prone to breaking, both metaphorically and literally.  But after some thought, I’ve realized that their entire wardrobe is full of AnxietyTM.  Here’s a few of my observations.

They started off their foray with avant-garde moon lingerie with a small transparent shawl which has, a month later, become a full-body veil.  It seems to me, on a purely visually symbolic level, reminiscent of their situation with Ghost.  Like, if I were Ichikawa, and I were looking for a way to symbolize their existential plight in clothing form, that’s how I’d do it.  If I were to try to decode the meaning behind the evocative imagery, it’d be this: they’ve become trapped again, and are still being blocked from the freedom and the engagement with the world that they desire—symbolically in the sense that they’re interacting with the world through a veil, and literally in the sense that Aechmea seems to be, uh…strongly discouraging them from leaving their room, or doing things in general.

Cairn, please love yourself and get as far away from this creep as possible; I’ve got a sinking feeling that he’s going to cash in all those red flags he’s been setting off sooner rather than later.

Then there’s the matter of Cairngorm’s ongoing quest to find the Worst pair of shoes.  See, Cairn started their love affair with terrible shoes long before chapter 68.  

They’re not as ostentatious as say, the banana-peel crocs but…I mean look at them.  These may as well be pointe shoes.  Anyway, comparing these with their more recent…shoe decisions, I can’t help but think they might be a bit insecure about their height?  (And in case any of you guys didn’t see it, this omake explicitly spells out that they’re shorter than the other gems.)  

Even though they’re at most a couple centimeters shorter than the others, they seriously overcompensate for it.  I think that for them, the slight difference in height is a painful reminder that they’re not fully formed like the others are, which has lead them down the path of…dreamfoam platform high-tops.  

Getting back to the glove, chapter 44 contained a lot of subtext that indicated that they’re insecure about their finicky arm, and possibly about their finicky inclusions in general.  The whole buildup to Phos’s head being stolen is full of dumbass decisions from both of these clowns, but on Cairn’s side, they contributed to the whole fiasco by hiding the fact that their arm had been strained past its limit, and insisting on taking down the vessel alone in spite of that fact.  I’ve talked a bit before about how embracing or rejecting one’s weakness and impermanence is a major motif of this series, so the fact that Cairngorm consistently tries to hide the part of themselves that keeps breaking is…noteworthy, as is the fact that their most obvious attempt to do so in chapter 44 ended very badly.

Which got me thinking, what if that’s also why they started wearing long sleeves?  It might be possible that the long sleeves on their winter uniform served the same purpose the glove does now--to cover up their left arm.  We saw their bare arms in chapters 68 and 69 and it looked fine then, but what if, say, fractures appear on their left arm on a regular basis, and they wore long sleeves in order to cover it up?

To sum it all up, the aspects of themselves that set them apart from the other gems are all things that they subtly act like they’re ashamed of, and their choice of clothing reflects this.

I’ve already made a couple of posts about the cover of Pseudomorph of Love, but I felt like staring at it again and reporting my additional findings.

Something I noticed is that while the other characters’ broken pieces are placed right next to themselves, Phos’s pieces are scattered over the entire cover, usually lying on top of one or more of the other gems.  I have circled them here, with my peerless image editing skills.

If I were to take a guess at what this visual symbolism is trying to say, I’d say it’s that by changing and breaking, Phos leaves an impact on others.  At their very best, I think Phos breaks other people out of their bad habits and learned helplessness.  As Phos rushes forward, they also drag others out of their personal hells, sometimes intentionally, sometimes inadvertently.  Needless to say, they don’t always live up to these ideals, but that’s the general direction they’re headed in.

(Hey guys, do you think the fact that Phos’s hand is caressing their own face is foreshadowing that one day they will let go of their self loathing and learn to love themselves?  Because I want that to be the case.) 

Oh, and Cairn is indeed missing The Left Arm of Conspicuous Foreshadowing here too.  The break is even at the same angle.  If it turns out that nothing else happens to that arm for the rest of the story then I’m going to be so embarrassed because I have gone full pepe silvia over it.

Pictured here is Ichikawa making me cry by sneaking the foot Antarc left behind into the illustration. 

The only other gem whose parts have managed to travel across the cover is Dia, whose hand is next to Bort.  And I’m sure that it’s Dia’s because it’s a right hand and Euclase’s right half is blue in this illustration, and it can’t be Antarc’s either because all of Anatarc’s pieces are overlayed with a shimmery, watery reflection.  Make of it what you will.

At this point, I’m going to take off my literary hat and put on my middle school geology phase hat. Bort, how can I possibly bless your marriage to Cinnabar if I’m not sure what arbitrary classification of diamond you fall into?

So, bort is a rather ambiguous term, and can refer to basically any diamond that isn’t fit to be used as jewelry.  But Bort the character is not so non-specific.  They’re supposed to be an aggregate of microcrystalline diamonds, and the thing is, microcrystalline diamond aggregates are considered notable enough that they get their own names.  So while the term ‘bort’ does encompass these specimens, it’s a bit imprecise.

Microcrystalline diamond aggregates can be roughly grouped into four different varieties: framesite/stewartite, ballas, carbonado, and yakutite.  

Ballas, also known as shot bort, are microcrystalline diamonds with a radiating, fibrous habit that form spheres of various sizes. Despite being opaque, it sometimes displays a pearly luster depending on how heavily included a given specimen is. It ranges in color from white to gray to black.

Framesite is the name applied to most granular-to-microcrystalline diamond aggregates.  It's usually black but I couldn’t find an exhaustive list of colors.  Stewartite is the term for framesite that’s been magnetized as a result of magnetite intergrowths and inclusions.

Carbonado is the toughest and most mysterious form of diamond.  No one knows how the hell it forms, and theories about its formation range from the transformation of irradiated hydrocarbons to supernova-genesis.  These rocks are a hodgepodge of diamonds, graphite, and amorphous carbon.  Carbonado is very porous and its component crystals are of a much smaller grain than either ballas or framesite.  It is also further distinguished from its fellow diamond aggregates by a melt-like glassy patina that coats its surface.  While most are just black, they come in a wider range of colors than other microcrystalline diamonds, including grey, red, brown or even some weirder colors like green, purple, and pink.  There’s also some evidence that suggests it’s slightly harder than normal diamonds—at the very least, many a diamond-tipped sawblade has been ruined trying to cut into carbonado.

Yakutite is named for the location in Russia where it is found.  It is characterized by its numerous lonsdaleite inclusions, and since it’s found in rocks that have undergone shock metamorphism, it is thought that yakutite forms via meteor impacts.  So, this is pretty much the only variety of microcrystalline diamond we can rule out since I’m not seeing any meteor craters on the island.

At first I was thinking that since the inside of their hair is brownish red, and carbonado is the only one that comes in that color, they must be carbonado; problem solved!

But then I realized that the inside of Bort’s hair has never been colored that way in the manga, only the anime.  In colored illustrations, the inside of their hair is iridescent like Dia’s, but with much more muted colors, so that it looks more like an oil slick or something and less like a rainbow.  That could be an artistic representation of the glassy patina of carbonado, but it might also be the pearly layers of ballas.  Framesite on the other hand is more likely to have a completely dull luster than either ballas or carbonado, so…one point against framesite I guess

One thing that indicates they might be ballas is how their mineral is represented in both the episode 10 eyecatch and in one of Ichikawa’s illustrations.  The bort represented in these images has the spherical shape of ballas.

The most compelling argument for Bort being made of framesite is the fact that out of all the options here, framesite is the most likely to be referred to as simply ‘bort.’ Several sources I’ve looked at listed framesite and stewartite as being obsolete names for what is normally just called bort these days.  This comes with a big caveat though.

While the scientific names of minerals are widely agreed upon and are consistent cross-linguistically, unofficial trade names are...not.  For example, our Padparadscha probably wouldn’t meet the GIA’s standard for padparadscha sapphire on account of the fact that they’re pinkish-red with a bit of orange and a somewhat dark shade, rather than the GIA’s narrowly defined pastel salmon coloration.  But despite the GIA’s current standard on what counts as padparadscha, they’d still meet the criteria for padparadscha found in historical literature on account of being a hunk of corundum that’s vaguely orange-looking. There are other gems in this series who exist in this gray area, but this post is getting pretty damn long so I’ll spare you poor readers the details.

What I’m getting at here is that if you look at the Japanese Wikipedia page for carbonado, bort is listed as a synonym.  So even though they’re not typically used interchangeably in English, it looks like that’s not the case in Japanese.  In fact, last spring this geology museum did an hnk themed event, and the rock they used to represent Bort was a hunk of carbonado, and this tweet they put out treats bort and carbonado as synonyms.

In carbonado’s corner, there’s Bort’s fight with Ventricosus.  During said fight, chunks of their hair melted off from Ventri’s acid. But here’s the thing though: diamonds can’t be dissolved by acid, no matter how strong that acid is.  If we generously assume that Bort losing some of their hair isn’t just a plot hole, then it may point to them being carbonado, since the graphite and amorphous carbon packed into carbonado is readily soluble in acid.

In conclusion, there is no answer and I’m slowly going insane.  My mind is all out of Bort license plates.  I’m leaning towards carbonado because of Bort’s galling lack of acid resistance and also because I think carbonado is a pretty cool rock.

Putting on my literary hat once again, I can’t help but wonder if the reason why Ichikawa went with the ambiguous bort over the other possible names was because of its etymology, which comes from the Anglo-Saxon gebrot, meaning fragment which is in turn derived from breótan, ‘to break.’  (A related cognate from Middle English is brotel, which became brittle in modern English.)  Its cognates in other Germanic languages all seem to have meanings along the lines of ‘a break,’ ‘a rupture,’ or ‘a fracture.’  Another possible source of bort is the Old Norse brotna, meaning break.  -Brot also shows up in a few other Old Norse words like Skipsbrot—shipwreck, Haugebrot—the destruction of a grave, and ísabrot, meaning oh-god-someone-please-take-my-dictionary-away-from-my-sinful-hands.

Ahem,

Out of all the possible names Bort could have had, they got one that references brokenness.  I realize that this probably isn’t intentional symbolism, and I’m just shoving my interest in linguistics where it doesn’t belong, but I do think it’s a nice bit of serendipity nonetheless.

Okay, I promised you guys a galaxy-brained snail crack theory, so here goes: I’ve mentioned before that Variegatus seems to share a lot of parallels with baby!Phos, and that her name, which means multi-colored, could be said to describe Phos’s current state of being.  It seems pretty clear that, on a metaphorical level, she’s connected to Phos.  Well, what if that metaphor was literal, and ~somehow~ the inclusions from Phos’s arms and legs which were lost at sea ended up reborn as Variegatus, and that’s why she’s so Phos-like.  The idea seems pretty absurd, but it wouldn’t be the first time Ichikawa has used someone’s body parts becoming their own sentient person as a plot device.

[mezzopurrloin]

Mezzo Plays Final Fantasy X: Part 11

Yuna and her guardians have managed to escape pursuit, but they'll have to stay away from Bevelle in the future.

They camp in Macalania Woods for the night. Yuna seems to have gone off on her own, though.

Tidus finds her wading in a nearby pond.

He takes the time to apologize to her for everything he cluelessly said, about what she'd do after defeating Sin. Yuna accepts it gracefully, saying that it made her happy, not said.

She thinks that maybe she should just give it all up. Tidus agrees, and says that maybe she could go to Zanarkand with him, enjoy a blitzball game, and party all night long.

But she can't. She can't give it up, not while Sin is still alive.

Romance between the male and female leads of a Final Fantasy is pretty common, but to my knowledge this is the only one with an onscreen kiss.

The lovebirds dive into the pool together, sharing an underwater kiss too.

Yuna's resolve is a bit better after that. She requests that Tidus stay with her until the end, and he agrees. He is her guardian, after all.

They walk back to camp hand in hand, and inform the other guardians that they leave at dawn.

This is their next destination. The Calm Lands are a great plain that lies between Bevelle and the Zanarkand ruins. This is traditionally where summoners defeat Sin and bring the Calm, hence the name.

Yuna lies on her back and looks up at the sky a moment, and then they proceed onward. Unlike most areas in the game, this is one wide open plain rather than a narrow linear path. The encounter rate is pretty high too.

We run into Maechen yet again, and he provides some backstory on the place. This was a battlefield in the great machina war, and was abandoned after the rise of Sin. Summoners found it the best place to fight Sin, as there is no inhabited territory nearby.

Belgemine is here too, and she challenges Yuna to another aeon duel. She isn't really bothered by Yuna being branded a traitor to Yevon, since summoners' true duty is to defeat Sin.

Yep, it's this again.

Nogard barely scraped out a victory. Belgemine is impressed, and thinks Yuna has the potential to defeat Sin.

And she leaves with a hint.

She also gives us the ability to boost aeons' stats using items. This honestly isn't that useful, since the aeons' stats are boosted along with Yuna's anyway.

When they stop at a campsite, an old friend of Lulu's shows up to tell the group what's going on with Yevon. Mika has framed them for Kinoc's murder, and Kelk has left Yevon. Seymour's still at large too, but he and Mika don't seem to be getting along. He says it's best for them to avoid any temples for now, and thankfully there aren't any on the path to Zanarkand.

The chimeras are back, and they've got an edgy recolor now. They're still pretty difficult to deal with.

Stone Breath works like a charm, though.

In an alcove on the eastern side of the field, there's a guy setting up a monster arena. He needs captured fiends to fix it up, and sells weapons with the Capture property, allowing you to catch them. We're not really gonna do much with him now, but it's good to know about as this is important for postgame stuff.

North of the plain lies a small valley, and there a pair of Guado guards request Yuna's presence. She has nothing to discuss with Seymour, naturally.

So they bring in a robot.

This thing is basically just a punch bot, but it punches really hard and has lots of HP. It occasionally retaliates with a rocket punch that delays the target's next turn.

Grand Summon saves the day again. Also, check it out. Nogard is not actually bound by the 9999 damage limit, and with enough power can reach the secondary cap of 99999. This can be unlocked for other characters too, but that's mostly a postgame thing.

After the robot was junked, I decided not to head forward just yet. There's an alternate path here that leads to something good.

At the bottom of the gorge lies the Cavern of the Stolen Fayth. Lulu knows the place well, as a summoner she guarded once lost her life here.

The cave, as its name suggests, holds a fayth stolen from a temple. There are some new fiend types in here too.

These guys are gimmicky and annoying. There are five targetable eyes on their pot and you have to pick the right one. If you do, you get an item. If you guess wrong, it explodes.

Wakka and Lulu explain that the fayth was likely stolen to prevent summoners from using it to train, and thus, prevent them from sacrificing themselves.

Hey, we finally found one of these, and now we can activate a Luck Sphere! I decided to place it on Rikku's path, since she seems to be the lucky one.

These purple things are dark elementals. They're similar to the other elemental-based fiends we've seen, but have no weakness. They can also cast a lot of nasty spells like Bio and Osmose, which drains MP (luckily, Kimahri's Lancet can drain it back). They cast Reflect on themselves too, and will then reflect spells off of themselves onto you.

Yuna got a new trick to help deal with them. Her Dispel magic removes all buff effects from an enemy, and ignores reflection. Then Lulu and Kimahri can use their spells to finish it off.

We've picked up a couple of these spheres for the Sphere Grid, and they're quite handy. They let one character immediately learn an ability of the specified type, provided an ally has already acquired it. I used the Special Sphere to teach Steal to Kimahri, as it's always good to have more people who can snatch items.

Lulu learned the spell Demi, and thanks to a black magic sphere Kimahri got it too. If you remember the tutorial boss, this spell deals damage equal to 1/4 of the enemy's current HP. It's really good to use on high HP enemies, and Lulu can cast it with her Overdrive to dish out some fast-paced whittling down. Bosses are often immune, unfortunately.

There she is, the unsent soul of the summoner Lulu failed to protect. Yuna attempts a sending, but is blocked by an unknown force.

Lulu: "Allow me to perform my last duty to you. My last as your guardian."

She summons an aeon we haven't seen before.

Yuna's Grand Summon is ready to go.

A devastating blow, but not quite enough to finish him off.

Everyone else had to step in, including Lulu of course.

After the aeon dies, her soul is sent.

They can now proceed to the chamber of the fayth.

This fayth asks to be paid before he will join us. His offer: 250,000 gil. Unfortunately, I can't afford that right now, so it's back off to grinding a bit and selling things off. Getting everyone further along the Sphere Grid will help with those late game bosses anyway.

The nice thing about this being a screenshot LP is that I can skip over a lot of that. But I will take the time to point out a few new fiend types that show up, like this ghost here.

Its Doom special places a countdown over a character that decreases every turn. When it runs out, they will die.

Kimahri can learn this as an Overdrive too. Once the ghost was doomed, I had Tidus cast Haste on it, ensuring its counter would count down faster than mine.

Boom.

I also went back up to the Calm Lands and did some grinding there. This guy has "bad news" written all over him.

Its Bad Breath deals out pretty much every negative status of the game, save death and petrification. Still, I had to fight it because yes, Kimahri learns that as an Overdrive too.

The basilisks from Djose Highroad got an edgy color upgrade too. Rikku (and Kimahri, now that he knows Steal too) can steal petrification grenades from them, a very useful tool.

I also got the chance to try out a new spell for Lulu. Death summons the grim reaper to take an enemy's soul, ending its life instantly. It doesn't always work, but when it does, it ends the fight in a snap.

I managed to negotiate the price down to 208,000 gil, and the fayth was satisfied.

His canon name is Yojimbo, and I got three different people saying I should call him Greg. It's apparently a XIV joke, but I haven't played far enough in XIV to see it. Whatever, his name is Greg now.

On the way back, I ran across a mysterious apparition.

Hoo boy, we do not need to be dealing with you right now. This is one of the Dark Aeons, the postgame superbosses. Each one mimics the appearance of an aeon we have. I didn't even realize this thing could show up at this point in the game, and challenging it would be suicide, so I didn't come any closer. Thankfully, there's a nearby warp to go back to the entrance.

Greg is unlike any other aeon we've obtained. To use him, you must pay gil for his services, and then he'll randomly use one of his four special attacks. He doesn't have an Overdrive, but filling the bar makes it more likely for him to use his strongest move. Daigoro is an attack from his dog, Kotetsu is a set of throwing knives, and Wakizashi is a slash with the blade at his hip. If you pay him nothing, he leaves.

And the last one... somehow I was lucky enough to get this on the second try, even though I only paid 200 gil.

This blade deals death, and absolutely nothing can avoid or resist it. Even bosses are slain in a single stroke. If that sounds game breaking, well, it is, but it's balanced out by its extreme rarity. You have to be really lucky for him to use this move.

With that out of the way, we are ready to resume Yuna's pilgrimage, but the next step on the path won't be easy...