#which i think betrays not only reality. but also the messages of the game itself about police throughout

[moodr1ng]

rly insane how half the disco elysium fandom like.. completely fails at understanding even basic messaging of the game that even i got while being really bad at understanding themes lol. like yeah sure i relate hard to harrys mental health and substance use shit, and yeah, i think kim is fun and goofy, and i like their dynamic and also want to see on screen gay sex.

but like.. this is The Politics Game and half of the fanbase has taken from it exclusively "omg my blorbos meow meows babygirls" and seemingly failed to engage w the political text of the story. like ok if you came out of disco elysium and saw a man who is like.. at best 1 week sober from extreme substance abuse that has made him actively suicidal and threatening to others around him, who is desperately in need of actual, urgent help, AND who is a POLICE OFFICER, like, THEE person who absolutely should NOT be a cop, on top of, yknow, that, like, police are bad already??? a man who has canonically committed serious and traumatic police brutality due to this very instability and disregard for anyones safety and has continued to be allowed to occupy this position? and you get an ending in which his co-workers who have basically just been watching from the sidelines being like.. exasperated at him but not actually doing anything about the massive risk to himself and all these civilians safety just going "well, yknow, hes a good guy after all, and he hasnt been getting drunk and waving his police issued firearm at frightened civilians for a whole week, and he sure saw a bug, so, like, just come back to work man" and thought that was a satisfying and good ending...... after all the talk abt copaganda white ppl is the same

[incorrect-dishonored-quotes]

hi i just saw your post about the representation in dishonored and i hope i don't come off as rude but uuh reading "phobia isn't a player" felt really really strange... are we going to ignore the "last night" letter from overseer darion which absolutely suggests that his relationship with the other overseer is dangerous and probably deemed a sin by the abbey (which is in turn heavily influenced by the catholic church no? not the most inclusive institution..) also if i remember correctly geoff had to kill someone because he feared for his status when his own relationship with a tyvian soldier was about to be revealed and most of the gang members are implied to have fled poverty, violence and the overall constraint society puts on outcasts. i totally understand the need for healthy representation but sadly that must also include the struggle... where i come from there is a lot of shit going wrong right now and being lgbt is in fact still dangerous for us so i'm very glad whenever i see certain characters in media having the same struggle and being able to overcome it... sometimes they don't and i feel that is life too ... idk what i'm trying to say here its just i really like your blog and you have a lot of attention in the fandom and i think its important to include the gritty stuff as well for if we don't it feels like we're reducing the games to fluffy little uwu au's and honestly there's enough of that around already which is totally fine and i love that too i hope i make sense.. sorry if this message feels like overstepping i still love your blog and thank you for making us laugh on a regular basis (:

The note about the 2 Overseers and Geoff Curnow's story are the only two odd ones out. You could argue the there's another pair of Overseers in dh2, but it's implied they're trying to keep the secret from their wives rather than the Abbey itself. But that's it. 2 stories out of the rest. Breanna wasn't outlasted for being a lesbian, she ran away from an arranged marriage and became a witch. Daud's tragedy wasnt because was ace, he was kidnapped by bad people as a child. Mindy and Wyman's gender is never doubted by others, and they remain in their places of authority and are respected by others. So the most part, there's less hardship in queer rep in these games.

I said in my reblog that recognizing the hardships of queer people is important sometimes. That because, surprise, queer people aren't safe. Anywhere. There are places more "accepting", (aka the "it's fine if I don't have to see it" mentality), but we are hate crimed everywhere. And if we want change, we have to bring it up, and we have to show it... But we don't do that bc we want to, but bc we have to. We do it for the cishets, actually. Putting in hardships is a desperate attempt to change a Karen's transphobic heart. And again, we need to do that, but that's ALL the rep is these days. It's always the "our love is forbidden" or "we can't let our parents know" or "I have this secret and I'm gonna tell you even though you're gonna betray me later bc we gotta keep the drama for the audience's attention" stories.

I wouldn't be complaining about other media if the hardship wasn't everywhere, both in reality and in fiction. It's tiring. We go to fiction to escape reality, so why even put in those themes in your story? Why even want more of it? Don't you want rep for you? Don't you want a break from telling Karen it's okay? Don't you want to be told that happiness is is achievable, and even if it's dangerous out there for you, that there are people that know it's not all hardship? Don't you want some Karens from a videogame company to tell you "We know it's okay. Here's some characters. They're complex like all humans, and their queer identies add to that. We hope we do you justice and find these characters endearing."????

In case you needed to be told: You are more than the hardships you're forced to go through.

-Tad

[twentytarot]

hi everyone! i’m here with something a little different from my usual pick a card readings to celebrate 100 followers on twentytarot! it’s been just 2 short months since i’ve embarked on this journey to learn about reading for others and i’m really grateful for the support that the community has shown me since day 1. so i thought i would write about the spread i usually use for pick-a-card readings and give everyone a few tips and tricks that will hopefully be useful for you when you read tarot. thanks again for all your support, and i’ll see you in my next PAC reading! 🥰 

the spread i use is a super simple 5-card spread with no fixed positions. i’ve seen people call this spread the intuitive spread or the storyboard spread, and reading it is pretty simple: you ask your question, determine the number of cards you will need (like i said, i use 5, but 2, 3 or 7 is also common), then pull your cards and line them up single file. then comes the hard part: actually understanding what the cards are saying, without having any real guides other than the question itself. i used to struggle with not knowing where to begin, how the cards linked or what each card meant when i was bombarded with so many different interpretations. these steps helped me become much more concise of a reader, and i hope they help you too! without further ado:

TIP ONE: COMMIT

and by commit, i mean: commit to your question and commit to your cards. you want your mind to be as uncluttered as possible when you ask your question so you can be sure when the cards show themselves they’re answering the question you had in mind. ask just one question per spread to avoid getting confused about which cards are answering which question. in this spread, your question is your guide, so you have to be extra clear and specific. if you intend to have 5 cards in your spread, then stick to 5 cards. especially in the beginning, don’t take extra cards just because they all fell out at the same time. if 7 cards dropped out of your hard at the same time, i encourage you to put them back and try again.

TIP TWO: COMMIT (again)

this tip is more on negative cards. don’t worry, i completely empathise with the panic that happens when the five of cups presents itself as the final card in the spread. i’ve seen people deal with this a few ways: some people pretend they didn’t see that and draw again. i really don’t recommend this. life is not always unicorns and butterflies, and redrawing a card is not going to change that. at best, your cards empathise and frame their answer more nicely, but at worst, you draw a meaningless card because of you’re panicking and not listening to your intuition, or your cards just straight up decide they’ve had enough. so commit to that negative card, and put it down on your spread.

the other way i’ve seen readers deal with this is to immediately draw clarifiers. i also don’t really advise this. for one, that’s not committing to the number of cards your spread was going to have, which is going to affect accuracy. for another, it’s going to clutter your mind. it’s going to cause you to want to zoom into the bad card and get to the bottom of it and you’re going to subconsciously neglect the other cards just because they didn’t worry you as much. a spread like this should be taken as a whole story, and you can’t just read one chapter and know everything about it, can you?

instead, i recommend that you leave that card alone first, and zoom out. there’s only one ten of swords card in the stack, buddy. i promise you, you’re not going to get fatally betrayed five times.

TIP THREE: ZOOM OUT

the best way to make sure you don’t leave any cards out while reading is to read them all at one go first. these are the things i pay attention to when i first look at a spread, in the order:

major arcana: are most cards major or minor arcana? are they generally positive or negative? what are the cards’ astrological equivalents, and do they link or hold any significance? for example, if your spread has temperance and the devil, then that suggests this prediction might come true towards the end of the year.

court cards: again, i’m looking for astrological significance here, and linking it to the major arcana if needed. i’m also looking for double counts (eg: queen of swords and justice) that would give hints about the people influencing the situation. there are also some cards that means certain people to me and my cards, so i’m also looking out for that.

dominant suit: i like to call this the “expectations vs reality” clue. for example, if i’m reading for romance and the spread is full of swords and pentacles, then unless i’m offset by some major arcana, i can be quite sure that romance isn’t really in my near future. of course, the cards can still be read for romance and i will, but it sets the scene. similarly, if i’m reading for work and i get cups all around, then the work itself is probably not going to be my main problem.

dominant number: this doesn’t give as much information as the previous steps, but it does help with setting the scene and vibe. for example, many 1s would suggest new, good beginnings, and 5s may hint towards tougher days in the future. for major arcana bigger than 10, add the digits together until you get a number 10 or less to get the representative number.

TIP FOUR: FIND THE “PARTITION”

this sometimes appears as a card, or an imaginary line. basically, it helps you zoom into sections of the spread and tie these sections together. “partition cards” are usually:

the only major arcana card in the spread

the one card with a completely different vibe / category than the cards surrounding it

the one court card in the spread

the one ace in the spread

and imaginary lines are usually:

between cards of two different suits

between patterns in cards (for example: page, minor arcana [break] page, minor arcana...)

between the last major arcana and first minor arcana card (or the other way around)

between sets of cards with different vibes

it’s not uncommon for more than one of these to show up in a spread, and sometimes they contradict themselves. sometimes there will be a tiebreaker. take this spread for example:

the king of swords is the only court card, but the ace of pentacles is also the only ace. where’s the partition? well, i’d personally place it at the ace of pentacles. notice how on the left of the ace if the four of cups: low in energy, lethargic. on the right are much more active cards. so the ace must be the game changer, making it the partition card!

the partition, depending on the question, means a lot of things. most commonly it points you to what causes a shift in energy for the querent. in the spread above, a new beginning will breathe new life into the querent and bring them out of their slump. other times, each side of the partition answers different parts of the question. either way, finding the partition will help you figure out where the querent is coming from, and where they’re headed. once you know this, then you can zoom into the individual cards and look for specific messages for your querent.

TIP FIVE: YOU AND YOUR CARDS KNOW EACH OTHER BEST

i try my best not to interpret others’ cards. sometimes i do, but usually it’s just for personal practice and i don’t tell them what i’m thinking, and other times i’m just trying to convince myself mark lee and i are meant to be. 😂 i kid, i kid. anyway, the point is that there are many ways to say the same thing in tarot, and the reason why your cards have chosen to say it the way they have is because they trust this is the way you will best understand. so don’t take that for granted! really take every card and stare at it until you know exactly what it’s trying to tell you. sometimes it’s instant, sometimes you only get it as you’re falling asleep, but you should trust that this message was written for you to understand, not for you to decipher. the more you trust your cards, the more they will trust you. 

and that’s all! have a good day and stay safe, everyone 💕

[iwriteforthetincanman]

Mandoctober Day 9: Darksaber

A/N: OVER 3K BABY!!! This is the longest thing I have written in a hot minute so please give it a read. Thank you @dindjarindiaries​ for motivating me today with ALL of your content. If any of you are lost towards the start of this that’s because Day 8 is part 1! If you have trouble looking for it just use the iwriteforthetincanman writes hashtag on my blog! THANK YOU!!

This is for @leo-moon​ ‘s Mandoctober!

Something was wrong. That was a fact you clung to as you roused from slumber, a headache brewing behind your eyelids. It was like real life had become the dream and sleep, a reality that had slipped away. An echo ghosted through your mind, a feeling that you knew who it was came and went...it sounded so familiar?

It was highly unusual to wake up in pain, unless that's what woke you in the first place. Although you had a sneaking suspicion that you had been in pain since you had passed out too. Then there was the cold...everything else was warm but you could feel the cold on your cheek. 

Beskar.

Din.

“D-Din?” A wheeze left your lips as you reached out to your Riduur. It was like he was asleep himself the way he sat, still as a statue. As soon as he heard your voice, he startled awake, his hands carving through your hair. 

“Cyare...you scared the life out of me, I thought-I thought you were dying.” Realising he was no longer wearing his helmet gave you a weird helmet. It was a rare sight to see the rest of his armor on his person whilst missing the helmet. The only reason he would’ve done that is if he was giving you CPR. 

“I’m okay...I think.” Brows furrowing in frustration, a hint of a thought wove its way through your brain. “I...I think I know why this is happening…” Trailing off, you saw the panicked look in Din’s eyes grow into an inexplicable fear. Were you dying? The thought shocked you into damage control. 

“I’m not dying but...I think someone is trying to kill me.” The accusation itself confused you, but then again you had no idea how right you were. Din’s expressions morphed into so many different emotions, it was difficult to keep track. Without the helmet, he was just a man...to you at least. That didn’t make him any less dangerous. 

“Are-are you sure? It was like you were having an extreme panic attack, or someone was…” Realisation dawned on your lover’s face, all other emotions falling away. It scared you how still he was, fingers no longer stroking your hair. Faintly, you could hear his heartbeat under his armor, otherwise you wouldn’t know what to think. 

“It was like someone was strangling you.” His voice was much deeper now, sinister in a sense. Not to you, you knew he was angry but he was angry with the force that was trying to kill you.

...The Force.

Someone was trying to kill you through the use of the force!

That’s when it hit you.

“...Moff Gideon.” Your face matched your lover’s. You were afraid, apprehensive and yet angry with the events that were occurring around you, to you. 

“Moff Gideon is trying to kill you, without being anywhere near you, using the force. It’s the one thing we can’t fight against.” Din’s grip grew tight around your body, as if he were protecting you just by willing it to happen. Part of the force worked like that, you knew that much about it. 

Right now...you were powerless to stop it. The child could only do so much, but reaching through space? To another person? It was next to the impossible. 

“Din...right now. All I need is you by my side.” Trying your best not to cry again. You knew the inevitable was approaching. All you wanted was for him to be near you, even if it was coming to an end. 

Silently, you watched as Din’s anger broke, revealing how torn up he really was. Tears flooding into those sweetly intense eyes, he refused to let them fall. Scooping you up in his arms, he carried you to your bed.

---

Sleep was also inevitable. Which is why you weren’t surprised to find him there, waiting for you. Like he had never even left. 

“Y/N Y/L/N? Isn’t it?” He smirked to himself, he sat in some sort of throne, legs crossed. He was comfortable. What got on your nerves was how smug he was about it. Glaring into his soul, you restrained yourself. You were in your mind and the force was on his side. If anything, he could easily do more harm to you than you could to him. The whole situation was insanely unfair. 

“Is it even worth answering? You’re in my mind. You could learn anything you wanted about me!” Shouting across the void, angry reverberated back at you. It was like anything you did, reflected on the storm clouds brewing above. Anything Moff Gideon did, had no such effect. 

Glancing around, all you could see was the emptiness. It was like you had stepped into a room with no limits. All you could see was him and that dumb throne, like he had taken control away from you. 

“Looks like I have all the control when it comes to your mind Y/N.” He continued to smile down at you before standing, stepping down from his throne to walk across the void, towards you. Although he was walking at a leisurely pace, the cape that swished behind him highlighted how menacing he truly is. 

“But I’m not here to hurt you. Not this time anyway…” At this, you growled. Confirming everything you and Din had suspected. Chuckling to himself, he continued “I’m here to make a deal with you.” Immediately your anger vanished at this, concern overtaking your whole body as you tensed. There’s only one thing he could possibly want from you…

The baby.

“I will never let you have him.” You were determined to stay strong, but the whimper you let out was pitiful. 

“No? Not even if I turned my control over to your husband? Made him suffer the way you did? Perhaps even kill him? And leave you all alone with the child instead?” Gasping, the clouds above reflected a blue hue. Your true emotions were on full display to the enemy. You were backed into a corner. Either he could kill you and expect Din to break, give him the baby or you could listen to what he has to say and let them both live. 

“...Fine. Please, leave the Mandalorian out of this.” It felt like you were begging, but in reality you knew you would do anything for Din. Even if it meant fighting for a warrior’s death.

“Very well. Next time you land, I will send a ship for you. You will find a way of escaping the Mandalorian...and bring yourself to me.” This proposition surprised you...he didn’t want you to bring the kid?

“Do this...and I will leave your husband and child alone...forever.”

Now why did he have to go and make it an offer you can’t refuse?

---

The unforgiving metal you were resting against made you want to cry. It was nothing like the beskar you were used to. Your body kept reminding you of all the differences between now and then. It was like a backwards game of spot the difference. Except this was much more dangerous. 

Moff Gideon no longer had a grip on your mind. That was only because he was standing in front of you...in person. 

Earlier you had woken to find Din happy that you were still alive. He was apprehensive yet grateful for the next day of life the Maker had gifted to you. You had managed to lie, telling him you felt so much better, before somehow convincing him to land the Razor Crest on a peaceful planet. One where you could get as much sunlight and fresh air as you wanted. 

It was all just a farce. An act. 

It hurt you so much to lie and betray your Riduur. It felt like you were going back on your vows. Throughout it all you reminded yourself, you were doing this for him and the child, to keep them safe for the rest of their lives. 

That all came crashing down when the ship collected you in the middle of that flower field. It stood out violently and you were certain Din had seen it as it came into land. 

This theory confirmed itself as you stepped aboard, turning back to spot your Riduur, the child in his arms as they both just stood there and watched. You could sense the horror behind their eyes as tears fell from yours. Mouthing the words that you were sorry, the doors shut and you flew away. 

It took all the strength you had not to fall onto your knees when you arrived, not in front of that much evil. He had already gotten what he wanted, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry as well. 

Now, he had you in this complicated contraption that was somehow a mix between a chair and a gurney. The metal, a bitter reminder of what you had given up and in exchange what you had received. 

It had only been a couple of hours, but the torture was relentless. Moff Gideon had put your mind through hell to see how far you could go before you snapped. He had the force, you knew that beforehand, yet you underestimated just how powerful he was. He didn’t want any information, he just wanted you to suffer.

No physical harm had come to you, but it felt like you were close to death. You were so tired and a myriad of dots danced before your eyes as you glanced around the room. It was a cell despite how many buttons and controls were placed on the walls. If Din could see you now you knew he would be horrified, you must’ve looked like a corpse. 

You weren’t dead yet. But you knew you were pretty close.

---

The sounds of a distant battle were the next thing that woke you. For a moment you thought you had finally succumbed to the darkness, all the hurt and pain had collapsed on top of you, forcing you to sleep. But a battle could only mean one of two things, either the rebellion was attacking the Imperial ship or…

Din was here.

Just the thought of your husband made you move to get out of the chair, pain screamed back at you in retaliation. It gave you a clear message, you weren’t going anywhere. 

But if Din was here, here for you and he might die trying to get to you. You sure as hell were going to fight for him. Even if it meant you were only going to see him one last time. 

Imperial soldiers were many things: treacherous, hypocrites and sometimes, if you were lucky, they were very stupid. Which is how you came across your tools stashed in your belt. They weren’t the kind of tools that were visible. No, these were lock picking tools that were hidden on purpose. 

It took a couple of minutes, thankfully no one came in to check on you at that time but finally, you were free. 

---

No guards were stationed outside your cell, which meant they must have been called away towards the fight. Din had been a part of many battles, but aboard an Imperial ship? You couldn’t begin to imagine how severely outnumbered he was. 

Limping down the endless hallways, you followed the sound of the fight. Knowing that at the other end of it was your husband, you only hoped that your limp wouldn’t keep you from a fatal mistake. This whole decision was a mistake, you knew that now. 

It was a trap Moff Gideon had set for you and you only.

Din’s grief was just an added bonus. 

Finally reaching the room of the fight, you discovered that all the soldiers had already been taken out. The only reason for that must’ve been a weapon of immense size and had enough ammo to take on an army. Well, in this case, it kind of did. The Razor Crest was parked at the other end of the hangar.

All that was left was Moff Gideon and Din Djarin in a vicious fist fight. 

...And Din was losing. 

You knew that if you didn’t act now, Din was going to get himself killed and all of this would’ve been for nothing. The only thought you had was that if this was going to happen, you wouldn’t want your mistake to take Din away from you in its wake. 

Limping into the hangar, Moff Gideon didn’t even notice your entrance as he held out a weapon you didn’t recognise. Not until he activated it at least. 

An ominous black blade shot out, made of light and outlined by a white glare. A darksaber.

Only hearing about them in stories from the past, you knew lightsabers were flashy but they were twice as deadly. They could kill you in an instant, cauterising wounds as soon as they were made. Din didn’t stand a chance, even with the beskar. None of his weapons matched the darksaber’s intensity. 

Launching forwards, the both of them clashed as Din used some sort of a shield. Part of the ship, you recognised. The sinister sorcerer retaliated, lashing out with the darksaber searing through the shield. By some miracle it held up. 

“HOW DARE YOU TAKE HER AWAY FROM ME!” The sound of Din screaming out in pain scared you to the point where you thought he was dying, not you. 

“She came of her own free will, Djarin. To protect you!” Sneering down at him, you couldn’t help the strength that returned in the form of pure rage. 

“SHE WANTED TO PROTECT THE CHILD! FROM YOU! YOU-MONSTER!” He was so infinitely angry, he was blind to his actions. You were scared for him. Sprinting back towards Gideon, Mando attempted to bring part of the ship down on his head. It was a stupid act, a rare kind of mistake for the Mandalorian to do. 

Yet, he prevailed. 

In shock, Gideon let go of the saber. With it falling out of his grasp, it clattered to the floor. It was almost like the whole scene was taking place in slow motion before you. 

“I loved her...and you killed her. All for a child?” Din’s voice was broken, if all he did was look up right now, he would see that you were still alive. Broken in places, but alive and right in front of him. 

“I wasn’t after the child...not this time.” Moff Gideon panted in agony, blood gushing from a gash on his head. You could see that much. But now was your time to act, while his guard was down.

Three things happened in the next moment.

Firstly, whilst they were talking, Moff Gideon’s hand moved towards a blade he had hidden away in his robes, fully intending on driving through the space between the bottom of Din’s helmet and his neck. 

Secondly, you felt a deep and complicated feeling overtake you once more, causing you to reach out this time. Not fall to your knees in agony. Now was no longer the time for pain. You were a lion that had been kept in a cage, prodded and poked at. This time you would bare your fangs and lash out at your captors.

Thirdly, as Moff Gideon swiftly got to his feet, running at Din, the Mandalorian stumbled backwards in surprise causing him to trip over debri. 

In the moment he fell over, all he could do was watch as you drove the dark saber through Moff Gideon’s chest.

As you retracted the blade, a wet gargle left the man’s throat as he fell sideways. Revealing your worn and beaten from to your Riduur. 

Despite everything that had just happened, you were so happy to see him. 

Falling to your knees, you collapsed into his chest. 

“It’s over, it’s over. We’re finally safe.”

As you sobbed, you finally slipped away, in the arms of the man you loved.

---

Over a week later you awoke.

“Din?” This time your voice croaked from not using it. Not because you had been screaming in your sleep. 

“Cyare.” Turning to your side, you observed the scene before you.

You were all in a hut, the sound of children playing outside bringing an unexpected amount of normalcy. 

What gave you peace of mind that you were all well and truly safe was the sight right in front of you.

Din was dressed in simple clothes, a tunic and pants, no shoes and no helmet. His hair was freshly washed and had dried in the sun, letting his curls be shown freely to the world. He smiled down at you, immensely grateful you had woken.

As he made his way towards you, you grew aware of the warmth tucked into your side. Looking down you spotted the child curled on top of the blanket and you, fast asleep. 

“You’re awake.” He whispered, crouching down at your bedside. 

“I thank the Maker that I am. I wouldn't have missed this wonderful sight for the universe.” You joked, combing fingers through his hair. That was when you noticed the countless bandages winding up your arm, no, your arms. 

Noticing the light flicker in your eyes, Din explained what had happened.

“You were gravely wounded Cyar'ika. The healers said you were lucky to have pulled through at all.” Moving your hand to his cheek, you looked upon the face of the man you married.

“I’m here now. We’re free. We can...start our lives as a family, together.” Din beamed at this, his pearly teeth on full display as he leant down to kiss you, gingerly at first.

As the kiss deepened, you remembered how long it had really been since the two of you had shared any form of affection. Yet, something else popped up in the back of your mind.

“Din-wait.” Pushing him away, it pained you more than the wounds that littered your body. 

“What is it?” Confusion laced his features as his eyes flickered across yours.

“I think...I think I’m like the child. That was how I killed Moff Gideon...I used the force.” 

As you spoke these words into the air, it disturbed the peace you two had created in just a few short moments. Din Djarin turned his face, his eyes landing on the object that had been resting on a table for the past week, untouched. Sure, you two were free and about to start a new life all together. 

But now was the time you and the child would train.

Two Jedi and a Mandalorian. 

It sounded like the start to a bad joke.

[merakiui]

Twilight and Night Teams Playing Among Us HCs

The 14th Department decides to play Among Us (PART 2). (Part 1 can be found here.)

Twilight Team (Hesperide)

🎮 Cyrille 🎮

He’s the type of player who overanalyzes everything. Oh, the lights went out and Sian’s avatar passed by him? Yep, that’s sus.

He’s actually pretty good at determining who the impostor is. Cyrille keeps an eye out for those who are around him, stowing that information away for when the next dead body is reported.

Cyrille’s a genius, so of course he’d be perfect as a crew mate or the impostor. It doesn’t matter the role; he’s able to adapt flawlessly. 

Though he still manages to fumble with the controls. Dexterity isn’t his speciality, so it took some time to get used to playing. (He accidentally clicked on the vent button instead of sabotage, and Sian caught him.)

When he’s the impostor, he uses the classic “if you didn’t see it, it didn’t happen” excuse. He’s always asking the others for their proof when they’re accusing him.

“If you didn’t see me anywhere near the body, why would it be me? You lack substantial evidence, and because of that you’ll lose. In other words, voting me out would only benefit the impostors.”

He could probably write an entire thesis paper on why he isn’t the impostor. 

Everyone just believes him because they don’t want to hear a rant that delves into the science behind the gameplay, and they’re also just trying to have fun. No one asked for a science lesson. Sorry, Cyrille.

He’s not that good at completing the tasks because the controls confuse him. 

His go-to color is green, and he wears the goggles hat. 

🛠️ Noah 🛠️

Noah’s soft appearance and way of speaking reflects kindness, so there’s just no way he could be the impostor!

He likes to look at things from the perspective of lawful justice. Although it’s a game, Noah’s certain this tactic won’t fail him.

He considers it to be a great way to pass time, and it’s especially fun to play with the manager. Sometimes it can get tedious when he’s stuck as a ghost for an entire round, but other than that Noah likes it.

He’ll stick with the others in groups so no one winds up dead, but if the manager does end up dying he might tease them about it. 

Noah likes playing with Kati, despite the fact that the younger Soul Reaper is always trying to compete with him. He tends to take on the role of an elder brother whenever him and Kati are in the same lobby, and most of the time he’ll lose for the sake of inflating Kati’s ego.

He tends to break up a lot of arguments between Kati and Sian, especially when they bicker over who did what task.

“It’s just a game. There’s no need to fight so much.”

“The phrase ‘it’s just a game’ is such a weak mindset.” - Kati to Noah, probably. Noah just doesn’t understand why everyone gets so riled up. There’s no point in arguing over Among Us. They should use that time to vote out the impostors. 

He’s more athletic, so video games aren’t his style. But Among Us does improve his observation skills, so he doesn’t mind it all that much.

His go-to color is lime, and he wears the police hat.

🎤 Sian 🎤

He blames everyone but himself. Sian is so quick to point fingers and start arguments based on what the others say. 

“You saw me vent? As if! I’m not stupid like you. If you vote me out, you’re all going to lose. Seriously...”

Sometimes he gets a little too into the game, often getting frustrated when he’s voted out all because someone blamed him. 

He likes to check the cameras in hopes that he’ll be able to catch one of the impostors. 

When he’s the impostor, he goes after Quincy the most. It’s for all the times Quincy’s bothered him. Revenge is best served in Among Us. “This’ll teach you for always calling me a whelp!” 

If someone walks in on him after he’s killed a crew mate, he’ll report the body so fast and blame that person.

“It was Kati! I saw him kill Cyrille! You guys have to believe me.”

Sian is 100% salty in the dead chat, but Cyrille’s there as well so it’s not all that bad. 

He probably looks at Among Us memes and tips to win flawlessly as the impostor, and he’ll show them to Cyrille so that the two of them can team up to throw the game.

His go-to color is red, and he wears the backwards cap because he believes it looks cool. 

🍎 Kati 🍎

He’s competing with Noah. It doesn’t matter if they’re in two separate lobbies; he’s still going to consider it a competition.

Kati’s the type of player who chases the others around while pretending to be the impostor.

Definitely trolls, so much so that sometimes he’ll get kicked from the lobby. 

He’s also the one who constantly calls emergency meetings when nothing has begun just so he can accuse others. 

“I saw Noah fake the scan in Med-bay! It’s got to be him. Vote him out!”

He’ll say the most suspicious things, telling the others to watch their backs or else he’ll bite them. It’s a heavy threat when you consider the fact that he actually will bite you in real life. So in-game isn’t all that far off either.

Kati gets a little too trigger-happy when he’s the impostor, forming pacts with the others and then betraying them shortly after. He’d be good at the impostor role if he wasn’t constantly acting so giddy and sus. 

He teams up with Day and the two of them cause trouble together. It’s especially fun when they’re the impostors.

Kati complains in the dead chat once he’s killed, whining about how he’s so certain that it was Noah who sabotaged his chances at winning. 

His go-to color is pink, and he wears the flower pin hat.

Night Team (Noctu)

🎯 Aitachi 🎯

The others tell him to wear the sticky note that says “dum” because it’ll ward off the evil impostors, and he does just that.

Aitachi doesn’t really understand the concept of Among Us. He’s not exactly up-to-date with modern technology, and so he’s not good at video games.

When playing, he’ll believe whatever the others tell him under the pretense that they mean what they say. Of course, half of them are being helpful and the other half just want to see cute Tachi pout in confusion.

“What does any of this mean, Sir Kirr?” he’ll ask, as if Kirr knows anything. Kirr just tells him it boils down to pure instinct and survival. “I see! In that case, we shall form a group and huddle to keep warm!”

Aitachi, no... You have to do your tasks, silly. 

He never does any of his tasks, so his task bar never goes up. Because of that, everyone suspects him of faking tasks. In reality, Aitachi has no clue what that even means.

When he plays with the manager, Aitachi always swears that he’ll protect them because it’s his duty as a warrior. Unfortunately, as soon as they separate, he’s killed.

He types in the ghost chat as the living debate what their next move will be, wondering why no one’s responding to his messages.

When he does figure out how to play, which will take a lot of time, he actually has a lot of fun trying to find the impostors. 

His go-to color is brown, and he wears the bear ears because it’s the closest thing to a pelt. When he isn’t wearing that hat, he’s got the “dum” sticky note on. 

🏹 Kirr 🏹

Just like Aitachi, he’s clueless. Though he’s able to adjust to the rules once he understands them. 

The only thing on his mind is survival of the fittest, and he uses his knowledge as a hunter to avoid death.

“This world is not much different from ours.” (For context, he’s comparing the impostors to vengeful spirits.)

Kirr likes to ask a lot of questions that have nothing to do with the actual gameplay. 

“If everyone is stuck on this spaceship, why haven’t they had anything to eat yet? They will starve without any nutrition.”

Kirr, sweetheart, it’s just a video game. Don’t worry about that.

He works alongside Aitachi, and the two of them learn—albeit incorrectly—from one another. They’re both so proud when they do their very first task.

Kirr never seems to become the impostor, so he’s always stuck as a crew mate. Along with that, he gets lost around the map quite easily, which is ironic considering he’s a skilled hunter.

He’s one of the few who’s killed first because he’s always alone in electrical trying to connect the wires. :( Poor Kirr.

His go-to color is black, and he wears the miner cap hat because he thinks the light on it will actually illuminate his way when the lights are sabotaged. Kirr’s just trying to do some in-game camouflage, but it’s not really working.

🎼 Nine 🎼

Nine is a silent player, only talking when he needs to. No one ever has time to question him because they’re too busy arguing over whether or not the others are the impostors. 

He wouldn’t have considered playing if the manager hadn’t mentioned it to him. It’s a way for everyone to relax and have fun, so they wanted him to be part of the chaos. 

He tends to stay in the background to avoid immediate suspicion. His tasks are always his first priority, and because of that he ends up finishing earlier than most players. Though a body report or an emergency meeting is inevitable, and sometimes that’ll interrupt him when he’s downloading files.

He’ll only call an emergency meeting when it’s absolutely necessary. Whenever Day follows him around, Nine doesn’t bother with a meeting. He’s certain Day won’t kill him because that human puppy never seems to get the impostor role.

Surprisingly good at faking tasks. He’s learns quickly that certain tasks perform a small animation once completed, so he stays away from those when he’s the impostor. 

Very rarely participates in the discussions. His strategy is mainly just keeping important information to himself so he can win, but as a crew mate he adds in a word or two that can either refute or prove the others’ claims. 

Nine never understands why Theo’s so intent on chasing him around. Once he was outed as the impostor—courtesy of the gracious Theo—and for that entire game he was just following Theo as a ghost. Sometimes Theo’s more confusing the gameplay itself.

He’s still polite to everyone, even if they’re accusing him or getting a little too heated.

“I respect your opinion, but I’m afraid I saw Mr. Cyrille vent.” Nine wants to remain civil despite the chaos that erupts when trying to pick out the impostor.

His go-to color is purple, and he wears the flamingo hat. (Day chose it for him.)

🍦 Day 🍦

Day doesn’t like being the impostor because he feels bad about having to kill his friends.

“I don’t want to kill Nine-Nine! I don’t want to kill anyone.”

He’ll call emergency meetings for the dumbest things.

“What’s going on? No one’s died yet.” And Day will respond with, “I just wanted to say hi to everyone! At the end of the day, we’re still friends, right?”

Nine has to tell him that it’s just a game and that he should just have fun.

Day follows Nine and the manager around because he believes that if they’re in a group nothing bad can happen. Imagine his surprise when Nine ends up killing him the second the manager leaves for navigation.

He feels so betrayed. His expression goes from :D to D: so fast. Poor Day. He just wanted to be by Nine’s side.

He has so much fun when he’s a crew mate. When he finishes his tasks, he’ll run around the map looking for something to do.

Probably dances on the cameras so the others won’t suspect him of being the impostor, or he’ll do figure eights in the lobby while waiting for everyone else to join. 

His go-to color is white with the cherry hat because it reminds him of ice cream.

[alltingfinns]

The Hounds of the Baskerville

Holding a phallic object, splattered with a body fluid and breathing heavily.

“Well that was tedious!”

And as if that was too subtle, he keeps playing with the harpoon even after it and him has been cleaned off and he’s switched to one of his robes.

John taking just two seconds to pretend considering to give in, just to be a little shit.

Also I am pretty sure that John has a secret scrapbook just for pictures of Sherlock in the hat.

Oh look, begging for mercy. Twice.

I just really love this scene, the manic energy of Sherlock and the calm sass of John gives us some of the funniest moments of the entire show. Also Ben needs to do more physical comedy.

Here he mentions a blog entry on perfume identification which plays out in HLV, so I’m a bit disappointed that the blogging on textile tensile strength in TEH didn’t feature in s4. Maybe some shirts get ripped in s5?

It’s so mean, but my favorite bit really is the mocking of the little girl asking for help finding her rabbit.

The wagging from side to side “please please please can you help?”

“Like a fairy!” with accompanying high pitch and hand motions.

Followed by a look from John that suggests he doesn’t think a lack of substance is Sherlock’s present issue.

And then suddenly he’s like “wait this actually does sound better than nothing”

And Cluedo. “It was the only possible solution”

Trivia note: the Swedish name for the game is also Cluedo, except we pronounce each vowel seperately. Clu-e-do.

It’s so domestic how they say “client” together. Apparently there’s a certain way frequent callers would ring the doorbell that differentiates clients.

Sherlock’s mainly looking at Henry looking at the video, don’t think I’ve noticed that before.

John’s irritated already when Sherlock begins listing things he noticed. Maybe he feels it is a bit too similar to when they first met, meaning he might be jealous that Sherlock does it with others or irritated at his past self for being as mesmerized as Henry is.

Sherlock inventing aggressive passive smoking.

Sherlock is so annoyed that Henry keeps thinking he’s in a horror story rather than a detective story.

I wonder what kind of poetry John wrote. He probably tried to use his feelings for Sherlock to simulate the romance his girlfriends wanted, which is why it is extra exasperating that Sherlock found it “funny”. Although that might be because he’d find the poetry mismatched to the girlfriends and/or the emotional investment John showed them.

“Childhood trauma masked by an invented memory. Boring!”

The parallel has been pointed out before but it bears repeating. Even if they hadn’t planned ahead by the time this episode was written, why go ahead and use an already discarded plot device they themselves called boring?

Interestingly the plot of the episode does more or less lead to this being the solution but not quite. The memory was invented and masking the real events, but it wasn’t Henry’s childhood brain doing it (at least not without aid). Might be worth comparing these plots. If only for the meta moment of it wasn’t you who imagined what you saw, someone made you see it. And then they tried to drive you into fear and doubt to keep secrets hidden.

“The vanishing glow-in-the-dark rabbit! NATO is in an uproar.”

That :( face is so funny every time.

Hound is a bit tricky in Swedish as the Swedish word for dog is hund. So the subtitles just go with spökhund. (Ghost dog)

“It’s cold.” John doesn’t even say anything but he still makes Sherlock self conscious.

Wonder why they showed us the therapy session?

John standing by the counter looking at Sherlock just looking very soft.

Doesn’t even complete his denial. And was that a single key, or were two keys just so closely held together? I’ve never been fully sure if they shared a single room or had one each. John’s incomplete denial would suggest separate rooms (it’s okay because they’re not actually a couple).

John showing his detective skills. And for once it won’t play out like the cats in TGG. It’s an important reminder that John is a smart man overshadowed by a genius, instead of the common enough Everyman and/or bumbling oaf that some believe of Watson.

“And the ruddy prisoner” probably the full extent of the subplot from the novel.

“Is yours a snorer?” “Got any crisps?” Pretty high pitch there, John.

There is sort of a running theme of characters waxing poetically in vague spookiness and Sherlock just scoffing at it. Reminder that the novel is a horror story starring a detective outside of his normal trappings.

“We’ll get caught.” “No, we won’t. Well not right away.”

More exact words from John as he pulls rank and activates Sherlock’s military kink.

The timer doesn’t start ticking at the gate but at the building itself, wonder why. Or maybe it has been ticking, but now there’s atten paid to it?

“Enjoy it?” Just something to file away in the John wing of his mind palace.

I halfway expected one of the elevator buttons to be key activated for the really tippy top secret secrets.

I see one monkey has seen Raiders of the Lost Arc. That or it’s still upset that it didn’t get the part.

“Stapleton?” He may have mocked little Kirsty, but he still remembered her name.

“People say there’s no such thing as coincidences. What dull lives they must lead.” But the universe is rarely so lazy? Of course rarely does not mean never, and looking at the forebears website Stapleton is a 1 in 3600 name in Devon. So the only question is if Kirsty listed her whereabouts on the forum. Not in her message but maybe in the profile she made.

The dramatic reveal of BLUEBELL.

Sherlock deducing the inside job while John just repeats “the rabbit?” is as good a summary of the show as anything, honestly.

Mycroft’s exasperated “goodammit, Sherlock!” look is almost too loud for the Diogenes club.

I think I read on tvtropes that the Major’s beard isn’t regulatory. Acceptable breaks of reality for the sake of original reference.

“It wasn’t my hat.” I love how the hat is used as a summary of the artifacts attached to the character. The trappings that come from adaptations and parodies and whatnot. Like Igor, who apparently wasn’t even in the original Universal Horror film but its sequel.

Exactly how does John expect Sherlock to turn off his cheekbones? Also the idea that Sherlock is turning up his collar to “play cool” as they’re leaving Baskerville kind of shows that it’s mainly for John’s benefit. Like his later choices to wear the hat. Sherlock starts off wanting to impress John, and by s3 it is about playing a specific Sherlock Holmes role. And again, John betrays his real thought by mentioning the cheekbones. “Stop being so attractive, dammit!”

“Has she been working on something deadlier than a rabbit?” “To be fair, that is quite a wide field.” Cue the killer rabbit jokes.

John’s awkward “are you... rich?”

In the original story the wealth was far more plot relevant, here it’s just a bit of dialogue fodder.

Not spelling out “in” this time?

Pretty sure those are IKEA mugs.

The plan sounds bad, but it is perfectly sound. They have done as much preliminary research as they can at the moment, and by going all three of them they do stand a decent chance should the beast be real. Of course Sherlock still doubts it’s real, which is the main plot for his character.

With the exception of this episode and episodes of Midsumer Murders I hadn’t really heard fox screams before. Imagine not knowing that’s what it is and just hearing this almost ghostly screech specifically when watching English mystery shows.

John just wandering away from the others without alerting them, and then he’s surprised that Sherlock and Henry has continued on without him. If he has a survival instinct it is in a coma.

Umqra. John knows Morse, which I honestly have found tricky trying to learn.

Taking a break here.

[starbide]

Inspiration below. The following is a work of fiction.

 'Six years,' I thought to myself walking down the road. It had rained earlier that evening, but by now the clouds were long gone. The pavement shimmered in the waxing moonlight, still slick with the water of those vanished clouds. I would not slip; the road was mostly level as it lazily stretched down the gentle hill behind me, and the streetlamps cast in gold what the moon would otherwise leave dim. The world was silent.

'It's hard to believe I've been gone that long,' I continued, step by step. Six years since I'd moved away for my career. Six years since I'd left my family behind. 'Left her behind,' I smirked to myself, passing a large bush on my right. Houses stood dark and serene on either side, all daily activities complete and put to rest. No cars joined me on the waterlogged street, preferring the concrete comfort of their driveways and garages. I approached and passed under another hazy lamp.

It was cool out, a gentle breeze brushed past the wool of my jacket without raising a single goose bump. I paid it no mind; I was always a bit warmer blooded than others in my circle. My best friend for most of my school years couldn't understand my ability to wear shorts comfortably year-round. 'Those were the days,' I mused, thinking back to the last time we'd seen each other. It had to be more than a decade at this point, long before I'd moved north for work and expanded my wardrobe to include legwear longer than my knees.

I reached an intersection and paused. Four ways, no direction more enticing or foreboding than the next. A lamp at every corner, and the bus station deserted save by its sign across the diagonal. The station I'd waited at patiently every morning for that bright yellow school bus, before I'd ever met my old bestie. It was just me and one other kid, a rather scrawny looking boy who had been in most of my elementary grades but with whom I'd never really gotten on with. We'd shared classes, teachers, and the occasional pencil or marker, but never played together outside of academia. He'd moved away much longer than a decade ago. Now I was really delving into my memory, faded as it was with time.

I checked my phone: 11:57 PM in small white font. My first night back home, I should be exhausted. This wasn't my normal time zone and airplane seats aren't exactly memory foam, but I'd found a second wind after dinner and took to the night after my folks had gone to bed themselves. Sure, I'd been physically gone for six years, but we'd stayed in touch off and on since I'd left. Maybe five months back was our last video call. We'd talked about me taking this trip, now that things had settled down and my life was much more under control. Things had been wild for a while, and if all went according to plan at work things would become wild again not too far down the line. Which reminded me, I needed to make another appointment when I returned home. Couldn't go running out of my prescription again.

A brief twitch of motion caught my eye, and I peered down the leftward lane. One of the bulbs had burned out a few dozen meters down, and in this larger pool of darkness something had moved. At least I thought it had, but my eyes could be playing tricks on me with the shadows. One dark spot moving erratically through a larger, differently dark spot wasn't exactly proof of anything. But of course, my heartbeat quickened regardless. Base human instinct, I suppose. Spot a motion in the dark, prepare to act to either fight or flee.

That hallucination had triggered something else in me though. A memory, unconsciously bidden, rose up behind my eyes. That kid, the little one I'd shared a bus stop with for years, I did not recall being nice to often. Many times, I'd engaged in common teasing, and he always took it personally. A couple times he'd even cried, but I'd never gotten in much trouble for it. A different time I supposed. That sort of behavior wouldn't fly nowadays, and that's good. I felt a bit sick thinking back about it, as it was now clear I'd been a bit of a bully. What it hadn't been was a wake-up call for my parents, who didn't get me the help I had so desperately needed until much later in my teens. I was better now, better enough to see what I'd done back then was very wrong. I couldn't remember all of it, but that boy's tears had stuck with me. I wonder what happened to him?

Shaking my head to clear my thoughts and calm my pulse, I opted for the path in front. This route would wind close to the park, after a couple turns beyond my current field of vision. Crossing the street, I didn't even bother looking left or right, as the night was so quiet and empty, I could hear a car coming from miles away, if there were any to hear. A rock lay in the far side gutter; I kicked it just to give my ears some stimulation. It knocked against the cement curb and bounced across puddles thin as saran wrap to a rest. By then I'd already forgotten about it and left that intersection behind.

Another thought was creeping up from my subconscious, this one more distasteful than the last. I'd left a girl behind when I moved for work, and the breakup hadn't been pleasant. She'd been very upset, naturally, and felt betrayed I was abandoning her like that. Abandoning. It had been her word, not mine, but with the clarity of distance I could see she was right. It had been years since I'd considered how we ended, and I wasn't sure what spurred those thoughts just now, but after what I'd done to her, I could accept she was right.

Still though, rounding the first turn, my leaving her should have been a good thing. Now that the floodgates of memory were open, I may as well dive right in. She'd been so hurt by my sudden departure because I'd systematically isolated her from her friends and much of her family too. She'd grown more and more attached to me, and I'd encouraged that through some particularly devilish means. I didn't know about the term 'gaslighting' at the time, but that was a polite way of putting it. I'd been very proficient at psychological manipulation back then, and my desire for control over her life could have consumed us both. At the end, she'd only had limited contact with her sister, who had been rightly concerned about her but too terrified of me to do anything to stop me. Looking back, I can't blame her. I now believe it was good that I left when I did. I hope she realized the same, though I haven't heard from her since.

Now the road turned left, arcing gradually around a thicker cluster of trees. This walk was turning out to be less relaxing than I'd hoped. The smallest things seemed to be dredging up thoughts and old memories in me, and none of them were painting me in the best light. Being my thoughts, maybe that was the best light I could possibly be presented in. Maybe their memories of me, the version of me still living in their mind, was far worse than I could imagine on this unassuming suburban night. I'd read somewhere that we're all the hero of our own story, and of course the hero never thinks they're the villain. But I'm sure that's what I am in at least a few people's stories. I'm starting to feel like the villain in my own.

Opening up ahead of me is the park, and the wide-open fields I remember so well. This area is less well lit, with streetlamps only illuminating the edges of the grass and allowing the moon to bathe the world in dead white. In reality, this is only sunlight reflected, but from the moon it feels much less like the bright star that gives this planet life. Like Luna itself, it feels cold and impersonal, like it wouldn't actively try to end my life but also wouldn't even notice if I merely faded away into the ether. I'd had some trouble with those thoughts as well over the years, before I got help. And now, rushing back to me, I remember they were also why I lost my best friend.

He and I had been out for the evening, playing some game with a few other friends. The game had ended, and we were walking home together when a car had rushed past us. Neither he nor I were injured, but it had been close and the driver had continued on recklessly. After it rounded the corner, we'd both heard a large thumping sound, followed by the rapidly diminishing roar of its engine. After a quick glance between us we'd rushed around the corner ourselves to see a big yellow dog crumpled up in the drain. Not losing a moment we hurried up to it, but we needn't have rushed. It had most likely died on impact, before we even saw it.

My friend had knelt down next to it to try and save it, even though it was hopeless. He must have known, but it's only natural to want to help another life. At least, it is for me now, and it was for him then. I remember him crouched over the dog, tears in his eyes when he accepted what happened, and then he looked up at me. His tears ebbed and his face froze in fear at what he saw, but he couldn't say anything to me at the time. We walked home in uncomfortable silence after that, and said a short awkward goodbye. Truth be told, that's the last time we spoke to each other in person.

Thinking of the next part, I felt a chill run deep into my core. I remembered now what he told me, over text message later that night. He'd bent over the dog and been so distraught because he knew it. He'd checked the tag to be sure, but it was his neighbor's dog that he'd grown up playing with. I think he'd even muttered its name a couple times, but I'm not sure. But when he looked up at me, he said I had the biggest grin he'd ever seen. The look on my eyes was not maniacal, as some would think, but dead, not present. As if the dog dying had brought out a whole new face in me, as if the lights were on but nobody was home, and yet the lights still wanted to kill you. It had terrified him, and it was all he could do not to sprint from me that moment without looking back. I don't think he ever knew how right he'd been back then, something that took me years to realize and longer to overcome.

I quietly walked to the center of the field, as far from the streetlights as possible, and looked up. The moon provided none of the same dangers as the sun when staring straight at it, and I took a few moments to just gaze at it and let my thoughts sort themselves out. I'd been a monster in my childhood, a terror in my youth, before I found my doctor and we set out on a years-long journey to get me better. Any other time I'd have kept on that dangerous path, ruining some lives and possibly ending others. That had all changed, thanks to my incredible fortune and a lot of hard work, but with the clarity of hindsight I could see just how close to the precipice I'd come. How I'd always be there in the minds of childhood mates and adolescent connections. And this was just what I could remember now. There was no way for me to know how many other monstrous versions of me still lived in any number of former classmates.

In the corner of my eye, I saw another twitch in the shadows. Jerking my head down, I followed the motion to the foot of the trees, the darkest spot on the field. This time there was no mistake; there was definitely an object moving there, slowly but surely. My heartbeat shot up and my throat swelled as I bent my knees and got into a defensive posture. The object lumbered forward, moving without haste but with purpose. When it came into the light, I was surprised to see a little boy with a scratched-up shirt and messy brown hair. Standing up in confusion, I was certain I'd seen him somewhere before. Step by step, I focused on every detail I could make out in the gloom, before it hit me like the car that last night walking home.

That boy was dressed, to the letter, the exact same way I had on picture day in third grade. My hair had been an untamable brown mess, and even the cheap novelty watch was the same. I was more perplexed than anything now, as I couldn't understand for the life of me what a kid was doing in that field, at midnight, wearing clothes that weren't even made any more. That was until he spoke, and his voice froze my blood in its veins.

It was like whispers, floating around my head, and several voices all at once and all taking turns being the loudest. They were all his, but not really. His mouth had opened and his lips were framing the syllables, but it was my voice from so many years ago repeating every taunt, every tease, every foul nickname I'd ever given that scrawny boy who shared a bus stop with me. Who'd cried, not once or twice, but dozens of times. Who'd gone home often with scrapes and tears in his clothes personally inflicted by myself. I had terrorized him for years of his early life, and what I saw before me must be what I forever lived as in his memory.

But if that were true, then this kid in front of me couldn't be real. I had to be hallucinating again, I must have been more exhausted than I'd allowed myself to feel. He sure looked real, though, and his footsteps were matting the grass in a way I didn't trust my mind to make up. But the ghostly, strangled voices of my younger self crashing in waves into my ears gave the entire scene a surreal feeling, making the hair on the back of my neck stick up like electricity. I couldn't bring myself to step away, and I sure as hell wasn't going to walk forward to meet him. It. Whatever it was I was seeing, real or not.

Only a few meters away, he stopped moving. Swallowing bile, I could do little more than watch him as the voices continued to echo in my ears, unchanged by his distance all this time. Then I spotted another motion far off to my right, and then a third to my left. Glancing quickly between them, I determined that they were both noticeably older than the child before me, one by a few more years than the other. They too walked slowly towards me, bringing their own voices to the forefront. Despite the dozens of voices I now thought I was hearing, every word registered clearly in my mind. One was speaking about my old best friend and the dog, the other repeated every lie I ever told my ex-girlfriend before leaving. As if their mere presence in my eyes were not enough, hearing my old, hateful words repeated to me in my own voice almost made me vomit with fear and disgust.

They too, stopped approaching me at the same distance as the child. As they did, dozens more similar hallucinations emerged from the trees and surrounding neighborhood, all carrying their own chorus of hate and venom and bringing back new, abhorrent memories of my youth. Terrorizing a girl in my 4th grade class. Catching squirrels in my early teens and setting them on fire, then getting caught myself. Giving that kindergartner a major concussion on a dare, after my best friend had ceased speaking to me. Even one similar in age to myself now, though he brought words of loss and failure, and of betrayal to my parents. That must have been right before my breakthrough, with the doctor and an early test version of my current prescription. I was better now. I had to be. But why was I seeing all of this, all of these versions of me locked in the minds of everyone who I'd left behind in my life? My trail of destruction?

They had all stopped walking now, forming a tight semicircle around me. The voices still buzzed in my ears, but slowly they faded to an indistinguishable babble. I tried to speak, but my throat had caught a bubble, so I gulped fruitlessly and closed my mount again. The thoughts racing through my mind had no similar handicap, as my mind shouted repeatedly the same things. Who are you all? Why is this happening? What are you doing to me?

The version of me who gaslit my girl took a couple steps forward, as if presenting himself as the leader. I had no time to process what this might mean before he spoke, in a much clearer form than any of these hallucinations had yet. "We are you. We are you that you left behind, trapped in the minds of those you hurt, frozen in time from the moment you left us years or decades ago. We have had no life to live, no chance to grow and thrive, no possibility to leave the prisons of mind which you left us in, being tortured again and again by those you tortured without remorse and without recompense. We cannot sit by from behind our bars as you continue to enjoy the life you stole from us all."

"I didn't know I was doing this!" I cried, finally able to break the blockade in my throat. "I was a monster, I know that well now, and I've spent years trying to recover from the damage I've done!" I felt foolish, yelling out into the night at visions only visible to myself. 'All this work, all this progress,' I cried to myself. 'This will set me back months if not more, and I can only hope my medication doesn't fail like I have.'

The same me looked down at the ground and shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry, but you must know how little that matters to us. You've lived a life of freedom from any repercussions and locked us away to suffer in your place. You've flaunted that fact with your precious medical tools and until tonight, hadn't even remembered us or what you did to torture and imprison us. We are here now for the life that you stole from us, to end the torture you sentenced us to and walked away from yourself unscathed." He took another step forward, his face growing menacing.

"I don't know what that means," I cried, shaking my head as the tears started to drop. This was starting to feel all too real, and fear was expanding like a balloon deep into my core. "I don't know what any of this means. What do you want from me!?"

Another step. "We want your life," the gaslighter said mirthlessly. "We all want your life, the life wrongly denied us time and time again. And you will learn what it means to be ripped apart and put back together, over and over again. Tortured yourself for what you did to so many people in your life. You gave us to them to burn, to break, to grind down into dust and be restored only to do it all over tomorrow. You tortured them, and then you gave them us to work their revenge on, day after day with no hope of an end. And the most unforgivable of all was giving the youngest of you away to feel this pain the longest. Over two decades have the youngest of us been taken to pieces, shattered in mind and body and soul for your carelessness and your fleeting experiments in sociopathy. This will end tonight."

I could say nothing, the terror burning white on my face. If this was a hallucination, it was the worst one I'd ever had and I had no idea how I'd survive it. It was far too realistic, far too deadly for me to think of anything else, any of the tricks and tools my doctor had given me. What had happened to cause this? I swear I never missed a day on my prescription, and these memories... Where had they all been before? Why had I not been able to recover them and work through them with my doctor? Were they even real? Was this me, standing only a meter away now, real? Or was he only real in my mind, and if he wanted to hurt me would that distinction make a difference? I reached out my hand, reaching toward his arm slack against his torso...

And he reached out and took my wrist like a vice. Ice cold and unflinching, he held my arm up in front of me and closed the gap between us imperceptibly fast. "You may have many regrets. I have only one," he said in a low, bloodthirsty voice. "While there are dozens of us gathered here, dozens you sentenced to eternal damnation without a second thought, only one of us may live this life. I may not be the youngest of your victims, I may not give you the longest time in the torture you gave us, but I intend to fight with everything you have put me through these long years. Your life is mine."

As he growled in my face, a white-hot streak of terror shot through me and I pushed him back with almost reflexive strength. He staggered, rebalanced, then looked at me with cannibalistic hunger in his eyes. He panted twice, then screamed and lunged at my neck. With adrenaline now coursing through me, I turned and sprinted away from the gathering, hearing the pounding of footsteps deep in my brain. He had grabbed my arm. I glanced at it as I reached the sidewalk and saw a chalk white handprint etched into my grayish skin. The urge to vomit came back, but I managed to fight it down as I kept up a faster pace than I'd ever run before. The swarm of my past, tortured selves was hot on my heels, like starved dogs following fresh game. Any loss in my speed and I'd be eaten alive, or worse. I truly did not know what would happen if they caught me, and my mind was too far gone to even entertain the idea of hallucinations any more.

I rounded the next curve and thought the sound of the pack was a little quieter than before. It still sounded like pure rage and bloodlust, but with fewer voices than before. Thinking it was only a few stragglers being blocked by the trees, I kept up the fastest pace I could, not even feeling my feet hit the ground. Another hundred meters of straightaway and it was definitely growing less loud with each step. The roar was diminishing, no trees to hide the sound now, but it was still a roar. By now a cramp had begun to grow in my stomach, and no matter what I did I felt myself losing speed. Every few steps I could burst forward faster again, but I couldn't maintain the same rocket pace as before. To my ears, though, as my speed gradually fell, so did the volume of my pursuers. By the time I got to the intersection, it only sounded like a couple of me were still hunting, and I could count their individual footsteps. It was at this time I chanced a look behind, just to know what was still coming.

Right on my neck was him, the gaslighter. He grinned at me, his face less than a meter away. I felt that same shock explode throughout my body and I shot forward, faster than before if possible, fully terrified again now that I knew he and he alone was here for me. I kept running and running, past houses, lanes, and bushes. Still no signs of life from any houses, no cars rumbling down the road or creaking into place in a driveway. The night was as empty and uncaring as before, and only myself and the predator I had been broke the gentle midnight breeze. My legs thundered on, screaming in pain in their own way, but I didn't stop or look back again until I'd reached my family's old house a few blocks down.

Now truly running on empty, I turned back to face my hunter, but he was gone. Disappeared. Evaporated into the night, nowhere to be seen. The moon still hung high, reflecting some small percentage of sunlight down to me, and the streetlamps bathed the road and yards in amber light. He wasn't hiding from me, he hadn't overtaken me. There was no shortcut to the house, it was a straight shot from the park. He was simply gone, faded back into the night from which he'd come without a trace. If he'd ever really been there at all, and not merely a hallucination from exhaustion or medication or... I didn't even know any more. I just knew that he was gone, just gone, just gone.

"Hey, are you okay?" A voice called out to me. I jumped, but only in surprise. It was a familiar voice, but not familiar like my own. It sounded like my dad, and I heard large, calm footsteps walk toward me from our front door.

"Yeah," I said, although it was little more than a whisper. I buckled over, fell to my hands and knees, and felt the cramps and burning in my lungs catch up to me as the adrenaline faded away. I felt like vomiting, for the third time that night, but this time it was easier to fight the urge than before. I got some deep breaths in as I panted on the ground, slowly but surely recovering from my insane dash moments before.

My dad walked up in front of me, wearing the same well-worn brown leather shoes he'd owned since before I left. I didn't want to worry him about this night, and what I thought I saw in the park. Not when my recovery was going so well. Not when a lapse like this would mean months of work just to get back to where I was only an hour ago. "I'm okay dad, I just went for a walk. Then I saw how late it was and tried to get back as fast as I could. I guess I'm not the athlete I used to be, eh?" I tried to lift my head up to give him a weak smile, but still couldn't raise it much higher than his waist

He chuckled softly, and sounded a little strange. Still sleepy maybe, I guess I woke him up coming back here, and maybe I was screaming too. I don't know any more, I don't know what was real any more. But he knelt down in front of me after I dropped my head again, still exhausted, and said, "That's okay sport, I think we both know your real talents weren't on the field. I learned that lesson very well over the past six years."

[nadziejastar]

The Icing on the Cake

The wayfinder trio’s story arc was handled pretty well in KH3. The main concept of their relationship was their unbreakable connection, which was connected to the stars. They would look up at the stars, thinking of each other. No matter where they went, they would always find their way back to each other. 

The stars meant a lot to the wayfinder trio because no matter where they were, they were always underneath the same stars.

And Terra told Aqua that she was always lighting his way back. Their reunion had a lot of thematic resonance. It felt like it was planned many years in advance. That’s what made their story well-written.

Axel’s main priority in KH3 was bringing Roxas back, but it didn’t really have much thematic resonance, if you ask me. The entire concept of Axel’s character was “memory”. Got it memorized? Like with the stars, Axel is very nostalgic about the sunset, due to his memories of the past. 

And Axel’s relationship with Roxas in KH3 didn’t really tie into this theme that well. His relationship with Ventus actually had a lot more thematic resonance.

But the story dropped the ball hard on that one. Lea recognized Ventus as Roxas, and was hoping that Ventus recognized him as Axel. But...he didn’t. Lea was visibly disappointed. This would have been the perfect time for them to have a heartfelt reunion. But the scene had almost no impact at all because Lea and Ventus were practically strangers, despite their relationship having so much thematic significance. In the end, their meeting was pretty pointless.

Lea’s reunion with Roxas was saved for the final battle. But the scene didn’t feel like it belonged there. It didn’t resonate with the themes of Lea’s character arc. It had nothing to do with “memory”. Unlike Ventus and Aqua’s reunion with Terra, the Keyblade Graveyard didn’t feel like it was planned to be the place for Lea to reunite with Roxas. Compared to the wayfinder trio, the sea-salt trio’s reunion was awkward, out of place, and poorly written.

On the other hand, Lea’s fight with Isa did tie into this concept of “memory”. Isa was possessed, and it seemed like he forgot about his friendship with Lea a long time ago. Their final battle was all about how they never forgot each other. The Keyblade Graveyard felt like it was supposed to be about Lea’s reunion with Isa, not Roxas and Xion.

Everything about Lea and Isa’s relationship revolved around the theme of “memory”. In Birth by Sleep, there is an extremely happy and innocent song called Eternal Moments. It only plays during the scene where Ventus meets Lea and Isa. It’s pretty much Lea’s theme. It also plays a few times during KH3. 

The song that plays during most of the sea-salt ice cream moments in 358/2 Days is called At Dusk, I Will Think of You… It’s basically a more melancholy version of “Eternal Moments”. It’s pretty much Axel’s theme in the game. Axel was always, ALWAYS wishing to go back to the past. Sea-salt ice cream and the sunset always reminded him of that. To Axel, the sunset was his star, and ice cream was his wayfinder.

The first chapter of the Days manga was called “The Ice Cream That Started It All”. 

At the end of the chapter, Roxas started remembering things after Axel took him out for ice cream. 

The sun sank lower and lower as Axel watched, his mind wandering. If he stared for too long, the image would burn itself into his eyes, visible even after his eyes were closed. A phantom sun. Someone had once told him why sunsets were red… Who was that?

Roxas was eating ice cream with Axel when he brought up his first week. Ice cream = memories. Axel remembered the reason why the sunset was red on this day.

In KH2, one of the early chapters is called “Sea-Salt Ice Cream”.

It starts off with the kids eating ice cream. Pence calls it a simple pleasure before he wonders if they will always be together, which Hayner says is impossible. 

Simple pleasures are experiences that are brief, positive, emerge in everyday settings, and are accessible to most people at little or no cost. 

It’s like the saying “the best things in life are free”. Kinda cheesy, like something off a fortune cookie. But it’s still a nice message.

Roxas: I could have done that blindfolded.

Axel: Ha ha! I dunno if I want a blindfolded zombie on the loose. All right, smart aleck, you did good. And no successful mission is complete without a little icing on the cake. C'mon.

On their mission together, when Roxas acts self-aware for the first time, Axel gave sea-salt ice cream to him as a reward for working hard.

In KH2, the kids were broke. But they worked really hard to save up enough money to go to the beach. Of course, the money was stolen so they never got to go. 

They had to settle for the simple pleasure of eating ice cream together. And they were fine with that.

The trip to the beach was all about creating memories, since they couldn’t be together forever.

The message is, it’s not the cost of the trip that was valuable, it’s the memories they created together. 

Eating ice cream is cheap. It isn’t exactly as exciting as going to the beach, but it doesn’t have to be. The memories of the people you’re eating it with are more important. That’s why Axel stole a lot of Hayner’s dialogue in Days. It was all about the theme of “memories”.

"C'mon, C'mon, stop by and try some! It's a sweet and salty mysterious ice cream!"

“What’s that?” Lea ran up to check it out.

“Hullo, there, laddie. Would you like one?” 

“I’m…guessing they aren’t free?” Lea asked, jamming a hand into his pocket. 

Scrooge hopped up and yelled, “Of course not! Are ye daft?!” 

When Lea was a kid, he didn’t have a lot of money, either. He was even hoping the ice cream Scrooge was offering was free.

For a little bit, Lea was deep in thought. Scrooge held the ice cream in his hands. "Then I'll have one....no, two!" “Thank ye kindly!” 

Lea paid the munny, took the two ice popsicles from Scrooge, and handed one to Isa.

He was broke, but he still bought Isa an ice cream, too. There’s a reason I think the localization used the term “icing on the cake” for Axel’s sea-salt ice cream ritual.

"It's cold....." Isa mumbled, nibbling at the ice cream. "Whaddya mean, it's ice cream so of course it is, got it memorized?" ".....moreover, it's salty." "But sweet!" As Lea went on, Isa smiled just a bit. It's rare to see Isa smile. But, well, friendship means eating ice cream together, talking about stupid things, and laughing like this.

Icing on the cake is defined as an attractive but inessential addition or enhancement. It’s the not the main attraction. It’s just something extra that makes a good thing even better.

“Why, look at that, you’re a winner! Congratulations!” 

“‘Congratulations’…?” It was a new word to Roxas. Was that what he’d won? 

“You get another ice cream, on the house,” she told him. 

“Um, how much?” He didn’t know what “on the house” meant, either. But he had heard that one could get things in exchange for munny or for hearts. 

“No, no, it’s free. You won! Have you got a friend you’d like to treat?”

A WINNER stick gives you a free ice cream. It literally costs nothing. It’s the epitome of a simple pleasure.

Day 357: To My Best Friend

Author: Axel

Roxas left. It’s so like him to just leave that WINNER ice cream stick behind. Come tomorrow, I’ll probably get the order to hunt him down, but leaving that here makes it feel so permanent. I wish the three of us—three? No. That the two of us could share some ice cream again someday. That’s what it is to be friends.

My impression was that Isa was the type of person who didn’t care what activity he was doing. The ice cream was just extra—the icing on the cake. It was nice, but it wasn’t even necessary.

“Precisely, Roxas. That is no ordinary rose. To him, at least, it seems to hold more value than all the castle’s riches.”

As long he spent time with Lea, that was all that mattered. It didn’t matter if they were broke or not. Day 193 is even called “Memories”. And Axel brings up eating ice cream. To him, that’s what it meant to be best friends.

“So, okay, say you don’t need a heart for things to be important to you… Maybe the closest thing we Nobodies have is our pasts. It’s the memories that give things value.”

“Memories…,” Roxas mumbled at his lap. “Well, I don’t remember my past, so I guess that explains it.” 

Axel pondered that for a few seconds before suggesting, “What about your present, though?” 

Roxas looked up. Somehow, he hadn’t expected to hear that from Axel. “Huh?” 

“You’ve got your memories since you joined up with the Organization, right? There must be something special to you there.” 

“I dunno…” Memories…? Roxas didn’t have any from when he was human. But he did remember his time with the Organization so far.

My theory is that Isa was Subject X. He had amnesia after Lea reunited with him in Twilight Town. They were going to start over and create a new life and new memories together. Since Isa had no memories of his past, Lea wanted them to do something memorable together, so he thought of going to the beach. 

Other than being told today’s mission, I didn’t really do anything yesterday. Maybe in reality it’d even be okay to have called it a day off. A holiday…

“Didn’t get to go in the end,” muttered Axel, and he got up.

Today I have to destroy Roxas. I cannot betray the organization.

From the little shelf at his bedside, Axel took a white envelope, and looked at it vaguely for a while. Putting it in his pocket, Axel got up off the bed and left the room.

They probably didn’t get to stay in Twilight Town that long, though. Probably just 7 days, if I had to guess. They never got to go to the beach. Probably didn’t have the munny.

Axel thrust his hand into his pocket, and took out the white envelope.

The memories of me and Roxas haven’t faded away. For now, that’s just fine.

“…Really feel like some ice cream,” Axel muttered, watching the sunset absently.

We were always together with the sunset. We talked about all kinds of things in that place. I think it’d be good if we could talk and eat ice cream there again someday. Now, there’s nothing but that. I only hope for that.

The setting sun was shining on Axel.

They spent quality time in Twilight Town, but then they realized they weren’t even safe there. They had nowhere to run from Xehanort. 

He didn’t really understand the “icing” part, except that it was ice cream. Like Winner, though, it meant something special. So when Axel came back, Roxas would use the freebie and get him some “icing.”

They were out of time, so they decided to commit suicide together. Isa was grateful for the memories Lea was able to give him, even if the were just simple pleasures like ice cream. 

That meant a lot to Lea. He said that inside people’s memories, he could live forever. 

So, as long as they remembered each other, they’d never be apart. They promised to see each other again in the next life.

Everything about Lea and Isa had thematic resonance, even if KH3 dropped the ball on them badly. It felt like Lea’s entire character arc for the whole Xehanort Saga revolved around his past with Isa. Everything he did with Roxas and Xion involved his past with Isa.

I can’t really think of anything about Roxas and Axel’s relationship in KH3 that had thematic resonance. He just showed up out of nowhere and barely even interacted with Axel afterwards. It really felt like their reunion during the final battle wasn’t planned very far in advance and had very little thought put into it; like it was just shoehorned in at the last minute. Lea’s reunion with Ventus felt like it had more planning and thought put into it.

Roxas and Axel barely even acknowledge each other after Roxas comes back. The moment where Isa treats Lea to an ice cream on the clock tower had waaaay more thematic significance than any moment between Lea and Roxas. It felt like that moment was being built up for a long, long time. Practically the entire Xehanort Saga. It was the equivalent of Terra telling Aqua she was always there lighting his way back. Lea and Roxas don’t get a special moment like this.

[legionofpotatoes]

Okay then, since both of y’all are just delving in I’ll try to keep things (relatively) spoiler-free and stick to story sense and semiotics! Few caveats:

Have not had prior experience with Kojima’s body of work and if that’s a prerequisite in how I “should feel” about it then yike on a bike (just getting this out of the way based on what I’ve had talked at me)

My read excludes the entire context of moment-to-moment gameplay; I basically watched chronological story cutscenes stitched together with NPC interaction vignettes sprinkled in-between. 9 or so hours in total. 

I did this because the gameplay does not interest me at all - and not in protest of chill social games (I adore both No Man’s Sky and thatgamecompany stuff, for example, and try to champion anything without Gun in it), but because the setting and length did not align with my expectations for something to invest so much time into. Still, I was super intrigued by the story, and, to a lesser extent, the plot.

also I have a hard time writing in condensed English, so this may run quite long. I’ll put the rest under a break. Second language, sorry!

I’m trying to think of a good way to start this. Like I said, the story, or what the thing was ABOUT, was infinitely more interesting to me than whatever wacko packaging Kojima thought up for the narrative. Which was a complicated, thought-out piece of fiction shattered into many disparate pieces and fed to us in a mystery-box-filmmaker kind of way, making us reverse-engineer what essentially was a rather simple interpersonal uhh. family tragedy, I guess. 

But to its credit the lore is visibly built solely to support whatever thematic messaging Kojima would want to weave in there - something I can respect. Meaning it gets as wacky and as nonsensical as it needs to be in order to reflect the high-concept allegories at play, aaand then it does so to a fault. I adore works of fiction that don’t give a shit about “tone” - I hate that word more than anything in modern media - but effective symbolism in storytelling, IN MY OPINION, requires a deft hand, nuance, strong authorial position, and a good grasp of social context. 

I want to like, go through these four points individually and nitpick my problems with the game in their lens, because I think they cover pretty much everything I feel like saying:

1. A deft hand - to me means to selectively dramatize correct themes and plot points as you go so that shit makes sense in the end. I felt this was incredibly lacking here. It was like a symphony going for hours without a crescendo. The absolute wrong bits of soulless exposition would be reiterated THRICE within a single cutscene while necessary context of, hell, character motives or even plot geography would be left vague. Intentionally vague, some would argue, but their later function would never arrive. Other times, what would visibly be conceived as wink-and-you’ll-miss-it foreshadowing could overstay its welcome to the point of inadvertently spoiling a later plot point. My girlfriend sniped the (arguably) most important reveal of the game, which is left for the tail end of the final epilogue (!), in the first hours of watching. The symbolics and allusions were just too plentiful where they should have been more subdued. I am DYING to provide examples here but I’m keeping it spoiler-free. Again, if this is a Kojima-ism, too bad; but it’s not a catastrophic failure of storytelling by any means. There are very few masters of this thing working today. But what can be easier to navigate, I think, is...

2. Nuance - this kinda goes hand-in-hand with the upper point but is a bit more important to me and applies to what SPECIFICALLY you decide to heighten in order to slap us across the face with your deeper meanings. Certain characters - not all of them - feel like caricatures. The silly names and overt metaphors (wearing a mask means hiding something! connected cities all have ‘knot’ in their name!) are honestly, genuinely FINE as long as their function isn’t betrayed, but the lean into metaphor worship can sometimes wade into SERIOUSLY shitty territory as contemporary implications are ignored altogether, and that ties into my fourth point, which I’ll address before looping back to the third; needless to say, approaching sensitive subjects with broad strokes is not exactly the way to go. But broad strokes is almost exclusively what this game does, forgetting to incorporate...

3. Social context - and I feel like avoiding examples here will be difficult lest I end up sounding like a dogmatic asshole; but there is a right thing and a wrong thing to do when co-opting IRL concepts to fit fictional messaging/storytelling. I feel that a character “curing” themselves of a phobia by experiencing emotional growth that vaguely corresponds to what the disorder could have symbolized is a wrong thing. And I don’t even want to get into all the wacky revisionism the lore ended up twisting into, which was mostly honestly entertaining (the ammonite will be a good hint to those who’ve played it), until it decided to, again, lean a bit too hard into painting today’s reality as a crisis of human connection and imply some questionable things about why, uh, asexual people exist, for example. Yes it makes some sense within the context of the lore and what’s happening in the plot, but it’s completely lacking in social know-how of the here and now. In other words: a Bad Look. To me, this type of wayward ignorance is a much more serious issue that can historically snowball any piece of writing into a witless disaster. I don’t know if it quite does it here, but it’s not really my place to say. Still, you can have wacky worldbuilding that has no sense of dramatic tension, nuance, or awareness towards the audience, and yet containing one last vital glue holding it all together, and that would be...

4. Strong authorial position - or intent I guess, to speak in literary terms - and I still have trouble pinpointing how and where this exists in this game. A bullshit stance you say, and I hear ya; cause this here is a video game very pronounced in its pro-human-connection messaging, painting the opposite outcome as an apocalyptic end to our species. And as I understand the gameplay is all about connections too - leaning into that theme so hard it even renders itself unapproachable to most capital-g Gamers. I honestly respect the balls of that. But really, as an author who headlined the creation of this thing, what was it really about? What were you trying to say?

And beyond “human connection is real important to beat apathy” I got nothing, and I think that’s because of points 1 and 2 failing in succession, and then point 3 souring the taste. It just had to be apparent the moment the curtain fell, is what I find. You just have to “get” it immediately, get what it was trying to say, but that will happen only if it’s been articulated incredibly well up to that point. Maybe the entire punch of that message REALLY depends on you spending dozens of hours ruminating on the crushing cost of loneliness as you haul cargo across countries on foot and connect people to your weird not-internet? If so, I’ve missed a vital piece of context, and with this being a videogame and all, it’s honestly a fair assumption. But otherwise.. it felt like a hell of a lot of twisting and turning and plot affectations that only led to more plot affectations and sometimes character growth (which had its own bag of issues from point 3) and not a hell of a lot to say about human connection beyond the fact that it is. good and useful. It felt like a repeated statement instead of being an argument. Does that make sense? I understand the story optics here are zoomed waay out and set on targeting the human condition as a whole, but like.. if you’re committing to a message, you have to stand by it.

Why is connection good? it’s a dumb question without a DOUBT but since the game has set out to answer it then it.. should? Did I miss the answer? I may have, I honestly can’t exclude the possibility. My lens was warped and my framework of consuming storytelling is a bit rigid in its requirements (the four points I mentioned), so maybe I’m just too grouchy and old to understand. 

I just think Pacific Rim did it better and took about 7 hours less to do it! And yet, it, too, involved Guillermo Del Toro. Curious.

If you made it this far and are interested in my thoughts on the technical execution of it all as well, uhm, it’s pretty much spotless? Decima is utilized beautifully, the Hideo vanity squad of celebrities all do their very best with the often clunky dialogue, the music is great, the aesthetic and visual design is immediately arresting, and it certainly does an all-around great job at standing out from the rest of the flock. I fell in love with the BB a little bit. It is also a game that is incredibly horny for Mads Mikkelsen, which almost fully supplants the expected real estate for run-of-the-mill male gaze bullshit. It is. A change.

That’s all I got folks

[omgktlouchheim]

Word Vomit Wednesday - Romanticizing Rejection

Welcome to Word Vomit Wednesday! A series of blog posts where I attempt to process thoughts and feelings around a specific topic or current events that I, and sometimes the rest of the Internet, ruminate obsessively about. All thoughts/opinions/experiences are my own (unless otherwise indicated); I don’t claim anything that I write to represent anyone other than myself.

Recently, I’ve made some more deliberate efforts to create community and meet people now that I’m more settled and steady in Tucson. This need to venture out and start testing the waters led me to sign up for a three-month virtual community that was being beta-tested by my life-coach. The calls were scheduled to happen once a month for two hours with a max of up to 30 people. They began with an exercise to ground us and any anxieties we might be bringing into the call, a brief ice-breaker to get acquainted with one another, then a specific topic that the majority voted for would be presented, either by my life coach or a volunteer from the group that we would build a conversation around. On the last call that we had in November, the topic was about rejection. Mostly around intimate or romantic relationships, although we also got into the ways we’ve felt rejected by others in often small, subtle ways that resulted in big impacts on our lives. Other than discussing those smaller moments I admit, I was not interested in the topic. I couldn’t quite figure out what was so compelling about rejection.

Then, as I do, I started thinking about it. I read a Refinery29 article that talked about the man who invented “Rejection Therapy,” a game where the aim is to get rejected by others to build resilience to the fear of rejection, and watched a TedTalk where another man who took the game and challenged himself to vlog getting rejected for 100 days and how it changed his life for the better. As I thought, and read, and watched I came to an understanding that underneath the blanket of “rejection” seems to be where the issues actually lie. Fear of putting yourself out there. Not wanting to open yourself up to potentially painful situations. Anxious/avoidant/dysfunctional attachment issues. Asking for help or for something that you want or need. Tapping into your own creativity. Setting a boundary. The rejection itself doesn’t seem to be the actual issue. The underlying issue is showing up in the world fully as yourself and the reality that you may have to make some tough decisions regarding your relationships when certain people are not so accepting. Sometimes the fear of rejection is also about how a rejection is relayed. Humans are notorious for responding to others in a multitude of fucked up ways. Ghosting, public humiliation, abuse, torture, condescension/belittling/minimizing, interrupting, ignoring, attacking, defending, stonewalling, projecting/deflecting, lying… the list goes on and on. Given all of this, I feel like rejection and the ways it can be demonstrated is more telling of the source and is imperative information to have for our own health and well-being.

Pain, in and of itself, is important. Not in the bullshit “no pain no gain” way, but in that it is a part of the human condition in the same way that joy, sadness, excitement and other emotions and sensations are a part of the human condition. When feelings come up for us, they present us with data based on internal and external stimuli and it is our job to interpret that data as accurately as possible to then take any action that may be required of us. We can have a tendency to have difficulty when thinking about our feelings this way because in this society we are essentially conditioned to cut off communication between ourselves and our emotions and other physiological sensations our bodies use to relay important messages to us. It can make it very hard, scary even, to retrain ourselves to listen to ourselves. Instead we choose to ignore feelings when they come up, maybe become annoyed with ourselves when uncomfortable feelings arise, binge eat to try to physically shove discomfort down, shop compulsively because we think something external will quiet or “fix” the internal, and develop a variety of other coping mechanisms because we don’t know what to do with them and probably had never been given the space to safely explore what they could be trying to tell us. When pain gets activated either physically or emotionally, it usually means a major boundary has been crossed, or something is wrong and needs to be checked out right away. When we stub our toe walking into the couch going from one room to the next in our house, we learn to pay more attention to our surroundings and adapt. When we’ve been running around from errand to errand all day and our body begins to ache, we know we’ve reached our limit and need to take a break. And when we come down with some illness and are coughing so hard that it hurts to even breathe, we go to the doctor. Because we feel pain, we are able to take charge and make any number of possible necessary changes to our lives. It can become trickier to know what action to take when our feelings get hurt (because it’s both a physical and  largely internal response), but really the same principles apply. When someone says or does something that hurts your feelings you figure out what nerve that hit and determine if this is a person you keep in your life and to what extent based on your particular boundaries and needs. Easier said than done, I know. 

On the flip side of this, and as the title of this essay indicates, we are not only a society that teaches us to fear pain and any “negative” feelings but we are also one that is OBSESSED with suffering. Everything from our narratives about tragic “starving artists,” the 24-hour news cycle, the internet, the romanticization of drama in our relationships, violence permeates almost every aspect of our culture. There is a huge difference between pain and suffering though. Pain, like I said before, is there to relay a message to us that we then interpret, take action on, and release. Suffering, on the other hand, is something we do to ourselves. We replay old narratives on loops that keep us trapped in emotional purgatory and we take our issues out on others instead of tackling them head on and making difficult but necessary changes in our lives. And sometimes we even allow and cause the suffering of others because we benefit from the exploitation of others. So, it’s entirely possible that it may not even be pain from rejection we’re all trying to avoid, but all pain because we’re already so overloaded with so much pain AND suffering. We are so desensitized to pain in a variety of forms, no wonder our relationship with it is dysfunctional. We may honestly, be too tired to even think about engaging with it. Unfortunately, when we ignore it we allow injustice to flourish and we lose out on so much. Not only do we not see all the choices and opportunities laid out before us, or take risks in relationships, we are so used to fear that we end up rejecting ourselves. Our worlds become so small and we do this to ourselves. And this is the main difference between pain and suffering. Pain releases when we recognize it and take action, suffering is what we do to ourselves by choice even when there are so many other options available to us.  

We will often choose to reject and betray ourselves before stepping into the unknown. I am no stranger to this myself. There have been so many times that I had an inkling to do that thing or talk to that person or allow myself to want something and I never would. I would make up some excuse or other and not give myself a chance. “Well, if they’re interested they’ll say something. I don’t want to bother them.” “That sounds like a really cool job, but I don’t think I’m qualified.” “I’m not going to submit this project for the competition, I probably don’t have a shot at winning.” This year I’ve been recognizing many of the ways in which I reject myself, often so subtly, that I barely even know I’m doing it. Because it’s typically modeled and learned behavior and unless we start doing healing work, rejecting ourselves just seems normal. It takes a lot of work just to hear the whispers: “Don’t go out tonight, everybody sucks so it’s not like you’d meet anyone decent anyway,” “Don’t speak your truth because everyone you care about will abandon you,” “You have to hustle or you’ll never be worthy of success or love.” There are probably millions of examples and they’ll show up differently for different people. Not only do we adopt these behaviors and narratives, we let them drive everything we do because we believe they are part of our identities. It’s a lie. The fact is, you get to decide who you want to be and how you want to show up in the world. It takes practice, work, and a lot of self-discovery. We also face many obstacles and various forms of systemic oppression that are so much larger than any one individual, which can also be another reason why showing up as yourself can feel dangerous. As difficult and scary as it may be, it’s also worth it even if you don’t initially know  how you’re going to do it or where it’s going to take you. 

There’s this game I really like to play on my phone called Flow. It’s kind of like a connect-the-dots puzzle. You have a shape with multiple pairs of dots inside that you have to connect without impeding the other paths of the other connecting dots. What I like most about this game is that once you get one path, the other ones start to become more clear. Flow is all about taking that first step on one path and connecting the dots as you go. The paths are not always linear and straightforward. Sometimes there are twists, sharp-corners and backtracking. But once you start toward something; an idea, goal, etc., worlds you never knew existed start to open up. Toward the end of my studies to get my certificate in audio engineering and production the faculty held a competition for the post-production projects we’d been working on. I hadn’t planned on submitting mine even though I loved it and was really proud of the work I did and how it turned out. The moment I was aware of the competition I heard a whisper that said, “It’s probably not as good as other people’s.” Flash forward: I won first place. After seeing my project, a friend in my class said I should submit it. For whatever reason, I decided to internalize his belief in me and my talent and I went for it. Had I not done that I would have missed out, not only on winning the top prize, but on being asked about my process and being celebrated for something really cool that I did and integrating more self-confidence and the message that I deserve to be in the running for the things I want into my psyche. What I learned from that and other experiences since, is that on the flip side of rejection is courage.

Katie Louchheim would like to wish everyone a very Merry Impeachmas!

[blaperile]

Homestuck Epilogues - Meat - Page 16 (Epilogue 3 Page 3)

[canchewread]

Editor’s note: Originally, I was going to save this quote until Bernie Sanders declared he was running for President in 2020, but I think there’s enough evidence that he’ll eventually declare now to confidently proceed with this write up - if he chickens out, I guess I’ll just have to deal with this post being thrown in my face for a while.

Today’s quotation comes from Matt Taibbi’s 2016 US Presidential election campaign book, “Insane Clown President: Dispatches from the 2016 Circus” - a volume that mostly consists of essays Taibbi released over the course of the entire campaign (Primaries and General Election) with some glue in the introduction and concluding portions of the book, to tie the whole thing together.

As those of you who regularly read my work here on Can’t You Read are no doubt already aware, I’m a big fan of Matt Taibbi’s writing - both in terms of style and the value of the content he provides. While nobody who can effectively work in mainstream media for over a decade should be trusted completely, I think it’s fair to say that Taibbi is, by the comparatively poor standards of his industry, an honest, rational observer of an institution (U.S. politics) that is anything but honest and rational. He is also, despite the numerous attempts to smear him, a fundamentally decent human being and that still matters a little bit in the world of American politics - although, maybe not as much as it should.

As for the book itself - Insane Clown President is ultimately a frustrating collection of writing; while two thirds of the book represents Taibbi at the absolutely height of his powers and easily ranks among his best work, the remaining third feels like a bunch of social media posts and fan mail cobbled into something resembling a narrative, then inserted into the book to fill out the page count. For example, while hashing out the rules of the GOP debate drinking game and conducting unofficial primary polls was probably a lot of fun for Taibbi’s followers on Twitter, it simply doesn’t translate into an enjoyable experience when transported onto the written page - the effect is actually quite jarring and somehow manages to detract from the rest of the extremely high-quality analysis Matt brings to the table.

The upshot here, are of course passages like the one quoted above, from a chapter appropriately and presciently titled - “June 9th, 2016: Democrats Will Learn All the Wrong Lessons from Their Brush with Bernie.” It is in moments like these that Taibbi seems to have his finger directly on the pulse of the class conflict between the voting public and the political elite (of which the mainstream media is effectively a public relations arm) in the United States. Unfortunately, despite Matt’s incisive analysis of the problems that would eventually define the entire 2016 election, the author’s (somewhat myopic) attachment to a liberalized ideal of previous editions of the Democratic Party, ultimately prevents him from drawing the obvious conclusion his own writing exposes throughout the book - that Trump is going to win, because American politics and its political media, are both fundamentally broken.

Despite these issues however, Insane Clown President’s most important contribution to understanding the current US political environment is Taibbi’s ability to recognize both swine emperor Trump and Bernie Sanders as symptoms of a populist insurgency waged not against internal factions within the normal framework of U.S. politics, but in opposition to the entire elite American ruling class and its institutions - our “establishment” if you will.

Before I go any further into what this means for the 2020 Democratic Party nomination race however, I’d like to talk a little bit about the false media narrative that the left wing populist movement behind Bernie Sanders is somehow “the same” as the revanchist, reactionary right wing movement that propelled Herr Donald to the White House in 2016 - a narrative which is, in a word, bullsh*t. While both political phenomenon are motivated to some degree by a mistrust of, alienation from and even outright loathing of the U.S. establishment and its institutions, the reasons for that mistrust, the overall end goals and the origin point of these respective insurgencies are totally different.

The far right “populist” movement that Trump was able to usurp during the 2016 Republican primaries, has its roots in Paleoconservatism and the largely AstroTurf, billionaire-funded conservative “Tea Party movement.” It is a fundamentally reactionary movement, created by the rich to blame America’s ills not on deregulated capitalism and an absurdly greedy ruling class, but instead on the proverbial “other” - brown-skinned immigrants, Muslims, the gay and transgender community, women, African Americans, the Jewish left, political correctness, big government and most of all, the dreaded “socialists, communists and liberals.” At its core, what we now call “Trumpism” is a revanchist Frankenstein’s Monster; the result of decades of weaponized and fetishistic worship of American exceptionalism, white supremacy and the absolute rule of capital - the only problem for the architects of this movement is that Trump managed to hack the code and establish his own mini-cult of personality by being more explicitly fascist and hateful than they were.

The movement propelling Sanders to the forefront of American politics by contrast is a genuine, grass roots endeavor. Although it’s easy enough to make the argument that the anti-globalization movement, Occupy Wall Street, anti-fracking activists, and the Black Lives Matter protests have all provided inspiration and ideological underpinnings for this democratic socialist wave, the fact is that there is no unseen hand at work here; no billionaire backers, no guerrilla marketing wunderkinds, and no AstroTurf corporate media campaigns can claim responsibility for the phenomenon Sanders has helped embody in American politics. I say helped, because this too represents a key difference between the DemSoc wave and Trumpism; as a policy-focused movement, this new American left isn’t just about Bernie Sanders and already we’ve seen inspiring young leaders like Lee Carter, Rashida Tlaib, and especially Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez step to the front with their own democratic socialist message.

Finally, unlike Trumpism, this Sanders-inspired DemSoc insurgency is a movement whose policy proposals match their rhetoric; striving for economic equality, environmental protections, universal health coverage, increased educational opportunities for all, a restoration of democratic rights, better jobs with improved working conditions, the right to collectively bargain, affordable housing, ending mass incarceration, women’s rights, civil rights, and yes, despite what you’ve heard in corporate media owned by rich white people - ending racism and injustice against all marginalized people. Indeed, particularly on the issues of supporting Palestinians living under Israeli apartheid and ending American imperialism abroad, the movement Sanders helped to inspire appears to be driving him further to the left on the political spectrum; although not as much as some, myself included, would like.

In short, if Trumpism is about dragging the country back to a more explicitly white supremacist era, the movement Sanders helps represent is about establishing a fairer, more compassionate and more democratic America than the world has ever known - even under FDR.

There is however, one potential analogue between these two insurgencies and this is where I think the above quote from Taibbi’s book comes in; while there are no real similarities between Trumpism and the Sanders movement, there are a great deal of similarities between the ways both established U.S. political factions and their media minions have responded to an insurgent voter’s revolt.

In 2012, and fresh off the heels of a traumatizing insurgent Tea Party revolt within the party, the Republican establishment put all its chips down on making Barrack Obama a one term president. Expending what would turn out to be the last of their political capital, the GOP establishment managed to force through the Butcher of Bain Capital, “center-right” candidate Mitt Romney during the GOP primary process - a choice distinctly divorced from the anti-elite sentiment (if not reality) of a Tea-Party base now openly indulging in Birtherism and starting to warm up to, you guessed it, Donald Trump. It was the type of calculated bet the party elite would only have been prepared to make if they were sure Romney would win the 2012 presidential election, because they were essentially gambling that deposing the hated Obama would quell the rage their reactionary base felt at being betrayed by the GOP elite, embodied in the form of Romney.

In retrospect, it seems obvious now that when (despite all of Karl Rove’s rosy projections) Romney went down in flames, the GOP establishment was fatally fractured; having demonized Obama as literally an enemy of the American people, when the Republican brain trust failed to deliver his head on a platter that morning in 2012, they effectively lost the revanchist right who’d powered their surge back to political relevance only two years before.

From the outside however, this was not immediately apparent; the Republican leadership quickly announced an election autopsy and soon enough the same people who’d failed Republican voters in 2012 were offering their prescriptions for how to win the next one in 2016. Putting their mighty heads together, these elite GOP power brokers came back with arguably the only candidate more Republican establishment than Romney, Jeb Bush.

It was as we now know, a drastic miscalculation but one that should have been recognized long before Trump won the GOP nomination. When Party leaders lacked the ability to preemptively weed a wild and opportunistic seventeen candidate Republican nomination field, including, incredibly, a credible “center-right” candidate from anointed establishment GOP champion Jeb Bush’s *own* state - the writing was already on the wall for a party leadership group that was only keeping up appearances after exiting 2012 essentially politically bankrupt and broken.

Moving the timeline forward four years, it’s extremely difficult not to see strong parallels on the Democratic side of the ledger. Here too we see a party that barely staved off a radical insurgency by expending an enormous amount of political capital to ram through a highly-unpopular candidate, all the while dismissing the growing outrage from the left wing portion of their base as irrelevant because Hillary Clinton would definitely be the next President of the United States. After losing the 2016 election, the Democratic establishment quickly conducted an autopsy, made some vague platitudes about listening to the angry left-wingers that backed Bernie Sanders and ultimately decided to keep doing the same things they’ve always done before; just like the Republican Party in 2012. Yet, as the 2020 Democratic Party race opens, it is clear that the liberal establishment no longer has enough control over the party to weed the field, and prevent more than a dozen nearly-identical centrist candidates from splitting a vote that would otherwise be united under one candidate, preordained to fight off Bernie Sanders once again.

Can a broken, politically bankrupt Democratic Party hold off Sanders a second time doing essentially the exact same things that failed to hold off Trumpism on the GOP side of aisle?

I wouldn’t bet on it - as beloved American author Samuel Clemens is often (and perhaps falsely) reputed to have said, “History doesn’t repeat itself, but it often rhymes.”

- nina illingworth

[ramirei]

Assertion of the Heart - preparation 5 + 6

Takamizawa Arisa is eager to make friends and fit into class at her junior high school. However, she doesn’t fit into the girl groups and the only person she talks to is Enomoto Kotarou who sits in the seat behind her. Though she feels close to Miura Karen, a fellow classmate who doesn’t fit in class, she was scared of being singled out by her peers. Shibasaki Ken, Kotarou’s friend, takes notice of the conflicted Arisa but – “It’s too boring to hate all the time.” What awaits Arisa as she takes a step forward in her own way!?

Find the masterlist with all the chapters here!

Please support Honeyworks by purchasing the novel here! (CDJapan is also a good alternative).

Both of these chapters are pretty short, but they cover some major stuff that happened in the MV that I’m sure everyone is curious about after all these years.

preparation 5

It was after school when Ken took his phone from his pocket as he walked down the empty hallway. Today, there were none of the persistent messages that usually filled his inbox.

He heard a coy voice together with laughter from inside the 8th grade classrooms as he headed towards them. She was still here after all.

Ahh, what the heck. So, this is what it was… There were two students with their faces pressed together in the corner of the classroom when he opened the door without hesitation. They looked back at him, startled.

There were no other students. The classroom, which had been previously filled with laughter, lapsed into an uncomfortable, heavy silence.

The male student with her was the first to speak, “Isn’t that guy the 7th grader you said you were toying with recently?” He smirked and pulled her shoulders towards him for show.

An unsettling color settled on her face as she shoved him aside. She didn’t look at Ken at all. She probably couldn’t meet his eyes. That was fact. “…He’s my boyfriend…” Her words were a blatant lie.

“Didn’t you say he was boring?”

“I didn’t say anything like that at all! You’re the one that suddenly hit on me in the first place.”

“What? You’re the one that asked me out!”

“I didn’t do anything like that!!”

Ken watched as they began to quarrel, eyes cold while he stood stock still. The male student raised his voice as he was drawn in by her emotional state. Ah… seriously, stop it. Shut up. Ken ran his fingers through his bangs, letting out a heavy sight. He kicked the door besides him, causing the two to close their mouths as they startled at the sound. “Senpai, I’m sorry.” Ken said with a smile on his face, the same smile that he had when he was confessed to, “Just now, I tried thinking of reasons to keep you, but…”

“…Huh?”

“I couldn’t think of anything at all.”

“What the hell does that mean…”

“I mean, it’s over. We should break up.” He bluntly told her, causing her expression to stiffen, as he turned around.

“Wh, wait a minute… why… you’re heartless!”

Heartless? You’re the one that betrayed me first.

Both the curses thrown at his back and the cries that could be heard from the hallways, all of it, was annoying and inevitable. The smile disappeared from Ken’s face as he walked into the hallway.

He stopped once he returned to the front of the 7th grade classrooms. He noticed the setting sun gently shining into the room as he looked at the windows. He had no such things as feelings from the start.

I guess I betrayed her, too… Ken turned away from the windows and began to walk away.

The first time he confessed to a girl was when he was in elementary school.

“I’m sorry…”

He had truthfully already forgotten the name of the girl who had said those words, troubled, in a small voice before she left. He probably wasn’t that serious about her in the first place since he now thought things like, “Why did I confess to her?”

Even so, when he thought back about the past, the reason he would sometimes feel a sting in his chest was because the courage that he had mustered together despite being a coward had easily been cast aside. He was probably disappointed in both himself and that girl. He had picked up a sparkling stone and valued it, convinced that it was a treasure. Then, one day, it was as if he had realized that that stone was just an ordinary pebble. His interest in the stone and its sparkle suddenly vanished and he no longer looked at it.

That sense of disappointment –

He had thought that he was doing better than he did before. But history repeated itself. He had disappointed both himself and his partner and abandoned it all with, “It’s over.” After all, he had given up again just like that. The romance he longed for did not exist in reality. Even if he confessed, even if he went out with them, something like mutual feelings has never happened.

It’s seriously so laughable…

He had nothing but terrible experiences.

♦     ♦     ღ     ♦     ♦

The sun began to set as he left the school and headed towards the station. Ken took out his phone as he leaned against the handrail of the pedestrian bridge. The cars stopped at the traffic light began to move all at once when the light changed.

Ken looked up at the night sky, the shadow of the moon dim in the sky, while he made a call, “Oh, hey? It’s me… what’re you up to now?” He asked in his usual light tone. The person on the other line replied back. He felt somehow relieved at their bothered voice, “…Me? I’m in front of the station. I juuust got some free time now.”

The wind that was blowing held various smells of the neighborhood. He slightly dropped the tone of his voice and held down his flapping hair with his hand, “Hey, hang out with me.”

Ken stuffed his phone into his pocket when the call ended. He slowly walked across the pedestrian bridge, sliding his hand against the handrail.

♦     ♦     ღ     ♦     ♦

There were tons of students on their home from school at the arcade they were in. Noise and laughter that were enough to make their heads hurt echoed in the arcade.

“Ahh, shit, I lost again!!” Kotarou yelled in a frustrated voice as he leaned back where he sat in the seat of the racing game.

Ken laughed, leaning against the handle next to Kotarou, “Kotarou, you’re last again!”

“I would’ve gotten to the goal first if you hadn’t thrown that banana peel when I was close to the finish line!”

“You totally ran over it and spun. You’re so hilarious, Kotarou.” He said, his stomach twisting in laughter. Koudai also let out a suppressed laugh from his seat next to Kotarou.

Both Kotarou and Koudai had just left school after finishing their activities with their clubs when he had called them at the pedestrian bridge. Inviting them out and going to the arcade dispelled a bit of the depression he felt.

“You’re too good at this, Koudai. Aren’t we no match for you!?” Kotarou spoke in a louder voice in response to the loud sound around them.

It was their fifth game, but their positions of Koudai in first place, Ken in second, and Kotarou in third stayed the same.

“Well… I didn’t feel like losing to you guys.” Koudai pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with the words “YOU WIN!” displayed on his screen.

“How long have you been playing this game? You’d have a good game with Natsuki.” Kotarou said, amazed, while letting out a sight.

“Let’s do the coin games next!” Ken stood from his seat, picking up his bag that had been left at his side, and began to walk away.

“Shibaken, you give up way too fast!”

“No matter how many times we play, it won’t the change the fact that you’ll always be last, Kotarou.” He said, laughing, as he headed to the floor with the coin games. Both Koudai and Kotarou grabbed their bags and followed him. As Ken was walking, he yelled, “Oh!” and stopped in front of the crane machines. He was drawn by the extra-large Shirokuma plushies lined up inside the machine.

“What’re you doin’?” Kotarou peeked at the machine from besides him when Ken hadn’t moved away from them.

“Oh, sorry. Wait a sec.” Ken took his wallet from his back pocket and inserted a coin.

“It’s so freakin’ huge! This is too impossible, there’s no way you can get it.”

“They wouldn’t put something in that can’t be won from the machine.” Ken carefully moved the crane with the button. However, the crane only pinched the arm of the Shirokuma and didn’t give a sign of being lifted at all. The crane then returned back into position without ever grabbing anything and stopped moving. Ken and Kotarou, both having looked into the case the entire time, then exchanged looks.

Thirty minutes later…

“Shibaken, give up, just stop. Get a hold of yourself!” Kotarou desperately bound Ken’s arms behind his back as he tried to insert another coin.

“I’m definitely getting this Shirokuma! I’ll get it no matter what!”

“Don’t just watch, Koudai, help me do something!”

Koudai, who had been watching them indifferently, stepped forward at Kotarou’s cry for help. “Guess I have no choice.” He then inserted a coin from his own wallet.

“Wha, wait, Koudai?”

Koudai controlled the button with a tap next to Kotarou. The way he was moving his hands made it look like he was used to it. When the crane moved, it tightly grabbed onto Shirokuma’s neck and slowly rose. Shirokuma fell down the hatch to the opening right in front of Kotarou and Ken as they watched with bated breaths.

“O-O-OOOOOOOHHHH!!” Ken and Kotarou cheered loudly.

Koudai casually grabbed Shirokuma from where he had fallen and held it out to Ken with a, “Here.”

“Damn. I, just now… my heart might’ve just skipped a beat. I think I’m falling in love with you!” Ken hugged Shirokuma in his arms. It was as soft and felt as good to the touch as it looked.

“Yeah, no, it’s fine if you don’t. It’s just your imagination.”

“You’re amazing, Koudai. I definitely thought it was impossible.” Kotarou looked at Koudai with admiration.”

“Wouldn’t you be able to get it, normally?”

“No way!!” Kotarou and Ken both yelled at the same time before dissolving into laughter.

…Man, it’s fun. When I’m with these guys.

He didn’t have to think about unnecessary stuff if they just had funs like idiots. It was much easier that way.

♦     ♦     ღ     ♦     ♦

It had gotten completely dark by the time they left the arcade. The three of them walked side by side on the sidewalk as it was lit by the light of the store windows. The sound of the trains passing by could be heard from the station.

“Isn’t it embarrassing walking like that, Shibaken?” Kotarou asked with a lower voice than usual as he walked next to him.

“What do you mean? Ain’t it great since I can walk while showing it off like this?” Ken grinned with his large Shirokuma under his arms.

“That’s adorable!”

“Seriously. I’m jealous.”

He was trying to stand out as much as he could. They could hear girls commenting on the stuffed animal as they passed by.

“Kotarou, Koudai, let’s keep going and go to karaoke.”

“You still want to stay out!?”

“We have a two day holiday starting from tomorrow, right? It’s a waste to just go home now.” Ken called out to them with, “I’m going to leave you guys behind,” and quickly walked off.

“Koudai, what’re you gonna do?” Kotarou asked, looking back at Koudai as he slowly followed behind them.

“I’m going.”

“Are you sure?”

“There’s a lot going on. For Shibaken, too.” Koudai patted Kotarou’s shoulder with a tap, “If you have something going on, then you don’t have to push yourself to go.”

“Ugh, guess I have no choice…” Kotarou scratched his head as he and Koudai followed behind Ken side by side.

Koudai chuckled at seeing Kotarou like this, “What a great friendship.”

“Ain’t that you?”

♦     ♦     ღ     ♦     ♦

“Shibaken, I heard you broke up with your 8th grade girlfriend?”

“How about going out with me this time?”

The girls in Ken’s class came up to him while talking noisily just after the holidays.

Who the hell did they hear this from…

Ken headed to his classroom with the girls while fed up with them. There was still time left before morning homeroom started, so both the classrooms and hallways were noisy.

“Y’know what? Can you not be so amused by someone else’s problem? Despite being like this, I’m still pretty heartbroken.”

“Huh? Don’t tell me you were dumped?”

“You were cheated on, weren’t you? I feel so bad.”

His face twitched slightly as their relentless sputtering hit him. I wasn’t dumped. I’m the one that dumped her. He quickened his steps as he began to lose his temper at their squealing laughter.

On his way to his classroom, he passed by girls from Kotarou’s class. “Ugh, that girl is seriously so annoying.”

“Y’know, the other day during PE…”

“Oh my god, that is the worst!”

They must be getting riled up while gossiping behind someone’s back. The person that was walking in the very back of the group was the girl he passed by at the shrine.

“Hey, Arisa, don’t you think so, too?”

The girl, who had been quiet while looking down the entire time, jerked her head up in surprise at suddenly being brought into the conversation. A forced smile appeared on her face as she responded appropriately with, “I know, right…”

The other girls no longer tried to invite her into the conversation as if unamused by her response. There was too much of a cold atmosphere around them for them to be considered friends.

Her name’s Arisa…

The girl immediately looked down once more, the smile vanishing from her face, as she followed behind them with heavy steps.

She had seemed so happy when he had passed by her on the steps to the shrine. Now, her face was dull with no traces of any joy. She was keeping up appearances with a smile to match the opinions of others. She should stop going along with them rather than be on the verge of tears.

“…She can’t, can she?” A bitter smile broke through as he whispered this.

Everyone was desperate to protect the small place they could belong in. To do that, they pretended to be someone they didn’t enjoy being.

Even he was like that.

   preparation 6

 It happened the next day after PE.

The air was different from usual when Arisa returned slightly late to the classroom after changing in the locker room. It was noisy and somehow heavy. Arisa entered the classroom, wondering what had happened, and happened to look at Karen sitting at her desk. The moment she did, she almost let out a “Ah.”

Tasteless scribbles were drawn all over Karen’s desk as she faced her head downwards. Tears were also dripping down Karen’s cheeks. She desperately bit her lips to hold back the urge to yell and cry.

“How cruel. Who did this?” The girls gathered in the back of the classroom giggled in response to the person that asked this question out loud.

The boys commented, “This is cruel,” but all they did was gather around her in a circle and stare at her.

Karen…

Arisa stepped forward and tried to call out to her, “Hey…”

“Arisa, what are you doing? We’re moving classes next.” She jerked at the sound of a girl’s voice scolding her. The hand that was reaching out towards Karen froze. When she lifted her head, Yui and the others were staring hard at Arisa.

If I talk to her, I’ll also… Arisa forcefully swallowed back the words on the tip of her tongue and stepped back from Karen. Is it okay like this? She kept hearing the voice in her head criticize her. I mean, I can’t do anything. There’s nothing I can do. She desperately repeated convenient excuses to herself.

“She got too conceited just because she’s a little cute.”

“Right? Don’t you think so, too, Arisa?” They all simultaneously turned their gazes to the silent Arisa.

It was stifling, almost as if her throat was being squeezed. “Right…” Arisa forced a smile and made this comment in a small voice.

It was then that it happened.

“What are you trying to say that I’ve done!? Just stop it already… stop it!!” Karen loudly screamed in her seat. It was as if her patience had snapped.

Arisa froze at her voice.

The girls around Karen looked at her with cold eyes, saying, “What is she doing?” as Karen broke down crying while covering her face with both hands.

“It’s almost as if she’s saying we’re bullying her?”

“That’s horrible to say when you don’t have proof.” Yui and the others said as they exited out of the classroom in laughter.

The sounds of Karen’s sobs and an awkward atmosphere lingered in the air for some time in the classroom.

I have to talk to her… but, what do I say? She couldn’t do something like insincerely ask her if she was okay after having talked bad about her to fit in with what the other girls were saying. It would be the same as hurting her. Nothing would change. Even so, to put up a sympathetic act after what happened… She acted as if she didn’t know anything because she was scared of becoming a target.

Until when would she continue doing these kinds of things? Until when should she continue doing these kinds of things? Despite the fact that she had hurt Karen, she was still trying to protect herself.

I don’t like the kind of person I am now. I don’t like it, all of it, I don’t like it. I hate it. Enough already…

Why was she this weak?

Coward.

Wimp.

You’re deceitful… Thinking only about yourself.

You’re weak, you’re afraid… you’re running away.

Arisa ran like the wind and rushed out of the classroom. She wanted to scream out loud as if her heart was breaking.

♦     ♦     ღ     ♦     ♦

She rushed up the stairs to the rooftop, opened the door, and stepped outside. She rushed up to the fence and clutched it in her hands. Arisa yelled at the top of her lungs, “You’re the worse… I’m the worse!!”

Why couldn’t I say it?

Up until now, she had had tons of opportunities to talk to Karen. During lunch, she should’ve asked her, “Let’s eat together.”

She should’ve asked her, “Let’s be friends,” sooner.

Even earlier, she should’ve told everyone, “Stop doing these things to her.”

She hadn’t been brave and all of it, all of it, she had swallowed back. If only she had said something, even just one word, she might’ve been able to change the situation. She might’ve been able to resolve the situation without it becoming like it did. She looked down while grasping onto the fence, her tears spilling and making water stains on the concrete.

She had hated the thought of being alone. She had wanted friends.

That had been all she wanted.

How much pain must she overcome to become an adult? Her kindness was breaking down into fallen tears.

Hey… someone.

Tell me.

♦     ♦     ღ     ♦     ♦

The view on top of the rooftop’s water tower was great. It was the ideal place to spend the lunch break on a clear day like today. As a result, recently, Ken would often invite Koudai and Kotarou to come with him to the rooftop when it was lunch break.

“My afternoon classes make me sleepy…” Kotarou leaned back near the edge while Koudai was quietly looked through the manga magazine that had just gone on sale today. Next to them, Ken was meaninglessly fiddling with his phone.

“Actually, why did we get together again?”

“Isn’t it cause we had free time?” Koudai honestly answered in response to Kotarou’s grumbling.

“I feel kinda unproductive. Ahh, I want to run…”

“I don’t think you’ll be liked by Setoguchi even if you put on some muscle.” Ken teased while looking at his phone.

Kotarou immediately reddened, “Like I’ve mentioned so many times before, why does Hina come up!”

“Now, now, Kotarou. It’s because Shibaken is sulking with a broken heart. Let him off.” Koudai said while tapping Kotarou on the shoulder.

“What, seriously!? Wait a minute, there was a girl you were going out with, Shibaken!?”

“Koudai, you shit. It’s been decided, I’m seeing you in the bathroom later.”

Why does even Koudai know about it in the first place?

Ken suddenly lifted his head from his phone. At that very moment, the door to the rooftop was slammed open and someone ran out. “Hey… isn’t that girl in the same class as Kotarou?”

“Hm?” Koudai said.

Kotarou turned to look behind him, caught in their conversation, then looked down. When he did, the person that was standing there was Arisa, “Oh, what the heck… it’s Takamizawa.”

It seemed like she thought there was no one else on the rooftop. She rushed to the fence and sobbed. Her voice echoed even more in their surroundings in proportion to how quiet it was around them.

“Heeey, wha…”

“You’re being insensitive. Stuuuuupid.” Ken interrupted Kotarou just as he was about to call out to her. Even his chest felt like it was throbbing at her yells, almost as if she were piercing herself in the chest with a knife, as she called herself the worst.

Everyone had times when they wanted to vent all their almost bursting emotions until they emptied into the air.

The cries that they continued to hear for some time, too, gradually began to lessen. Arisa looked up to the sky, tired from crying, and then turned back towards the door after wiping her cheeks. A strange, uncomfortable silence lingered in the air on the rooftop for some time even after she was no longer there.

“Kotarou, that girl is in the same class as you, right? Properly look after her, will you?”

“Huh!? Why should I… What the heck are you looking at me for?”

“Anyway, I’m counting on you.”

“Shibaken, you’re nice to girls. I’d be nice if you were nicer to me, too…”

Ken’s eyes went wide at Koudai’s words, saying, “What the heck are you saying!?” and returned the atmosphere into a light mood. “Aren’t we all best friends!!” Ken brought their shoulders together.

The expressions of the other two turned weird, as if to express, “You’re saying those kinds of things without being serious again.”

If only things could be more easygoing. It was just school and getting along with your friends. It would be alright if they could spend that time while happily laughing.

Why is something that simple this hard…

[dfroza]

To be falsely accused.

even our Creator knows what this is like while standing in the face of men who accused Him of wrongdoing according to their own rules.

Today’s reading from the Scriptures begins with the 3rd chapter in the book of Mark:

On the Sabbath, Jesus had come into a synagogue where He saw a man with a withered hand.

The Pharisees held their breath: would Jesus cure this man on the Sabbath, right there in front of everyone? If so, they could charge Him with breaking the Sabbath law. Jesus knew their hearts. He called to the man with the withered hand.

Jesus: Come to Me.

Then He turned to the Pharisees with a question.

Jesus: Do our laws tell us to do good or evil on the Sabbath? To save life, or to snuff it out?

They remained silent.

Jesus was furious as He looked out over the crowd, and He was grieved by their hard hearts.

Jesus (to the man with the withered hand): So be it. Stretch out your hand.

The man stretched forth his hand; and as he did, it was completely healed. The Pharisees went directly from the synagogue to consult with the supporters of Herod, the Romans’ puppet ruler, about how they could get rid of this dangerous dreamer.

Meanwhile Jesus and His followers traveled to the shore of the Sea of Galilee; as always, a huge crowd from Galilee and Judea gathered. People had come from miles to see this man they were hearing so much about. They came from the big cities, including Jerusalem of Judea, Tyre and Sidon of Phoenicia, and from the region of Idumea, south of Judea. Since Jesus had healed so many, the sick and the infirm pushed forward constantly to touch Him, to be healed, and to ask His blessing. The crowd pressed so closely around Jesus that He asked His disciples to get a boat He could board if the crush became too great.

Most wanted to be near Him, except for those possessed by unclean spirits. Those people fell down before Him.

Unclean Spirits: You are the Son of God.

But He ordered them not to reveal His true identity.

Jesus called together a select group of His followers and led them up onto a mountain. There He commissioned them the twelve. [Later He calls them His emissaries.] He wanted them to be with Him. He sent them out to spread the good news and to cast out evil spirits [and heal diseases]. Here are the names of the original twelve: Simon (whom Jesus called Peter, meaning “the rock”), James and John (the sons of Zebedee, whom Jesus called “the Sons of Thunder”), Andrew, Philip, Bartholomew, Matthew (the tax collector, also called Levi), Thomas, James (the son of Alphaeus), Thaddaeus, Simon of Canaan (who was also called “the Zealot”), and Judas Iscariot (who one day would betray Jesus to the authorities in Jerusalem so God’s purpose could be fulfilled).

Jesus and His disciples went into a house to eat, but so many people pressed in to see Jesus that they could not be served. When Jesus’ family heard about this craziness, they went to drag Him out of that place.

Jesus’ Family (to one another): Jesus has lost His mind.

The scribes, for their part, came down from Jerusalem and spread the slander that Jesus was in league with the devil.

Scribes: That’s how He casts out demons. He’s casting them out by the power of Beelzebul—the ancient Philistine god—the prince of demons.

When Jesus heard this, He tried to reason with them using parables.

Jesus: Listen. How can Satan drive out Satan? A kingdom that makes war against itself will collapse. A household divided against itself cannot stand. If Satan opposes himself, he cannot stand and is finished.

If you want to break into the house of a strong man and plunder it, you have to bind him first. Then you can do whatever you want with his possessions. Listen, the truth is that people can be forgiven of almost anything. God has been known to forgive many things, even blasphemy. But speaking evil of the Spirit of God is an unforgivable sin that will follow you into eternity.

He said this because the scribes were telling people that Jesus got His power from dark forces instead of from God.

When Jesus’ mother and brothers arrived, they couldn’t break through the crowd, so they sent word in to Jesus that He should come out to them. The crowd was pressed in tight around Him when He received the message, “Your mother and brothers [and sisters] are waiting outside for You.”

Jesus looked around.

Jesus (answering them): Who are My mother and brothers?

He called into the silence. No one spoke.

At last His gaze swept across those gathered close, and Jesus smiled.

Jesus: You, here, are My mother and My brothers! Whoever does the will of God is My true family.

The Book of Mark, Chapter 3 (The Voice)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 5th chapter of the book of Esther where Esther approaches King Ahasuerus with favor, and we read of the evil plot of Haman toward Mordecai:

When the third day arrived, Esther put on her royal robes and stood in the inner court of the palace across from the king’s rooms. The king was sitting on his throne facing the palace entrance. He was pleased when he noticed Queen Esther waiting in the court. He extended his gold scepter with his hand, inviting her in. Esther walked toward him, and when she was close enough, she reached out and touched the king’s scepter.

King Ahasuerus: What is it, Queen Esther? What is your request? I’ll give you anything—even half of my kingdom—all you need to do is ask.

Queen Esther: If it would please you, my king, I’d like for you and Haman to come today to a banquet I have made in your honor.

King Ahasuerus (looking at his servants): Go and find Haman this instant, so we can do as Esther desires.

So the king and Haman came to Esther’s banquet. As Haman, the king, and Esther were enjoying the wine at the end of her banquet, the king pressed the question.

King Ahasuerus: Now, my queen, what is your request? I promise that half of my kingdom is not too much to ask! Don’t be afraid to ask for whatever you want.

Queen Esther: I do want something. My request is: If I have found favor before you, and if you truly desire to grant my request, would you and Haman join me again tomorrow for another banquet I will prepare? Then I will answer your question.

Haman left dinner in high spirits, almost gleeful, but his joy was short lived. As he walked through the king’s gate, he passed by Mordecai. It angered Haman to see the Jew unwilling to stand and, worse still, seemingly unafraid. But he resisted showing his anger right then and there. Instead, he went home and spent time with friends and Zeresh, his wife. Haman spent the evening bragging to them about being rich and having lots of sons in his family. He even boasted about his relationship with the king, talking to his guests about his promotion above all of his fellow nobles and the officials of the king.

Haman: And that’s not all! Queen Esther invited me today to dine with her and the king. Just the three of us! And guess what? She’s invited me again tomorrow. What do you think about that? But I must be honest; seeing that Jew, Mordecai, as I pass through the gate makes it difficult to celebrate any of my good fortune.

Then his wife Zeresh and all of his friends came up with an idea.

Zeresh and His Friends: You should make a wood pole 75 feet high! Tomorrow morning, have the king sentence Mordecai to be executed on it. Then you’ll be able to have a good time at the banquet with the king.

Haman thought the idea was brilliant. So he had the pole made.

The Book of Esther, Chapter 5 (The Voice)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for friday, April 2 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible, along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

A post by John Parsons about a True search for significance:

You may feel anxious about knowing God, about how to relate to him or how to understand or interpret the Scriptures, though the heart can only know the essential meaning of God in the state of its need, as its ultimate concern, and therefore unless you cry out “from the depths” of your being, you are merely intellectualizing or playing games... After all, the inner heart asks "How can I find God?" "How can I relate to God?" "How can I find hope and life?" but the answers to such questions are found by personal encounter with the reality of the Spirit of God, not by theological rationalizations. It is one thing to say "Lord" or "Master" but quite another to say "my Lord," or "my Master..." The Torah teaches that name of God refers to that which God alone is, namely, the "I am that I am"(אהְיֶה אֲשֶׁר אֶהְיֶה) which is unknowable apart from the miracle of disclosure within the heart. That is why we find so many different names and titles for God in Scripture, for these are disclosures to the heart in a time of its need. For instance, to know God's name as "Savior" (מוֹשִׁיעַ) means experiencing deliverance from your struggles, pains, and fears by the agency of God’s victory, comfort, and consolation as given in Yeshua. However, unlike the experience of worldly education wherein you might acquire skills to accomplish certain tasks, spiritual education leads to a “dark clouds of unknowing” where you must regularly confess your weakness and your need for divine connection. God's name is therefore bound up with the basic quest within your heart for meaning, healing, and the desire of unconditional love. Knowing the name of God is an ongoing process as you struggle to accept and trust your life to be a blessing, and as you are enabled by the Holy Spirit to say "yes" and "amen" to life despite your failures, pains, fears, sorrows, and even your unanswered questions... It means opening your heart to life and believing that you are beloved, that you are accepted, that you will be okay, and that God is holding you in his everlasting arms. Amen, friend, may you know the meaning of that Name! [Hebrew for Christians]

4.1.21 • Facebook

Today’s message from the Institute for Creation Research

April 2, 2021

When Messiah Came

“Know therefore and understand, that from the going forth of the commandment to restore and to build Jerusalem unto the Messiah the Prince shall be seven weeks, and threescore and two weeks: the street shall be built again, and the wall, even in troublous times.” (Daniel 9:25)

This remarkable prophecy, given through the angel Gabriel to Daniel the prophet, actually predicted the date of the coming of Christ nearly 500 years in advance. From the announcement to the coming of “Messiah the Prince,” there would be 69 “weeks” (literally “sevens,” meaning in this context “seven-year periods”). That is, Messiah would come as the Prince 483 years after the commandment was given to rebuild Jerusalem. There is some uncertainty about the exact date of the decree, as well as the exact length of these prophetic years, but in each calculation the termination date is at least near or, in some cases, exactly the time when Christ entered Jerusalem to be acknowledged as its promised King.

However, Gabriel’s prophecy went on to say: “And after [the] threescore and two weeks shall Messiah be cut off” (Daniel 9:26). That is, although He would come as promised, instead of being gladly crowned as King, He would be slain. Since the 483-year period terminated long ago, it is clear that Messiah must already have come and then been put to death at that time.

The terms of this remarkable prophecy have been precisely fulfilled in Jesus Christ alone, and no one coming later could have done so. It is no wonder that He wept over Jerusalem, pronouncing her coming judgment, “because thou knewest not the time of thy visitation” (Luke 19:44).

We, like He, should weep and pray for Israel. Yet, in God’s omniscient planning, “through their fall salvation is come unto the Gentiles” (Romans 11:11), and in this we can rejoice. HMM

[ganymedesclock]

Voltron Character Study: Lotor

[read more analyses like these here]

Zarkon’s son, notable tactical mastermind, and, apparently, someone with really nice hair. The writers really did deliver when they promised a complicated character.

We know relatively little of Lotor besides that he’s considerably withdrawn from the empire, preferring the near-exclusive company of his mixed race generals. While we have yet to see him and Zarkon actually interacting with each other, Haggar comparing him to Zarkon once, even in a rather offhanded manner, made him immediately angry- and Haggar also seems to see fit to follow him.

It is incredibly likely that Lotor is half-Altean given he was able to activate the beacon on the ship stuck between realities, as well as his overall appearance.

Other than that, it seems rather clear Lotor’s trying to work behind the empire’s back.

Fight Smarter, Not Harder

What definitely can be said about Lotor is that so far, the empire has operated exhaustively in terms of “when all you have is a hammer, every problem looks like a nail.” Which makes sense- the galra empire has the biggest hammer in the known universe for the last ten thousand years. Their only real issue is that an even bigger hammer has turned up- Voltron itself- and no less, in the hands of people who have the good sense to not try and solve all their problems by smashy smash.

Zarkon’s defeat, however temporary, is the ultimate failure of that hammer thinking, and Lotor, in one of his very first spoken onscreen lines, outlines it perfectly in his opposition to Throk:

“Your technique is flawless, I’ll grant you that. But you must realize your repetitive attacks are getting you nowhere.”

“And in the end, your aggression is your own undoing.”

Lotor, eloquently and very mockingly, tears into his father’s strategy, while, more subtly, outlining his own.

“You must realize your repetitive attacks are getting you nowhere” is the first part: Lotor is someone who constantly reevaluates opponents and situations. If the response is not exactly what you thought it was, then you need to adjust your models, whether or not it works out in your favor. 

Lotor takes nothing for granted- when Voltron seems out of commission his immediate response is to set a trap and prod them until all five Lions come out. If he prevails too easily, that’s evidence something is afoot here- because these are the soldiers that defeated his father, and Lotor hates his father, but he knows that Zarkon is too dangerous to get shown up by a bunch of chumps.

So that’s one of the central tenants of Lotor’s philosophy- pay constant, excruciating attention to your surroundings and adjust or replace anything that doesn’t work or doesn’t get you there fast enough.

The other side of it is: the whole ‘victory or death, we are a Culture Of Warriors’ schtick ain’t your friend according to Lotor.

Merciful

Lotor is plenty outspoken in his challenging of the empire’s regard of any kind of compassion as proof of weakness. He’s keenly aware of the empire’s culture and attitudes, and yet- despite being a talented orator, to Lotor, this seems to be his hill to die on. We see Lotor pushing this attitude of mercy in audiences that it will not remotely endear him to.

Lotor’s first act onscreen is to betray his own cunning strategic edge and the incredible teamwork and precision he and his generals share. Without anyone even knowing he was on the fleet, Lotor identified Throk’s plot, had the generals surround him, and then arranged a public challenge that Throk, by the very culture of the empire that Lotor is so aware of and so willing to challenge, really could not have backed down.

Lotor basically crucifies Throk as a warning to the empire at large that despite his unorthodox policies, he’s not to be trifled with- but at the same time, he spares Throk in the public eye, something that serves both practical and moralistic purposes. Practically, killing Throk on the spot would create a martyr in the eyes of his followers. Sparing Throk appeased most of them. And when Throk is ultimately taken out- it’s certainly not anything that can be traced back to Lotor himself.

But from a moralistic perspective, that Lotor so utterly disarms a potential opponent and then spares him is a very bold challenge to Zarkon’s assertion- and one that the empire operates on- that mercy is weakness. Lotor’s devastating outfoxing of Throk is supposed to shake up the audience, many of whom were potentially supporting Throk in a bid for the throne.

Lotor basically walked in, said “I can take one of the highest-ranking and most powerfully interconnected people here out of the picture that quickly, like I’m not even trying. Do you really want to call me a weakling?”

Pragmatism

And this is something really interesting about Lotor- an awful lot of what he does cannot really be chalked so easily to purely self-serving or purely altruistic. It’s usually some of both. Even Lotor’s stance on mercy seems to have two components to it.

On the one hand, Lotor keenly understands the machinations that drive rebellions. To Lotor, it’s not a coincidence so many people are crawling out of the woodwork to fight the empire- because those people were always there. Zarkon has created an environment that people just plain can’t tolerate. They’re in deplorable conditions dying like animals and being killed for the amusement of an upper class of imperial soldiers who are themselves sticking to their caste because they’re aware that their position is not that much more secure than the people below them.

Lotor knows that tearing people down builds resentment. And more importantly, he knows that Zarkon has given him a golden advantage in that Lotor doesn’t really have to be the best person or an ideal person- he can be the lesser evil and people will go for that. Because their other option is Zarkon- and once again, Zarkon is unlivable.

Playing the nice guy card even when it doesn’t in the short term get him what he wants- continuing to spare the people of Puig even when their leader doesn’t choose to join him- is going to pay off. Because Voltron right now is desperately trying to coax in allies and a lot of these planetary leaders are scared for the sake of their people. They’ve been living in awful situations (“I’m so glad I put on my best tarp”, anyone?) and it stands that not all of them are going to be feeling brave and heroic and ready to fight the empire.

Some of them would just rather the empire was a little more agreeable, and a little bit less of a boot on their windpipe. If maybe they didn’t have to fight- if they had a shot at negotiation.

Word is going to spread that Lotor is reasonable in a way Zarkon isn’t. And just that- being reasonable- suddenly changes the game. I think there’s an incredible thematic parallel to this with Lotor stealing the second comet and seeming to build... basically, an anti-Voltron.

Charisma

Because Voltron isn’t just a weapon, the way Zarkon sees it. Lotor understands the other side of Voltron- it’s the beacon of hope to a downtrodden and enslaved universe. It’s a symbol- an incredibly powerful symbol.

And Lotor’s fighting Voltron not just on the military front, but the symbolic and interpersonal front.

Lotor doesn’t attack Puig to show them that resisting the empire is futile. Lotor’s spiel to the leader of Puig is basically making a point that Voltron won’t protect them the way they’ve promised- but Lotor, with his superior reach and resources, is making the claim that he can.

Lotor is challenging Voltron on who’s the real defender of the universe.

The fact that he’s so attentive and focused on small details in his environment stands out because Zarkon basically threw away everything that wasn’t direct military supremacy. We do not see Zarkon as a diplomat. We don’t really even see Zarkon addressing his populace. Civilians look up to Zarkon because he’s a symbol- but at the same time Varkon betrays a fundamental understanding of what Zarkon actually stands for.

Zarkon is basically passed into public awareness as a generic everyman that the empire supports because they assume his priorities are theirs. He’s like an Uncle Sam figure- treated as an abstract of the empire, when, in actuality, he is a person with specific policies and actually someone whose specific policies are very easy to disagree with. Despite the size and weight of his authority, he’s fundamentally on shaky ground because he’s not really, in practice, the person he was revered as.

Lotor, on the other hand- Lotor is actually a politician. He’s a diplomat first- and when he attacks something, that’s just one tool in his arsenal. Lotor ultimately is someone who makes a plan, identifies an end goal, and will then take whatever route actually works for him, and much more than combat, Lotor knows people.

Even his actual fighting style, both in a craft and on foot, has a distinctly psychological angle. He isn’t just talking off his own morals when he says Throk’s aggression was his downfall- Throk repeatedly trying to hammer at Lotor’s defenses wore him down because Lotor’s style of evasion and parrying is very minimal energy- Lotor dodges by inches at best and parries strikes juuust far enough to not get stabbed.

And the dismissive air to that style just further angers an opponent like Throk, the same way having the Lions of Voltron get shown up by a single, puny fighter waves a big red flag in front of Keith’s face. Even a more levelheaded adversary gets mad, because- it’s right there! One shot and he’s dead! You just have to get that one shot in.

There are a lot of layers to how Lotor operates and what he does because Lotor is keenly aware that everything he does makes a statement- that any engagement with a potential enemy, rival, peer, or even ally sends messages and other people will read them.

The authentic side

But how, exactly, is Lotor so keenly in tune with the plight of downtrodden people? Because something repeatedly asserted with Lotor is he has clear preference of company and it is not the empire at all. Towards Haggar, towards Throk, towards even the idea of Zarkon, Lotor is dismissive and manipulative at best, and far more often, outright scornful.

The generals- seemingly the only people Lotor really completely trusts- are all mixed-race galra looked down upon by the main empire, and in the eyes of said empire, Lotor fraternizes with them to a truly improper degree- fighting alongside them.

The standoff with Haggar over the fate of the galra general Haggar sent after him, Raht, illustrates I think a significant side of Lotor:

He is not as free, or as happy, as he pretends to be.

Lotor is ostensibly a member of the imperial elite, but in practice, he’s an exiled son and it seems until very recently, Haggar has been quite content to keep him on as short of a leash as she can afford. Which is about what we could expect: he’s Zarkon’s son, and with Haggar as the sole exception, all of Zarkon’s close interpersonal relations seem viciously possessive in nature.

And even if the general public doesn’t know it, Lotor is very likely an “unacceptable” mixed-race galra himself, and Lotor’s clear proclivity and interest towards Altean technology would suggest he knows it quite well.

Lotor has not been raised as an elite or groomed as a legitimate heir to the throne. He has been, in some regards, a prisoner of his father’s empire, very likely for most of his life.

This has fueled a far greater understanding of, and empathy towards, victims of the empire- the people of Puig, other mixed-race galra who were rejected or overlooked- over the soldiers themselves.

Bitterness

Unfortunately, as it stands, being able to empathize viscerally with people’s suffering because you’ve spent most of your life being trapped, frustrated, and upset yourself does not usually make for an enlightened soul. And this is where the real twist comes in with Lotor’s character.

Because Lotor would really love to be nothing like his father- in another time, another situation, he’d probably love to be a perfectly altruistic figure and a pure diplomat.

But he can’t afford that... because he is also terrified, desperate, and embittered.

All of Lotor’s generals, when we see them, are very bitter. Ezor’s ebullient personality often waxes very facetious indeed- she acts bubbly but she enjoys tripping people up, hurting them, having power over them. Zethrid wants to prove herself powerful and dangerous and thrives for being able to strike back and dominate people who themselves try and dominate her, first. Narti’s power bodes absolutely no negotiation. Acxa, the most inhibited, still has her coldness and haughty anger.

And Lotor fits in perfectly in that regard. His smooth charisma only hides so much. When cornered, when confronted, when caught off-guard, what slips is gritted teeth and raised hackles. When Haggar sends people to follow him he lashes out, hard, fast, and very harshly and snarls at her for insinuating he’s anything like his father.

Lotor’s whole strategy betrays a distinctly cynical worldview. He has an exquisite understanding of unhappiness, pride, vindictiveness and cruelty, but also, in contrast to Zarkon who was self-assured to a degree of pure hubris, Lotor tends to turn tail and run as soon as the situation isn’t in his favor. He fights and plans like someone whose victory is never given unless he can think of a way to profit off of any of the most likely scenarios.

He’s smug, but never actually smug enough to not worry. Because he worries constantly. We really only see Lotor acting safe and satisfied when he feels like everything is accounted for and as soon as he can’t track a variable then he isn’t happy.

And Lotor’s fighting style often hinges on multiple opponents attacking him- tripping them up and making them hurt each other. He gets rid of Throk by playing Haggar, another enemy, against him. It’s brilliant, but a style and worldview that only really makes sense by someone who feels that most of the time, they are surrounded by enemies and in an environment that wants to hurt them.

It’s a strategy we see echoes of in Shiro and Slav both- but on Lotor, he’s had his entire lifetime to perfect it.

Because ultimately Lotor isn’t playing this game because of altruism. He’s playing this game because like so many other people in the universe- he can’t live like this any more. He’s been about as controlled, restrained, forced down, as he can tolerate.

Lotor wants power, and he’s much more dangerous than Zarkon, because Lotor doesn’t want power because he thinks he’s entitled to it or some other elitist posturing.

Lotor wants power because he sees this as his only conceivable way out of an abusive environment. He doesn’t have Zarkon’s laid-back certainty, and he’s not content to play the slow inexorable villain. He’s the type to set up forks where he wins either way because he can’t afford a single loss at that juncture. 

He negotiates, but negotiates at swordpoint because he’s ultimately, not in a position to think beyond what his life experience and almost certain abuse has taught him: that with the exception of a tiny cluster of safe people, anyone he gives the opportunity to will try and hurt him.

Ultimately, Lotor is desperate- and right now, Voltron is something standing between him, and escaping his abuse- and that’s a nasty place to be in, because Lotor isn’t going to hold anything back.

In Summary

Lotor is a highly intelligent and perceptive individual whose behavior is intensely multifaceted, and part of it very deliberate because he’s very much a politician and diplomat trying to send specific messages with his behavior.

However, at his core, Lotor is a curious mix of empathetic and calculating- he can relate very intimately to the victims of the empire and seems to genuinely want to do better for them, but he can relate because he feels trapped himself and ultimately, he desperately wants to free himself, and that desperation makes him both highly tenacious, cynical, and belligerent about achieving his goals.

[qdesjardin]

2

It gets late at night, and Curtis is thinking of taking a blissful bus ride back to his flat - feeling relief of miraculously finding that woman. Clare says that it isn’t safe at night; there are people who want to assault him for being black, being potentially a Muslim - I imagine in this future that things have become irreversibly divided in France.. in Europe generally.

In the ending to Days Before Christmas, when I wrote Clare being in a brighter future where she reunites with Martin - I was more naive at the time. I hoped that the world would progress in a brighter direction, to reflect Clare leaving behind her nightmarish reality to become a shining star of a person. But as I’ve gleaned, it isn’t working out that way. There’s a huge contradiction in the European psyche where they see the solution of standing up for their boundaries as racist and xenophobic, while turning a blind eye to the toxic influence of Islam migrants who don’t want to integrate with European values, but conquer everything from within.

I’d say it’s like a person who’s grown accustomed to being in a relationship with an abuser; instead of seeing it for what it is, they easily snap and blame other people, other factors - like their own family trying to reach out to them. In their mind, it’s their fault the abuser is mad and unhappy with them, and by some grace of God, would they make some amends and make things happy again -- the man endlessly pleads to the gatekeeper as he ages and withers away to let him pass before the door of the Law, but to no avail.

This is something I wanted to illustrate, having myself been in relationships gone terribly sour. At this stage in the story, I aim to make the reader uncomfortable - feeling uprooted and disoriented and betrayed by the familiar turned ugly, while wanting a foothold to hold onto for assurance.

Anyways, CJ returns home. He only has enough money for a single bus fare - it’s September, his monthly pass has expired. When he gets on, he takes a seat by the side door, and he gets some uncomfortable leers from a Frenchman in front of him. For the first time, he doesn’t feel welcome, it’s not like home anymore. Another symptom of his innocence being stripped away. He waits for the man to get off at a stop, but the man still stays on the bus.

Then a pretty couple gets onto the bus, with the girl being pregnant. They notice CJ in his hoodie (already barely hiding his discomfort). After a moment of consideration, they sit by the Frenchman, where CJ avoids their gaze - he blares out music full-blast from his earbuds, trying to take his attention off of them.. a sort of silent intimidation.

A mental image of a rosary in heavy shadow, mid-air, rotating, with a thin metal chain attached. CJ’s heart palpitates with a strange anxiety.. not unlike that of imagining something major yet to come.

Clare’s words echo in CJ. He suddenly remembers how that rosary, with its ruby centre, was around her neck, when the bus is interrupted by a molotov cocktail shattering, flames erupting over the windows, melting them into modern art. The molotov wasn’t even aiming at the bus, but rather it’s thrown as part of a riot.

In France of this time, there are no-go zones where Muslim-inhabited banlieues are secluded from the rest of French residences. Buses are not allowed to cross through them, so this riot takes place by the border of one such Muslim banlieue - instigated by young, angry French youth who want their own pure France back.

CJ ends up getting off the bus prematurely, runs away from the commotion the rest of the way home. He hears sirens approaching, riot patrols clamping on the violence.

..

Her affection, her love isn’t there anymore, and he knows it.

“Why have you forsaken me..?” -- the same words inside CJ could just as well go for anyone who has lost faith, lost hope or connection in what they’ve poured their hearts into. It’s a question screaming its soul out for an answer, no matter how insipid or grotesque.

So he’ll see Lillian, one more time. He looks over the previous conversations they’ve had together, and a thought occurs to him: what if he could peer into what she was doing at the moment when she sees his messages? He asks this possibility with his friends and one of them, Dmitriy, an experienced cracker, enables CJ to do just that.

At his residence, CJ sends Lillian an unsuspecting holographic recording (message) of himself, to check in on her - he waits a few agonizing minutes for his message to be seen (not heard), and he imagines it could be like in one of the movies he’s saw, where a kidnapper has stolen her away and is just reading all the messages she would’ve received. If that were the case, he could be a real hero.

What he sees is different.

She’s dressed as a punk rocker, seemingly expressionless as she looks over what she’s just received, before turning around to pick up a microphone and sing, soulfully, her long hair wavering in tune with her fierce energy - no audio (a limitation of the cracking tool).

The image of her fades out.. an intense jealousy swells in his heart now, consuming his emotions with a blackening, numbing pain. She was doing all that, and never even told him. She’s intentionally keeping him out of her loop.. why?

CJ plays some basketball outside alone. He does lay-ups, slam dunks, three-pointers on that aged basket to keep his mind off the emotional pain. He’s loved basketball since he’s seen Space Jam -- it’s a piece of home he carries with him. At Chicago, he’d play around evening in the alley, before he’d know it, other people would join in on the fun for a pick-up game. It always makes him smile.. before all this.

It’s cloudy. CJ puts his own basketball away and gazes out at the coldness that the seasonal change has brought out in the streets. He flashes back to Lillian -- she’s resting in his arms - they’re on a bench at the park, the most sweetest scent of nectar from the flowers. She is adoring his face with her gaze, her hands gently coaxing his ears, and he just knows if he leans in to know her soft lips by his own - the same as asking his family for a hug when he felt down or lonely - the same as hugging his plush M&M Orange when he was younger and nervous of the dark, the soft plushness letting him know that there will be a tomorrow, and that it’s enough just to relax and simply be, resting still with the glow in the dark stickers in his room, and the noises of his own breathing upon his bed. It would be alright.

It would be alright..

He feels vulnerable, and something in him just breaks, and he begins to sob, alone and to himself, not knowing why.

At the residence, CJ is packing his items into luggage, melancholy weighing in his movements. Clothes, toothpaste, laptop, while disposing much of his school notes in the wastebasket. They’re useless scraps of paper, all except the ones with his memorable doodles and made-up rap lyrics =)

Then he stumbles across his school yearbook. His attention droops on it, and he opens up the pages. Beyond the customary photos of every student, are the captured moments which he’s lived at the school. Tobogganing down the snowy hills in winter. Being in the halls when someone rode a scooter, blaring out French rock from his phone (there’s Curtis by his locker).

The graduation ball.

Curtis and Lillian dancing in the dimly-lit gym, disco lights illuminating their faces intent on one another to the music. All his memories emerge out of nowhere, and it’s like he wants to hug someone deeply for every single, stupid, little, silly moment that he’s lucky enough to have had -- no one’s around.

He knows what he has to do now.. he just needs to meet up with her in person and maybe, just maybe it would turn out to be a simple misunderstanding that he could laugh it off when he gets back home, and turn this lingering unhappiness of his upside-down.

“Please don’t, CJ. Seeing her one last time is going to make it harder for you,” his friends go. Even his own friends aren’t supportive of his predicament anymore.

CJ doesn’t want to hear it - he ventures out to find Lillian.. if she’s even still around in Paris anymore, for she was also an exchange student whose family happened to care enough to make a temporary living in this place of romance.

Afraid of showing up at her place directly (leading to an incredibly awkward encounter with her together with her family), he scours the places where he remembers she loves to go. McDonalds, the park, the classy art theatre.. feels more like aimlessly roaming in nostalgia than a purposeful search, but he finds fliers on the wall - a gig, with Lillian as the singer! Today’s the last night to see it!

The venue takes place at “La Fontayne” club - which through experience, CJ knows the address to be around the richer avenues. The ticket price is around twenty Euros - too bad, it’s sold out.

No turning back now.

CJ sneaks in through backdoors, where the crew are too busy prepping the instruments and lighting to notice while it’s raining heavily outside. He acts like he is doing some useful stuff (like drinking the provided fruit punch) to blend in.

Amidst the swirl of self-organizing chaos manifesting itself into a show, CJ spots Lillian by the makeup mirrors, having already rehearsed, loudly chattering with her bandmates about the events of their last night’s wildness.

He’s briefly relieved to be able to see her with his own eyes again, and it seems like looking upon her naturally animated self is enough to bring joy to his beating heart.. until he remembers he doesn’t belong here, with her.

It’s announced the band will be live in a minute. A crew member spots him. He doesn’t have a backstage pass, so he quickly backs into a nearby hall and ducks into a washroom stall. His heart is pounding from sheer adrenaline, he’s just comprehending what craziness he’s leapt into. At the same time, he knows he’s not one of those people who just suck it up and mope when things are going wrong in their lives. That’s worth something.

The reason he is here is because he believes in himself enough to still give a fuck.

The crew members enter the washroom with security, and Curtis can hear them talk about “securing the area from a potential code brown.” He only knows they’re talking about him, and he gulps as they search around, flashlights prodding the urinals and then the stalls [the stalls here don’t have the gap underneath the doors].

Each door opened sends a shiver through Curtis, while he hears the audience roar from the curtains unfolding and Lillian chalking it up on the microphone.

The security guards bust open the stall next to Curtis, followed by violent struggling - there was a junkie who was busy speedballing (heroin + cocaine), and it takes all the men just to subdue him, and soon leaving the washroom and Curtis safe.

CJ creeps out, and from the shadows of the backstage, absorbs every facet of the wild performance. The way the drummer slams his kit, the guitar and bass, the way she sings - albeit not flawlessly, still has this engaging passion (subconsciously reminding him of the first time he almost climaxed with her).

They want more.. Curtis wants more. In another world, he’d be by the front of the audience and Lillian would just wink at him, for seeing his soft face is encouragement.

The show is over - everyone roars with craze, and Lillian wishes them all a happy, safe travel back home. When the curtain falls and she packs up her microphone, Curtis takes this as his cue to stand up to her. It’s now or never. He starts emerging from his hiding spot, only to see her embrace the lead guitarist in a passionate kiss, a full blown make-out session. His emotions freeze, and it’s like his chest is threatening to explode from the sudden massive build-up.

The backstage is all but abandoned now, leaving a lone spotlight shining on Lillian and the guitarist. She wraps her arms around his neck while he takes her, moaning. Lifting her up underneath her legs-- carrying her to a waist-high speaker by the wall, and while she has her hands feverishly all over his chest, the guitarist unbuckles his pants and reaches beneath her black skirt.

A jolt of spontaneous ecstasy from her, her leg trembling. The guitarist is pushing deeply and deeply, over and over, again and again, letting animalistic urges whelm his consciousness.

Curtis watches. He is terribly aroused (he could start to smell their combined sweat and heat and bodily pheromones - Lillian’s, mixed with this guitarist’s), and so confused as to the turmoil of raw emotions he didn’t know he’d possessed, swirling, caving his good senses in. He hears her vocalize out her cries (of pain? no. of sheer euphoria that she never shared with Curtis), all as her hand clasps the nape of the guitarists’ neck.

“No,” he says, not wanting it. “NO!” He screams her name in an explosive rage.

It shocks Lillian and the guitarist (Cesar) out of their ravenous desire, and if you were here in this moment, it is Curtis, tears streaming down his cheeks, sadness and anguish filling the void where Lillian’s love once was. Cesar quickly tucks his glistening penis back into his pants, before approaching Curtis - he’s somewhat exhausted, upset over the intrusion.

Curtis focuses all his despondent rage on Cesar, and attempts to charge at Cesar, who simply sidesteps and in the process throws CJ tumbling across to the floor. After a second of looking upon CJ, Cesar kicks him hard.

“Stop it! Cesar!” Lillian manages to pull Cesar away. “Curtis.. um.. I never expected you to show up.”

When Curtis gets up from the ground, trembling, the look of pain in his eyes catches them off-guard. “I’ve been waiting for you so long,” he goes. “Why did you leave me.. why didn’t you tell me you were singing at some gig.. you don’t even care about me. Tell me you don’t care about me. Tell me I mean next to nothing to you anymore!”

“Is this some lover of yours Lil’? This negro-- ha. Ahahahahah! Don’t make me laugh - Lil, get him outta my sight.” (I’ve always found it fascinating when you have beautiful women pair up with people who you see act heinously, like Cesar here, even if only because of status, power.. security under the guise of men giving off domineering signals. Or because inside they’ve come to feel like this is how love for them is like, this is what they deserve.)

“Why are you so upset about me?” Lillian says, almost dumbfounded - but really suppressing a truth in her mind so she could cope with her day-to-day troubles. “Aren’t we just.. friends?”

Friends.

“No, Lillian.. I love you. I loved you since I got to know you from McDonalds.. we shared that royale with cheese meal together, and your cats. Ever since, I grew to love everything about you..” His next words, amidst his sniffles, he knows are so cheesy, but it’s the only words he has to put that feeling which permeated his summer. “I loved your humour about so many stuff.. I loved how gentle and delicate you were with your cats. I love your unique spirit underneath you. Just being with you made me so happy. You made my summer. I’m glad for that.”

Cesar spits at CJ, then picks up his jacket and storms out the door, one last contemptuous look at CJ, before leaving the two lovebirds alone.

“Curtis,” she goes. “I hardly even know you. And you don’t know me. We only met because of that stupid ball, and you just.. gah! I hate how you’re so demanding of my time. Calling me at least twice every day, wanting me to talk and hang out with you always. It’s exhausting, I can’t be there on top of you 24/7!” She is fuming now. “You know, you’re really this needy boy who’s pathetically hooked on what I do, like I’m your drug who gets you high, like I’m your dream girl who’s going to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“No.. no..”

“I really just want you to be happy by yourself. Thanks to you, my night is ruined, I have to pack and sleep for my flight home tomorrow. I gotta go.” She picks up her packed kits and knapsack. “Please stop clinging onto women for everything. You’ll find success in life. Ciao.”

“Lillian!!” Curtis reaches for her, managing to find hold on her black punk-rocker shirt. “How could you, you selfish cunt--”

“Let go of me!” She thrusts him away.

Security guards toss Curtis out of the club, into the rainy night, where Curtis looks up from the gutter and sees Lillian get inside a car, her brothers eagerly prodding her about her concert.. who cares, her car drives away.

People leaving the club look at him - they don’t think much of him besides that he’s just some drunkard.

“I HATE YOU LILLIAN!” He gets up and in some defiance, thrusts his hands against the air and the falling rain. “I fucking hate you! Rot in hell!” And Curtis screams into the rain in one last, desperate gasp, and his body muscles failing him, from exhaustion and the coldness drenching him, he lets the ground swallow him whole.

“No, no, please, come back..”

The sound of painful, stifled cries. It’s Curtis, refusing to accept what must be. Sobbing, breaking down, feeling like a sad shell of a human being.