#which means the struggle i used to go through NOW SEEMS LIKE ITS BEEN MULTIPLIED

[quotidian-oblivion]

Do you ever just bounce around stuff, procrastinating on assignments, getting only a little done then get the sudden urge to write pure, undiluted angst?

[aspiringharlot]

y/n takes takes care of bratty, sub, shiggy.

Ok! Eeeee! I did it! First y/n and first BNHA story done! This one is about a bratty sub Shiggy! There are some points where it’s clear I wasn’t sure what a bratty sub Shigaraki would say but hopefully overtime as I become more familiar with the characters that will change! I think I did this one pretty quickly so, forgive me, there are probably a few mistakes in terms of tense and grammar that I didn’t catch. Another little thing, this story ended up a lot fluffier/mild than I thought I was capable of and I even ended up dropping an L-bomb!

(Story Includes, mention of injury and bullet wounds, bondage elements, brat elements, l-bomb, sneak peek of little spoon Shiggy and of course, sex )

(minors please do not interact)

(tagging @palbabor-writes and @kugutsuu cause they seemed interested, p.s. don’t worry @palbabor-writes public sex and degradation Hawks is up next!)

EDIT: adding @tod0oki to the tags, happy to have you!

Enjoy!

It was hard work, keeping Tomura Shigaraki in line. Sure, you allowed him control on most days, heaven knows he needed to feel some sense of control in his life, but really there was no doubt, at the end of the day, you made the decisions in the relationship. That never stopped your Shiggy from being a brat though.

Today was just as bad as any other day wrangling your lover, only this time with the added difficulty of having to literally prevent Shigaraki from moving as he pleased. Hesitant as you were to admit it, you did not possess the brute strength required for the task. Instead you relied on a sly trick. Tying him up in bondage gear which was typically used on you.

When he was finally secured, Shigaraki whined, pulling at the restraints. Around his narrow wrists were sturdy leather straps, fitted tightly and anchored to the metal bed posts in order to restrict his movements. Your lover was red faced, lying down on his bed, dirty sheets bunched around his sweating form.

‘I should change those out soon,’ you thought before returning your attention to Tomura.

“oh, Tomura, come on… if you refuse to rest Kurogiri and I are just going to keep you tied up longer.” You lowered yourself to sit beside him on the full-sized bed, moving your hand to his head and smoothing his hair down.

Shigaraki grunted, shaking his head out of your hand in defiance. You scowled down at him.

“You know, for a man who’s been shot four times you have far too much energy.” Swiftly you stood up, dusting crumbs of food from your jeans. You really should change those sheets out… If you wait much longer there’ll be an ecosystem thriving in the cotton threads. Meh, you’ll work on it later when Shigaraki is asleep and infinitely more manageable.

Come to think of it, you should change his bandages soon. Kurogiri or the others weren’t around to do it this time, meaning you’d have to tame the beast all by yourself.

“ts.” You clicked your tongue. “I’ll be back,”

You exited the room without giving Shigaraki the chance to retort, heading straight for the kitchen cabinet responsible for holding the everyday vitamin and mineral supplements you’d feed Shigaraki. Now, however, you rummaged past the gummy vitamins, searching for a bottle of Nyquil. Upon its acquisition you turned back on your heel making your way to the bedroom your lover was restrained in. You stopped in the bathroom on your way back, collecting a pair of cosmetic scissors and gauze amongst other wound supplies. As you balanced all the items in your arms you could hear a distinct clanking noise. The noise of the restrains being tested and fought against.

You came back into the room with a sigh, looking at Tomura with dead and unamused eyes. He was fruitlessly trying to decay the leather wrapped around him, his own wrist disallowing the angle to make such a thing possible.

“Could you just, I don’t know… cooperate? Maybe, allow yourself some time to heal so you get better faster?” The eye contact you made with Shigaraki was aggressive. Testy. He smiled, curling his upper lip into a sneer.

“Make me.” He taunted.

You could see the thoughts behind his eyes. His exact line of thinking. ‘What’s y/n gonna do? Put me in time out? Make me stay in here an extra hour so I think about what I’ve done?’

In frustration you made a low noise in the back of your throat- the past two days have been utter hell. First the League’s failure at that dumb hero thing and more importantly, the four bullet wounds permeating your lover. Then there was the 12 hours you spent waiting for an underground doctor to come and dig the lead out of Shigaraki’s skin. That was 12 hours of relentless worry you had to deal with! And now, for the past day and a half you’ve had to deal with Tomura’s mood swings.

Now, it wasn’t that you didn’t understand. You were aware of the crushing feeling of personal failure which came with a train wreck you conducted. Still, you were willing to wait on Shiggy hand and foot, your only request that he allow you to take control and make him better.

But he just had to keep fighting you. Making you take drastic measures.

Your attention is caught up by the straps holding Shigaraki down, reminding you of the nights he would fuck you hard and rough, making you gasp in unrelenting pleasure. When he was done, you’d always be like putty in his hands, laying there blissfully exhausted and compliant. You curl your lips into a grinch-like smile. Of course. There was your ticket to Shigaraki’s submission.

You just have to fuck the fight out of him.

“Okay.” You finally said, nodding your head nonchalantly. “Okay. I’ll make you.” Calmly you set the supplies you gathered on the dresser top across from the bed, keeping only the scissors in your hand.

Coming up to the side of the bed you gave the scissors a few experimental snips, the metal making a distinct phip sound.

Shigaraki pressed himself back into the mattress, raising a scarred eyebrow up when you traced the scissor across the gray cotton t shirt. That single eyebrow multiplied into two as you took the scissors to begin cutting through his shirt.

Shigaraki started to squirm as he felt the cool, stale air of his room settle on his skin.

“What are you-“ you paused your delicate snipping to roughly grab the bottom half of his face in your hand, squeezing him to make his mouth fall open and halt his speaking.

“I’m making you cooperate…” You roughly released his face.

Ignoring his continued struggling, you went back to cutting his shirt open, until you were able to peel it off his body- the sweatpants he wore were next though you were hesitant to cut them. They were a grey pair which hung deliciously low on his hips and slid down lower and lower throughout the day. You decided against cutting them, instead shimmying them down to sit close to his shins. His underwear though, that was fair game. You took it off eagerly and drank in the sight of Shigaraki naked before you.

He was pale, still recovering from the blood loss he’d endured only two days prior, and his skin seemed especially swallow- giving off the appearance of fragility. You knew better however- Shigaraki, as weak as he may seem by appearance alone, was a force of nature.

Today you were making your way to the eye of the storm.

“Is getting me naked supposed to make me listen to you?” Tomura asked, his eyes narrowed to cynical slits.

“No… hah.” You let out a breathless laugh. “But this will.”

You were down between his knees in an instant, breathing hot breath over Shiggy’s cock. Before Shigaraki could fully process what you were doing, he’s hard, not that that was unusual, your lover was an easy guy to excite. Still, despite his nudity, he was not expecting this kind of attention, especially after being such a brat.

You were gentle at first, getting his cock used to the stimulation, stroking it languidly, licking at the slit of his cock a few times. You shuddered in satisfaction when you made your way down to his balls and heard him sigh in pleasure at the sensation of your warm tongue lapping at each testicle. Still, you knew better than to think a simple blow job would tame Tomura Shigaraki, successor of All For One.

For now, as you pleased him, he’d act all bashful but, as soon as you exert full control over the pacing of this intimate encounter, he’d start bratting again. When that happens, you’ll just have to take things to eleven.

“Ohh… fuck…” with a jolt, Shiggy thrust his hips up into your soft hand. To him, the pleasure was a most welcome distraction to the sharp aches of the bullet wounds scattered across his body. He’d been playing stoic about the pain for the past two days, but the wounds felt like hot agony for most of the day. He needed this pleasure.

“Your uh, your mouth.” He said, pinching his eyes up in pleasure. “y/n use your mouth on my cock.”

Immediately you ceased all contact with him. His eyes flew open.

“No.” you said with a shrug.  

Shigaraki scrunched up his eyebrows and wiggled his hips childishly, making his cock swing like a metronome. “Yes!”

You firmly locked your hands on his hips, stilling the movement, “No.”

“W- Why? “ he whined. “Why aren’t you rubbing my cock anymore?” his voice pitched up, revealing how badly he wanted to feel your touch.

“Well,” You start. “You haven’t been very cooperative with me. I mean, why should you make all the decisions? Why do you get to dictate both what you do and what I do, Hmm? That doesn’t seem very fair.” Your own voice took on a condescending lilt and you tilted his head up with your finger so you could properly look into his eyes. His pupils were blown wide with lust and along his temple you could faintly see a pulse point pumping blood in time with the throbbing of his erection.

He wanted it. Bad.

“Let me take care of you, just leave everything to me…” you brought yourself down to his level to softly mutter in his ear. “You won’t regret it, I promise.”

You didn’t have to wait for his response to know what he was going to say.

“Suck my cock, now.” He growled.

You took a deep breath and pulled your own shirt off over your head, not as you normally would, but as women do in tv and movies, all in one fluid motion. Your jeans were next, as you slid them off your bare legs, your panties joining them on the floor moments later.

With the grace of a swan you climbed over Shigaraki, positioning yourself on your hands and knees as you backed yourself up to his face.

“Oh so now y/n’s gonna be a big, strong, woman and make me- mhfmfmfm!” You grinded your pussy against his face, enjoying the psychological pleasure more than the physical. Grinding your labia against any ole thing wouldn’t really do it for you- but knowing that Tomura could barely breathe around your pussy as it sat right on his face gave you butterflies and made your hole start to gush.

“There you go… Good Boy…” You panted. Finally you pulled yourself away from Tomura’s mouth and flipped around, now straddling him cowgirl. In seconds, your hand wrapped around his member and positioned it to slide right in your hole. You sat down and took in the shocked, but pleasure-ridden face of Tomura.

You started to grind your hips down and bounce experimentally. In the past, the two of you have refrained from cowgirl, Shigaraki always wanting to hold full control over the action of fucking your pussy. As he laid back and felt his toes start to curl and twitch in pleasure he wondered if he was an idiot.

“See, Tomura~” you cooed as you leaned down, dangling your clothed breasts in his face. “Wasn’t my course of action so much better? Now you get to feel my wet pussy against your cock, isn’t that so much better?”

At a loss for words Shigaraki nodded his head frantically. He was already close. You smiled.

“So does that mean you’re gonna listen to me? Cooperate and do what I say?” that particular phrasing removed him from his headspace of ecstatic compliance.

“Nuh- No!” he choked out as you bounce faster and harder. Shigaraki started gasping and clenching his eyes shut, trying to block out the pleasure to last longer.

“Yes~ you’re gonna give in to me, Tomu-”

“Nu- oh fuck!”  he shook his head before tensing up, his whole body becoming stiff underneath you as you felt three hot spurts of cum fill your pussy. You chuckled, you didn’t even have to clench down on his cock to make him come, just the sensation of you bouncing on his cock was enough.

You stilled yourself as he laid under you, gauging his reaction to the orgasm.

He was flushed, and still panting heavily, meaning he came pretty hard. You clench down as his sensitive cock remains in your pussy and giggled when he let out a high pitched keen.

“So, are you gonna be good now? Are you gonna stay in bed for me?” Shigaraki blinked heavily, coming back to himself.

“You’re never…hah… going to get me to…hah… cooperate… hah…” His eyes fluttered shut despite themselves. You bit your lip. It couldn’t be helped. You were gonna have to keep riding him.

Just as Shigaraki’s breath started to even out you rose off of him, only to sink back down at full force. Shigaraki was taken out of his cool down by both the pain coming from the irritation of his bullet wounds and the pleasure of his cock being stimulated.

“Whuu? No, no it’s too sensitive!” he cried out. You said nothing, grinding down into him, fucking him like an animal.

As you continued fucking him Shigaraki trembled beneath you, whimpering in unrestrained pleasure, pulling against the leather cuffs which restricted his free reign. The noises he made were downright sinful, varieties of “ah, ah, ah”’s  and “oh fuck, fuck, fuck!”’s being commonly repeated noises.

You gazed down at his face- his eyes rolling around in his skull, frequently fluttering shut only to shoot open when you switched up the rhythm you used. His skin was flushed to hell and back- making him look obscenely cute as he whined out in pleasure, mouth open, drool dripping from the corners of his lips. As you continued looking, you had an epiphany. You loved Tomura. You loved, loved Tomura. You want him to get better and you want to see him let go like this every day.

In the moment you say it.

“I love you.”

Shigaraki flooded your pussy with more cum- gasping loudly as he rode out his orgasm. There’s no way he heard your little confession. And you were okay with that. It’d probably be better to reveal that when he’s not confined to his bed.

You pulled yourself off his cock and felt cum drip down from your thighs. You yourself haven’t cum, but you have accomplished your goal. One look at Shiggy told you that he was too blissed out to fight against your care. Your hand went to rest on his cheek.

“You’re going to be good, yeah? Let me do what I need to do?” you stroked the patch of dry skin under your fingertips.

Shiggy sleepily nodded. Looks like you wouldn’t be need the Nyquil.

Shigaraki laid still as you moved to tend to his wounds- tenderly cleaning them and re bandaging the sore holes. His joints would be sore as well. You decided to uncuff Shigaraki and maneuver his funky gloves on his hands.

When you’re done you pulled your lover’s sweatpants back up and crawl into bed behind him, For tonight you decided against changing the sheets. Instead you got comfortable in the well-used sheets, repositioning Shiggy so he could be your little spoon. You took a deep breath and smelled his hair. It was a little ew, but you didn’t mind. Just as you thought about your revelation, you heard a soft sigh.  

You smiled and cuddled closer, whispering those three words.

“I love you.”

And though you couldn’t see it, Tomura Shigaraki’s eyes widened from their slitted state for just a moment before a soft yet excited smile graced his features.  Slowly, his eyes slid shut again as he relaxed into your arms.

[andraaste]

I am not your enemy - Lance fanfiction part 10

Well finally, chapter 10 is here sooner than expected ! Happy reading my friends 💕

Chapter 10 : You are very far from the account, my beautiful

- I've been doing quite a bit of research on the powers of aengels and dragons since the other night, and there is something I would like to try. But for that, you have to trust me a minimum.

- All right, tell me what to do.

Without warning, Lance grabbed my hand and held it in his, this one made slightly rough by its semi-transformation. He had no say in letting me understand what he was waiting for. Closing my eyes, I focused on the now familiar tingling sensations of the contact of his skin against mine. The latter, still weak, ran through my fingers with a pleasant feeling. It was soft, almost natural, as if my palm had only waited for this contact to finally feel completely itself.

Locked in the cold huge cage of his tanned hand, my fingers began to vibrate slightly as the comforting warmth of my powers began to roam my arm. One against the other, our palms seemed to constantly counterbalance two radically opposed temperatures, struggling to find a happy medium. Strangely, I felt soothed by this sudden contrast akin to a duel of fire and ice. It was a reflection of our interactions, at Lance and me.

Complex, yet intense.

When my light finally diffused through our fingers, I felt its quiver slightly as it gradually grew more confident. I visualized it penetrating his skin, running through his muscles, up to his arm. Exactly like his ice had done on my body two days earlier.

A slight breath escaped his lips, which made me open my eyes again and, for a moment, I couldn't take my gaze from the smile that marked his face.

A proud smile, and above all sincere.

I couldn't stop my lips from echoing his. My powers thus awakened, I felt fully myself, and it was powerful, exhilarating. My light took on vividness, of a color with equally warm hues, marking the skin of the dragon in multiple streaks similar to mine, like a multitude of beams of light. I could see my energy pouring into him, running through his veins, marking every one of his pores.

Suddenly, his ice mingled with my heat. The fine lines of lights that ran through his arm multiplied into new ones in bluish hues, these seeming more vivid than mine. With astonishment, I discovered them running through me in turn. Slowly, as if trying to perfectly marry those already existing, mingling with dissonance on my pale skin.

I was totally hypnotized by the spectacle that presented itself to me, so much so that it took me a while to notice that Lance had loosened his grip to come and let his fingers run languidly over my wrist, thus tracing invisible shapes against my skin. Several shivers ran through me under his slow movements and I wasn't sure he himself noticed what he was doing. Closing my eyes for a moment, I focused on the gentle, yet sure, movements the dragon made. So, as with Leiftan, I thought I felt an emotion that was not mine. A light feeling, close to admiration. Confused, I opened my eyelids and looked into his blue eyes.

Lance hadn't taken his eyes off me.

He suddenly understood what had just happened. Pulling on my wrist, he pulled me closer to him, bringing his lips to the hollow of my ear.

- Who allowed you to enter my head, little human ? he whispered to me.

His voice, both sweet and teasing, sent a shiver running down my spine. So I could feel his breath against my neck and knowing him so close to me made me both nervous and languid.

- It's you who is far too easy to read, I had nothing to do with it.

His weak laugh, with much more hoarse intonations than usual, grabbed all my attention.

- How did you do that ?

- I don’t know how to explain it. It happens to me sometimes in Leiftan's presence since we fought together, but I didn't think it was possible with anyone else.

The dragon imperceptibly contracted its jaws at the hearing of the aengel's first name.

- I see. Again, it's probably because of this exchange of powers, he told me, pausing a little before resuming, a slightly more sullen tone. So does that mean you feel his emotions ?

- It happens sometimes, yes, I answered him innocently.

He let out a much less jovial laugh as he leaned on the dresser behind him, his back arched slightly in my direction. Never breaking the link between our skins, he nonchalantly put his hand that still held mine on one of his thighs, his palm up, leaving me free to withdraw it if I wished.

- I guess he's still overflowing with sweet feelings for you.

I gave him a heavy look, which he answered with a vague shrug.

- Don't look at me like that, you had to be blind not to see what he felt for you. I remind you that I spent a lot of time with him and I can assure you that he only had your name in his mouth.

It’s true that Ashkore and Leiftan had been allies, there was a time.

I realized that, when he behaved so relaxed around me, like a moment ago, Lance sometimes managed to make me forget this tumultuous past that we shared. And I had to admit that these moments, however fleeting they were, were sometimes pleasant.

- Nothing ever happened between Leiftan and me, his feelings have always been one-sided and to be honest, I think he felt that much because I was like him. What's more, I was with Nevra at that time.

My interlocutor observed me for a moment without saying anything.

- Andraste, you can believe me when I tell you that he fell madly in love with you the moment you arrived. It's not just a matter of race, although I can understand that it sounds appealing. I myself was curious as to why you were so important to him, but I came to understand that he was just really infatuated with you. On the other hand, I'm intrigued that you still feel his emotions if this phenomenon dates from the battle, he added.

I pondered his words. Leiftan's feelings for me troubled me, I didn't know what to think.

- I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe spending the last few years together in the Crystal has brought us closer together, who knows ?

Lance winced slightly at hearing the theory that didn't seem to please him much, it seemed.

How was it possible that I could feel their deepest emotions, and most importantly, why didn't they seem to feel mine in return ? I didn't understand a thing. I had convinced myself that this was the result of our aengel powers, but why was this also happening with the dragon ?

Our conversation having distracted me, I realized that my light still continued to shine weakly on his skin, running under the sleeve of his top. And it was... simple. Without any effort to provide. I then remembered a detail. During our training several days ago, when my powers had reactivated as anger had risen in me, their color had turned whitish, totally cold. While at this precise moment, the latter shone a much more orange hue, pouring a pleasant sensation down my muscles. Did my emotions interfere with the process ?

Catching me off guard, Lance pulled on my wrist and pulled me even closer to him. So brought together, I could make out every detail of the scales that dotted her neck and jaw, they bewitching me with their almost unreal shades.

- I don’t hide from you that I don’t hope that it’s the case, he said to me in a deep and low voice, making my heart beat a little faster without me knowing why.

- And why is that, exactly ?

His gaze became more penetrating. He raised an eyebrow as I leaned in a little more, until I in turn came to press my lips close to his ear.

- Oh by the way, if you could stop calling me "little human" when you light up the room with my powers, I added lower.

I felt his lips widen against me as he slid a hand through my hair to reposition it behind my ear.

- A human with two or three powers, at most. I wait a little better to be blown away.

Angered, I pulled back to slap him on the shoulder with my free hand. Lance rubbed the affected area before laughing frankly at my daring.

- You are easily offended.

- And you should avoid letting your guard down in my presence, you know that I tend to get carried away a little.

- I thought I noticed it, indeed. But I guess I tend to like it myself, he said with a mischievous sneer.

We stared at each other for several long seconds, a silly smile stuck on our faces as our hands seemed unwilling to let go. Positioned in this way, our bodies standing far too close to each other to remain conventional, I felt strangely relaxed. And when his eyes suddenly drifted lower, peering down at my mouth with some undisguised curiosity, I found myself wondering what would happen if our lips met. If the simple contact of our skin had such virtues, what would it be in the face of more privacy ? I had the impression that each of my emotions was heightened tenfold in his presence, and like an addiction, I had this impression always wanting more, never to be entirely satisfied.

Lance seemed to recover and I was surprised to see his scales slowly resorbing.

- We're going to stop there for tonight, he said softly as he began to regain his human form.

His skin finally returned to its usual appearance and quickly, no more draconian attributes marked Lance's body.

Cautiously letting go of my hand, he let his fingers run along my skin until only emptiness caught up with me. The broken link, our powers diminished in liveliness, descending the lines drawn on our respective skins in the opposite direction, to the tips of our fingers. Disappearing totally, I felt a cold suddenly embrace me as the warmth of my light and the coldness of his ice no longer caressed me.

I was cold for the first time since waking up, and I felt that as I left Lance's coolness.

The dragon leaned a little more against the edge of the dresser and observed me for a moment without saying anything, as if lost in an internal reflection that he didn’t seem to want to share with me. Suddenly, he raised an arm and came to rub a loving hand through my hair, catching me totally off guard.

- Well done, Andraste. I had my doubts you'd make it, but ultimately I'm impressed, he told me as he slowly pulled his fingers away from my scalp, pouting mockingly.

I crossed my arms, an eyebrow raised in annoyance.

- You really don't have any hope in me, actually.

His soft laughter echoed again as he finally pulled away from his prop. Leaning over me once again, his large figure towering over me completely, he whispered to me, like a secret :

- If you knew what I think of you... you are very far from the account, my beautiful.

(Chapter 11)

[jeanandthedreamofhorses]

Life without the Will to Life: Zeke’s Epiphany

Restless struggling and suffering for the sake of an impossible goal: in a sentence, that is how the philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer saw life. Despite the inevitability of death, we are enslaved by an instinctual compulsion to preserve ourselves.

This compulsion, the Will to Life, is the characteristic that defines life itself.

The Will to Life manifests in many forms, not only in struggling to survive. Any attempt to improve the comfort of our existence is a manifestation of the Will to Life. That is to say, all human striving is a naïve denial of the reality of death.

And when the fundamental drive of our existence is that irrational, we cannot be free to make rational choices regarding how we live our lives in spite of death. Instead, the Will to Life forces us to live like tortured prisoners, suffering pain and inflicting pain on others all for the sake of fulfilling that Will which can never truly be satisfied.

We are like addicts putting ourselves and our loved ones in danger for the sake of our next fix - and it will never be our last one. So long as we satisfy the urge, the addiction will never go away.

Evidently, Zeke is in agreement.

About a year ago now I wrote a two-part series on Schopenhauen themes in SNK. Back then I wasn’t sure how much of the correlation was a co-incidence, but Zeke’s philosophising this chapter has convinced me of Isayama’s familiarity with Schopenhauen thought. 

Multiplying is the means by which life survives, and therefore a function of its Will to Life. With that in mind, if you replace ‘in order to multiply’ with ‘in order to fulfil its Will to Life’, Zeke expounds Schopenhauer’s philosophy almost word-for-word: the Will to Life is the fundamental aspect of existence, it is pointless in the long run, and it condemns people to unnecessary suffering.

The intricate sandcastle Zeke builds while describing the Will to Life illustrates the concept further. No matter how much effort is put into building a sandcastle, the nature of the material it is built with means it will inevitably crumble away. Likewise, no matter how life struggles to survive - whether that be an individual, a nation, or a species - it cannot overcome its fundamentally finite nature.

The only lifeform that has managed that impossible feat is Ymir Fritz: the tantalising goal of the Will to Life, which is always forever beyond reach, was reached by Ymir through a miracle.

The power of the Nine Titans made it possible. Now living in a world where death does not exist, she should no longer be enslaved by the compulsion to live. She should be the only human who is able to find true peace and happiness within life rather than outside it.

But instead, she continued to involve herself in the affairs of the mortal world, taking orders from the royal bloodline and, eventually, turning on them to help Eren destroy the world. Zeke is immensely confused by this. 

Where Ymir could find peace and tranquillity, instead she continues to struggle, strive, and suffer. She continues to subject herself to the Will to Life because, although she cannot die, she remains deeply involved with a world of people who will inevitably die. The goals that Ymir helps them with are ultimately pointless, destined to fade away to dust - and Ymir knows that. So Zeke is confused as to why she did not simply reach out and take the freedom from it all in front of her.

This is why Zeke chose not to help stop the Rumbling. Engaging with the mortal realm at all would be to continue to enslave himself to his arch-enemy, the Will to Life, just like Ymir did. Now he is in this deathless realm, he demands that he at last has the satisfaction of being free of that Will, and so chooses to do nothing.

The situation Zeke found himself in would be Schopenhauer’s ideal: life without the Will to Life. Only, Zeke is hardly blissful in this state. Despite his determination not to be like Ymir, he too is still enslaved to the Will to Life. Rather than rejoicing at his freedom from it, his thoughts are grounded in the mortal realm, lamenting its enslavement by the Will to Life. He remains attached like Ymir is. 

It would seem that humans are just too used to living with the Will to Life to be free of it, even when deathless; perhaps this is why, despite vocally rejecting the Will to Life, in practice Zeke preserves his life by staying in the Path Dimension. Even Ymir’s miracle is not enough to liberate humanity of the Will to Life.

So what is there left to do? Die, or never be born in the first place.

Zeke’s plan for euthanasia was the inevitable end-point of Schopenhauen philosophy.

As part of his crusade against the Will to Life, Zeke believes it would be kinder to remain in the Path Dimension and allow humanity to be wiped out. It is the only means of freeing them from the tyranny of the Will.

With this logic, one wonders why Zeke and Schopenhauer did not simply kill themselves. Why live when living can only mean suffering?

Schopenhauer’s justification for life was that there are small avenues within it through which one can escape the Will to Life - where one, for the briefest of precious moments, could appreciate existence without restlessly striving after something. Tranquillity, presence in the moment, peace of mind - for Schopenhauer, these are the things which redeem existence.

And this is exactly Armin’s counter-argument to Zeke. He argues that these things are beautiful precisely because they have nothing to do with the urge to multiply - that is, they are free from the Will to Life.

Those moments are freedom for Armin and Zeke - being able to appreciate the moment without finding fault or desiring anything beyond it. Zeke is able to appreciate the fact of his birth purely because of those moments playing catch with Mr Xaver, where he was free from the compulsion to restlessly strive.

Zeke sees the pinnacle of his life not in the enactment of his euthanasia plan, but in playing catch. 

This is because the euthanasia plan, though intending to liberate Eldians from the Will to Life, was itself a form of restless striving and so an expression of that very same Will. Likewise, his depression in the Path Dimension was because his mind was still fixated on the tragedy of the Will to Life. The only way to be free of the Will to Life is not to understand its true nature, but to forget about it entirely.

Zeke has had to restlessly strive ever since he was a child, with the enormous expectations placed upon him by his parents; so those moments of playing catch and not having to think about anything else were beautiful to Zeke. That’s why he took the time to play catch with Colt, just like Xaver did for him. 

Zeke comes to the conclusion that those simple moments of satisfaction were brilliant enough to justify all the suffering of striving that exists elsewhere in life. Something finally justifies his birth, and so he thanks his father for the gift he once hated him for.

It is telling, though, that Zeke does not renounce the worth of his euthanasia plan. This is because Armin argues with Zeke within the frame of his Schopenhauen ideology. He does not try to convince Zeke that the Will to Life is desirable after all; he appeals to Zeke to value life precisely because it provides moments where one can reject the Will to Life. Thus Zeke can appreciate his own existence while still believing that there is nothing heinous in preventing further manifestations of the Will to Life: in both situations, the Will to Life is opposed.

So Zeke dies in truer accordance with the same ideology he has always lived by. In all his restless striving to end the need for restless striving, Zeke never took a moment to appreciate the beauty that exists in those small moments free of that urge. Like his brother, he had been so focused on destroying his enemy that he was unable to appreciate what he was trying to protect.

And so, in a final rejection of the Will to Life, he leaves behind immortality, the ultimate longing of that Will, to embrace death within the realm of the mortal. He calls over the person he knows wants to kill him more than any other.

Zeke’s yell of “Can’t say I wanted to do the same!!” reveals that he does not want to die. The Will to Life is still strong in him, but Zeke overcomes it and allows Levi to kill him in the hope that countless lives will be saved - lives that, for the sake of those brief windows free from the Will to Life, are now worth something to him. So where once he claimed he was saving his victims from the Will to Life, he finally regrets "all the killing” he has done.

By Schopenhauer’s definition, Zeke finally found his freedom. Ironically, he could only face his death when he had once again found meaning in life.

[chaotichedonist]

Tharunka (Kensington, NSW : 1953 - 2010)

Wednesday 9 June 1976, page 14

   Some funny moments to tease you into reading:

Press: Roger, you're noted for your amazing screams.

Freddie: It's a controlled scream. I'd rather call it art.

/

Freddie: You're joking dear. I'm just a singer, dear.

/

It’s been a struggle, because in the beginning nobody knew what we were doing. We were the only people who believed in ourselves.

  back at the hotel sleazy

  For all those fans who were misled by the media, Queen did not spend a couple of days-relaxing on sunny Perth beaches - it rained the whole bloody time they were there. (In Melbourne the hotel was 'besiged' by fans, who to quote Pete Brown — Queen's personal manager — seemed to be emerging from the wood work). Not to be put off however, by the Australian conditions Freddie Mercury (lead vocals and keyboards) attended the press conference in white pants and a simply sumptuous summer synthetic top with delicate butterfly sleeves curling gently over his shoulders. He was even more beautiful than Sophia Loren.

  They were all quite chatty only Roger (Meadows-Taylor, the drummer) would keep interjecting, usually over John Deacon (bass) who said not an audible word.

Press: Would you describe your music as mock opera? 

Freddie: They call it cock-opera back home. 

Roger: I suppose because the vocals are in the 'grand style'. 

Press: When is your next album coming out? 

Freddie: We'll have a rest and think about it.. 

Roger: We just don't bung'em together. 

Brian: We don't sort of write sitting in hotel rooms you know. 

Freddie: We gather influences. 

Press: Your music has been described as snob rock. What do you think? 

Freddie: I couldn't describe our music as anything. We certainly don't put across that this it intelligent music that is on a completely differenrt level to the people who come to it. 

Roger: It's written for the people. That's what it's all about. 

Press: The theme of death recurs on your albums. Why this preoccupation?

Roger: Freddie's morbid mind.

Press to Freddie: Do you consider yourself a sex-symbol?

Freddie: You're joking dear. I'm just a singer, dear.

Press to Roger: Do you consider yourself a superstar? 

Roger: As meaningless, (blows kisses).

Roger on the media - absurd for a magazine combine rock and politics. 

Press: Roger, you're noted for your amazing screams. 

Freddie: It's a controlled scream. I'd rather call it art. 

Undauted by the fearless Australians they continued talking about their lyrics and the esoteric implication.

Roger: Freddie just loves the word 'Beelzebub'. 

Freddie: Yes, well, Brian's got a taste for unusual words. 

Roger: You talking about dandling on your knee and things? 

All four of them write songs and each has at least one song on 'A Night At The Opera'. 

Brian: It's very difficult to talk about our songs as a group because we all have different ideas of what the songs are about. 

Roger: No we don't. 

Freddie: Roger's the sensitive one. 'I'm in love with my car' is the most sensitive song on the album (Night At The Opera). 

Roger did tend to sit there pouting at the bows on his pink lame gym-boots. One hardly noticed the dark roots in this gold angelic hair. We did ask, but unfortunately Roger didn't have a pic of himself in the gymboots. Roger was later accosted by David Essex fans in the foyer of the hotel, who wished to know if he was a popstar, girls now have Roger's autograph. Back to the lyrics..

Freddie: Every song is written by one of us and means something special to each one of us. Certain songs have a very literal meaning and can be understood straight away. Then there are some songs that can be taken on a lot of different levels.

He describes a lot of his songs as fantasies. 'We want to consciously lose ourselves. There are certain things we want to escape from in our lives or whatever.' He feels that people should create their own private fantasies from the images in his songs and so doesn't like to talk about what they mean to him. 'I'd hate to shatter someone's illusion. If I listen to somebody's songs I conjure up a fantasy of what its about and I like to keep it that way.'

He elaborated further.. 'Lyrically it is helpful to use certain words. You see it depends.. sometimes I want to use words that are phonetically useful. In the beginning they're surface words but you entwine them into the meaning of a song. That's what I mean about different levels.' 

Brian May has a different approach to his songs, 'There's usually something serious behind them, but I feel a big responsibility not to over-indulge in idealogies. In 'White Queen' I was very interested in the significance of Queens and White Ladies in English folk lore. The song started off as a personal experience, the frustration of not being able to communicate, I was thinking about Robert Graves' ' White Goddess' and that became involved in the song.' 

Roger: Romantic slush.

Brian: Our 'Now I'm Here' song is really about our first American tour. A big experience for anybody. It's a conglomeration of all the experiences we had on that tour. We had a great time with Mott the Hoople. I suppose they taught us to be a touring band.

We're very critical about each other and very cynical. We don't get deeply into meanings because you're living with it all the time. You have to be a bit light-hearted about it.

With four individual writers the albums were not done with a specific concept in mind. The 'White Queen' was written four years before the 'Black Queen'.

Brian: I don’t think that Freddie’s 'Black Queen' was a reaction to the 'White Queen'. We just discovered that we had these songs and the rest of the album seemed to fit around it.

Freddie: It probably subconsciously coheres.

Similarly ‘A night At The Opera’ has no overall concept though the name of the album is related to Freddie’s ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’.

As Brian puts it ‘We are four very different people with four very different directions, but there is a musical development that does make some kind of sense. Queen is very much an independent thing. We are always bouncing ideas off each other. We are very aware that we need each other.’

The rapport between them onstage bears out this statement. They work off each other in a carefully intergrated show thatt creates an atmosphere of spontaneity for the audience.

At the opening of their set there is a flash of fire and smoke as Queen emerge on stage. While music winds up they launch into ‘Orge Battle’. Like a Greek God or a simister Mephistopheles Freddie's powerful vocals cut through the smoke and flames. 

With the stage show the band is doing something different to stimulating their records. Brian: "You don't get up there and behave like you do in the street. You go up there to entertain people and give them some kind of excitement". They have rearranged some of their songs especially for stage performance, including a medley of 'Bohemian Rhapsody', 'Killer Queen', 'Black Queen' and 'Leyroy Brown', which grinds down into 'March of the Black Queen' and then skips out on a lighter note which features Brian on genuine Japanese ukalele. 

The brilliant solo Brian performs in 'Brighton Rock', with sweet high Paginini frills and harmonies, stimulating two or three guitars on stage, is in a style he has evolved himself. He got the idea the first time he was in a recording studio. Says Brian: "It was my first experience of doing multi-tracking. It happened to be in the cannon-things which repeat themselves. You play one, then you play the same over the top of it after a time interval. Later we started to do those things on stage but there was the problem of how to do it. We started having a single delay and then another one over the top of it. Then afterwards you do another repeat on the second. You can then do three part harmonies with yourself. We started to base it all on ten second solos and it grew and grew. There's a lot of other people doing it now and I'm glad because it’s a thing you can play around with.' 

In the stage arrangement of "Prophet's Song' Freddie uses a similar echo feedback system which multiplies his voice into a celestial choir. His voice floats as a vision - "Listen to the madman' - while Brian plays some beautiful guitar.

encore amore

Brian describes their encore performance as the time when the band really unwinds. "It's nice at the encore to just completely unbend and make a fool of yourself. It gets rid of the tension between the band and the audience. I used to get a kick out of going to concerts to see rock groups like the 'Who' and feeling involved, like the group knew you were there. WE go by the kinds of things we think people would like at an encore. It's at a very basic level really, an energy level, a physical level. Rock and Roll is kind of a body music. I get as much satisfaction out of basic rock'n'roll like Status Quo as the most sophisticated music I know.' 

The audience certainly enjoyed it and really let loose their energy. Roger (who claimed the most female screams) in rainbow mop-wig opened the encore with slow heavy rock-beat as Freddie did a dramatic entrance in a silk kimino. As he eased into 'Big Spender', he peeled off to striped hot pants for an outrageous version of 'Jailhouse Rock' - simple hard-driving rock'n'roll that had everybody out of their sets.

gettin' feelin' thru th' transistors

Brian was rather upset that the Australian Press should braiid them as a manufactured band. If 'Bohmeian ,hapsody' can be seen as incorporating the spectrum of s talent - mood changes, heavy stuff, the soft ballad - it is not because they (men of letters from universities) have developed a magic 'X' formula. Rather the song can be seen as a musical progression, a reworking of motifs off their other albums. 

Brian can only say that, 'They obviously didn't see us in the earlier days. I can understand why they'd say that over here. Big impact. Overnight success. It must have been all calculated. If you’d seen the way it happened in England, you wouldn’t think that. I’ve had years playing pubs in England where people were drinking beer and discussing what other people were doing and not listening to the music. I want to build up this thing where people do want to go to a concert. While it begins to look like the commercial side, it;s what it’s all about. I want knock it because I want people to come and hear what we do. 

It’s been a struggle, because in the beginning nobody knew what we were doing. We were the only people who believed in ourselves. We started playing because we had some kind of vision that we thought was worthwhile. For over a year and a half we were playing to ourselves. Gradually you gather people around who believe and that’s the way it happened.

Nobody is going to tell us to play what is commercial. What we play comes from us. We’re very lucky really in that we have a kind of audience who are attentive to whatever direction we choose to follow. One of us will come up with a song and we'll say, 'Yeah, it needs that kind of treatment and maybe that turns out to be something you call heavy and sometimes something which is light.' 

To get back to the charge that they are a manufactured band, while he doesn't like it, he can only take it as a compliment that they think the band is so good. He doesn't consider himself a technician "technically I've stayed the same for the last six or seven years. Progress is what you feel and what you are putting across. That's what playing is about for us.' 

Freddie: There's a lot of music there too.

Roger: A bit of music, yeah.

low key queen

By Anne Finnegan

Wednesday 9 June 1976

If you save, do not forget to leave a link to this, coz i kinda found it by myself and made and transcipt. Thanks :)

[blushnote]

Can you do something with Wonwoo and Seungcheol going down on you????

↳ requested | 2.0k words

↳ seungcheol & wonwoo x reader smut

a/n: these two are such a great combo, honestly. the deep voice duo. no warnings, just some overstim and dirty talk!

“are you sure the door is locked?”

“it’s locked. no one is interrupting us.”

you watch wonwoo jiggle the door handle to express the lock is in place. it calms you down, knowing that no drunken straggler or an anxious freshman looking to escape the noise could possibly enter seungcheol’s bedroom. there’s a party that rages beneath the floorboards, to which you still taste the fiery shot of tequila that prickles against the back of your throat. the alcohol also cools your nerves. it’s the first time you’ve ever done something like this.

releasing a small sigh, you lean back into seungcheol’s chest and stare at the ceiling.

“everything okay?” he hums attentively, squeezing your hips.

“just nervous.” you reply as the butterflies multiply rapidly in your lower tummy.

you’re nervous, but you trust seungcheol and wonwoo more than anyone else in the frat. they couldn’t help note that you’d been rather tense lately upon settling into your new semester, leading them to propose an offer you couldn’t refuse: the two eating you out at their upcoming frat party. you’d be lying through your damn teeth if you said you never thought about either of them in a carnal light, their gritty, deep voices whispering exactly how they wanted to ruin you.

and as wonwoo kneels next to you on the bed, a mellow glint buried in his wolfish eyes, you can already feel your body ache for a risky touch. you’re dressed in a black tank-top and the tiny, lace pink underwear that wonwoo was insistent you wore. seungcheol had helped you remove your jeans earlier.

“you’re nervous?” wonwoo purrs, his fingertips drifting from the inside of your knee up to your inner thigh, “i’ll be sure to fix that problem for you, baby.”

you hold in a bated breath as wonwoo leans forward, his lips just brushing your ear, warm breath tickling against your sensitive skin.

“i’ll be sure to treat your pussy so well that it’s all you’ll ever think about.”

seungcheol chuckles at his friend’s dirty mouth. you can feel the older boy’s hands gently push up the tank-top’s bottom hem, revealing a sliver of your stomach. wonwoo kisses you, soft and sweet, only to pull away with a sinister colour to his face while his hand cups between your thighs. at the simple contact, your hips buck shallowly, and the two boys delight to have you already so desperate and pliable. wonwoo gently massages his fingers against you, grinning.

“can feel you getting soaked right through these pretty panties,” he runs his tongue along his bottom lip, “i’m going to have so much fun playing with you, sweetheart.”

wonwoo has you bend your knees and spread your thighs apart, allowing him enough room to view your wet core, how the arousal dampens slowly through your pink underwear. a deep sigh falls from your nose, and you reposition the back of your head against seungcheol’s shoulder in anticipation, watching as wonwoo presses his thumb pad to your heat so he can place teasing strokes. you squirm slightly, though seungcheol grabs your waist, keeping you held down.

“why’re you being so mean?” the older boy laughs. “she’s already whimpering.”

wonwoo smiles devilishly. he then makes piercing eye contact with you, just as he pokes out his tongue and draws a slow, light lick overtop your pussy. the material barrier is pure frustration. you can’t help but mewl upon observing wonwoo dig the tip of his tongue into your sensitive bud and push hard, delicious warmth and pressure radiating through the thin, pink cotton.

“because,” he grins, “i like watching such a pretty girl squirm.”

without indication of his next move, wonwoo suddenly twists your underwear aside with his fingers and drags his tongue against your glistening slit, prompting you to gasp loudly, your hips jolting upward. seungcheol slams you down, smirking at the magnitude of your reaction.

“how’s she taste?” the older boy coos, sounding intrigued.

wonwoo digs his tongue past your slit, collecting a thick, plentiful taste of your arousal, one that engenders his eyes to flutter shut while you feel his muscle twist deep inside you. the sensation is incomparable, and pleasure scatters beneath your skin like a jar of split glitter. he removes his sticky tongue with a throaty, satisfied groan and presses a wide lick up to your clit.

“you’ll know when you’re between her thighs.” wonwoo chuckles. “i could lick her pretty cunt all fucking day.”

seungcheol merely huffs in response, though he can’t seem to peel his engorged stare from the manner in which his friend pleasures your heat. still holding your underwear aside, wonwoo utilizes his free hand to continue teasing you. he begins rubbing circles against your swollen bud with the rough grit of his thumb, all while his slick tongue traces back and forth overtop your slit. you can feel how the juices trickle onto the bedsheets, creating a dark, damp print.

you’ve never been eaten out like this before – it’s cosmic, paralyzing even, and you’re so submerged in the euphoria that you didn’t realize the tears wetting your cheeks. wonwoo spreads your lips, the fine tip of his tongue swirling softly over your clit. immediately, you release a sharp cry and attempt to ride the boy’s face, your half-mumbled curses sounding over the strong bass that echoes from below. you keen to burst like a trapped flame.

“gonna cum, sweetheart?” wonwoo hums, his tone deep and smooth.

your bottom lip quivers, the perspiration glinting on your forehead as you struggle to piece together anything articulate. the sole thing you can feel is the slippery warmth of wonwoo’s tongue toying with your clit, how he switches between rhythmic patterns and delicate, teasing kitten-licks. your fingers flesh deep into the comforter beneath you, your chest arching.

“mmf—y-yes, g’nna cum, i n-need it bad. p-please, wonwoo? please please w-will you make me cum?” you plea unabashedly, your eyes hooded, hardly able to stay open.

seungcheol grits his teeth and curses under his breath at hearing just how lascivious and strained your voice has become. in fact, you can feel his hardening length poke into your tailbone, to which you’re positive that your ample squirming isn’t doing him any favours. all of a sudden, seungcheol’s hands are pushing up your top, revealing your perked, bare chest. wonwoo’s eyes glimmer upon seeing your breasts. he nips at your clit and chuckles roughly.

“fuck, that’s hot. touch her chest, seungcheol,” he orders, “i want her to cum so fucking hard that it drips all over my face.��

the older boy doesn’t hesitate to heed wonwoo’s guttural command. his large, warm palms grasp snuggly onto each breast, kneading the plush skin while you wither under the persistent stimulation. you turn your face into seungcheol’s neck, bottom lip quivering as wonwoo continues to harshly flick your swollen clit with his tongue. your climax reaches its tipping point when seungcheol rubs your nipples with his thumbs, euphoria completely basking your face.

in an uncontrollable surge, your back arches and your thighs attempt to bracket around wonwoo’s head, though the boy uses his strength to keep you still, splashes of your wet arousal glittering on wonwoo’s lips, nose, and chin. he only buries his face in deeper, taking a long breath of your scent and kissing over your sore clit. you can’t help but repetitively murmur his name, staring at wonwoo with half-lidded eyes while seungcheol pecks your temple.

“did that feel good, princess?” seungcheol purrs in his low, gravel tone, his hands unable to stop massaging your breasts.

“y-yeah, amazing.” you breathe out in response, to which wonwoo’s hot breath hits your core as he chuckles.

you see his tongue dart out to catch some of your cum that drips against his corner lip, evidently content at having your taste integrated so thickly on his palette.

“tired, baby?” wonwoo asks.

you shake your head. “n-no, i want more, please.”

despite your sensitivity and the dimming aftershock of such a perfect orgasm, there’s no way in hell you’re leaving the party without feeling seungcheol’s soft tongue prob between your thighs. the two boys exchange a satisfied grin before switching places on the bed. wonwoo releases a tight groan when you lean back into him, for your pressure is situated right against his erection, throbbing and painfully hard. he simply bites his lip and allows you to relax.

your fingertips curl into the bedsheets as you watch seungcheol examine the sopping, glimmering aftermath of your core, completely ruined and sensitive due to wonwoo’s expert tongue. at a careful pace, seungcheol presses two fingers past your slit, a low rumble sounding in his chest when he feels just how easily your walls suck in the digits. he pumps slowly, his large, brown eyes shielded by a carnal light upon hearing the sticky and lewd sounds creating your slick.

“so fucking wet…” he suddenly leans in and laps his tongue against your clit.

wonwoo slams your canting hips back down to the mattress, forcing you to properly withstand the warm sensation of seungcheol’s tongue laving messily against your bud, arousal soaking the boy’s fingers. you realize wonwoo is much more calculated when he eats you out. he teases and nips, only uses the very tip of his pink tongue, waits until you’re on the verge of tears before satisfying you with his lips suckling around your bud.

seungcheol is vigorous, hungry.

he licks at your pussy like he’s starved, completely overwhelming your shot nerves until there’s nothing but starry dots encompassing your eyelids, mouth permanently gaped open in a piercing moan. seungcheol effortlessly keeps your thighs apart with both his hands, now using only his mouth to spin you into oblivion. he pushes his tongue deep inside you, dragging the muscle against your walls, ensuring you feel how passionately he yearns to taste you.

“ff-fuck!” you cry out, heaving in a sharp breath, “c-can’t—nngh—t-too much!”

seungcheol smirks against your flesh, not allowing you a moments recollection before he’s parting your folds and taking your pulsing clit between his lips. he sucks hard, to which your entire body jolts, not knowing how to process the insane pleasure that mimics electricity running under your skin. the tears stream down your cheeks, incredibly cold against your neck, the room becoming hazy and the music seeming so distant.

“should i be gentler, honey?” seungcheol hums, tracing circles into your hipbones. “poor thing. your body’s so overwhelmed, hm? your pretty pussy can’t handle it?”

wonwoo trails his cool hands up your body. upon reaching your breasts, he gently takes each nipple between his index and middle finger, pulling up and pinching and squeezing your skin just to hear you mewl.

“you want us to stop, sweetheart?” wonwoo murmurs, placing kisses to your forehead that gleams with perspiration. “don’t want to ruin you too much.”

“n-no…” you shake your head, “w’nna cum… please…”

seungcheol smirks. it doesn’t take much longer before you utterly buckle. your second orgasm tears through you when seungcheol gently pulls back the hood of your clit to lick directly at the soft, swollen bud, his eyes closed in order to concentrate on the beautiful cadence pertaining to your every moan. your eyeballs roll back into your skull and your knuckles tremble as the pleasure deliciously melts. there is very little you can register in the aftermath, apart from knowing that an embarrassing amount of wetness had gushed from your core.

the next hour consists of the two boys slowly nurturing you back from the unprecedented intensity. while seungcheol fetches a damp washcloth to help clean the messiness between your thighs, wonwoo helps calm you down. he peppers light kisses to your shoulders and soothingly rubs your waist, attempting to work out the shivers that plague your body. by the time seungcheol returns, he has a water glass with him for you to drink later.

“you did so well for us, baby,” wonwoo hums against your ear, his voice a tranquil bass, “so, so well. you’re wonderful, you know that?”

your throat feels too parched; therefore, you don’t respond, only meet wonwoo’s stare with a sleepy smile and a slow nod. seungcheol guides the cloth cautiously between your legs.

“if you want, you can stay the night,” the older boy offers, “beds all yours, no problem.”

once seungcheol retrieves your clothes from the floor, he smiles sheepishly.

“plus, i gotta take care of some things.”

wonwoo huffs, his erection still pressed against your backside.

“same.”

[baphomet-media]

Getting Psyched - A The World Ends With You Retro Review

Genre: Adventure Subgenre: JRPG Developer: Square Enix, Jupiter Publisher: Square Enix Platform(s): DS Release Date: July 27th, 2007 Hours Played: 42 hours this playthrough

You’ve almost certainly heard of this game, especially if you’re into JRPGs. When a game advertises itself as being “from the team that made Kingdom Hearts,” I was sold instantly as a kid. One look at the game’s box art confirms that Tetsuya Nomura had a hand at this game with his distinctive bold art style. But the game itself was something that nobody at the time had predicted. The game has an urban fantasy story unlike much that had been told at the time. Furthermore, the game was made to push the DS to its limits and create a battle system that could only work on the DS’s two screens. Does this cult classic live up to the hype, or is it just a janky mess? Let’s find out.

Story

TWEWY opens by introducing our protagonist, an antisocial teen named Neku Sakuraba. Neku unexpectedly awakens in the iconic scramble crossing of Shibuya, Tokyo. To his surprise, the crowds seem to walk right through him, and a strange pin appears in his hand that allows him to read the thoughts of passersby. Neku quickly learns that he has been thrust into the Reapers’ Game, a seven-day death game where the Players are the recently deceased that must partner up to fight the Noise, hostile part-animal-part-tribal-graffiti creatures that seek to erase the Players. What’s more, each day Players must complete missions given to them by the Reapers within strict time limits while avoiding the reapers themselves. If they can make it to the end of the week, they might just be able to return to life.

Along the way, Neku will meet a chaotic cast of characters including Shiki, the headstrong seamstress who is eventually able to get Neku out of his angsty shell, Beat and Rhyme, a pair of street-smart siblings with heavy 2000’s skater vibes, Joshua, an abrasive, sarcastic, literal Christ figure who’s somehow a good guy? Or maybe he’s a bad guy? Or… maybe he’s a good guy again? On top of that, the Reapers themselves vary wildly from the contrasting duo of the laid-back Kariya and the high-strung Uzuki to the lone radical Minamimoto. The game does a good job of having a full roster of characters without overloading the player. Furthermore, while most characters seem wacky at first, they all have motivations and layers behind them that become clearer as you progress through the story.

Without spoiling anything, nothing is as it seems in the Reaper’s game, and multiple parties are vying for control for different reasons, meaning the whole thing feels like one big political intrigue story on top of an urban JRPG. Even on my most recent replay after having played the game countless times over the years, I was hungry to put the pieces together. While the main storyline mostly follows Neku’s perspective and doesn’t explain a lot of the behind-the-scenes interactions and motivations of the secondary characters, the game fortunately has a Secret Reports feature, which are written by a certain character who seems to know way more than they let on. These Secret Reports are near essential to understanding the game’s true story, and reveal whole layers to the plot and world that the main story doesn’t even touch on.

Needless to say, I loved the story of TWEWY. Everything feels perfectly crafted, leaving no loose ends, while still leaving the player wanting more. If anything I wanted to see more of Neku and his friends after the game’s conclusion just hanging out in real life.

Gameplay

TWEWY is a JRPG, but in the loosest sense possible. In the overworld, the player controls Neku, guiding him around the various streets of Shibuya on the touch screen or with the face buttons. Unlike in traditional RPGs, outside of story events the player must deliberately initiate combat with the Noise. By scanning their environment they can read the surface thoughts of passersby, but also reveal noise symbols in the environment. By tapping on these symbols, the player can queue up battles with the noise, and can even chain multiple battles together for back-to-back fights that multiply your drop rate.

In battle, Neku and his partner are sent to separate Zones, with Neku on the touch screen and his partner on the top screen. Neku fights the noise by activating the abilities of pins he has equipped, called Psychs. Each psych has its own activation method, from swiping on an enemy to tapping empty space, to scratching on the screen, to shouting into the microphone, and more. It’s up to the player to equip Neku with the best pins, though pins level up as they are used, becoming more powerful and sometimes evolving into even stronger pins.

On the top screen, Neku’s partner fights the noise by using the DS’s face buttons to move through a combo map and select certain finishers. By selecting the right finishers, you can charge your Sync gauge to perform a powerful special attack. Both characters share an HP gauge, damage to each character subtracting from each side. If you’re following along, that means the game expects you to control both Neku and his partner at the same time. This can be tricky for new players, but you quickly get used to it. Additionally, you can have your partner auto-fight with a customizable delay, meaning you technically don’t have to control your partner at all. However, if you really want to deal major damage and wipe the floor with the Noise on higher difficulties, you’ll want to master battling with both characters at once. When I first played the game in 2007, I found the parner battling to be too difficult to keep up with, but now that I’m older and more experienced, I find the combat to be incredibly deep and rewarding. Additionally, the game rewards back-and-forth control of Neku and his partner with the Light Puck mechanic. Essentially, when one character performs a combo finisher, the light puck is passed to the other character, and passed back when that character does a finisher. In this way, you can build up a damage multiplier based on how quickly you rally the light puck. This creates a natural back-and-forth flow of using Neku until his psychs discharge, then getting a few hits in with his partner, and so on.

My only complaint about battles is that in later fights on higher difficulty the Noise will attack so frequently on the partner’s zone that it’s difficult to get attacks off with them at all. Your partner has a limited block/dodge, but it only does so much and there’s often tons of Noise attacking at once. It’s not insurmountable, but it can be frustrating at times.

Outside of battle, the player must constantly keep up with a few things, food, swag, and difficulty. Both Neku and his partner can eat food and wear clothing purchased from many shops around Shibuya. Food offers an up-front bonus as well as a permanent stat increase once the food is digested by completing battles. However, you can only digest so many times per real-time day, meaning you have to prioritize high-calorie foods before smaller snacks. I found the digestion limit to be a bit too limiting. It can be removed in the post-game, but it still makes food hard to deal with for someone that is effectively bingeing the game.

Swag are articles of clothing that offer flat stat increases, but also have abilities that are unlocked by showing it to the right store clerk. Each clerk can unlock the abilities of specific clothing, and you can unlock more by buying enough stuff from them to fill up their Friendship Gauge. I thought it was fun to slowly make friends with each store clerk, and I felt bad that I couldn’t hang out with them or reciprocate some of their obvious advances, though I’m sure it’s assumed that Neku cherishes his friendships with them after the game’s conclusion. However, you can’t just equip any old piece of clothing to any character. Neku can’t just pull off a dress and cargo shorts right off the bat. Each piece of clothing has a Bravery rating, with characters whose bravery is below that rating being unable to wear the clothing. Fortunately, bravery increases as you level up, and can also be increased by eating food. By the end of the game, you’ll be able to have Neku and company wearing whatever clothing you want.

Lastly there’s Difficulty. The game has four main difficulty levels, being Easy, Normal, Hard, and Ultimate. You begin the game in Normal, but once you unlock a difficulty, you can change it on the fly from the pause menu. On easier difficulty enemies have less HP and deal less damage, but you get fewer XP and worse pins. The reverse is true on higher difficulties, with some of the best pins in the game being available exclusively as drops on Ultimate difficulty. To aid you in this, you can also change your level at any time. Unlike in a standard RPG where your level is immutable to the player aside from leveling up, in TWEWY you can freely choose your level from one to the highest level you have achieved. For each level below your max that you set your level, you get a multiplier for drops. This can be combined with the battle chaining multiplier to get ultra rare drops, some of which have less than 1% and even less than 0.1% drop chances normally. This gives the player an incentive to level up aside from just stat bonuses, and rewards players who go out of their way to engage in battles. As above, battles are largely optional, but it heavily behooves the player to battle as much as they can, not only because you get drops and experience, but increasing your level gives you more wiggle room for harder fights such as bosses.

There are tons more smaller features, but these are the main ones. I thoroughly enjoyed the vast depths of the game’s mechanics and found the difficulty settings to be really engaging and a novel approach to RPG player advancement while still affording accessibility. I was enthralled for multiple hours as I struggled to get the best gear, feed my team the best food, and equip the best pins to get as strong as possible. Until the very end of the postgame, it never felt like mindless grinding, as you can just breeze through the story on Easy if you really want to, but where would be the fun in that?

Presentation

TWEWY is probably best known for its vibrant and bold incredibly urban street-art-themed style, which shows in not only the art, but the UI, music, and writing. The character art is that hard-outlined and overdressed Nomura art style that fans of Final Fantasy and Kingdom Hearts have come to love, and the backgrounds are all vibrant and stylized to fit. The pixel art of the character sprites and Noise are all incredibly expressive, with Neku’s idle animation as he jams out to tunes on his headphones being one of my favorites.

The game’s music is unabashedly lyrical, covering a vast array of genres including JPop, Punk, and Hip-Hop, with many different styles of each. I loved almost every song in the game, though I found one of the overworld themes to be a bit grating at times. Other than that, the music is pretty great, and what’s even better is you can buy CDs of each of the game’s songs in the game to have your own personal sound test right from the menu, even going as far as to allow you to set the background music on the menu itself.

The game even has voice acting, though it’s limited mostly to battle quips and wordless expressions for cutscenes. I actually really enjoyed the voice acting and thought they nailed each character. I was honestly surprised at the audio quality the developers were able to pack into this game. The music was a very slight bit tinny through the DS’s audio chip as is to be expected, but barring that the vocals and voice overs were super clear and the instrumentation of the songs were well mixed.

Overall, the game’s presentation is about as good as it gets on the DS, giving even home console games a huge run for their money.

Conclusion

Honestly it’s hard to say anything bad at all about TWEWY. The game was a bit hard to approach at the time, but it’s aged magnificently. These days, I wouldn’t hesitate to say that it’s the best (at least non-Pokémon) game on the DS. Honestly though some might be turned off by the game’s quirks, I think TWEWY is a masterpiece that everyone with a DS should pick up and play. I can’t wait to see how the newly-released sequel stands up, but honestly the original is a tough act to follow.

Score: 10 / 10

[wing-ed-thing]

Cabaret (Might Guy x Reader, Chapter IV)

Oop here it is. Reminder that Cabaret is a rated M fic and this is about where we get more into that rating.

Summary: You can't stand Might Guy. Honestly, how could anyone be so boisterously unaware and sickeningly positive? Your heart sinks as the both of you are teamed up to infiltrate and collect information from the Hidden Sound's gritty underground. Maybe losing yourselves in the dark of the the Sound’s nightlife will help you both come to an understanding.

Word count: 3,268

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIIIChapter IX Chapter X Chapter XI 

Warnings: Foul language, alcohol, implied alcohol abuse, minor sexual assault and harassment (a booty is grabbed without permission)

You reached your temporary residence on the outskirts of the Hidden Sound by nightfall. Weary from your journey, you hardly remembered getting up the stairs of the complex. You stumbled through the door, tossing your bag on the floor before you collapsed on the bed. You placed a pillow over your eyes and sprawled your limbs across the sheets.

A rattle came from across the room.

“Did you even look around the place?” Guy’s voice resounded in your ears. You let out a string of curse words, too exhausted to move from your position on your bed.

“Why?” you lamented, “Why are our rooms fucking connected?” You moaned into your hands. You knew you didn’t have much time before you had to set out again, you just hoped that that time would be spent in peace. Sitting up, the pillow fell into your lap. You took in the small living area where Guy leaned against a very discrete door. If it had not been ajar, you wouldn’t have seen it at all. Only the lock at the very bottom revealed its location.

“You’re supposed to be a young, available bachelorette. It defeats the illusion if I’m seen leaving here all the time.”

“Who says you’ll be here all the time?” you snarkily snapped. Guy quirked an eyebrow. You huffed, moving to pick your bag off the floor. “Yeah, yeah, teamwork, I know…” You began to lay out your belongings on the bed. “Also, for the record, I’ve always been a ‘young, available bachelorette’, I don’t need to pretend to be one.”

“I know.” Your head snapped up from your meticulously folded clothes.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Eyebrows?” You hissed, putting one hand on your hips. Guy moved farther into your temporary apartment. He leaned against your couch, a hand on the back of it.

“Remember that time Genma asked you out as a dare in the academy?”

“You remember that?” you groaned.

“He had a black eye for a month.” Guy chuckled. “I think everyone remembers that.” A smile cracked on your face.

“He deserved it though!” You insisted, waving a makeup brush at him. “I didn’t even know it was a joke, I just thought he was being an idiot.” Guy let out a jolly chuckle.

“Well, you’re not wrong there.” You moved to the bathroom a few feet away from Guy, carefully storing your neatly organized cosmetics. You went back to your bed, gathering more items. Your partner stood, migrating to lean against the doorframe, watching you work. “So tell me, what is all that anyway?”

“These?” You looked up, a few airtight bags in your hands, “Wigs?”

“All of it.” He laughed bashfully. You hummed, tinkering with the cabinets.

“Um, it’s a lot of things really. Wigs, brushes, latex. They’re all kinda for different things so I couldn’t really tell you without going on about it all.” You held the small bottle in your hand. You hesitated. Glancing up to Guy, your eyebrows wove together. “Why are you asking?” You squinted your eyes at him before tending to your items once more.

“Well, I’m curious and I think you do good work.” Those words stopped you once again. You blinked a few times, squatted on the floor. You twirled a hairbrush in your hand as you stood.

“Oh.” You moved past him. Your heart pounded in your chest as you attempted to think of something better to say. The words didn’t come to you. You reached for your now empty pack, kicking it under your bed. You stood in front of the mirror. Giving your faux hair a brush, you glanced at Guy who was still leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom. Leaning forward, you looked at him with a muddled expression and reached around the frame to switch off the light.

“Aren’t you going to go get ready?” You signed, returning back to the mirror. A stick of lipstain rolled over the rim of your mouth. You stood up straight, adjusting your shoulders. “Because that would be a better use of your time rather than staring at me doing my makeup like this morning.” Guy seemed to snap out of his thoughts, striking his classic thumbs-up pose.

“Yes, I am!” You rolled your eyes as he bounded to the small door, closing it behind him as he left.

You considered the wardrobe next to your bed. Your outfits hung up neatly and you plucked out a red dress. You slipped it on and zipped it up yourself, feeling the fabric hugging your frame and coming snugly around your neck. Your hands ran down the lace, smoothing it down your thighs. A pair of fine gloves rolled up your hands as you grabbed a small bag, slinging it over your shoulder. You checked your cosmetic touch ups once more in the mirror. Satisfied with your appearance, you exited the small living space.

Guy was waiting for you in the hall. He fiddled with his sleeves, rolling them to the elbow, showing off his well built forearms. He adjusted his leather suspenders over his shoulders. The black button up tucked into simple slacks. The buttons strained, giving way to the muscle that was outlined by the fabric’s thinness. He cleaned up nicely. You turned away, attempting to appear ever aloof. Guy’s face lit up as he opened his mouth to compliment you. You held a hand up and cleared your throat.

“Let’s go.” You offered curtly before Guy got a word in. Guy accompanied you down the stairs and down onto the street. His stare lingering on your figure as he trailed somewhat behind. Guy glanced back up at the back of your head, quickly shaking himself out of his trance. He’s not about to objectify you like that. You would surely murder him if you caught him anyway. He strolled leisurely at your side in contrast to your determined walk as you made your way down the street.

It was almost odd to see that the Hidden Sound Village looked like any other village. From what you heard about it, it was not what you expected, not that you would share this goofy thought with Guy. The buildings were the same as in the Leaf. They had the same wooden structure, the same thatched roofs. The few civilians that milled around the residential area wore similar robes dyed with locally sourced pigments. One main road bisected the neatly laid out districts which made it simple for you and Guy to navigate. The streets were lit with lanterns. As you traveled, the lights multiplied as the city morphed from community storage to bustling downtown businesses.

Dubious characters littered the street but you pressed on. If there was one thing that the Sound lacked, it certainly was not night life. You paid little attention to the whistles you got as you passed. Neon signs and flashy displays form boisterous bars seemed to now exclusively light the streets and one shone brightest. For a moment, you and Guy took in the outside. You took in your new place of work with a deep breath in. The name “HEAVEN” swung out onto the avenue and  radiated in bright neon on the outside of the establishment. On the building, the outline of a woman in a short dress practically lit the whole street. The halo on her head blinked on and off. You straightened your shoulders and entered.

You stepped into a world of plush walls. Your kitten heels clicked against the hardwood before sinking into the velvet carpet that led to the maître d'. Ornate traditional Japanese decoration ordained the larger woman’s European features. She took you in with questioning eyes. To both her sides existed space that opened into the main lounge. You could only see the front bits of it from where you stood. The wall behind her obscured the rest. The lady inspected you over. It must be rare for a woman to pass through here.

“We’re here to speak to Shima-san.” She took you in, closing the large book that rested on the podium. “We’re your new hires.” The woman’s glasses slid to the end of her nose.

“Ah, yes. You must be the new girl.” She narrowed her eyes at you before glancing up at Guy. She seemed more comfortable with your partner’s presence. “It will be nice to have a competent bartender from what I am told of your skills. Come with me.”

Her embellished robes flowed behind her as she led you into the lounge. Your eyes adjusted to the low lighting. Panels hung from the ceiling and modern lamps glowed around the tables. The chique fixtures tastefully placed around make for a modern ambiance. Low circular booths embellished with plush adorned the large space where groups of men sat with their arms around elegant women. Two hostesses in evening gowns occupied the small stage in the center of it all. Their sultry voices filled the room.

Strips illuminated the rim of the bar counter and the back bar glowed. A blond woman worked behind the counter in her evening gown, scrambling with tears near the edge of her eyes as she shuffled from one side of the bar to the other. The woman who met you at the entrance led you past the struggling bartender into a back hallway on the right. The woman knocked on the door that lay at the end of the hall and an energetic voice could be heard from the other side.

She opened the door for you and Guy to reveal a small office. Papers scattered across the mahogany desk, frames tilted crookedly on the mahogany paneling. A man sat in the middle of the chaos, rubbing his goatee. His eyes lit up on seeing his guests.

“Ah! Come in, come in, I have been awaiting your arrival!” the man sitting behind the desk exclaimed. He came around in front of his desk, glancing up at the woman. “Thank you, Mama-san.” She closed the door, retreating back into the hall.

“Thank you for having us, Shima-san.” Guy remarked. The two of you bowed to your new employer.

“Please, call me Daisuke! You must be Aoki-san.” He reached for Guy’s hand, giving it a rigorous shake. Guy was momentarily shocked before he returned the energy. Daisuke turned to you, grabbing your gloved hand, he gave it a kiss. “And you must be Takeuchi-san. Gorgeous, even more beautiful than described!”

“You’re too kind.” The owner waved you off. He motioned to the two plush chairs in front of his desk before maneuvering around to the other side, pulling out a file as he settled back into his seat.

You and Guy sunk into the chairs. You took in the man across from you with poised posture. You learned against the arm of your chair, sitting on the edge with your wrists and ankles crossed. Daisuke did not look young, but not necessarily old either. Fifties? Sixties? You would have to consult with Guy as to your best guesses later. Wrinkles showed around his eyes as he smiled at the two of you. Guy leaned back in his chair, lounging in stark contrast to you.

“ I have heard a lot about you two!” Daisuke flipped through the pages. You resumes, supplied by the informant, you guessed. “Very talented professionals, we are happy to have you here! I was surprised, though, as to why two such talented folks such as yourselves would want to make the trek from the Leaf all the way over to this dinky ol’ place!”

“No, no not at all, Daisuke-san.” You gave a jovial laugh. “Trust us, the journey is well worth it!”

“Just being here in the Sound is like a breath of fresh air,” Guy crossed his legs, the ends of his mouth upturned, “The Leaf takes itself too seriously, it’s like living in a police state over there! I can’t speak for Takeuchi-san, of course, but I’m excited to start my life over here.” You smiled politely at Guy.

“My words exactly, Aoki-san.” You chirped.

“It’s kismet!” Daisuke exclaimed animatedly, slapping the edge of his desk as punctuation which made him chuckle louder. You noted how easily he became pleased with an audience.

“As for getting down to business,” Daisuke shook his hands in a dramatic fashion. “I was hoping that you two could start tomorrow. As much as I’ve been hearing great things, I would like to see you both in action. We didn’t get a chance to have an interview in person and I’d like to see your skills!”

“Why, of course, I feel that’s only logical.” You nodded.

“With beauty like yours, you’ll be a hit in no time, gorgeous Takeuchi-san.” Daisuke turned to Guy. “We haven’t had an actual bartender in a while either! Needless to say, I’m not expecting to be disappointed.” He stood from his chair and you followed suit.

“It was very nice meeting you, Daisuke-san.”

“Come an hour or two before we open tomorrow so you can get an idea of the place.” Daisuke stood from his chair once again.

“Wonderful idea.” Guy remarked. Opening the door, Daisuke showed you out of his office after polite farewells. You maintained your pleasant exterior, even as the door shut behind you.

You were more focused on getting back to your room than anything else. It would be nice to break character and go to bed. You traveled back down the hall, past the blond bartender, the businessmen with their arms around hostesses, and out of the range of Mama-san’s stare. She nodded in acknowledgement at your presence as if to bid you farewell. Guy flashed her a smile, lagging behind you. You stepped back into the plain of neon lights, marching back the way you originally came. Maybe you’d make yourself a small meal before going to bed.

An arm snaked around your waist and a hand on your rear. You didn’t register it at first, but when you did, you slowed, stopping in your tracks. You immediately thought, hoped to Kami, that for some odd reason it was Guy. You looked over your shoulder, locking eyes with him as he was just coming out the door of “HEAVEN”. You looked up at the man with his arm around you. His slender face contorted into a sleazy smile. You tore away from him. Your face scrunched up in anger.

“The fuck are you trying to pull, you fucker?” The man said nothing. Guy came between the two of you. The man puffed out his chest as if to try to size him up. Guy looked at you, silently telling you to continue forward. You huffed and Guy followed, keeping an eye on the stranger. You seethed for the rest of the way back. Guy was silent, giving you space as you boiled.

You both entered your rooms separately. You flung your heels off and tossed your gloves on the floor. You tugged at your hair, feeling the rip of the glue against your skin. The wig flew onto your nightstand along with your cap. You’d take care of it when you were in a better mood. You took a wipe to your make up.

“I could have taken him, you know.” you snapped, standing in your bathroom.

“You could have, I have no doubt.” You heard Guy remark from somewhere in your living area. You tossed the wipe in the trash, storming out into your studio where Guy sat on your couch.

“I could’ve fucked him up,” You surged, zipping an oversized sweatshirt over your dress. You wriggled the red garb out from under it in a swift movement, tossing it on the bed. “I should’ve-... I should’ve made him fling himself off a bridge, that’s what I should’ve done!” You paused, taking your partner in. “What are you doing in my room?”

“Something told me that you needed to decompress,” He unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, “And what kind of partner would I couldn’t help with that.” Guy winked at you. You rolled your eyes at his thumbs-up. You stomped to the kitchenette, wetting a paper towel. You tapped your foot against the floor as you rubbed the wig glue out of your hairline. Guy brought a bottle to his lips.

“Where did you get beer?” You stopped mid dab. Guy held another one up with his other hand. Not looking back, he placed it on the couch next to him. Enveloping the paper, you scrambled over to check the fridge. You could’ve cried. “Please remind me to kiss the envoy if we ever meet him.” You threw the wet wad away, reaching over the couch to grab the bottle. You cracked it open on the doorframe to the bathroom before sitting next to Guy. You immediately started downing it, not coming up for air until the liquid had disappeared halfway. He took a long glance at you, chest rumbling as he laughed.

“Slow down there! I brought this to you to take the edge off. I thought you’d sip it.” Guy scratched his temple, the smile fading from his lips. “Can’t do this every time someone gets handsy, right?”

You hummed in question, having downed half your bottle. “Get angry, then drunk?” Guy glanced down at his almost full portion, then back up at you. He crossed his legs, tilting his head. He blinked.

“You’re planning on getting drunk?” You sighed, taking another long swig.

“I’m pissed.”

“You can’t get drunk every time you’re upset.” Guy told you slowly. His eyes nervously shifted.

“Are you saying I shouldn’t be pissed at a dude grabbing my ass?” You arched a brow, placing your now empty bottle on the table. “Not being able to do anything about it?”

“Not what I’m saying. He deserved to be knocked into next week and under normal circumstances I wouldn’t get in your way.” Guy set his drink on the table as well, still full. He leaned back again. “But you’re working as a hostess now in order to gather sensitive information. Unfortunately, you can’t drink every time you get unwanted attention, as much as they deserve a swift punch to the mouth.”

“I don’t like being touched when I don’t want to be touched.” You reached for his beverage. Guy quickly put up a hand to stop yours.

“Well, you also signed up to take missions.” You shrunk into the back of the couch. “You knew when you entered the academy that you might be called to do less than savory things in your career.”

“I was also, what? Seven?” You breathed. You fiddled your hands in your lap, throwing your head back. Guy shifted in his seat, turning more towards you. He wore a serious look on his face. Guy glanced down, trying to choose his words. “I get it, we’re on a job.”

“(Y/N), I don’t really know much about what you do, but I do know that you’re the best at recon. I’m just saying to prepare yourself, watch your back.” You snorted.

“I thought that’s what you were here for-” His wide eyes met yours. The back of the couch still supported your neck as your natural hair sprawled out behind you- “to watch my back.” You missed the red that sprinkled his cheeks.

He opened his mouth, taking just a second to snap out the shock.

“No, uh… I mean yes, but I meant-”

“I know what you meant, don’t worry about it.” You cut him off. Guy looked deeply at you.

“I was assigned to protect you. You know I’ll back you up.” You let out a snicker to yourself.

“I’ll allow it.”

Notes: I want to make it clear that I do not condone sexual harassment or assault. If you find you yourself on the receiving end of this kind of treatment please do not be afraid to speak up and advocate for yourself because chances are that you’re not an undercover ninja trying to collect intel from jerks. It’s also tempting to try to drown your feelings in something else but please try to find healthy outlets and find someone to talk to. 

Also, I’ve been doing research on hostesses/cabaret girls. It is inherently a dark and adult topic (as much as it would be easier for the world to be like Ouran). I do not intend on writing triggering material, but I will continue tag warnings. 

[mst3kproject]

The Flame Barrier

I’ve got an awful lot of movies from 1958 on my resume, don’t I?  Why is that? Honestly, I couldn’t tell you. Apparently it was just a bumper year for cheap, crappy black-and-white films.  This one stars Kathleen Crowley from The Rebel Set and Rodd Redwing from The Mole People, in a movie written by George Worthing Yates, who also penned Earth vs the Spider.  Also featuring a blob from outer space, with motives even less clear than the one in The Space Children.

Over yet another stock-footage rocket launch, one of those deep-voiced 50’s narrators informs us that there’s a layer of Earth’s atmosphere called the Flame Barrier which destroys everything it touches. This particular rocket was no exception, and its crash-landing in the Mexican jungle may be related to the disappearance of explorer Howard Dalman, whose wife Carol has now come looking for him. She seeks out a pair of prospectors, Dave and Matt Hollister, to guide her to his last known location.  As they go deeper into the bush, they find they’re wandering into something unknown… something that can make men burst into flames!

This movie isn’t terrible.  It’s not great, but it’s not irredeemably awful.  It reminds me a lot of The Giant Gila Monster, in that there’s a story going on and it’s not a bad story per se, but it’s one that’s got nothing whatsoever to do with the title and premise that drew us to the film in the first place.  When the supposed main plot pops up again at the end, it makes for a sudden and jarring shift.

The Flame Barrier starts off all right.  We have the inevitable narrator to give us the backstory, and then it gets right on with meeting the characters.  They’re introduced one by one, telling us their personalities and goals: Carol is naïve and spoiled but she’s trying her best, Matt is a drunk fool but he’s got a good heart, and Dave is a gruff, cynical realist who loves his brother but is tired of his bullshit.  None of them are exactly nice people but you can see where they’re coming from, and they each get an arc.  Carol struggles with whether she really loved Howard, whom she barely knew, and the movie allows her to toughen up and learn how to survive in the wilderness. Dave spends much of the movie being a jerk to Carol but eventually realizes he judged her too harshly and apologizes.  Matt gets a chance to be a hero and takes it, believing that he owes it to Dave for never giving up on him.  The writing is frequently unsubtle but the actors are competent, and these little stories work just fine.

The movie that surrounds them, however, is often very sloppy.  The narrator tells us that the space probe from the opening crashed because ‘it unexpectedly lost its gravitational force’.  What?  What is that supposed to even mean?  The narrator also tells us it’s been six months since Howard disappeared, then mere minutes later Carol says it’s been four. There’s a bit where Carol is menaced by an iguana… the creature is never actually in the shot with her, so they couldn’t find anything scarier?  The stock wildlife footage on their trek through the soundstage sets of Central America includes hyenas.  I can hear Crow saying, “boy, are we in Afri… wait a minute…”  And, pet peeve, they describe a snake as poisonous instead of venomous.

This being a jungle movie, obviously there are ‘natives’.  I think most of these are actual Mexicans, although Wikipedia says Rodd Redwing may have been from India (if so, I like to think his entire career in Westerns was based on just walking into casting directors’ offices and announcing he was ‘an Indian’, and letting them draw their own conclusions).  Being as this is a movie from the fifties, the natives are there largely to provide a body count – white people aren’t allowed to die until the climax.  To its credit, The Flame Barrier mostly (though not entirely) avoids the trope where the natives have interpreted the mysterious happenings as supernatural, leading the white characters to scoff at the whole thing.  There is some of this, but Dave clearly knows these people well and respects their culture and their warnings.

Then there’s the love story.  Obviously this is a movie, so Carol’s gotta fall for one or other of these idiots, but neither of the Hollister brothers is a good choice. Matt is sweet to her but he’s also a useless drunk who only has a job because his brother puts up with him.  Dave spends eighty percent of the movie being an asshole and I have no idea what Carol sees in him.  At least the two men never fight over her.  I guess the love affair is important to the plot, because it spurs the party on to finish their search for the missing Howard Dalman despite the odds being stacked against them… but that basically boils down to Carol and Dave needing to be sure she’s a widow before they can bone.

After all this messing around in the jungle, with the run time half over we get to the plot, and the movie changes gears with an almost audible ka-chunk.  Now we’ve got this space blob sitting in a cave (how did it get in there when it’s still attached to the rocket?) doubling in size every two hours, which must be destroyed before it can consume the entire earth!  Suddenly we have a laboratory, because all the scientific equipment Howard brought with him is still in perfect condition despite having been sitting in the jungle for either four or six months.  Suddenly Dave the rugged survivalist is a scientist and mathematician.  It’s like they took the same actors and sets and started trying to make a totally different movie.

Honestly, I think this is more or less what happened. I think the multiplying space blob was the movie somebody originally wanted to make – it starts out as a tiny thing in a test tube, growing bigger and bigger until it consumes the whole building and will destroy the entire city if it isn’t stopped!  That sounds like a pretty fun 50’s sci-fi movie in itself. It also, however, sounds like an expensive 50’s sci-fi movie, needing miniatures destroyed and screaming extras and other stuff The Flame Barrier just didn’t have the money for. Hence the need to spend so much time wandering around in the jungle swapping tragic backstories before the characters are allowed to get to that point.

The unfortunate thing about this is that the movie doesn’t really have time to get into the nature of its alien.  In Spacemaster X-7, the Blood Rust was offscreen much of the time but we still had a good idea of what it was and of its capabilities, and the explanations we were given made a reasonable amount of sense.  In The Flame Barrier, we’ve got this blob that apparently lives in the rarified and super-hot outer atmosphere (the writers seem to have confused Earth’s atmosphere with the Sun’s corona), but can also survive on the ground… and its effects are all over the place. Sometimes when things get too close to it, they’re just electrocuted and disintegrated, as happens to the rocket’s original passenger, a very young chimpanzee.  Sometimes people get horribly burned and then burst into flames and are reduced to skeletons hours or days later, as keeps happening to the natives. And then there’s Howard, who somehow managed to get close enough to be swallowed up by the thing and his corpse is still completely intact inside it.

None of this makes any sense.  If the blob has that protective electrocution barrier that the humans must be so careful to avoid, how did Howard get close enough to be trapped in it?  How did the chimp get out to end up wandering around in the jungle?  What the heck is happening to the natives who get burned and then skeletonized and why doesn’t that ever happen to the chimp or any of the main characters?  And how do they manage to kill by electrocution a creature that uses lethal amounts of electricity without any harm to itself?  ‘It’s an alien – we don’t understand it’ can cover a multitude of sins in movie writing, but the blob’s random effects don’t even feel like they could potentially make sense.

The Flame Barrier reminds me of other MST3K movies, too. Prominent among them are It Conquered the World and The Crawling Hand, both of which ended on the same unintentionally depressing note: they suggest that the dangers of going into space are so great that humans will never be able to overcome them.  It Conquered the World tells us that there are eight more Venusians just waiting for their own turn to invade.  The Crawling Hand says that exposure to outer space causes mutations that will turn astronauts into mindless murderers.  The Flame Barrier posits that not only is space itself deadly, but is also full of deadly creatures, and the only way to avoid them is to stay on the ground.

This has always interested me because movies like this stand alongside things like the tales of Rocky Jones, Space Ranger!, in which humans have an exciting future among the stars. Stories set in space can be about either the exhilaration of discovery or the terror of the unknown, and this dichotomy seems to be as old as science fiction – Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein is considered the first work of proper sci-fi, and it encompasses both.  Frankenstein tells us that if we let our fear over-rule our curiosity, we’ll miss out on something potentially wonderful.  Movies like The Flame Barrier, and even modern space monster flicks like Alien, seem to say the opposite, that we shouldn’t meddle with the unknown at all.

This movie was kind of a compromise on my part.  I’ve had a lot on my plate lately and I picked The Flame Barrier as a movie that was kinda stupid but wouldn’t be either a test of my endurance or particularly challenging to write about.  I’m hoping to have something a little juicier for you next time.

[lillianofliterature]

Dear followers,

I wanted to leave a larger summary of what’s going on behind the scenes. I know I already give little updates often with breaks in-between stories, but I felt like this last few months has been rougher and more inconsistent than usual. 

First off, I know I don’t owe anyone anything or even need to offer an explanation - I write as a hobby and as a therapeutic method to relieve anxiety and depression. I don’t get paid. I write for free, I share online for free. 

That being said, I feel like my payment is the response I receive for all of my stories. The comments, the likes, the reblogs -- not because they’re numbers or markers of success, but because each notification means I’ve touched someone in some way. I’ve made a good impact on someone out there. I’m making a difference. That means everything to me. You all are amazing individuals. 

With my ADHD (I was just diagnosed back in October, so it’s all pretty new to me still) it makes it so difficult to not feel guilty or shameful about not posting once a week or every other week, or whatever schedule I try to force on myself for no reason other than to “be like normal able-bodied people”, even though no one has ever rudely mentioned my spotty activity. It’s something I struggle with internally that ties into my perfectionism and having to fix a story until it’s “perfect”, which is an unachievable goal regardless of task or person. 

Right now in my life, I have so much going on even though I’m not able to go out and about in the world (like most other spoonies and disabled folk around the globe). I’m in therapy dealing with a lot of childhood trauma regarding domestic violence that I, my mother, and my brother, survived. I was diagnosed with PTSD, which I’m still wrapping my brain around. My panic attacks happen more often now and my dreams are horrific as I remember more and more. I was clinically diagnosed with depression, generalized anxiety, and then there’s that whole looming elephant in the room called POTS and Dysautonomia.

So if I’m being honest, I don’t feel like my best self right now or anywhere near that. And that’s a bit terrifying, especially when the world around us feels so unstable and my family is separated by lockdowns and safety protocols. Therapy is helping, although it’s a painful and truly excruciating experience some days. The biggest blow with all of this diagnosing and discussing is that I thought I was fine -- all of these years I was told by my abusers that I was overreacting, I was just sensitve, I was making things up, only “believing what I wanted to believe”. I had been gaslighted and shut down for so many years that I had believed it was all fine. I was okay. I had no reason to be depressed or bothered by it all. 

And then somewhere in the last five or six months, it all fell apart, or rather blew open like an infuriated geyser. There’s so much chaos in my mind right now that it’s all I can do to get out of bed and make sure I eat, take my heart meds, and stay hydrated. Somehow my brain feels like dark blue, or completely black. It’s just dark and murky up there. Some days I make earrings for my shop, I color in a few drawings, I clean my room five times a day to ward off the intrusive thoughts. But writing has just seemed too daunting and a little bit intimidating. I’m a bit scared to open up my emotional side through a story right now, I’m afraid of what I might find hidden further in my heart. 

I say all of this not only to explain myself and get it off my chest, but to shed a light on anyone who might stumble upon this. You are not alone. You are not crazy. You are not losing your mind or your ability to make a difference with your uniqueness. You’re being sculpted. Chiseled away at like a great marble statue. Pruned like a berry vine so next harvest your fruits will have multiplied. This darkness is not the end. It’s a wave, it’s an encompassing storm that tosses you to and fro and leaves you vulnerable in its wake, but it will not destroy you. It’s a temporay season of life. You will make it through this. 

You are worthy. You have things to do here. Dreams to find. People to love. 

So, I don’t know when another story will come. I have so many ideas I’ve been sorting through and a lot of jumbled up projects rumbling around in the ole cranial unit, but not the energy or wherewithal to execute them with clarity right now. I am by no means leaving the platform or putting away my pen, I’m not going anywhere, but I’m completely through with putting undue expectations on myself when I’m already trying to carry so much at this time in my life. I may post next week, I may post next month. I may post five times in a week or five times across three months. Whatever it ends up being, I’m going to be okay with that.

Thankfully, my therapist encouraged me to write about what happened in a story (and even encouraged my hobby of writing fanfiction as a coping/healing mechanism) and change the narrative to one of strengh and survival, so I’m being encouraged to use my craft as a way of healing, which I know will serve me well. (So basically, everyone, fanfiction is therapist-approved, so tell that to your rude friends or family members who judge you for it.) I sort of touched on it in a cleaned up way through my Aragorn fic, Tell Me Your Story, but there’s still so much left to divulge and toss out of my being for good. 

I just wanted to say all off this and let everyone know that I love you and even if no one in your life is saying it enough or at all, I’ll say it sincerely.

I need you on this planet with me until the very end, you got it? I need you here, doing your thing only you can do, and I need you to take care of yourself. Even if our paths never cross. I need you here. I mean that. Your life makes a difference. It is making a difference. 

There’s no age limit or time limit on success or which path to take. It’s alright to pause, take a breath, and let yourself figure it out at your own pace. 

Just take it day by day. Eat. Drink. Wash up when you can. Exist.

That is enough. Just existing is enough. Living your life, day to day, taking care of yourself and perservering, is extraordinary. Keep it up.

Xx Lillian

[heavy-lobster]

POST THE FUCKING ESSAY KOAL/DUSTY I SWEAR TO GOD

WAIT I THOUGHT YOU READ IT ALREADY??? DID I SERIOUSLY NOT SEND IT TO YOU WHEN I INITIALLY FINISHED IT??? GOD WHAT THE FUCK

Well I can’t NOT post it now.

So for some background, the assignment was to write a short essay arguing as to why a children’s series of our choosing could be classified as horror, based on some article we had to read. I chose Wow Wow Wubbzy because I thought it would be funny and. man. So anyways this is VERY poorly written because I did most of it between like,,, midnight and 3 am. It’s very ranty and way longer than it needed to be. For ease of reading I went back and fixed up the shitty formatting and fixed a few spelling errors, as well as linking my sources.

So uhhh this is about horror so,, warning for horror ig?? It’s not scary like, at all, but better safe than sorry.

Wow! Wow! Wubbzy!: The Horror Within

Introduction

“Wow! Wow! Wubbzy!” is an American TV show originally aired on Nick Jr. From the mind of Bob Boyle, this educational kid’s show was very memorable for a lot of kids growing up at that time. The show features Wubbzy, a yellow, square, animalistic character, with a curly, “springy” tail; as well as Wubbzy’s various friends. Most episodes feature Wubbzy and his pals, Widget and Walden (as well as Daizy in later episodes), dealing with an every day situation, or well, depends on your definition of “every day”. The situation spirals out of control because of the actions of various characters, and it is resolved by the problematic character of the episode learning a lesson and fixing their mistake. Seems like a typical kids show, right? Well, there may be more to it than that. What if I told you that Wow! Wow! Wubbzy! could be interrupted as a horror show about horrifically mutated beasts struggling to survive the post apocalyptic world they are forced to inhabit? Wow! Wow! Wubbzy! fits many categories described in Sharon A. Russell’s literary criticism in “What is the Horror Genre?”. In this essay we will discuss how Wow! Wow! Wubbzy! could possibly be classified as a horror series.  

Asking the real questions; what is everyone?

First of all, a very important question. What exactly are the characters? There are claims that Wubbzy himself is some kind of gerbil, but frankly I don’t see it. Also, what’s the deal with the inhabitants of Wuzzleburg in general? Wubbzy and his friends are supposed to be anthropomorphic animals, but they seem more like horrific monsters, mutated from normal animals. Monsters are a very common and important element in horror. Not all monsters are vicious killers, and not all of them are obvious in appearance. Some monsters are small and cute, but it’s almost always a facade. 

There are also some “regular” animals running around, but yet they aren’t “normal” by any stretch of the imagination. Some are very obviously not normal, others seem mostly normal. “Flutterflies” are a common, non-anthro animal seen in Wubbzy, with their most prominent appearance being in the episode “The Flight of the Flutterfly”. Flutterflies seem like normal butterflies, but why are they called “Flutterflies” instead? Are they in any way different to the butterflies of our world, or is that just what the inhabitants of Wuzzleburg call butterflies? What about the more blatantly odd non-anthro animals? In “Attack of the 50 Foot Fleegle” Wubbzy acquires a pet “Fleegle”. It appears to be a small, purple, almost hamster like creature. It remains small and happy if you feed it the right kind of food, but Wubbzy foolishly feeds it candy and sweets. When fed candy, the Fleegle increases in size in increasingly large increments. After a time, it becomes so big that it rampages all over Wuzzleburg. The only thing that could shrink it back to normal size was carrot juice. When fed bologna, they multiply, and the solution to this is unknown, as the episode ends there and this is never brought up again. 

There are plenty of strange animals, both anthropomorphic and not; yet no humans. Not a single human character in sight. This begs the question, what happened? Why are all these animals how they are? What happened to the humans? Obviously, these questions were never answered, as this is a kids show. Here is a thought to consider: what if all the humans are dead, and all the characters are mutant abominations, or, monsters as they’d more fittingly be called. Humans have been wiped out, and the animals who survived mutated in many different ways. Some animals became intelligent, and capable of building their own society similar to what once was our own. That society is what we know as Wuzzleburg. In conclusion, all the creatures seen in the show are the result of something terrible; mutated abominations passing as animals. This fits the “monster” category of horror as described in Russell’s article.

What’s the deal with Wuzzleburg?

Wow! Wow! Wubbzy! takes place in the fictional town of Wuzzleburg. Wuzzleburg and its surrounding locations look very odd. Everything is unnaturally geometric. Everything- from houses to trees- is very odd in appearance. Tree branches are often bendy, always at a right angle, with the edges being smooth and rounded. In Wuzzleburg, many houses look like completely normal houses, yet Wubbzy lives in a tree house. Another common thing is that houses and buildings of importance are usually designed based on a specific object. Daizy’s house, for example, is shaped like a flower. 

Outside of Wuzzleburg, the locations only get weirder. There is an island, shown to be somewhere off the coast of Wuzzleburg, called “Dino Island”. As the name suggests, this island is inhabited by dinosaurs. So apparently, dinosaurs are not extinct in this universe; at least on this island. As far as other towns go, there is Wuzzlewood, clearly based on Hollywood, where all the biggest celebrities in the Wubbzy cinematic universe (WCU) live. Everything in Wuzzlewood is covered in stars, a clever spin of the celebrity theme. Another interesting location is Plaidville. In Plaidville, everything is plaid; the trees, the ground, and even the inhabitants. I don’t have to explain what is unnatural about that. 

Now, back on the topic of Wuzzleburg, since it is the main location seen in the show, and is where Wubbzy and his friends live. It has been stated that Wuzzleburg was founded in 1853 by “Heinrich van Wuzzle”. The specific year being given is an odd detail, that you wouldn’t normally expect in a show of this nature. Wuzzleburg is clearly a town in every sense of the word. It has plenty of stores and restaurants, an airport, houses, residents, a mayor, a rich history, annual festivities, reliable transportation, schools, and even a stable economy. All of this being made by what we have already established as horrific monsters. That’s impressive. There is common debate in the Wubbzy fandom on whether these locations are in a parallel universe, or perhaps if they exist on our Earth. In the episode “Fly Us To The Moon”, the place where they land back on “Earth” appears to suggest that Wuzzleburg is located somewhere in or near Washington state, in America, or possibly somewhere in British Columbia. 

My theory is that the events of Wow! Wow! Wubbzy! takes place on Earth, but certainly not our Earth. An alternate Earth, where humans may have lived before. Some horrible nuclear accident wiped out all human life, and caused all the animals to mutate into the many strange creatures of the WCU. This also explains the unnatural features of the setting. Post-apocalyptic Earth? Sounds like a perfect horror setting to me. This fits perfectly with the criteria described in Sharon’s article.

The beast within; Wubbzy’s true villain

Finally, the matter of the deep internal conflict hidden deep within the show. In the show, you can expect every episode to have a lesson or moral, as many kids shows do. Most episodes feature one of the main characters (almost always Wubbzy) making a mistake, followed by them learning the lesson of the episode and using their newfound knowledge to make things right. What if I told you that this is sign of a much deeper internal conflict going on far beneath the character’s cute exterior? Would it be so far fetched to believe that every episode is focused on the anthropomorphic abominations struggling to fight against their beastly instincts? Their own organized and civilized society goes against their very nature, and they constantly fight to uphold the standards they set; both for themselves, and each other. It's a constantly uphill climb. Wubbzy is undeniably a flawed character. He messes up constantly, often learning the same lessons over and over again, as if it’s more of a reminder than a lesson. It’s Wubbzy against himself. This fits Sharon’s criteria of internal horror, but that’s not all. 

Wow! Wow! Wubbzy! is also the story of a quest for self improvement, as well as a good vs evil scenario, which are two of Russell’s other criteria. I mean, think about it. Every character is open to self improvement once they realize the harm they’ve caused. Every character is on their own quest, seeking to better themselves. Every character is going through their own internal battle. They fight their own flaws. Their own evils. The true villain of Wow! Wow! Wubbzy! is the evil within all of them, the beastly instincts lurking within all of Wuzzleberg’s monster inhabitants. And they may not always be perfect, maybe they don’t know how to be “good”, maybe being good just isn’t in their nature; but they try their best despite all the challenges, to be better, and improve themselves. 

In that way I think we can all relate to them. We aren’t always “good”, we aren’t perfect, sometimes we don’t know how to do the “right” thing, but our flaws are what make us human. It may not be in our nature to be flawless, but it is in our nature to seek self improvement, and that’s what Wubbzy is really about. The struggles we all go through to be better people, because inside? We’re all just monsters trying our best to be civil, and conform to our moral code. And really? That’s enough. 

Conclusion 

Wow! Wow! Wubbzy! is undeniably a kid’s show at heart, but if you really stop to analyze it, you find a much darker horror series. It would be fittingly classified as a psychological horror. It fits almost all of Sharon A. Russell’s criteria as described in the article “What is the Horror Genre?”. What is Wubbzy? In fact, what are all of the show’s characters? Their vaguely animal appearance appeal to young children, but I believe that they may actually be normal animals mutated into horrible monsters. Freaks of nature created by a nuclear incident. There is not a single human seen in the show, but plenty of abnormal creatures. This suggests that we are long gone. The monsters we left behind built their own society.

 Not only were the animals affected, but also the earth itself. The odd nature of the setting supports my nuclear devastation theory. Finally, is the true conflict of Wubbzy. The show itself is about nuclear monsters trying their best to adapt to the society they built for themselves, even if it goes against their own nature. It’s beasts on a quest where the only objective is the betterment of the self. An internal conflict. There is no physical villain in the show. The only antagonist out to get Wubbzy, is Wubbzy himself. In that way, I think we can all relate. In conclusion, Wow! Wow! Wubbzy! is actually about horribly mutated animals fighting their inner demons, on a metaphorical journey to be better than they are. For that very reason, I believe it could be interrupted as a horror series. 

Sources: 

Wubbzy Wikipedia page

Wubbzy Fandom Wiki, which I did NOT know existed before this project and honestly the comments on the page were the funniest fucking thing, I highly recommend it

And uhhh various episodes of Wubbzy I had to watch

I apologize for my crimes

[ailinaline]

The Untamed: unsorted

Well... I am nothing, if not eccentric, after all. Why not publish a huge post all of a sudden? :)

The Untamed (СQL) is an abyss, and I am still falling, grasping at some scattered thoughts... that tend to arrange themselves in equally chaotic blocks of thoughts, which, in turn, multiply questions successfully.

Spoilers ahead, I guess...

I.

The timeline of СQL is more than a little blurry, and when I try to calculate, how old Wei Ying was, when he died, I come up with the sorrowful conclusion he couldn’t be more that 21, probably younger. Which, in turn, means that the post-time-skip Sizhui is, actually, of the same age or even older than Wei Ying and Lan Wangji were, when they did a lot of things I honestly can’t imagine the new generation pulling off, even physically/magically, let alone psychologically (although I wouldn’t go as far as to call young LWJ and WWX mature - they clearly were not, and that was a huge part of the tragedy foundation, in my opinion). The young disciples are referred to as ‘children’, and they truly are. Compared to 16-17 year old LWJ and WWX, they are very, very young, inexperienced and not especially capable – while still being quite skilled and smart. And it’s both fabulous and painful to watch. Fabulous because it’s a very vivid and authentic demonstration of how exceptionally gifted LWJ and WWX are (and were); and painful because, unfortunately, not all of their greatness comes just from inborn talents.

II.

I am easily charmed by languages, but СQL, being the third Chinese dorama I have ever watched, is still the first one to so profusely tempt me to learn Chinese – in order to translate the songs and to understand the subtleties of the dialogues.

III.

I can’t get rid of the impression that the concept of rules/order breaking and punishment/atonement is fundamental for СQL (and its world). As far as I am aware, the Chinese culture does tend to be quite severe in this regard, but right now I am considering the symbolic layer of the process rather than the harm/good/efficiency of any particular method.  And I wonder, whether I am imagining things or Wangji’s history of ‘transgressions’ and punishments within his sect is really openly symbolic and not merely coincidental.

My interpretation certainly lacks some special cultural insight because I can’t help being of European origin, so I read all the codes as a European would, first, and only then make an attempt to switch lenses and decipher the message, taking into account my scarce knowledge of the Chinese (and Asian) culture.

And yet...

The first time (drinking) Wangji is not only completely innocent, but also a ‘victim’ of Wei Ying’s careless (and questionable) mischief. They share the punishment (and we encounter the number 300, by the way), but Wangji is obviously (and rather fiercely) on his own here, and evidently by choice, despite Wei Ying’s sincere efforts first to exclude and then to include him. Wangji, just as obviously, truly believes he deserves the punishment – not for drinking as such, I think, but for lowering his guard and being not attentive enough: internally, he substitutes one transgression with another, and the equation works for him (actually, it might be unfair, but quite fortunate for their future relationship that Wangji blames himself or, at least, blames himself more than Wei Ying). To put it in a nutshell, for Wangji, the system and order are intact and non-contradictory: he is understandably upset, even angry, but hardly shaken, and simply intends to do better than that in the future, so to say. It’s hard to speculate, if this is Wangji’s most unpleasant experience so far or not, but in any case, the psychological pressure is minimal and reproach is rather mild (and I am really surprised, Lan Xichen didn’t find all that story highly suspicious… or was it his indirect method of showing WWX that he hadn’t been told on?..)

The copying of the rules happens after a considerable amount of… experience, if not time. And the transgression is not specified, but hinted at very heavily. I also wonder, if Lan Qiren realized an additional message he conveyed through his choice as well as through his general treatment of his nephew during that meeting: a strict reminder that, a war hero or not, LWJ is still too young to have an opinion. Wangji accepts the book of rules reverently, accepts the punishment… the word, that springs to mind is ‘habitually’: he doesn’t disregard it, per se, he doesn’t devalue the fact his uncle is not happy with him, he still wants to do better, but… there are things of greater importance to him now, and LWJ is so focused on them that he makes the request about the restricted books at the least suitable moment, really. (And I believe this dismissal does cut him rather deep.) The system still works, but the seed of the conflict is already planted.

The third episode seems pivotal in itself: we actually don’t know, what the punishment for letting WWX and the Wens go was, except for having to kneel, while being lectured, but this time this is a result of a conscious choice to do something that definitely wouldn’t be approved. And I can’t remember a single second of the screen-time, when Wangji would look repentant: conflicted, upset, slapped (when Lan Qiren mentions his mother), stressed (his uncle uses some pretty cruel techniques that border on manipulation, to my mind), but not sorry at all – not for letting the fugitives go, at least.  And comparing the shades of Wangji’s silence here and on the previous occasion, this one seems somehow more determined. And closed-off. And there is no intention to do better, in regard to this transgression: the alternative he is being pushed to is unacceptable.

Kneeling again, for the whole day, in the cold, lifting a… what is it, as a matter of fact? It does look like a slightly smaller version of ‘the discipline whip’ we’ll see later, and if it is really so, then it’s beyond prophetic symbolic – it looks more like a promise on Lan Qiren’s part. :/ Anyway, my impression is that, for the first time in the series, LWJ is actively absent from the scene of his own punishment: he doesn’t reflect on it (I think he expected something like that), he also doesn’t mentally substitute one transgression with another to restore the balance (his inability to help Wei Ying is not something to atone for by kneeling). He simply endures. And thinks. And feels. Just not what he is expected and obliged to be thinking and feeling at the moment. And through all of this, Wangji is utterly, hopelessly and stoically alone and unaccepted. His concerns have been dismissed and care rejected by Wei Ying. His actions and decisions have been castigated by a significant authority figure (whom he loves and respects). If I am not mistaken, in the special edition Wangji’s loss-and-loneliness are somewhat artificially heightened through the pseudo-contrast because his moments are mixed with the moments of Wei Ying’s drinking with his new family, who values and appreciates him. (In reality their situations are just the same: they are both in anguish and feel helpless to change things they wish to change.) And, a cherry on top: we don’t know, what has been said initially, and by whom, however, we see that Wangji is released not by his uncle, but by some adept (or disciple). It might be a normal procedure, but it completes the picture of being unequivocally separated from any supportive figure and hints at a lack of closure, in a way, as there was no forgivenes-and-reconnection after the punishment.  

I am struggling to verbalize, why exactly, but to me, this scene is, in a sense, more bitter than the next one, despite the circumstances.

During the next punishment Wangji is as actively present as he was absent during the previous one. And if then he was frozen in sadness, now he is all fire (fueled by grief, and guilt, and fury, and despair, yes, but fire, nonetheless). And the system and order get burned down: what Wangji re-builds during his seclusion is his very own set of rules. They do coincide with the Gusu Lan set, but not fully. And this is a point of no return because, filtered through Wangji’s own system of values, now they are more than just the elders’ lessons learned and tested – they are the only valid reference point for recognizing transgressions and ‘living with no regrets’.

(On another level, I am more than a little puzzled by several details here:

1) linguistics: do they really call this thing a discipline ‘whip’ in Chinese?

2) cultural message: as literally nothing could get in the way of filming a beating with an actual whip, the type of instrument has to make some sense, doesn’t it? (For now, I can’t think of any reason to choose this tool, though. Except the number 300 as 300 lashes are hardly survivable, even with a golden core.)

3) application: I can understand, why Wangji has his shirt on (although this is a more dangerous and torturous option: such a thin layer is no protection at all, but it will be hell to clean the wounds afterwards), but why is his hair down his back like that?..

4) consequences: the scarring looks rather odd, considering. (And again: it was definitely not a problem to paint whatever they had to, so – why?)

The only (and vague) explanation I can come up with is that the type and form of the tool is not important at all: it’s the intent and sentence that count, so the wounds and pain would be the same, even if the instrument looked like a rod or a cane. (Still doesn’t explain the hair, though.) And as for the scars, perhaps, not all of them have to stay forever, especially if the cultivator is very strong.

Well, no: unsatisfactory...)

IV.

I wonder... My first impression after watching the scene, where Lan Wangji cuts off Jin Guangyao’s  arm, was that he was actually saving him from Baxia, separating Guangyao from the mark on his hand. And the only reason, why the spirit of the sword attacks Jin Ling next, are the drops of the bad/damned blood on the boy’s shoulder. But after the special edition I am not so sure.

V.

Lacunae and plotholes (or what I subjectively perceive as such) are extremely challenging and thought-provoking in this series. Right now, I wonder about the Wens: Wen Qing clearly stated she had asked one of the clansmen to look after WWX, so not all of them were going to surrender. Could it be that they were attacked at the Burial Mounds, when seeing the siblings off, and taken away by force?

...Enough. For now.

[thetomorrowshow]

Mutually Beneficial Ch. ix

First  -  Previous  -  Next

A/N: So this one is going to be a bit different. Fair warning.

Recommended listening: IDKhow - Modern Day Cain

Tw: Needles, unknown drugs, angst, medical equipment/machinery, brief description of injury, like super brief, like just a few words brief, little bit of panic, I think that’s everything

-

The woman pushed him onto the sliding table. “Stay calm,” she said reassuringly. He trusted her, for some reason. Maybe it was her relaxed expression, or her comforting yellow blouse. However, he didn't lie down yet, as she seemed to expect him to do. Instead, Roman glanced around at the twenty-some professional individuals sitting at the desks in the room. It was an odd setup, him and the MRI machine at the front of the room, the suited men and women half-paying attention. It reminded him in some ways of  a classroom, but they definitely weren't in any school he'd ever been to. It was sleek and modernistic, with the wall opposite, at the back of the room, entirely constructed of glass. Through the walls, far below, he could see the edge of a parking lot, tiny people walking to an out-of-sight entrance in the building, leading him to guess he was on an upper floor. The ceiling was high—high enough that he wondered if this was the top floor.

“Please, lie down.”

Roman obeyed now, almost unthinkingly. He couldn't rightly recall why he was here—a test of some sort? Probably.

The unnamed woman loomed over him, a sugary smile on her face, a syringe balanced in her fingers. “This will go into your chest,” she explained, gesturing to the syringe. “Then I'll wheel the table into the machine. Are you ready?”

Roman nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the people in the room grow more attentive, some closing laptops, others pulling notepads out of desks.

As the syringe came closer, Roman panicked internally, realizing he was still wearing his shirt (a maroon t-shirt, which felt wrong for some reason). The woman didn't seem to mind, though, so he didn't bring it up. Instead, he focused on her long dark hair with blond highlights, her yellow blouse, her oddly cold hazel eyes behind rectangular glasses.

The tip of the needle pushed through his shirt; a shiver went up his spine at the cold metal on his skin. He observed wryly that it was directly above his heart, then squinted his eyes shut in preparation (of what, he didn't know) as she pushed it into his chest with a tiny prick of pain, then pressed the plunger down. Then—

His eyes shot open at the pain. Burning, vision-sharpening pain. He gasped as it spread outward from the needlepoint, hitting his fingertips and bouncing back to his chest in waves. A bespectacled man seated near the front of the room frowned at his obvious discomfort, then tapped something out on his computer.

“Time to start the MRI. How are you feeling?”

Roman gritted his teeth. “Ow,” he managed. A flurry of activity from the viewers. The woman nodded expectantly.

“It hurts, doesn't it? It'll put you to sleep, so try and relax.”

Roman took a stuttering breath and closed his eyes. She was right; he needed to relax. The machine started up, a lot of whirring a banging and loud beeps drowning out the sounds of typing and pencils scratching. His stomach lurched as the table he was on rolled into the large cylinder.

“Roman!” Bang bang bang. His eyes shot open.

“Roman!”

He tilted his head back. On a side of the room he hadn't paid attention to was a wall of glass, encasing the landing of a staircase. A man was on the other side, pounding on the glass that separated them, hollering his name. The man seemed familiar to Roman. He was dressed casually, blue jeans with a plum-colored sweater. An odd choice, he thought. It wasn't all that cold.

“Get out!” the man shouted, barely audible. “They're killing you! Get out!”

Pandemonium broke out. The previously calm woman was yelling, people were throwing things aside and pushing back chairs, the machine seemed louder than ever, four heavyset individuals were heading toward the glass, presumably to take care of the man—Roman ignored it all in favor of crawling out of the MRI machine. His breath came in short, pained gasps as he swung his legs over the side of the table, pain shooting through every muscle in his body.

The world spun as he stood. The cacophony of noise around him was overshadowed by the sound of his heartbeat thudding in his head, not as even as he would've like it.

Help, Roman tried to say. “Hngh,” came out of his mouth. He wasn't quite sure where he was trying to go. The wall of windows? That seemed like a good goal. How to break through it, though?

A wooden chair, vacated moments before. Roman stumbled toward it, almost oblivious to the chaos around him. Using what felt like every ounce of his strength, Roman picked it up and took a few wobbly steps at a run, wincing as he launched the chair at the glass. It crashed through, little shards of glass flying in every direction, leaving a spider-webbing hole in its wake. The panicking around him multiplied, accompanied by screams, but Roman ignored it. It was crucial that he got out—and quickly, he realized, his vision blackening around the edges as the pain grew more intense.

He lurched forward a few steps. He realized that he was barefoot as he stepped on some glass, but didn't have time to stop. His heartbeat was slowing, the pounding in his head thickening, his body on fire, the room growing hazy—

Badum, badum, badum. Badum . . badum . . . badum. . . .

Then Roman's head scraped glass and he tripped—and fell. And fell. The concrete was far, too far. The wind rushed past his ears as his eyes blinked shut, but sounded like it was coming from the end of a very long tunnel. He forced his eyes open in time to see the pavement coming closer toward him at an alarming rate, felt his knee skin the pavement, then snap, then—

He was trapped, tied, restrained, he couldn't get out, he was fighting his bonds but hurt, hurt so bad, and—

“Help!” The word tore from his dry throat.

“Shh, it's okay, kiddo. We're right here.”

Who? Who was where? It was dark, and he hated the dark, and he couldn't move—

“Calm down, bud, thrashing around like that can't help!”

“Where am I?” he cried out, his voice cracking painfully. Memories started to leak into his head. “What—will I be okay?”

Silence.

“What was in the syringe?” he tried.

“Syringe? What syringe?” the voice said quietly, sounding scared.

“The—the one? The yellow lady?”

“Deceit?” another voice asked.

“I—” he gasped in pain. He was still burning from whatever he'd been injected with, his back, his chest, his face— “It was poison! I'll die!” He tried to get up again, but the bindings and pain held him down.

“Roman, don't try to get up,” the second voice instructed. “It will only make it worse. You'll reopen your wounds.”

“Wounds . . . from the glass? Or from falling? How's my knee?”

Another silence.

“I don't believe there was any glass involved,” the second voice said doubtfully.

“Your knee is fine, Ro,” the first voice added.

“What?” That was confusing. He struggled against his bindings again, ignoring the arrows of pain that shot through his body.

“Oh, you're all tangled up in your blankets. Logan wouldn't let me fix it while you were sleeping.”

A pair of hands guided him out of what was now known to be blankets, not ropes or something of the sort. It was still pitch-black and unknown, but at least he could breathe again.

“Go back to sleep,” the second voice said softly. “You and Thomas both need it.”

He nodded a little.  Now that he was starting to calm down, he could feel the warm embrace of sleep pulling at him. A vague part of him wondered if the drug injected into his chest was finally giving him the mercy of sleep First, though, there was something he needed to know.

“Did he get out?” he slurred. “The . . . the purple man.”

Someone cleared their throat.

“Don't worry about it right now,” the first voice said. “He's . . . he's fine.”

-

A/N: This was an actual dream I had just before writing this. I mean, there were some details different (I was in Roman’s place, I have no clue what the woman was wearing, and the man in purple was someone else), but I tried to be as accurate and vivid as I could. Also, when I woke up, the point where (in the dream) the needle had punctured my chest burned.

TAGLIST (let me know if you want to be added/removed)(also let me know if I missed you by accident): @stop-it-anxiety @i-can-get-extra-with-my-ships @shitpost-sides @kai-the-person @bl00scl00s @emo-adjacent @charakitcat @ainsleyf @sandersstuffsblog @ginnyfox617 @enragedbees

[shirleyoconnell]

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Can You Have Bacterial Vaginosis Without A Smell

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[fiadhaisteach]

New York Times: text under cut

What Lockdown 2.0 Looks Like: Harsher Rules, Deeper Confusion    

By Damien Cave

_________________________________________________________

Melbourne, Australia’s second-largest city, is becoming a case study in handling a second wave of infections. There are lots of unanswered questions.

Credit...William West/Agence France-Presse — Getty Images

Australia’s second-largest city, Melbourne, is grappling with a spiraling coronavirus outbreak that has led to a lockdown with some of the toughest restrictions in the world — offering a preview of what many urban dwellers elsewhere could confront in coming weeks and months.

The new lockdown is the product of early success; the country thought it had the virus beat in June. But there was a breakdown in the quarantine program for hotels. Returning travelers passed the virus to hotel security guards in Melbourne, who carried the contagion home.

Even after masks became mandatory in the city two weeks ago, the spread continued. And now, as officials try to break the chain of infections, Melbourne is being reshaped by sweeping enforcement and fine print. A confounding matrix of hefty fines for disobedience to the lockdown and minor exceptions for everything from romantic partners to home building has led to silenced streets and endless versions of the question: So, wait, can I ____?

Restaurant owners are wondering about food delivery after an 8 p.m. curfew began on Sunday night. Teenagers are asking if their boyfriends and girlfriends count as essential partners. Can animal shelter volunteers walk dogs at night? Are house cleaners essential for those struggling with their mental health? Can people who have been tested exercise outside?

“This is such a weird, scary, bizarro time that we live in,” said Tessethia Von Tessle Roberts, 25, a student in Melbourne who admits to having hit a breaking point a few days ago, when her washing machine broke.

“Our health care workers are hustling around the clock to keep us alive,” she said. “Our politicians are as scared as we are, but they have to pretend like they have a better idea than we do of what’s going to happen next.”

Pandemic lockdowns, never easy, are getting ever more confusing and contentious as they evolve in the face of second and third rounds of outbreaks that have exhausted both officials and residents. With success against the virus as fleeting as the breeze, the new waves of restrictions feel to many like a bombing raid that just won’t end.

For some places, risk calculations can change overnight. In Hong Kong, officials banned daytime dining in restaurants last month, only to reverse themselves a day later after an outcry. Schools in some cities are opening and closing like screen doors in summer.

In many areas where the virus has retreated and then resurged, the future looks like a long, complicated haul. Leaders are reaching for their own metaphors to try to explain it.

Image

Credit...William West/Agence France-Presse — Getty Images

In California, Gov. Gavin Newsom has compared his opening and shutting of businesses to a

“dimmer switch.”

Dan Andrews, the premier in Victoria, the state of which Melbourne is the capital, has repeatedly referred to “pilot light mode” for industries like construction and meatpacking, which have been ordered to temporarily reduce their work forces.

Whatever the metaphor, the situation is bleak.

In Melbourne, a city of five million that is considered a capital of food and culture, the pandemic has come raging back even after a so-called Stage 3 lockdown began in early July — until recently the highest level of restrictions.

Officials have been flummoxed at every turn by the persistent complacency of just enough people to let the virus thrive and multiply.

Traffic data showed people driving more in July than they had during the first Stage 3 lockdown, in March and April. Even worse, almost nine out of 10 people with Covid-19 had not been tested or isolated when they first felt sick, Mr. Andrews, the state’s top leader, said in late July. And 53 percent had not quarantined while waiting for their test results.

“That means people have felt unwell and just gone about their business,” Mr. Andrews said.

Sounding the alarm, he made face masks mandatory the next day, on July 22.

Still, infections have continued to rise. They peaked at 753 new cases on July 30, and have hovered around 500 a day ever since, with the death toll in Victoria now standing at 147, after 11 deaths were recorded on Monday.

Those figures, while far less troublesome than those in the United States, have paved the way for a Stage 4 lockdown — what officials are calling a “shock and awe” attack on the virus — that will last at least six weeks.

Image

Credit...Daniel Pockett/Getty Images

Overwhelming force, with precision, seems to be the goal. The chief modelers of the pandemic response in Australia have found that the virus can be suppressed only if more than 70 percent of the population abides by social distancing guidelines and other public health rules.

Mr. Andrews said the new restrictions would take 250,000 more people out of their routines, in the hopes of reaching the necessary threshold.

So retail stores will be closed. Schools will return to at-home instruction. Restaurants will be takeout or delivery only. Child-care centers will be available only for permitted workers.

Those restrictions are already well understood. The rules requiring more explanation are tied to the curfew and industries that have to cut back.

Large-scale construction projects of more than three stories, for example, will have to reduce their on-site work force by 75 percent, and workers will not be able to work at more than one location. Small-scale construction cannot have more than five workers.

All of which sounds clear. But does a bathroom renovation, for example, amount to home building in an apartment with one bathroom? And what about fixing things that break, like Ms. Von Tessle Roberts’s washing machine?

Some businesses, like cleaning services, are already emailing customers to say they think they can do some work, for people who pay through welfare or who need help for mental health reasons. But, like many others, they are still seeking official clarification.

Image

Credit...David Crosling/EPA, via Shutterstock

Mr. Andrews, a Labor politician sometimes described as awkward and paternal, has become the dad everyone needs answers from. He now oversees, under the lockdown rules, what may be the country’s most intrusive bureaucracy since its days as a penal colony.

The Coronavirus Outbreak ›

Frequently Asked Questions

Updated August 4, 2020

I have antibodies. Am I now immune?

I’m a small-business owner. Can I get relief?

What are my rights if I am worried about going back to work?

Should I refinance my mortgage?

What is school going to look like in September?

As of right now, that seems likely, for at least several months. There have been frightening accounts of people suffering what seems to be a second bout of Covid-19. But experts say these patients may have a drawn-out course of infection, with the virus taking a slow toll weeks to months after initial exposure. People infected with the coronavirus typically produce immune molecules called antibodies, which are protective proteins made in response to an infection. These antibodies may last in the body only two to three months, which may seem worrisome, but that’s perfectly normal after an acute infection subsides, said Dr. Michael Mina, an immunologist at Harvard University. It may be possible to get the coronavirus again, but it’s highly unlikely that it would be possible in a short window of time from initial infection or make people sicker the second time.

The stimulus bills enacted in March offer help for the millions of American small businesses. Those eligible for aid are businesses and nonprofit organizations with fewer than 500 workers, including sole proprietorships, independent contractors and freelancers. Some larger companies in some industries are also eligible. The help being offered, which is being managed by the Small Business Administration, includes the Paycheck Protection Program and the Economic Injury Disaster Loan program. But lots of folks have not yet seen payouts. Even those who have received help are confused: The rules are draconian, and some are stuck sitting on money they don’t know how to use. Many small-business owners are getting less than they expected or not hearing anything at all.

Employers have to provide a safe workplace with policies that protect everyone equally. And if one of your co-workers tests positive for the coronavirus, the C.D.C. has said that employers should tell their employees -- without giving you the sick employee’s name -- that they may have been exposed to the virus.

It could be a good idea, because mortgage rates have never been lower. Refinancing requests have pushed mortgage applications to some of the highest levels since 2008, so be prepared to get in line. But defaults are also up, so if you’re thinking about buying a home, be aware that some lenders have tightened their standards.

It is unlikely that many schools will return to a normal schedule this fall, requiring the grind of online learning, makeshift child care and stunted workdays to continue. California’s two largest public school districts — Los Angeles and San Diego — said on July 13, that instruction will be remote-only in the fall, citing concerns that surging coronavirus infections in their areas pose too dire a risk for students and teachers. Together, the two districts enroll some 825,000 students. They are the largest in the country so far to abandon plans for even a partial physical return to classrooms when they reopen in August. For other districts, the solution won’t be an all-or-nothing approach. Many systems, including the nation’s largest, New York City, are devising hybrid plans that involve spending some days in classrooms and other days online. There’s no national policy on this yet, so check with your municipal school system regularly to see what is happening in your community.

On Tuesday, he answered questions from reporters about dog-walking (allowed after curfew, sort of, only near home) and other subjects of great confusion at a news conference in Melbourne.

Thanking those who complied with the new rules and scolding those who did not, he announced that no one in self-isolation would now be allowed to exercise outdoors. A door-knocking campaign to check in on 3,000 people who had Covid-19 found that 800 of them were not at home.

All 800 have been referred to the Victoria police for investigation. The fine for violators going forward, he said, will be 4,957 Australian dollars, $3,532.

Working, even legally, will also become trickier. Other than, say, hospital workers with formal identification, everyone traveling for a job deemed essential during the lockdown must carry a formal document — a work permit signed by the employer and employee.

For Cara Devine, who works at a wine store that closes at 8 p.m., that means carrying a government form with her everywhere, and hoping that the police recognize her task as essential when she heads home after the curfew. But she also worried about the Uber drivers who take her back and forth.

Image

Credit...William West/Agence France-Presse — Getty Images

“Even before the newest restrictions, I’ve had two Uber drivers being really late picking up from the shop because they got stopped by the police, taking about an hour out of their work time,” she said.

The police are already confronting opposition. On at least four occasions in the last week, they reported having to smash the windows of cars and pull people out after they refused to provide a name and address at a police checkpoint. The Victoria police commissioner, Shane Patton, said a 38-year-old woman had also been charged with assault after attacking a police officer who had stopped her for not wearing a face mask.

Some criminologists are questioning whether the harsher enforcement will help. Mostly, though, Melburnians are just trying to endure.

Walking to get groceries, Peter Barnes, 56, said he welcomed the stricter rules, though he admitted his city was starting to feel like George Orwell’s “1984,” with the heavy hand of the state around every corner.

Those focused solely on the economics, he said, should remember the obvious: “You can’t hire a corpse. Very bad employment prospects for people who are dead.”

By Monday night, the city seemed to be in listening mode. The streets were emptying out, silent in hibernation.

“It’s like a Sunday in the 1950s,” said Mark Rubbo, the owner of Readings, Melbourne’s largest independent bookstore. He also noted that people were stocking up again on books through online orders, with a memoir called “The Happiest Man on Earth,” about a Holocaust survivor, becoming a runaway hit.

Ms. Von Tessle Roberts has found another solution, perhaps just as likely to grow in popularity: Stand on your front porch and scream. That’s the name she has given to an event she posted on Facebook, set for Friday at 7 p.m. By Tuesday afternoon, 70,000 people had expressed an interest in joining her collective shout in anguish.

“Yelling is great,” she said. “It’s less dehydrating than crying.”

Image

Credit...Erik Anderson/EPA, via Shutterstock

_________________________________________________________

Besha Rodell and Yan Zhuang contributed reporting from Melbourne, and Livia Albeck-Ripka from Cairns, Australia.

Thanks for reading The Times.

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[thinkingagain]

Along with his abilities at diplomacy and information-sharing with animals of all kinds, the well-traveled penguin was also a surveillance expert.

Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest (A Novel of the Revolution) Book Three: The Be Attitudes Chapter 16

Hiis posture firm, wings relaxed at his sides, Maximillian told the other animals what he had learned, his beak pointing this way and that for emphasis.

Along with his abilities at diplomacy and information-sharing with animals of all kinds, the well-traveled penguin was also a surveillance expert. Basil and Green Bear had discovered some movements in Beast marketplaces that indicated potential awareness of Demesne activities regarding the forthcoming book about Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest. Maximillian was the obvious choice to take a closer look. He went quickly to the physical headquarters of a corporate entity which had recently appeared in New York City and whose goals remained unclear: Animal Love Unlimited.

Maximillian knew from experience that Beast cities were grids for controlling goods and information and each other. No Beast could transgress too much the rules of the grid without being punished. Yet cities were also labyrinths of hidden spaces and exchanges. So-called “rebellious” or “criminal” Beasts could engage in behaviors that Beast control systems could detect only if those behaviors came too far into the open. The hidden spaces of a Beast city, especially one the size of New York, multiplied vastly if one was an animal and willing to move through spaces that even Beast criminals were unable or afraid or disgusted to go.

There was a team Maximillian often worked with in urban Beast surveillance. This group of city-raised cats had left their Beast homes (Beasts called them “feral’ for doing it) or had been abandoned and now studied closely the Beast urban patterns in which they still lived. They helped Maximillian prepare to infiltrate and “bug” Animal Love Unlimited’s corporate headquarters.

Maximillian had always taken the Beast word “bug” as an unintentional compliment. If to “bug” a Beast was to annoy a Beast in a creature-like way, and if to annoy a Beast was often essential to survival, then bugging a Beast was a necessary, good thing.

Of course high tech Beast corporations had ways of detecting mechanical bugs. So for several days in a row, Maximillian had gone inside the building housing the corporate headquarters, avoiding Beast security systems by using a cargo doorway. He had slipped into a roomy air-ventilation system that the urban cats had mapped for him. He would then sit comfortably on one side of a large air vent. He could hear the meeting room that stood underneath the vent—it was the corporation’s main boardroom—and see enough to get a full sense of what was happening.

With tech equipment Lucky Blue had given him Maximillian recorded the many meetings he heard. The first three days he sat there he learned important details about Animal Love Unlimited, which owned multiple media outlets around the world and slanted the information produced by them to achieve its financial goals. Its political goals weren’t clear.

On the fourth day, the information he learned was essential. That day, at the head of the table in the boardroom sat an adult Beast, probably a little under half an average Beast lifespan. It wore a trim, military-style jacket from which medals hung prominently. On the long wall of the boardroom, the words Animal Love Unlimited stood out in large gold letters on a blue background. A group of Beasts, all male, mostly younger than the Beast in the jacket, sat in the other chairs at the table, all wearing the expected Beast corporate attire.

“Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest,” the Beast draped in medals said, “has become a symbol of resistance for magic animals all over the planet. Unfortunate, but it’s done, at least for now. We need more counter-information on their world. What are the facts involving strange movements in the publication industry?”

“G.R. Bear does seem behind them,” said one of the nameless Beasts around the table. “If somebody was trying for a major media rollout, a book, possibly in multiple parts, with maybe one or several films and soundtracks to follow, then G.R. Bear has the necessary platforms in place.”

“On the business level there may be not much we can do to stop it,” said another Beast. “But we can place a lot of negative reviews on our own media conglomerates and ‘free press’”—he snickered at the word “free”—“operations.”

“If I may be so bold?” said yet another Beast. “My research suggests that your uncle would have moved in for a closer look.”

“My uncle?!” the Beast draped in medals snapped loudly. “Yes he’s rightly venerated, my Uncle. His portrait, right here, doesn’t it say so? Oh he was a genius, the Commandant. A great man.”

Inside the air vent, Maximillian startled. The other details had been informative but not surprising. He hadn’t expected this particular piece.

“He is also,” the medal-draped Commandant’s Nephew continued, “among the great departed. I’m not in this for a quick exit myself. My Uncle belongs to an earlier age. He believed that being physically present on the battlefield was a mark of valor—not, as anyone sensible knows, an overly risky nostalgia for the days of hand-to-hand heroism. He could be brilliant, but his wooly-headed sentimentality is not a road I feel like going down. Or dying on.”

“We’re going to need some on-the-ground action,” yet another Beast said. “One that’s not foolhardy. If I may suggest?”

“You may.”

“We have access to the services of a number of men who are adept at locating, engaging and if necessary eliminating specified animate targets, human or other.”

“I’m not sure that’s wise,” said one of the Beasts who had already spoken. “Martyrdom makes some figures more powerful.”

“Sure, martyred symbols have power, but it’s also a power whose profitability may be deployable,” said another. “Someday the image of Sir Sleepy may be our mascot… uh, I mean, may be a central feature of the Animal Love Unlimited logo.”

“These are extremely interesting speculations,” said the Nephew. “If I have to fight Sir Sleepy on the symbolic level, it does seem inconvenient to have the symbol alive and able to disagree. Not that I’m so naïve that I think that what I like to call the ‘dialectic of disagreement’ will end with the Sir’s death. There’s no end to the struggle over meaning and the struggle over the meaning of meaning. Therefore there’s no end to the profit that can be made off those struggles. But some meanings get tiresome and would benefit all by being removed. It seems we have a plan.”

“Sir?” asked one of the Beasts. “Can you be more specific?”

“I think it’s a good idea,” the Nephew said, “to remove from active physical existence that powerful animal revolutionary symbol Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest. Please see that it is done. Our meeting is adjourned.”