#you could use journey to the west as an index

[auroradiation]

As a Greek artist myself i love how you draw Apollo so much 😊 btw i have been interested in Chinese myths as well especially after seeing the animated Journey to the west series.

Are there any Chinese deities that resemble the Greek gods in complex stories?

Thank you!

[bloop-im-a-frog-now]

Sniffer Adventure and Pets

Pearl checked her inventory one last time.

“Sword, pickaxe, shovel, brush, golden carrots,” she hummed to herself. “Maybe I should bring a shield. Juuust in case.”

Once she crafted her shield, she beamed to herself and went out the door, the rumbles of the warden head vibrating her feet. She flew off and was ready to explore those warm ocean ruins.

She couldn’t get the two rarest flowers without some sniffers sniffing the seeds for her.

Tango had told her to head South, where most Hermits haven’t touched any warm ocean ruins. Most have gone North and West, where they could also get the mangrove wood and be left alone while grinding resources.

She threw a rocket to the ground, flying off as she held her Post Office cap on her head during the journey. Pearl didn’t want it to fly off and forever be lost. She loved the hat.

The first warm ocean she encountered didn’t have a lot of suspicious sand. Still, she brushed it, uncovering the mysterious items buried deep in it, like she was discovering fossils.

The first one ended up being a stick, an item very unnecessary for Pearl at the moment.

“What a shame,” she muttered to herself.

She brushed another suspicious sand block, muttering to herself “Sniffer egg, sniffer egg, sniffer egg” like a prayer that would be granted. Instead, she found an emerald.

“Aw man,” Pearl pouted. “I don’t even have a villager hall.”

She was hoping to use other Hermits’ villager hall this season. She kept the emerald for good measure.

“Maybe if I find gravel instead of sand?” She asked herself.

Right beside her was suspicious gravel, and she grinned.

“You cannot escape Pearl’s brush, you little gravel.”

She brushed it carefully, and saw something red being dug out.

She gasped. “Is this it? Did I finally found one?”

The more she uncovered, the more she realized it was a pottery shard. She let out a frustrated groan.

“I feel like I’m gonna find a lot of these pottery shards.”

And how she wished she was wrong. After visiting one-too many ocean ruins (it was more like two, but flying around to find them was worst than finding the mangrove forest), Pearl was almost ready to give up on this region of the world. She looked at the last suspicious sand and glanced back at her brush.

“One last try. C’mon Pearlie, just one last time. This time, it’ll be a sniffer egg. I can feel it in my bones.”

Despite her pep talk, she did not feel confident about the loot in the suspicious sand. Every centimetres she uncovered, her breath stuck in her throat, as if she’d be disappointed by what the sand would unravel.

She saw red, and inhaled loudly in the bubble column she used for breathing — a fatal flaw in her preparations was to bring water breathing potions. She closed one eye, as if the disappointment would be less grand if she didn’t fully witness it.

It could be another pottery shard, or it could be a smithing template. Pearl played on loop the mantra “sniffer egg, sniffer egg, sniffer egg” in her head, brushing like every mistake would cost her her life.

God she hoped it was a sniffer egg.

Suddenly, she saw green spots on the object, and she let out a squeal of joy. She brushed the rest of the sand away and admired the wonderful egg in the palms of her hands.

“What a beauty,” she whispered.

She slowly caressed it with her index finger, cooing at it.

“You’re gonna look amazing, and you’re gonna dig out sooo many flowers for me, and you’re gonna help me make money. Oh, it’s gonna be wonderful!”

The egg did not reply, but Pearl didn’t need a response. She gently tucked it in her inventory, swimming up to the surface until a huge realization struck her.

She needed two eggs to have more than one sniffer.

She groaned. “Damn you breeding mechanics.”

And thus, the search for a second sniffer egg began, much quicker than the first one. She didn’t listen to Tango’s advice and immediately went West, where there was a warm ocean biome that would surely have an ancient ruin in it.

When she spotted one, she flew immediately down, and gasped in excitement when she saw suspicious gravel and sand.

Her luck would definitely turn around this time.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” she whispered to herself as she brushed a suspicious gravel.

It gave her a pottery shard.

She inhaled sharply. “It’s fine, that’s okay, I can — there’s more! Just — brush these, it’s gonna be okay, you’ll find a sniffer egg. Yeah,” she nodded to herself, “the next one’ll be it.”

She had guessed correctly. She rolled on the ball of her feet in joy and took the sniffer egg in her hand, gently petting it.

“You’re gonna be amazing in my farm,” she whispered to it encouragingly.

It didn’t respond. Pearl didn’t really care, she swimmed to the surface and flew to her base as fast as she could.

She wanted to see those sniffers hatch, after all.

Pearl almost face-planted to her roof with how fast she was going. She threw open the door to the sniffer room, a nice bamboo and sand colour with green grass surrounding it. She took out the first egg from her inventory, and carefully placed it on the ground, making sure it wouldn’t fall and break once Pearl let go of it.

It was standing proud in her base, a nice splash of colour in a room that blended into itself. She hummed in satisfaction and placed her fists on her hips.

“Yeah, that'll do,” she smiled. “Now, time for little guy number two!”

She bit her lower lip as the egg touched the ground, hands so gentle with it, as if it was a block she needed to put at the perfect spot for it to fit with the rest of her build. She couldn’t afford to break it, those eggs were so hard to find, and she needed those flowers so badly.

She made sure the egg was balanced on its own before taking her hands off of it. She beamed when the two eggs stood proudly on their own in the green house.

“You guys will be adorable, I can already tell. Now,” she went towards her door, “I’ll go fix some redstone while you two hatch. Be good.”

She looked at them sternly when she said it and left the room to go downstairs, where her redstone was. The Hermit hummed as she thought. Etho suggested she put a player’s head on the noteblock to not hear the farm or the allays activating it.

She slammed her fist against the palm of her hand.

“Time to search for a player's head,” she declared.

As she went to do that, the sniffers in the egg slowly squirmed in place, getting warmed up to hatch. The cracks were already there when she came up to the farm, where her sniffers would dig out the flowers for her shop.

“You guys are already hatching!” She exclaimed, a wide smile on her face. “Wait up, I wanna see you out of your shell, don’t you dare do anything.”

She changed the head she already had on the noteblock only for a small snort to echo in the room. Pearl swivelled around and cooed at the sight.

“You guys are so cute,” there was only one sniffer hatched, cleaning itself from the juices of the egg.

The second one hatched right under Pearl’s eyes, and she gasped in surprise.

“Down right adorable,” she cooed again, and slowly approached the sniffer who had finished cleaning itself. “Hey there little guy,” she greeted, and scratched the top of its head.

It snorted and shook its head like it had water splashed on it. Pearl chuckled and scratched underneath its chin. Immediately, it fell on its stomach, eyes closed and let the Hermit pet it.

“Oh, you’re so adorable. You like Pearl’s scratches? Yes you do, oh you big guy.”

The second bumped its head against Pearl’s shoulder, making doe eyes at her, pleading for something. She laughed and scratched right between its ears.

“Aw, you felt left out?”

The sniffer fell right beside her, caging her between the two of them. She laughed and continued her pets, appreciating this last moment she’ll probably ever spend with her sniffers.

“You guys are so big for babies. Can’t wait for the money you’re gonna make for me.”

The sniffers simply snorted and let themselves be petted by the Hermit. This sniffer farm will be better than her last one, Pearl just knew it.

[dark-web-links-guide]

Dark Web Chronicles Traversing the Underbelly of the Internet

Welcome to the dark side of the internet! You might have heard about the internet - a place where you can find all sorts of information, play games, watch videos, and connect with friends. But did you know that there's a hidden part of the internet called the dark web? It's like a secret club that you can't just stumble upon with a regular web browser. In this blog post, we're going to take a journey into the mysterious world of the dark web and explore what it's all about.

What is the Dark Web?

Okay, first things first, what exactly is the dark web? Imagine the internet as an iceberg - you can see the tip above the water, but there's a whole lot more lurking beneath the surface. The part of the internet we use every day, like Google and Facebook, is called the "surface web." It's where you can easily find websites using search engines like Google or Bing.

But beneath the surface lies the "deep web," where things aren't indexed by search engines. This includes stuff like private databases, emails, and other things that you need a password to access. Now, the dark web is a tiny part of the deep web, but it's where things get really shady. It's like the Wild West of the internet - a place where people can buy and sell things anonymously.

What Goes on in the Dark Web?

So, what exactly goes on in the dark web? Well, let's just say it's not all rainbows and unicorns. You see, because the dark web offers anonymity, it's become a hub for all sorts of illegal activities. People can buy and sell drugs, weapons, stolen credit card information, and even hire hackers to do their dirty work.

But that's not all - there are also forums and chat rooms where people discuss all sorts of nefarious things. It's like a digital black market where anything goes. And because everything is encrypted and anonymous, it's hard for law enforcement to crack down on the bad guys.

How Do You Access the Dark Web?

Now, you might be wondering, how do you even access the dark web? Well, it's not as simple as typing "darkweb.com" into your regular web browser. You need a special browser called Tor (short for The Onion Router). Tor encrypts your internet traffic and bounces it around a network of volunteer servers around the world, making it nearly impossible to trace.

Once you've got Tor installed, you can access .onion websites, which are only available on the dark web. These websites have all sorts of crazy stuff - from black markets to forums to whistleblower sites. But be warned, it's not for the faint of heart. You never know what you might stumble upon in the dark corners of the internet.

Should You Visit the Dark Web?

So, should you visit the dark web? Absolutely not! The dark web is like the seedy underbelly of the internet - a place where you're more likely to get scammed or hacked than find anything useful. Not to mention, you could accidentally stumble upon some seriously disturbing stuff that you can't unsee.

Plus, visiting the dark web can land you in hot water with the law. Even if you're just browsing out of curiosity, you could inadvertently get caught up in illegal activities and find yourself facing some serious consequences. It's just not worth the risk.

Conclusion

And there you have it - a glimpse into the mysterious world of the dark web. While it may seem intriguing from afar, it's best to steer clear of this digital underworld. Stick to the surface web, where things are a lot safer and saner. After all, there's plenty of cool stuff to explore without delving into the murky depths of the dark web. Stay safe out there, internet adventurers!

Welcome to DarkWebLinks.Guide, your trusted resource for a curated collection of dark web links. Explore our comprehensive directory and stay informed with our compelling blog posts, providing the latest updates and insights on all things dark web. Navigate the hidden corners of the internet safely and efficiently with our expert guidance.

More related blogs -

dark web links 2024

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Cyber Security And The Dark Web

Risks Of Accessing Dark Web Sites

A Guide To Hidden Links

The Truth About Dark Web Sites And Dark Web Links

What Will I Get From Dark Web Links?

[mensusaonlinestore1]

Custom-Made Moissanite Engagement Rings: A Unique and Ethical Choice for Your Special Moment

An engagement ring symbolizes the eternal bond between two souls in love. It's a precious token that signifies commitment, love, and the promise of a lifetime together. In recent years, an increasing number of couples have been turning to custom-made moissanite engagement rings as an alternative to traditional diamonds. Moissanite, a rare and dazzling gemstone, offers a myriad of benefits, from its exceptional brilliance to its ethical and eco-friendly nature. In this article, we will explore the allure of custom made moissanite engagement rings and why they are becoming a popular choice for couples seeking a truly unique and meaningful symbol of their love.

Moissanite is a naturally occurring gemstone that was first discovered in a meteor crater by Nobel Prize-winning scientist Henri Moissan in 1893. However, due to its rarity, moissanite is now created in laboratories using advanced technology. It is composed of silicon carbide and possesses brilliance and fire that rival or even surpass traditional diamonds. Its exceptional optical properties make it a stunning choice for engagement rings.

I heart moissanites not only sell moissanites but also sell rings.

And rings could be made from yellow gold, white gold, bronze, platinum etc and so on. They may come with 22 carat, 18 carat, 20 carat gold etc and so on .

If you are planning to buy a ring installed with moissanite, I heart moissanite would be your best option always.

We have the best jewelry experts who will help you to choose the best ring according to your choice of design and style based on the current trends.

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I heart moissanites do sell moissanites both lab made and natural. Obviously, there are differences but lab made moissanites clears Environmental, social and governance norms and also does not violate human rights. While natural moissanites may cause environmental damages and human rights.

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By choosing a custom-made moissanite engagement ring, couples can embark on their journey of love with a unique and sparkling reminder of their commitment to one another.

One of the most striking features of moissanite is its exceptional brilliance. With its high refractive index, moissanite disperses light beautifully, creating vivid flashes of color known as "fire." The stone's brilliance is often compared to that of diamonds, making it an eye-catching and glamorous choice for an engagement ring.

One of the significant advantages of choosing a moissanite engagement ring is its affordability compared to diamonds. Moissanite offers a similar brilliance and beauty at a fraction of the cost of a diamond of the same size and quality. This allows couples to opt for larger stones or more intricate designs without straining their budget, making it an appealing choice for those who want a stunning ring without breaking the bank.

Moissanite's exceptional optical properties and durability make it a versatile gemstone that can be cut into various shapes and sizes. Whether you prefer a classic round brilliant, a romantic heart shape, an elegant cushion cut, or a trendy pear shape, moissanite can be customized to suit your desired design and style. Its versatility opens up a world of design possibilities for a truly unique engagement ring.

Despite the many qualities of moissanite, some people may still have misconceptions about this moissanites gemstone. While moissanite does possess a similar brilliance, it also has a distinct sparkle and color play, giving it a unique identity. Embracing moissanite for its individuality rather than trying to mimic a diamond's appearance allows couples to appreciate its inherent beauty fully.

Let’s remove all misconceptions and buy a moissanite today.

If you do have any questions regarding our services or products, then you can email us or call us whatever you think is good for you.

Let’s design your dream ring today.

We are limited to sell and ship our Custom Moissanite Engagement Rings Sydney and we take shipping charges too.

If you are looking for diamonds, just visit our I heart diamonds portal to buy lab made or natural diamonds.

Also visit the FAQ or frequently asked questions tab for more questions and answers. We have updated the FAQ recently.

Follow our social media channels for updates related with products.

This article is written by I heart moissanites who sells moissanites over diamonds as an alternative in Australia. 

[artgallery123]

Paritosh Sen

When the calcutta Group, an artists’ collective of which  Paritosh sen was a founder member, emerged on the Indian visual art scenario, it intended to turn the tide away from the prevailing dominant that was marked, still, by the revivalism of the Bengal school. significantly, in 1953, after a decade of its collective effort, the booklet accompanying their exhibition mentioned: ‘the guiding motto of our Group is best expressed in the slogan “art should be international and inter-dependent”. In other words, our art cannot progress or develop if we always look back to our past glories and cling to our old traditions at all cost. the vast new world of art, rich and infinitely varied, created by Masters the world over in all ages, beckons us’.

It further declared: ‘In the West, kings have long been dethroned and the reins of the state have passed into the hands of the common man. today the artists no longer decorate the baroque palaces of kings or the interior of the chapels but work independently in their studios or decorate the communal buildings. the great french movements in art—Impressionism, cubism, surrealism, etc.—all evolved through this changed ideal in art. such a movement is under way in our country too.’

You should also check -PARITOSH SEN AND THE ART OF HUMOUR IN AN INDEPENDENT NATION

While one might justifiably consider this as a retrospective statement, it nevertheless forms an index to the aims and objectives in the group’s collective practice, and highlights the points of reference for its transforming visual language; it is clearly evident that the adoption from a wide range of options between Impressionism and surrealism was viewed as a springboard that could catapult the artists towards the optimism of universal comprehensibility of their personal visual languages, an attempt to ‘bridge the gap’ brought about by colonial experience.

The experience of the collective remained ingrained, even if subliminally, as its members moved on towards their individual.

TIMELINE

The artist is born on October 18 in dacca (now Dhaka, in Bangladesh).

1936-40 Studies at Government school of art and craft, Madras, training under DP Roy Chowdhury.

1940 Moves to calcutta and comes across books on european art and artists such as Monet, cezanne, van Gogh and Gauguin, which are imported to cater to the needs of the soldiers of the allied forces in the city. sen’s work begins to reflect certain changes due to this exposure: an unrestrained palette, bold lines, and an almost pointillist technique.

He joins as art teacher at daly college, Indore.

1943 Forms calcutta Group, the first Indian modernist artist collective that consciously draws on european modernism. fellow artists include Gopal Ghose, prodosh das Gupta, Gobardhan ash, subho tagore, rathin Maitra, and rabin Mondal. the group’s guiding slogan—‘Man is supreme, there is none above him’—and inaugural exhibition creates a stir in the art community.

1949 Seeing an advertisement for a passage to Liverpool for £35 via the scindia steam navigation company, sen finds ways to collect enough money for the journey as well as clothes. He visits Michael Brown, the editor of The Illustrated Weekly of India, who commissions the artist to design six covers at rs. 200 each. Arriving in London, he earns money for his final destination—Paris— freelancing for the Indian section of B.B.c., and the occasional sale of his paintings.

1950 Surendra Singh Alirajpur, the second secretary at the Indian embassy in Belgium, also an old student of Indore’s daly college, organises an exhibition of sen’s works in Brussels. He is the first Indian artist to exhibit in Brussels and the show is a sell-out, providing sen with enough money to live in paris for a year

He arrives in paris to study at andre Lhote’s school, académie de la Grande chaumière, École des Beaux-arts (mural painting) and at École du Louvre (history of painting), paris With the help of nirode Majumder, sen, and fellow artist sankho chaudhuri, visit Brancusi in his studio in Montparnasse.

Paritosh Sen is heavily influenced by the styles and works of artists such as Picasso, Matisse, and Brancusi, which is evident in his use of strong, bold lines, mixed palette and overall composition.

1953

He attends the inauguration ceremony of the annual art exhibition, salon de Mai, in Paris, and comes face to face with picasso. the next day sen visits picasso in his apartment-cum-studio at rue Gay Lussac to show the master his works. picasso offers to organise an exhibition for him. However, sen has made up his mind to return to India.

1954 Returns to calcutta. although upset by the poverty around him, he is hopeful when he witnesses groups of rickshawallahs and others singing and dancing after a long day’s work, and thus begins to paint works with everyday life as his theme. Moves to Netarhat near Ranchi to join netarhat Vidyalaya as art teacher. the green, rugged landscape of netarhat and its locals find their way into his compositions.

1956 Returns to calcutta and joins regional Institute of printing technology, Jadavpur, as a layout and design teacher.

Holds an exhibition of his recent works at artistry House (now park Hotel) which draws a lot of critical applause from the art community.

1962 Holds a solo exhibition, based on Indian ragas and raginis, in London.

He is invited by the Government of France to spend a year in paris during which he designs the Bengali typeface, based on Rabindranath Tagore’s handwriting.

In the same year, the West Bengal government commissions a documentary on his work.

Late 1960s Sen’s works turn darker to reflect his ideological support for the naxalite movement.

1967 Prime Minister Indira Gandhi unveils Paritosh sen’s portrait of Jawaharlal nehru in Hyderabad.

1968 Sen creates a series of new paintings reflecting human anguish and turbulence. the titles of the paintings are revealing enough: The Human Condition, Man Descending Through Space, The Fall, and so on, paints portraits, two of them commemorating the famous singer Ustad Bade Gulam ali Khan. for sen, these works present the perfect amalgamation of his love for Indian music as well as his own strength as an artist. santi p. chowdhury writes, ‘one could stand before the canvases and hear the Ustad sing.

The bold, black lines in his work give way to a burst of overlapping colours such as green, blue, red, yellow, and brown.

1969 Leaves for europe towards the end of the year, with a grant from the french government.

1970-71

Receives a grant from the John D. Rockefeller III fund, allowing him to travel to, and work in, USA. Here, he predominantly paints expressionist canvases inspired by de Kooning.

1971 the Bangladesh war has lateral political and cultural effects on West Bengal. sen is unable to work for a while on his return as he is affected emotionally due to political and social unrest.

Late-1970s As a response to political turmoil, sen creates a series of works with figures clad in a dhoti with garlands around their necks. Laden with irony and humour, the characters are meant to represent the political bigwigs of the time.

1980s He begins to focus on figures and faces of men and women across all classes.

1981

Serves as a visiting professor at Maryland Institute of art, Baltimore, and also lectures on contemporary Indian art at various centres and institutes in U.s.a. His exposure to racial riots in America results in his Isabelle series of paintings.

1986 His story, A Tree in My Village, is published by national Institute of design, ahmedabad. the text is designed in sen’s own calligraphy and he also illustrates the folios.

Is appointed commissioner of the Indian section of the Havana Biennale II, cuba.

Is invited to speak on Indian contemporary painting at Loomis chaffee school by allan Lundie Wise Lecture fund, Windsor, U.SA, receives fellowship from Lalit Kala akademi, New Delhi.

A documentary is made on him by doordarshan, calcutta, titled One Day in the Life of a Celebrity.

1996 publishes Abu Symbol, Picasso O Anyanya Tirthe. the book, a tribute to picasso and Brancusi, describes his visit to their studios and his travels and life in paris. Publishes his autobiography, Zindabahar. 

1998

Is honoured with the Hirachand dugar award.

2002 As recognition of his significant contribution to the arts, the Fench Government confers on him the L’officier de l’orde des arts et des lettres, which is the order of arts and Letters.

2004

Receives Lalit Kala ratna from Lalit Kala akademi, new delhi.

2006 Holds a joint show with Tyeb Mehta at Gallery one, London.

2008

Passes away in October.

[doingthedirtydishes]

Sweden: To my delight, your fika, lingonberries and balls tickled me bright.

From the time I arrived at Arlanda airport I could already tell it was going to be a great trip. I had been to Sverige once before, many years ago, to see a friend, Jonaton Tillander, graduate from high school. He lived on the West Coast, in a beautiful coastal city, Goteborg.  At the time, I was in Danmark visiting friends in Kobenhavn, and boarded the ferry across the Kattegat (Danish: “Cat’s Throat”) strait, forming a link between the Baltic Sea and North Sea. In 1995 they built the Oresund Bridge, attaching Danmark and Sweden.  It is the longest combined road and rail bridge in Europe, including a 4 kilometer tunnel, connecting two major metropolitan areas, Kobenhavn, Denmark and Malmo, Sweden.

However, this would be my first time to the spectacular East Coast city of Stockholm.  To say I was elated would be to lessen my true excitement. It was always on my bucket list and now it would become a blog entry to inform other travelers. But this time in Sweden would be very different: I would be seeing it as an injured traveler, in a wheelchair.  Like any new place one goes while injured, I wondered how they would treat me, the condition of the streets, would I be able to access all or some of the astonishing tourist attractions, could I use public transport, would I be able to enter my hotel room, toilet and shower, and so many other concerns – too long a list to index here.  Game-on!

As with any new country I arrive at in a wheelchair, I immediately assessed my transport concerns. The city was a twenty minute drive by taxi or a bit further and complicated if I attempted public transport.  As is the case with most European cities but especially Scandinavia, public transportation is reliable, efficient and safe.  Trains departed  twice an hour from the airport’s Arlanda Central Station, between terminals 4 and 5, dropping you at Stockholm’s Central Station. The train ride is 38 minutes. Coach was also an option, with Flygbussarna buses departing the airport every 10-15 minutes.  They also dropped you in city-center at Stockholm’s Central Station.  I opted for the easiest option: taxi.

The taxi pulled up to the Generator Hostel, I paid, departed, and was on my way – let the enjoyment begin. As I entered the hostel, a chain throughout Europe (now with one in Miami), I was immediately welcomed by the warm and affable staff at the counter. I knew I had picked the right hotel. A few minutes later they had me sorted out and I was off to my room. The hostel had an elevator to reach the upper floors, lucky me. As is the case with many hotels I book while traveling, there is a process of elimination to find a room that actually is best suited to my injury needs. Not the case with Generator – all was perfect. The door had an automated option, though it was in repair during my visit.

Generator Hostels are my favorite places to stay in Europe. In the past year I have stayed at Dublin, Ireland and Amsterdam, Holland. The staff is friendly and welcoming, always willing to accommodate the injured traveler – they make your stay comfortable. Otherwise from experience, while journeying throughout Europe, I can tell you it can be a nightmare in a wheelchair.  For me it is very convenient to have everything I need on a bad day within feet of my hostel door: restaurant for food, bar for drinks, meeting area(s) for friends, handicapped accessible bathroom(s) and general area for shared enjoyment. Stockholm even has a mini ping-pong table. Beat Boris and get a free breakfast. I ate free for a week.

The room had four bunks but I was the only one there at that time. I settled in, unpacked, took a shower and then stole a short nap to recharge my batteries. I had flown to Sweden direct from Iceland, a three hour flight, and so was not very knackered. Usually my first day in a new city I take some time to relax and understand the lay of the land – I’ll look at maps, do some research and plan accordingly.  Since it was a hostel with a large shared space for eating and fun, I headed downstairs to the communal lobby/bar/restaurant area. As with most my life, not ten minutes had passed and I was already meeting other world travelers – making new friends.  Molly from Canada was the first.  Let the good times roll!

Map of the city understood, obligatory first drink with new friends finished, planning aside, it was time to dig in to the local eats. The hostel also had a club attached to it which served as a business meeting venue during the day, replete with a full chef’s menu and all the accoutrements.  Word in the hostel halls was the food was extremely tasty, and also well priced.  I would not be a true tourist if I did not make my first order Kottbullar (Swedish meatballs), served with lingonberries, mashed potatoes and pickled cucumber slices.  The tiny pork and beef meatballs were served in a nutmeg and cardamom flavored gravy, which suited the mashed potatoes just fine. They were mouthwatering. I was in love.

Dreams of meatballs and berries aside, the next morning I awoke to a phone call from a friend from United Kingdom, Lawrence, who had just arrived at the airport, was on a bus and would soon arrive at the hostel. He had flown into Vasteras, an alternate and cheaper airport for flights from Europe, located 100km from Stockholm – so though his flight, return London for 60 quid (pounds), was cheaper – he ended up paying for the inconvenience and time. Being an injured traveler I opt for convenience over cost savings anytime practical and pragmatic; though could be my age too. Sure enough, twenty minutes later there was a knock at my door. It was beer time – Brits would have it no other way on holiday.

That night we did not venture far, deciding to check out Bar Hilma, the club that was a part of the hostel. There I met Tahir from Kashmir, in Scandinavia selling the highest quality Kashmir and Pashmina scarves.  Shortly after, Nick from Texas, US joined the group, Ajay from London, England and Monica from Oslo, Norway, moments later.  Not long after, abound with a smorgasbord of personalities and stories from all over the globe alike, new life-long relationships were in the process of being formed. To date, I still speak with all the unique people from all parts of the world I met on my trip to Stockholm. The club and hostel catered to my injured needs swimmingly – Stockholm was delivering on her promise: fun for all.

Before departing each others’ company that night, some had agreed to spend the next day together sightseeing the local neighborhood. Being that it would be my first day out-and-about in the city in a wheelchair, it was most welcome to have some of my new friends along with me for the ride.  The next morning I had the most appetizing breakfast with Lawrence – scrambled eggs and soft bacon with fresh warm baked bread and newly harvested fruits. I then relaxed and did some reading and journal writing before meeting the others to explore the city. The hostel is centrally located downtown; everything you would want to visit is only a short distance away.  All attractions are a close walk, taxi or bus ride.

Over the next few days I spent time with different friends going various places. Everyone had their own interests and, as long as I was able to do so in a wheelchair, and they were willing to have me along, I joined. One sunny afternoon with Nick, Ajay and Lawrence we visited Skansen Island, world’s oldest open-air museum, where there is a small zoo, traditional Scandinavian sod roof homes, windmills, restaurants and historic enactments. After lunch, at a historic hotel, we had drinks at a WWII torpedo factory. The Raksmorgas (prawn sandwich) was delicious. A day spent with Joel, a nurse from France I met at the hostel, in his car to see more of the city and gardens otherwise inaccessible, was splendid.

What one immediately takes notice of, once past the small lip at the entrance of the hostel, is just how friendly the sidewalks of Stockholm are for the injured – blind included. The sidewalks are smooth, with cement ramp entrances and exits wherever a curb could be seen. The streets and walks were orderly, well lit and properly marked, reminiscent of a walk through any IKEA store – buses, trains and their stations, the same. There was ample parking for handicapped persons, almost always located right at the front entrance. Museums throughout the city had reserved parking spots very close to the entrance. Public buildings all had ramps as well.  I was overly impressed by the convenience provided for injured.

Stockholm is known as the ‘Venice of the North,’ also commonly referred to as the capital of Scandinavia. It is a city of old buildings and unique design, surrounded by water, dating from 1250s to 1600s – as the city was sparred being leveled by bombs in WWII, with the exception of a few ‘accidental’ Soviet bombs – though some say it was the German or Finnish Air Force intending to provoke the Soviets. The modern city is a lovely mix of old and new, apparent everywhere you looked. There is a lovely waterfront promenade where one can enjoy its famous multi-colored buildings and remarkable architecture, while having a drink or lunch with friends – or simply just taking in the breathtaking vista.

Their museum and art installations are world class. My favorite was Fotografiska centre, filled with contemporary photography, conveniently discovered in the Sodermalm district, with gorgeous views of the Stockholm harbor. Vasa Maritime Museum, located on Djurgarden Island, with its almost fully intact, 64-gun warship, that sank on her maiden voyage in 1628, never making it out of the harbor, was stunning.  A city of fine art – a ‘street art’ tour in Ragsved neighborhood, as well their subway stations, is one-of-a-kind – with over 160 street artists’ graffiti showcased – a must see.  Stadsbiblioteket, Stockholm Public Library, designed by Gunnar Asplund, is one of the city’s most distinctive structures.

Stockholm, hub of Scandinavia, alive and electric, is also filled with great shopping, endless culture and exciting entertainment and nightlife. The food, not just their fika, the almighty Swedish coffee break, with over 1000 restaurants, located in close-by districts of Norrmalm and Vasastaden, was affordable and most delectable. Ferries are also available to sail you to other exotic locations like Helsinki, Finland or St. Petersburg, Russia. As I mentioned in my book, Unbreakable Mind, life is best lived when Doing The Dirty Dishes, getting out-and-about, traveling the world, experiencing life, living – getting your hands dirty.  Stockholm should be on everyone’s bucket list – your fika dishes await – Nu gar vi!

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Travel Blog links: Covid-19 stranded in NYC JFK and Maine – also travel stories on Ireland, Spain, Sweden,  Belgium, Iceland, Colombia (Espanol version), Amsterdam, Germany, New Hampshire, TN and NYC.

Personal Website link where you can also find my book, photos of my travels and updates on current projects.

Thank you for your love and support.

[mourntheantagonist]

#HarringroveApril Day 16: Nostalgia

***

When Billy signed those discharge papers, piled into his dented Camaro and headed west towards the sunset despite the screaming redhead banging on the windows crying “please don’t go!”, with an aching chest both metaphorical and physical, he didn’t think for a second about looking back.

So how he ended up back in the same shithole he turned his back on ten years ago was entirely beyond him.

He had made a life for himself in California. He got his associates degree at the local community college and worked his way up from a nine to five teller position at the local bank all the way to branch manager, making an upper middle class salary. It was easy work. Boring work, unfulfilling work, but easy and worth every penny. He had a couple of friends, mostly coworkers, more so acquaintances than friends. He had a fancy apartment in the city, he went on dates, though they usually ended in one night stands where the other guy snuck out in the dark hours of the morning leaving Billy to sleep in a bed that was just too big for one person. But he was free from all of those forces in his life that always held him back and pinned him down, and each and every one of those forces just reeked of small town America.

He hadn’t heard a peep out of Hawkins since Max had given up on calling around eight years ago, or at least he hoped that she’d given up and something worse hadn’t happened to her. He regretted not answering those calls everyday. The guilt of leaving her behind like that weighed heavy like an anchor, but he did it anyway. Bad decision after bad decision he was surprised he made it to where he had today, and he just wished she’d call again.

But he also wasn’t sure enough of himself that anything would change if she did, and that phone would likely remain on the hook until the ringing stopped and she was left to the sound of his voicemail.

“You’ve reached Billy Hargrove. Leave a message.”

He wasn’t home the day she finally did call, which fortunately took that decision away from him. Her message was tossed in with a mix of telemarketers and employees calling in for days off, it could have easily been dismissed, passed over like every other piece of junk in the system if her voice hadn’t been exactly the same as it was the day he left her.

“Hey Billy, it’s Max. I know you probably don’t give a shit, but Neil died of a heart attack last night…” Billy stopped listening after the words ‘Neil died’ came over the speaker. He had to replay the message to hear the rest because by the time he’d gathered himself it had already ended. “...the funeral is next Saturday in Hawkins. Nobody expects you to come but I thought you should know anyway and that everyone would still like to see you. Call me back at…” Billy wrote the number on the back of a blockbuster receipt and set it flat on the counter quickly with a firm hand and a quick retraction, like it might burn him. Max’s name and a ten digit number below it in a blue ballpoint pen stared back at him and he just drummed his fingers on the counter and bit his lip trying to think everything over.

He looked at it for probably another thirty minutes while the rest of the voicemails cycled through in the background before he decided to make a call of his own. Slowly and shaking, he dialed the phone number and tried to even out his breathing while he waited for the sound of the pick up. He was partially hoping that it never came.

But it did. The click sound was followed by a voice that didn’t belong to Max, but one he still recognized.

“Hello?”

Billy took in a deep breath. “Hi. This is Billy.”

“Wow, I’m surprised you actually called.”

Billy huffed and if it had been ten years earlier he would have already hung up the phone by now.

“Who is this?”

“Lucas Sinclair. I take it you want to talk to Max?”

Billy tensed at the mention of her name, as if that hadn’t been the whole plan in the first place. “Yeah,” he said, a little bit of shakiness to his voice, “could you put her on?”

After a few short moments of silence and a little bit of movement in the background, he heard her.

“Hey Billy.” she sounded… glad… and it made Billy let out a heavy sigh of relief.

“Hey Maxine.”

“It’s Max.” There was that tone, she hadn’t changed at all.

“Yeah, I know.” There was a pause, Billy twirled the phone cord around this index finger to the point it started going pink and then purple while he tried to get the question to leave the tip of his tongue. “So, he’s really dead?” he asked, blunt as ever.

“Yeah. I don’t expect you to want to come for the funeral, but I just thought you should know, and if you need a place to stay you can– hold on one second” Billy could hear muffled bickering and Max yelling ‘Lucas Sinclair’ through clenched teeth and it brought a smile to his face. It reminded him of all those times he’d eavesdrop on her phone calls with him just to piss her off, just to hear her yell at him through their shared wall before she’d chase him around the house. Those were good days. “As I was saying. You can stay here if you need. We have a spare room.”

“Thanks for the offer.”

“I really hope you decide to come.”

“We’ll see.” He was just about to hang the phone back up, but he stopped himself, “Hey Max?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s nice hearing the sound of your voice again.”

Billy wound up taking the week off and driving that same old Camaro, restored back to its former glory, that did the distance twice before, back over to Indiana, to the place he said he’d never go back to, and he really couldn’t figure out the reason why he didn’t just go into work. There was nothing to drive him to go but the weird feeling in his gut that refused to go away until he called in, and a little bit of that pressure was released.

For each freeway exit he came across on the over thousand mile journey he contemplated turning around, getting back on that on-ramp going the other direction and save himself from whatever hell he’d be walking into.

Because that’s what Hawkins was to him. Hell. There were monsters like his father, and then there were real, legitimate monsters as well and Billy wasn’t safe from either of them, well he was safe from one now. He couldn’t imagine why Max decided to stay in the shithole and not get out like he did.

Maybe that’s what makes him the coward.

The welcome to Hawkins sign gave him chills. He remembered seeing that for the first time, following behind the rickety Uhaul pulled by their beat up truck when Billy decided not to follow them into their next turn, and instead got lost on the “scenic route” of Hawkins which really meant “trees, trees, and more trees” when he hit the Quarry’s dead end and nearly went off the cliff into the water below.

At the time he might’ve thought it would have been better if he had.

A lot of things had looked to have changed about the town since the last time he saw it. Places that he remembered being nothing but vast forests now had neighborhoods and restaurant chains and the place that once had a natural canopy was now completely deforested and exposed to the sun.

But the Quarry was exactly the same as he left it.

From the beer cans crushed and scattered, to the sounds of gravel pieces bouncing up and chipping the paint on his car.

The continuities continued to add up when he stepped foot out of the car, pulling on that same old denim jacket he hadn’t worn in years after trading it in for a suit and tie. His boot hit the gravel path just like it always had, with that same stomp that demanded attention, like each time he got out of that car he had to play into the dramatics, put on the mask and play the part he chose for himself. The breeze and the smell, it was all the same as before, as if the industrialization just several blocks north hadn’t had any effects on this little corner of the town where the birds still sang their songs in harmony and the smell of nature was pungent. It felt like no time had passed at all.

But it had been the sound of a rumbling BMW rolling down the crushing gravel that made him feel exactly like he was back in highschool again, the same rotten kid who used fists as forms for problem solving, the kid who as an adult had worked on his impulsivity, standing there, staring up the gentle slope with his fists clenched so tight his fingernails left marks on his palms. All that work, all that progress he thought he’d gone through, thrown straight out the window at just the mere sight of something from his past.

The BMW pulled up beside him, and the quarry apparently wasn’t the only thing that hadn’t changed. Steve still had the same big swooped back hair and that same exact look on his face when they made eye contact through the passenger window, the same exact look he had the day he told him he was leaving, and screamed at him to get out of his hospital room.

That was the last time they spoke.

Steve got out of the car without a word and just leaned against the door, looking him up and down, and Billy didn’t feel like he had any right to say the first word, considering he’d had the last one.

“It’s good to see you Billy.” Steve broke the silence, and it was almost startling, with both the sudden change of volume, and the sound of that voice he’d almost forgotten singing in his head like a song he didn’t remember learning the lyrics to.

“Is it?” Because it felt like it was all just a formality coming out of his mouth.

He wasn’t expecting an answer to that, so he shouldn’t have been surprised when Steve changed the subject. It was oddly refreshing seeing Steve write the script this time, steering the conversation his way.

“Looks like we both kept our old wheels,” he said, slapping the top of his car twice, maybe a little too hard. The sound of a hand against metal echoed through the trees. “though there’s not as many dents from what I remember.”

“I had it restored.”

The majority of Steve’s body was hidden behind the car that separated the two of them, but he could see in the way that his shoulders moved that his hands had found his own hips, doing that same stance of a mother who just caught their kid in the act of something naughty. “Some good memories happened in that car.”

“Some bad ones too. Or do I need to remind you how the dents got there in the first place?” Billy crossed his arms over his chest, as if the thousand pound chunk of metal that served as a barrier wasn’t enough to protect him. Because it felt like Steve could see directly through him with the way his head tilted when Billy threw his words back at him. Because they both knew that it was horseshit. Memories of whatever happened between Steve and the Camaro existed only in the dents that remained and the neck pain that still lingered. He didn’t actually hold any grudge about that, and he never did.

Because Steve was right. There had been good memories in that car, some he didn’t remember until seeing him again, some that still played in his mind when he went to sleep at night. Maybe that was the reason he kept it around for so long, that one piece that contained all of those few good times, all of those times with Steve.

“You were always so good at that.”

“What?”

“Deflecting. Pushing people away.”

Billy opened his mouth to defend himself, but there was nothing that came out but his own breath, but Steve filled that silence anyway before Billy would have even had the opportunity to speak.

“You cut your hair.”

It was like he was being interrogated.

“Company policy, they practically had to strap me down and take the clippers to my head themselves.”

Steve actually laughed, and it seemed genuine at least. Billy pulled out the pack of red that he always kept on the seat like it was muscle memory. His hands would only ever stop shaking when he had that little stick between his fingers, and they were only shaking more since Steve got out of that car.

“You still smoke?”

Billy put the cigarette in between his lips and lit up, pausing for a nice drag before bothering to answer Steve. Just letting his eyes fall shut and experience just a short moment of relaxation.

“Some old habits never die”

Steve pursed his lips. Every single one of his mannerisms were exactly the same. This one meant that he wanted to say something that he didn’t know if he should.

“Was I just an old habit too?”

“Steve–”

Steve just kicked the side of his car with his knee, sure to leave a dent of his own. The sound was loud enough that the consistent stream of chirping birds transformed into a cascade of flapping wings as the birds on the trees flew away from the scene. He walked around to the front of his car and the physical object that once created separation was gone, and suddenly Steve was within reach and he couldn’t breathe.

“Glad to know it’s harder to quit nicotine than it was to quit me!”

Billy chucked his lit cigarette at the ground and scuffed it with his heel into the gravel. “Who told you it was easy?!” He had a finger pointed to Steve and had closed their distance a few feet more, less than an arms length apart from each other.

“You left!”

“Because I had to! You know I did!”

“You didn’t have to leave me!” Steve practically screamed that final word, his face was now just inches away from Billy’s and he was nearly foaming at the mouth and from an outsider's perspective, Steve looked about two seconds from either kissing him, or killing him.

He did neither. He took a step back and recollected himself with a dramatic clearing of his throat. “You didn’t even ask me to come with you.”

“And you don’t think I regret that every fucking day of my life?” Billy’s voice broke, trembling throughout the sentence like he was containing a ticking time bomb. “Why are you even here?”

Steve just rolled his eyes at the steer. “Max sent me.”

“Of course she fucking did.”

“She cares about you y’know.” Billy scoffed, because how could she? After all he did to her? He could still hear those palms banging against those windows and her muffled screams for her to stay every time he got into that car. “Why are you here?”

“Did she not tell you the part where my dad died?”

“I know damn well you didn’t come all this way to pay your respects.”

Billy let himself drop to the ground and sit on the rough terrain with his back against his tire, unable to continue standing, his legs were ready to betray him.

“I have no idea why I’m here, okay? I just am.”

Steve nodded his head, and he didn’t say anything, no quip back in his face, he just followed Billy to the ground.

“Are you upset he’s gone?”

Billy let out a groan and tried to rub the growing migraine from his temples.

“I’m feeling a lot of things, but I don’t think ‘upset’ is one of them.” Neither of them said anything after that. They just sat there on the ground and enjoyed the silence together like they used to do. Looking up at the clouds and arguing over what shape they were. There’d be none of that today though, and it had nothing to do with the overcast skies. “You still keep a six pack in your trunk?”

Steve laughed and got up from where he was seated and popped the trunk. He was right. Some old habits never fucking die.

Steve tossed a can over to Billy and sat back down on the gravel, maybe a little closer than he had been before. Billy took a long swig and swallowed the bitter taste down. He hadn’t drank much since he was a teenager, he traded in his Coors for Cola and he doesn’t understand how he used to enjoy the taste of it before.

“Why did you stay in Hawkins?”

Steve dug his heel and pushed a pile of rocks forward, kicking a plume of dust into the air.

“Nobody ever gave me a reason to leave.”

Billy wanted to ask if he would have even come with him had he asked him to. But he opted against it, instead just taking another drink from the can and a genuine “I’m sorry.” passed his lips.

“You know I followed you?”

“What?”

“Yup. Made it all the way to St. Louis before I turned around.”

Billy was just staring at him at this point, unsure if he’d just heard him right. He just sat there with his mouth agape, catching flies and waiting for Steve to say more.

“I knew that you needed to go. I knew that you were hurting and it took me almost ten hours on the open road to realize that you needed time to heal.” Steve’s eyes looked glossy and his cheeks flushed but he kept his smile on. “So I came back home, and I waited here for you to come back. I wanted to make myself easy to find when you needed me.”

“You waited for me?”

Steve inched his hand over to where Billy’s was propping himself up and let his fingers gently trace the back of his hand. Steve’s touch was everything. It made his heart start racing and his palms start sweating and it felt just like 1985 all over again.

Billy took Steve’s hand in his own and entwined their fingers together and Billy let out a long exhale as they did.

“Billy,” Steve said softly, scooting his body just a little bit closer, less than a foot of separation now between the two of them, and he looked Billy in the eyes. Billy had almost gotten entirely lost in those pools of deep brown before Steve had the chance to speak again. But he heard it, loud and clear. “I’m still waiting for you.”

He waited.

Waited ten fucking years.

Billy wasn’t going to make him sit there and wait for a kiss too.

Billy closed the distance at the moment the penny dropped, sinking all of his weight into the kiss in a frantic and uneven pace just like they were eighteen again trying to squeeze both of their bodies into the backseat of the Camaro, refusing for even a second to separate themselves from the one point of contact that sealed them together like glue. The kiss felt just like their first. In the same spot, instead under the stars and the two of them both drunk off their asses, and that time Billy tasted of only blood and liquor.

But it was that same feeling. That desire to never pull away, that fear that it would end and that it would be the last time. He had that fear with everyone of Steve and his kisses, that each one might just be their last.

So he made a point to savor all of them.

They kissed until they physically couldn’t anymore. Out of breath with swollen lips and an inability stop the smiles that peeked through every couple of seconds. They sat there with their foreheads touching and their clasped hands still intact, relishing in the heat that was each other’s breath on their faces. Billy was crying, just streams of tears paired with a smile that Steve gently wiped away with his thumb, the brush of contact making him shiver.

“I missed you so fucking much.”

Steve cradled Billy’s head in his hands and peppered a few short kisses to his lips.

“I missed you too.”

“You think this is why Max invited me here?” Billy asked. “I can’t imagine she’d actually think I would want to come to this thing.”

Steve laughed. “No. She’s not an idiot. She figured you’d want to crash the funeral.”

Billy immediately got up from his place on the ground and held his other hand out for Steve to grab onto. “Well you wanna join me while I go piss on my old man’s grave?”

Steve took his hand without hesitation and let Billy pull him up off the ground.

“It would be my honor.”

Hawkins made a lot of bad memories for Billy, most of which he locked somewhere far away, but the good still remained. Right there in the look on Steve’s face with the way he looked back at him.

And he was happy to make a couple more.

[jail-crow-of-mandos]

Is Caranthir Autistic Or Am I Just Projecting: An Autobiography

Yup, here it is. My long-promised autistic Caranthir meta. Although I’m not sure how much of a meta it can be considering Caranthir is only mentioned by name 24 times in the entire Silmarillion, outside of the name index at the end. So here’s the plan: we’re gonna go through every time he’s mentioned and see if it tells us anything about potentially being autistic.

Before we begin. here is the DSM list of requirements for being diagnosed as autistic. Considering how few times we see Caranthir doing stuff in day to day life, odds are we won’t get to the level required for full diagnosis, but it certainly can help support it as a theory.

Requirements:

Deficits in social-emotional reciprocity

Deficits in nonverbal communicative behaviors used for social interaction,

Deficits in developing, maintaining, and understanding relationships

At least two of the following: Stereotyped or repetitive motor movements, use of objects, or speech, Insistence on sameness, inflexible adherence to routines, or ritualized patterns of verbal or nonverbal behavior, Highly restricted, fixated interests that are abnormal in intensity or focus, Hyper- or hyporeactivity to sensory input or unusual interest in sensory aspects of the environment

Symptoms must be present in the early developmental period (but may not become fully manifest until social demands exceed limited capacities, or may be masked by learned strategies in later life)

Symptoms cause clinically significant impairment in social, occupational, or other important areas of current functioning.

These disturbances are not better explained by intellectual disability or global developmental delay. Intellectual disability and autism spectrum disorder frequently co-occur; to make comorbid diagnoses of autism spectrum disorder and intellectual disability, social communication should be below that expected for general developmental level.

With that being said, let’s start at the beginning:

“The seven sons of Fëanor were Maedhros the tall; Maglor the mighty singer, whose voice was heard far over land and sea; Celegorm the fair, and Caranthir the dark; Curufin the crafty, who inherited most of his father’s skill of hand; and the youngest Amrod and Amras, who were twin brothers, alike in mood and face. In later days they were great hunters in the woods of Middle-earth; and a hunter also was Celegorm [...]”

“[Regarding the Oath] Thus spoke Maedhros and Maglor and Celegorm, Curufin and Caranthir, Amros and Amras, princes of the Noldor [...]”

Okay these two tell us absolutely nothing about Caranthir in particular, at least for this particular topic. Moving swiftly along.

“But Caranthir, who loved not the sons of Finarfin, and was the harshest of the brothers and the most quick to anger, cried aloud: ‘Yea more! Let not the sons of Finarfin run hither and thither with their tales to this dark Elf in his caves! Who made them our spokesmen to deal with him? And though they be come indeed to Beleriand, let them not so swiftly forget that their father is a lord of the Noldor, though their mother be of other kin”

Now we’re finally getting to the good part. Let’s start at the beginning. “Deficits in social-emotional reciprocity”. Yep. To put that in layman’s terms, it means to have trouble understanding how to navigate conversations in a normal way, often talking out of turn or speaking too harshly. This falls into both of those. On top of that, it also shows signs of “Deficits in developing, maintaining, and understanding relationships”. He is clearly misreading the situation and attacking Angrod for no real reason outside of being mad about everything. This is not how you speak to a stranger, especially not a diplomat. 

One could even argue that it could show signs of “Insistence on sameness, inflexible adherence to routines, or ritualized patterns of verbal or nonverbal behavior”” and “Deficits in nonverbal communicative behaviors used for social interaction”. The former could be argued because one could say that he has fallen into a comfortable pattern, and the idea of changing it is deeply distressing to him, hence why he lashed out. The idea of changes happening that he didn’t directly have a say in causes him to panic and react with anger. As far as the latter one goes, given Maedhros’s initial response to Angrod as well as him trying to calm Caranthir down afterwards, one can reasonably assume that his body language was telling his brothers to stay calm and cordial. Caranthir either ignored this deliberately (which would strengthen the prior argument that he struggles maintaining and understanding relationships, given the authority Maedhros has over him) or he simply could not pick up on the nonverbal cues that Maedhros was giving.

“Now the people of Caranthir dwelt furthest east beyond the upper waters of Gelion, about Lake Helevorn under Mount Rerir and to the southward; and they climbed the heights of Ered Luin and looked eastward in wonder, for wild and wide it seemed to them were the lands of Middle-earth. And thus it was that Caranthir's people came upon the Dwarves, who after the onslaught of Morgoth and the coming of the Noldor had ceased their traffic into Beleriand. But though either people loved skill and were eager to learn, no great love was there between them; for the Dwarves were secret and quick to resentment, and Caranthir was haughty and scarce concealed his scorn for the unloveliness of the Naugrim, and his people followed their lord. Nevertheless since both peoples feared and hated Morgoth they made alliance, and had of it great profit; for the Naugrim learned many secrets of craft in those days, so that the smiths and masons of Nogrod and Belegost became renowned among their kin, and when the Dwarves began again to journey into Beleriand all the traffic of the dwarf-mines passed first through the hands of Caranthir, and thus great riches came to him.”

So this is the part that led to all of the Caranthir loving money jokes, which ultimately led to there being a Caranthir/money tag on AO3. (No, really.) That said, there’s a lot to unpack here. First of all, it’s pretty reasonable to think that Caranthir’s love for planning and economics go beyond average, so let’s assume for a moment that economics are his special interest. This would fill the third elective requirement: “Highly restricted, fixated interests that are abnormal in intensity or focus”. Or, in other words, having a special interest. But beyond that, him not even trying to hide his distaste for the Dwarves clearly shows a lack of basic diplomacy, which we’ve been over before. He has severely lacking social skills. Plus, choosing to be hostile towards a group that have the exact same interests as him proves that he struggles with change, or at the very least forming interpersonal bonds, even if he did form an alliance with them in the end (which only goes to show how strong his special interest is).

“Therefore the Noldor held strength of cavalry In the plains at that place; and the people of Caranthir fortified the mountains to the east of Maglor's Gap. There Mount Rerir, and about it many lesser heights, stood out from the main range of Ered Lindon westward; and in the angle between Rerir and Ered Lindon there was a lake, shadowed by mountains on all sides save the south. That was Lake Helevorn, deep and dark, and beside it Caranthir had his abode; but all the great land between Gelion and the mountains, and between Rerir and the River Ascar, was called by the Noldor Thargelion, which signifies the Land beyond Gelion, or Dor Caranthir, the Land of Caranthir; and it was here that the Noldor first met the Dwarves. But Thargelion was before called by the Grey-elves Talath Rhúnen, the East Vale.”

Okay this one might be a bit of a stretch, but one could argue that Caranthir choosing to live beneath the mountains and in a notably dark region could indicate a sensitivity to bright lights, which would qualify as a sensory sensitivity. Even if not, though, we already have the required two of the four electives.

“At that time [Celegorm and Curufin] were from home, riding with Caranthir east in Thargelion [...]”

And this tells us absolutely nothing.

“But seven days later, as the Orcs made their last assault and had already broken through the stockade, there came suddenly a music of trumpets, and Caranthir with his host came down from the north and drove the Orcs into the rivers.

Then Caranthir looked kindly upon Men and did Haleth great honour; and he offered her recompense for her father and brother. And seeing, over late, what valour there was in the Edain, he said to her: 'If you will remove and dwell further north, there you shall have the friendship and protection of the Eldar, and free lands of your own.'

But Haleth was proud, and unwilling to be guided or ruled, and most of the Haladin were of like mood. Therefore she thanked Caranthir, but answered: 'My mind is now set, lord, to leave the shadow of the mountains, and go west, whither others of our kin have gone.'”

One could probably argue that Haleth was Caranthir’s only friend outside of his immediate family, which certainly indicates a struggle in forming bonds. That being said, he did pretty good here. I’m proud of him :))

“Maglor joined Maedhros upon Himring; but Caranthir fled and joined the remnant of his people to the scattered folk of the hunters, Amrod and Amras, and they retreated and passed Ramdal in the south. Upon Amon Ereb they maintained a watch and some strength of war, and they had aid of the Green-elves; and the Orcs came not into Ossiriand, nor to Taur-im-Duinath and the wilds of the south.”

While this is a very interesting passage for Caranthir’s characterization, it has nothing to do with him potentially being autistic, so we can move on.

“The sons of Ulfang the Black were Ulfast, and Ulwarth, and Uldor the accursed; and they followed Caranthir and swore allegiance to him, and proved faithless”

Poor Caranthir can’t catch a break, can he? But yeah of course he chooses the people who end up being the least loyal. Certainly indicates a lack of character judgement, which falls under not understanding nonverbal communication.

“There fell Celegorm by Dior's hand, and there fell Curufin, and dark Caranthir”

RIP. But it doesn’t really tell us anything.

Obviously, we can’t know what he was like during childhood development, nor can we know what underlying conditions he may have. However, given how many alliances he fucked over or nearly fucked over with his bad social skills, it’s fair to say that his autistic traits would have clinical significance. So, in conclusion, while nothing can be said for certain, it is reasonable to think that Caranthir is autistic.

[lady-of-all-cards]

Ikemen Revolution: Alternate Ending (Lancelot Kingsley)

One-Shot Statistics: Pages: 5 Word Count: 2312 Characters: 12843 Characters (without spaces): 10593

Fandom: Ikemen Revolution Characters: Lancelot Kingsley, Jonah Clemence, Edgar Bright, Zero, Luka Clemence (Mentioned), Alice the Second (Mentioned), Amon Jabberwock. Pairings: Lancelot Kingsley/Main Character Summary: What would have happened if Alice made it home on the fateful night? Would anyone come to his rescue, or would he die atop the tower fulfilling his one true ambition…?

Notes: SPOILERS!This is an alternate universe based on the event that Alice the Second managed to return home the night of the full moon. All character credit goes to Cybrid Entertainment, and if you haven’t already, I highly recommened you download Ikemen Revolution and experience Lancelot’s Route and the original ending for yourself.

After a fateful goodbye, Jonah let the smile fade from his lips. He had truly thought Alice was the answer to their struggles, to their strife, but in the end, she had just been another fleeting hope, another victim of a long list of broken dreams…

Shaking the thought from his head, Jonah straightened his back and, although it was more and more painful after every step, began to make his way from the back of the Garden, through the quaint tea party setting and down the stoned marble stairs of the Civic Center.

He slipped out the back, closer towards home, to avoid any Black Army scouts. It would soon be time for the two armies to finally clash, to bring five-hundred years of peaceful strife to an end in blood, sweat and tears. He swore by his crimson blood that he would faithfully serve his king, so why did the thought of cutting down the enemy, of running a red river through Cradle, hurt him so much?

Shaking his head, he made his way over to Edgar, who seemed strangely… off guard, or at least distracted by his pocket watch he was staring at so intently. It was usual for him to be so out of it, but as the elder Clemence drew closer, his subordinate muttered a question, letting it hang on the wind and drift to his commander.

“Why is a raven like a writing desk, Jonah?” Jonah had barely heard him, and at first thought he had misheard the Crimson Jack, and graced him with an expression marred with confusion, but he wasn’t given a chance to voice his question before Edgar continued. “Because, freedom soars on raven wings.”

“What on earth are you going on about now?” Jonah stressed, motioning widely with his arms, hitting his sides as if it would somehow push his point further.

“Our fearless King hasn’t shown up yet, Jonah. What is our army without him? Burnt out blood with hopeless intentions. Something is off about this whole thing and I don’t know what it is. I don’t like not knowing things.” His index finger closed the lid of the watch as he deftly slipped back into his pocket. Edgar’s gaze tracked the foggy street ahead, as if expecting something to crawl out and take down their entire army in one fell swoop.

“I mean… it is strange for King Lancelot to not be around… Has he not told you anything? I doubt he would leave us in the dark about anything relating to the war.” Jonah’s voice was uneasy as he looked over the army stood at attention at his side.

“Zero seemed a little off this morning, too. I thought it was because he was still recovering, but now I’m not so sure. I haven’t seen him since our march began either. He was commanding at the back of the army, but he should have-”

“Edgar!”

“There he is.” The Jack turned to the rush of horse hooves, and Zero jumped from his horse just before the mare reared in front of them. There wasn’t a break in the movements, and both his commanders were impressed with the fluid movements he had displayed.

“Zero! Have you seen King Lancelot?” Jonah near-begged for an answer, ignoring Edgar. However, the painful contort of Zero’s expression made more panic course through him.

“There’s no time- we need to get to the Magic Tower. That’s where King Lancelot is.” Zero breathed, mounting his steed once again, shifting in the saddle and giving his two commanders an urgent look.

“What’s going on? What do you mean King Lancelot’s at the Magic Tower?!” Jonah demanded, his panic now arising in his voice, but Edgar’s following question seemed more prevalent.

“Zero… who attacked you and Alice that day?” The Ace’s expression and resounding silence answered Edgar better than any words could. Edgar jogged over to two tethered horses, unhitched them both and handed one set of reins to Jonah.

“We have to move quickly. The attack can wait until we find out what on earth is going on!” Jonah commanded, mounting the horse Edgar had led over.

There were no more words passed between them as they all urged their steeds to the Southern forest. The moon floating in the night sky showed it’s full face, illuminating the faint trail they followed.

“We’re nearly there. We should be able to see the Tower soon.” Jonah called over the wind to the two men backing him. “Stay on your guard.” 

“Wait, Jonah–” Edgar spurred his horse on and grabbed the reins of Jonah’s horse, pulling them back and subsequently slowing them both down. Zero reined his horse in seeing them both slowing down.

“Edgar, what’s wrong?” Jonah asked, squinting at the treeline.

“What are they doing here?” Was the Jack’s reply, motioning to the shadowy figures moving through the line of trees just ahead of them. The words drifted to the trio from afar.

“We need to hurry.”

“Yes. We must be there to see the end of the armies so we can report it to Lord Amon.”

“This will be a night for the history books! We’re about to witness the closing chapter of five-hundred years of conflict!”

“Sounds like they’re off to watch the battle as if it were a sporting event.” Jonah’s hushed whisper was dark, and full of anger.

“Jonah. Look.” Zero stressed, and what once was a few disciples in the forest turned into hordes of shadows. “What’ll we do if they spot us?”

“We’re supposed to be preparing for battle. If they find us here, they suspect something’s up and it’ll all be over for us…” Jonah responded, scrambling to form a plan to avoid a confrontation.

“We can’t let that happen.” Edgar chuckled jovially despite the situation. “It’ll take longer to get to the Tower, but I think we should take a detour.” The other two didn’t see any other way, and nodded in agreement, adjusting their steeds to skirt around the cloaked men, urging their horses into gallops.

As they raced through the forest with its glow of natural Magic Crystals. Jonah glanced back. It appeared they had avoided detection, and just as he was about to breathe a sigh or relief–

“Like a moth to a flame. Isn’t that the saying?” Jonah gasped and pulled back harshly on the reins, his horse rearing as his accompanying subordinates fell into place beside him. A man in a deep hood blocked their path. “I just got word from my fellow disciples. Seems they found fresh hoofprints on the ground.” The Disciple of Magic held a Magic Crystal up to his mouth, using it like some sort of communication device. “I found the trespassers. It’s the Queen and Jack of Hearts, oh, and our failed experiment zero.”

Jonah took the unguarded moment to try break off and continue the urgent journey, but before he could turn the horse, a bright flash covered their sights, and they were suddenly surrounded by cloaked men wielding Magic Crystals.

“Strange night for a joyride. Once we have you tied up, you can tell us all about what you had planned.” A menacing smile flashed from deep within the man’s hood. “Capture them! And eliminate them if they put up too much of a fight.”

“Yes, sir!” 

Jonah drew his sword, swinging his blade as gracefully as a butterfly.

“Gr!”

Jonah single-handedly cut down one disciple after another, protecting his men from their magic and blades, but there seemed to be no end to them.

“Where are they all coming from?!” He stressed, reining back in line with Zero and Edgar. Jonah paused only for an instant, but he saw a flash through the air at that same moment.

“I have you now! Die, Queen of Hearts!” Before Jonah had time to parry the blow, something else knocked the disciple’s sword away.

“That was close, huh, Jonah?” Edgar threw a gentle smile over his shoulder as he pushed the disciple back.

“Don’t back down! Get him– urgh!” The man who had been shouting crumpled to the ground in silence.

“You let a ghost from your past sneak up on you. Never drop your guard when facing military men.” Zero warned in triumph. The remaining men inched towards them cautiously.

“There’s one thing that’s clear; these guys are the enemy. Queen. Get out of here.” Edgar ordered, straightening in his saddle.

“But, Edgar–”

“Go and do whatever it is you’re supposed to do.” Edgar said, effectively cutting Jonah off, giving him the gentlest smile he could have possibly mustered, hoping it offered him some comfort.

“When I count down from three– turn your horse to the South-West and make a break for it.” Zero added, rolling his shoulders.

“Got it.” Jonah spoke curtly, giving them a single nod. “But don’t die. That’s an order from your queen.”

“We’ll do our best.” Edgar assured.

“Don’t worry. Even if they kill us, Edgar and I won’t die.” It didn’t make sense, but it was still a nice sentiment. Jonah was worried for them, but he knew he had to push forward. The disciples were glaring at the trio, weighing the situation. They knew they would attack again as soon as they took another step. “Ready?”

“Yes.” Jonah whispered, looking at his target direction.

“Three, two, one– Go!” At Zero’s command, Jonah kicked his horse into a gallop.

“Don’t let him escape!” Jonah fought the urge to look back, staring straight ahead through the trees. He just had to trust in them, and believe they would be safe. 

The dense trees eventually began to grow sparse as Jonah reached the edge of the forest. Jonah gasped as the Magic Tower came into view. Dark, thundering clouds around its peak. It was clear something was happening at the Tower’s peak, so he quickly reined the horse to a stop and scrambled to find a way inside, but the tower was supported only by smooth, round pillars. No doors.

A hazy glow beyond one of the pillars caught Jonah’s attention- it was a spiral staircase that spiraled up to the top floor. They seemed to float in midair as they climbed the incredible height of the tower. A fall from those would mean certain death, but he couldn’t let that stop him. He knew that Lancelot was at the top of this tower. He was fighting all by himself. Jonah nodded resolutely to himself, then took his first step onto the staircase that floated in the darkness.

He held his head up high, even though the urge to look down was strong, but a sudden gust of wind made him feel like he might get blown off at any moment. A cold sweat had broken out on his forehead, but he steeled his resolve, and looked behind him.

“Oh no…” He breathed.

“Capture the intruder!” Men in hoods were filling up the stairs after him. “Get him!” The men took out Magic Crystals, which sent an ominous light swirling towards him. Jonah swung his sword in a delicate arch, deflecting the spell away from him. “Keep attacking!”

Jonah took a deep breath, tightening the grip on his saber. The actions were purposeful, and he leapt forward suddenly.

“I don’t have time for this!” He stressed, twisting at last second and elbowing a disciple, causing him to knock back into two other disciples and sent them both over the side of the stairs. Without missing a beat, Jonah twisted on his foot, delivering a merciless kick to a disciple behind him.

What followed could only be described as a dance, with the valiant Queen of Hearts struggling against his opponents, but effortlessly deflecting the spells and warding off his assailants. He was as poised and as graceful as ever, and the fight couldn’t have ended any quicker for him…

After it did end, however, he didn’t even take a moment to stop. He continued to bolt up the stairs, his saber and bloodied uniform glistening in the moonlight.

He thrust his entire body into the door at the very top of the stairs, causing it to slam open violently, stumbling to his knees from the sudden absence, but it was the sight he saw that held him frozen in place…

A badly wounded man dressed in purple slowly stood from where he had been laying, chuckling deeply as he caught sight of Jonah’s broken figure.

“You’re too late, Queen of Hearts. Your King is dead! And Cradle is all mine!” His laugh was straight up maniacal, and it only fueled Jonah’s anger and pain as he clenched his teeth. “Submit to me, Queen, and I may just spare your life.” Amon received no answer from Jonah, but he didn’t seem bothered by it. In fact, his smile grew, the sickening grin flashing in the dull light of the crystals. “Join me, Jonah, or your brother’s life is forfeit.” 

That did it. Amon didn’t have a chance to react. How could he? A being full of rage, brimming with emotion, was something he could never fathom, and in consequence, the sharpened saber of the Queen of Hearts was driven straight through the Leader of the Magic Tower.

Amon, with what little strength remained, grabbed Jonah’s hand, trying to pry it away, trying to free himself from the weapon, but Jonah had snapped, and drove the saber deeper through him, twisting it mercilessly. 

The scorn of Cradle had been defeated, but not without stealing the dear life of Lancelot Kingsley, the fearless King of Hearts, the valiant head of the proud Crimson Army. The truth of his actions were only ever known to the Queen of Hearts, told through the inky black words of the letter he left by Jonah’s door…

The sun rose that day, but it’s light was snuffed out by heavy storm clouds…

[aurorafreerose]

Don’t Be Late- Kacchako

Summary- Bakugo writes Uraraka a letter. She gets herself into more than what she can handle. 

Headcanons- Bakugou’s sweat (nitroglycerin) smells like caramel + he calls her angel face (manga canon) instead of round face. 

Writer’s note- I wrote this chapter listening to Borderline (single ver.) by Tame Impala, We Got Love by Teyana Taylor, and Flashing Lights by Kanye West, and encourage you to do the same!

Words: 2014

Read on Ao3!

"To: Angel Face,"   Ochaco started to read out loud.

Wait a minute.

"'Angel Face' ?!" sputtered Uraraka in utter bewilderment.

"Doesn't Bakugo-kun call you that, kero?" asked Tsuyu, her straight black hair tucked into a messy ponytail. "Yes, but I didn't expect him to address me like that in my note... and he made it so obvious, too..." Uraraka trailed off.  

Today's assignment in class had been to write each other anonymous notes critiquing their battle abilities, with the intent of gathering constructive criticism from their peers for the next week's training sessions in USJ. It forced them all to analyze their classmates' strengths and weakness, and more importantly, gave them rudimentary, short-term goals to focus on. They were supposed to be anonymous, because- how did Aizawa-sensei put it- "I don't want you spending your time worrying about the implications of your classmates' notes. You'll be assigned a random pair, because I don't trust you to pick. The point of this exercise is to gather feedback, not a free-for-all in which you trade personal opinions with each other. That's why you aren't going to put your names on there, and don't even think about writing something unrelated. I assure you that if anyone does- he'd narrowed his eyes at them- they'll have to deal with me personally."

Ochaco shuddered as she recalled Aizawa-sensei's frightening aura emanating the room earlier that day.

"And don't even think about writing something rude or thoughtless- I'm looking at you, Bakugo and Kirishima-" she remembered Bakugo had replied with a dismissive "Tch" and reclined his head back as if he didn't have a care in the world. He'd kicked his legs up on the seat in front of him- which coincidentally, belonged to a highly affronted Iida, which had made Aizawa-sensei so irritated that he gave Bakugo his signature death stare for thirty seconds before Bakugo finally gave up on their standoff and sat down like a normal person. A small smile graced her lips as she sat remembering the day's events.  

She realized that Bakugo was probably the only person who was confident enough - or maybe careless - to pay no heed to their teacher's warning. But why would he go through the trouble of risking house arrest just to address her-

"Keep reading, Uraraka!" prompted Mina, leaning her head forward.

"Oh- right! Sorry, girls!" Uraraka replied bashfully, unconsciously raising her four fingers to her neck as she realized she'd momentarily gotten lost in her thoughts. The chattery group were all seated in the common area, with Tsuyu on her left, Hagakure and Momo on the couch directly opposite theirs, Jirou in an armchair diagonal from her right, and Mina resting (somewhat) beside her. They'd decided to debrief the notes with each other, because really, who wouldn't want to find out who said what to who? She resumed reading the note, being careful to keep her pinkies in the air.

"Your quirk is strong."

"Ehhh? Bakugo-kun complimented you?" remarked Mina in awe. She had flopped backwards onto the couch, her head now upside-down and parallel to Ochaco's. "He almost never compliments anyone, except for maybe All Might... but I don't really know if that counts..." She lifted her arms absentmindedly and outstretched her palms, wiggling each of her fingers.

"He might have felt obligated to, since it was an official assignment and all," Momo suggested thoughtfully, nestling her head in between her thumb and her index finger.

"Well, he never complimented me, he just criticized me! You all just heard it for yourselves!" Jiro chimed in angrily, brandishing her letter around, which she'd read right before Ochaco's. "And he wasn't nice about it either, but I guess that's typical of him," she admitted.

"Go on, Uraraka-chan!" Hagakure leaned forward- you could tell because her pajama shirt shifted directions- and Ochaco assumed she had an encouraging expression on her face, although you could never be sure with her.

"In order to make the best use of it, you should continue to focus on learning martial arts."

"What does he mean by that?" Ochaco looked upward, her face set in a thoughtful expression as she let her thoughts roll off of the tip of her tongue.

"It means... you should continue to focus on learning martial arts?" Mina's head was now resting on the floor as she continued her descent down the couch, her still upside-down body making its way as her lopsided thighs, each going in a different direction, took the place of where her head had previously been next to Ochaco's head.

"I think Bakugo-kun means you should improve your fighting form. He was probably thinking about the sports festival," suggested Tsuyu, bringing her lips down to the milkshake resting comfortably in between her hands. Everyone seemed to approve of this interpretation, and they all went silent in anticipation of Uraraka's next words.

"However, there are times when you have to appear relaxed, even if it's just an act."

"That's it?" asked Momo curiously. "I thought he would have had more to say, even if they were supposed to be short."

"Yao-momo, why would he have made it longer?" said Ochaco.

"I don't know, but he went through an awful lot of trouble just to make sure you knew it was him who had written," Momo remarked.

"All right, we've spent way too much time on this note! My turn!" exclaimed Mina excitedly, who was now lying on the floor smiling and pulling out her own set of yellow paper. "See what this one says... I think it might have been Mineta, because look, it's kind of pervy, see..."

"Ahhhh..."

As the girls gathered around Mina, Ochaco wasn't really paying attention to whatever weird note they were hotly discussing. Bakugo's note was still on her mind.

There was no reason for him to reveal himself to her, but he did it anyways. Why would he do that? He didn't gain anything from it. Maybe he was bored, and decided to trip her up?

And telling her to improve her martial arts skills? That was way too vague! What was she supposed to think of that? Was he just trying to rub her loss in even more?

No, he wasn't that kind of person. As scarily competitive as he was, Bakugo was never cruel to her.

Did he want a rematch? Maybe that is what he wants. It was almost too perfect. They were training next week, and tomorrow was their free day, so if that's what he wants, it's what he'll get. I'll ask him. Even after their match at the sports festival, she wanted to improve so badly. And of course, the best person to ask was the person who gave her the advice in the first place, right?

The next time I see him, I'll ask him, she decided.

About ten minutes later, speak of the devil!  Bakugo walked into the common area, wearing a black tank top that (Ochaco hated to admit it, but it was true) accentuated his already well-defined muscles nicely and blue athletic pants, a towel wrapped around his neck. Fresh from the gym his fluffy blonde hair, unruly as it always was, poked out in a multitude of different directions.

His expression was blank. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. He stared straight ahead at the floor, not bothering to glance her way. Her heart almost felt like it was sinking, but then she remembered what she was supposed to be doing. She lifted herself off of the couch, gave a quick "I'll be back" to the girls, who were still avidly discussing whether or not Mineta wrote the note, and began walking Bakugo's way.

When he saw her coming, he paused the return journey to his room and sent a slight nod of acknowledgement her way. She stopped walking when she was directly in front of him. She didn't remember him being this tall, but he'd grown over time to the point where he ended up dwarfing her tinier-by-comparison frame, making her seem miniscule. She caught a whiff of burnt caramel emanating from him, but quickly forgot about it as his red eyes narrowed at her.

"What do you want, Angel Face?"

He sounded impatient. She noticed his voice seemed softer compared to his usual growl, but it was clear he wasn't paying her much attention.

"I was thinking about the sports festival-"

"And?" He cut her off with no regard to what she was saying, overly eager to finish their conversation. It was obvious how much he wanted to head upstairs, even though it was only 8:00.

Ochaco rolled her eyes in annoyance. Could he please, at least give her the luxury of finishing her sentences?

Creasing her brow, she asked, "Do you want to spar together tomorrow? It's a free day, after all."

He raised his eyebrows at her, finally showing some engagement with what she was asking him.

Crossing his arms, he asked, "What's in it for me?"

"Huh?"

"What do I get out of it? I'm not wasting my free time fucking you up for no good reason."

Ochaco couldn't stop the words that were coming out of her mouth.

"Practice. Experience. Well, I wanted to continue focusing on learning martial arts, and anyways, I'm curious to see how our quirks interact more." She hated herself for referencing his note, but it was the first thing that came to mind.

Bakugo made direct eye contact with her. It was as if a silent agreement had been made between them as his red pupils locked on target to a pair of brown ones. The intensity behind his eyes flickered, almost scaring her with his ferocity; it was off-putting, the way he radiated sheer dominance, utter power, in all aspects, and it was reaching at her, occupying all of her thoughts. It had only been a few seconds, but he'd still managed to effect her so dramatically in such a short span of time.

What was he doing to her?

"...Fine," he spat, now irritated. He really did hate being held to his word. "But let's make this clear. We're not fuckin' hanging out or whatever the fuck you and shitty Deku do, he snarled, placing a disgusted emphasis on his name. "We're just practicing."

Bakugo clearly wasn't expecting her to take his advice this particular way.

"Right. Just practicing. Got it."

Ochaco didn't understand this new, burgeoning feeling that was beginning to spread throughout her chest. It began to permeate her lungs, her breathing becoming sharp and more ragged; she was taking in much more air than she was before. For some strange reason, her heart was beating faster than it was a minute ago, and adrenaline was pumping through her veins, making her awfully tense...

Why was Bakugo Katsuki making her nervous?

"Just meet me right here at 10:45, sharp. Don't be late, cheeks."

Before she had time to respond, he was turning on his heel and walking away, leaving her free to return to her still-gossiping friends.

It was just nerves, she reassured herself on the way back. Anyone would be nervous talking to Bakugo. Anyone. He was notorious for evoking similar reactions. You couldn't blame her for her reaction. Just nerves, she repeated, ignoring the small handful of doubts in the back of her head.

Uraraka couldn't sleep. Her arms splayed across both bedsides, her heavy-lidded eyes were glassily staring at the ceiling as she busied herself with counting sheep. Slowly but surely, the sheep's coats began to get increasingly blonder and fluffier, until she was counting a horde of angry little Baku-sheep.

"Pffft!"

She didn't recall it at first, but now that she thought about the last time she saw him, she swore she remembered the tiniest blush on Bakugo's face right before he turned away.

Bakugo Katsuki, the angriest, loudest, most volatile person she knew? But why?

She realized what Bakugo was probably thinking to himself as he was writing her that note.

"However, there are times when you have to appear tough, even if it's just an act."

[mitileoshi]

Cast By A Spell of the Ephemeral Night - Event Story Translation, Chapter 9

Special thanks to @tenshika for proofreading!

Mitile: He left. Anyways, what were you doing in a place like this? There’s nothing much here--the stalls are all over there.

Figaro: Well, I met an old acquaintance and we became too deep in our conversation.

Murr: Hey, Mitile! About Figaro’s secret…

Mitile: Eh? but we just said that he didn’t have any secret…

Figaro: Hey, Murr…

Murr: Figaro got lost! That’s why it was a relief that Mitile came. Good for him, huh?

Mitile: Did you get lost, Doctor!?

Figaro: ...Maybe I did.

Mitile: Then Dr Figaro, let’s hold hands so we won’t get separated again.

Figaro: Thank you. Since you are doing this just for me, I will take your offer.

Mitile: Ehehe, there are so many mysterious-looking shops over there. We should pick some souvenirs for Nii-sama!

Figaro: If it’s for Rutile, art supplies are probably the best. We should be able to find magma-infused paint or something.

Mitile: Won’t it set the painting ablaze…?

Figaro: Maybe. We won’t know until he uses it. Come on, let’s have fun at the festival.

Mitile: Yes! 

Akira: Neither Mitile or Owen are here… When there’s this many people, it feels like we’re the ones who’re going to get lost.

Chloe: ….

Akira: ….Chloe?

Chloe: Aah, sorry Sir Sage! I got fascinated by the festival…

Akira: I can understand that feeling. This festival is really lovely.

Chloe: Yeah, it’s so fun and lively! It's so shiny and sparkly no matter where you look. It's like being inside a jewel box. I can hear music all around us too. If only Rustica was here…

As expected, Chloe can’t stop thinking about Rustica.

Even if he’s smiling and saying that he’s having fun, there’s a hint of loneliness in Chloe’s eyes, and it’s as if they’re trying to look for the person who’s supposed to stand next to him right now.

Akira: Let’s buy lots of souvenirs for him.

Chloe: Yes… Thank you, Sir Sage. Once we find  Mitile safe and sound, let’s go find a present that will make Rustica happy the most.

Wizard from the banquet: ….Rustica? You know the infamous tragic nobleman of the West?

Chloe: Eh?

Akira: (The tragic nobleman…?) What do you mean?

Wizard from the banquet: It’s exactly like I said. Is he still on his journey finding his lost bride? Even though there’s no end in sight. After committing a sin as heavy as that, it’s only normal…

My skin crawls from those ominous words. Tragedy and sin are words that don’t fit the gentle and kind Rustica.

My heart is pounding so hard, it hurts.

Chloe: ...Sir Sage, let’s go over there. 

Akira: Eh!? Wait, Chloe?

[Footsteps running and scene goes black]

Akira: Chloe, what happened?

Chloe: I’m sorry for pulling you along so suddenly, Sir Sage! But I just didn't want to hear what that person was going to say any further. Because now I can kind of understand why Rustica is reluctant to come…

Akira: Chloe…

It’s an unusual expression on Chloe, his bows are deeply furred. It can be an expression of anger, but also sadness.

...He releases my arm and clenches his fist--so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

Chloe: It’s not like I know everything about Rustica. But he’s a kind person, so that’s why I don’t want him to be sad. Even if what we hear is true…..

Chloe’s side profile is shaking. He closes his eyes, his long eyelashes quivering, trying so hard to hold back his tears.

Akira: (It’s frustrating… I want to be of help, somehow. But I can’t find the words.) 

Chloe: ...But this is a really fun festival, so I still would’ve loved Rustica to be here. It would be good if we could come together someday.

And just like that, Chloe raises his head and smiles at me.

But I know it’s the smile of someone who’s pained and worried about troubling me.

Chloe truly is a kind person.

Akira: ...You’re absolutely right. It would be nice if Rustica could come too next year.

Chloe: Sir Sage too, will you come with me once again?

Akira: Of course, if you are okay with me, then it’s my pleasure!

Chloe: I’m glad… Next year I’ve got to prepare the finest clothes for Rustica as well! They will be so good that it will make everyone turn around and look at him!

Akira: I can imagine him getting surrounded and how chaotic it would be.

Chloe: That’s true. The witches here can be very bold… 

Akira: There were people calling out to you all the time too until we got here.

Chloe: T-that’s not true!

Akira: You look wonderful tonight. Needless to say, you’re always so fashionable and lovely.

Chloe: Uuuh… You’re making me blush…

Chloe hastily turns around to hide his reddened face, then steals a glance towards my direction.

Chloe: ...Sir Sage, thank you for staying by my side. If you weren’t with me, then I would’ve ended the night with a sad feeling in my chest. It’s the long awaited festival only for wizards, so it would be a waste if you don’t make it into an unforgettable night! 

Softly, like a blossoming flower bud, he blooms a captivating gentle smile.

So gentle, so beautiful. Even the blooming fireworks behind his back look dim in comparison.

...I’m glad I could see this smile.

<< previous || index || next >>

[desiraypark]

Every Room

A steamy entry in the Clyde x Sherri series.

In “Headed West”, Clyde and Sherri parted ways from their family, and made their way across the highway to settle into their new home for the night. Sherri suggested that they get “every room” in their home “acquainted” with them...

Content: Very slow build-up. They barely even talk. Couple shower; post-shower moisturizing. Teasing; arousal. Just smutty stuff. Breeding kink TW (?) - Clyde and Sherri have both consented to trying for a baby, but Clyde performs an action that is typically associated with the “kinkiness” of (for lack of a better term) “breeding”. 

Author’s Note: Clyde x Sherri’s new house will be based on this one. Thank you to @aloneandsleepless and @a-true-janian-reply for helping me choose their home! We’re gonna make it a 1.5 bath! Word Count: 2,073

The Porch...

It was the cutest thing. The clear encasement an extra layer of protection. They walked through the first door and stopped at the door that actually connected them to their home. With a purse on one shoulder and a beach bag on the other, Clyde watched Sherri flip through his key ring to find their new house key. She’d driven them home from the beach to give Clyde’s overworked right arm a rest. Clyde had a thing about letting his lady drive him, but she’d insisted.

Sherri felt Clyde staring at her as she wiggled the key around, trying to get used to the new deadbolt. She glanced up him. It was dark by the time they got back home but she could see his face. It was rested. Content. Lusty. She got the door opened and they walked into the dark room living room that still smelled slighty of fresh paint.

The Bathroom

As Clyde pulled down all their temporary blinds, Sherri stood over the bathroom sink, digging through their duffel bag for toiletries and hygiene products. She listened to Clyde’s heavy footsteps up the stairs. That’s how they would sound for the rest of their lives, or as long as they lived in the house. Heavy and close together thumps. She glanced in the mirror at him as he walked in with a few towels and wash cloths. He dropped a couple of cloths and towels on the sink, hung the other cloths on the bar in the shower, tugged at the shower liner, and tossed two towels over the shower rod.

Him and Sherri began to undress, still feeling bits of sand under their feet when they pulled off their shoes. Sherri realized they hadn’t put down their mats. She grabbed a towel from the sink, unfolded it, and dropped it in front of the wall of the tub. When she bent down to straighten it out, she heard the squeak of the faucet and the subsequent rush of water. They both walked back to the sink. He pulled off his prosthetic and she dropped a shower cap over her curls. Then, they grabbed their select bath products.

Clyde held the shower liner back as if it were a door, and watched Sherri stepped inside. He followed. Water dragged remnants of sand from their legs and feet—and soothed Sherri’s aching back muscles. Clyde stepped closer to her—partly to get more access to the water, but mostly to feel his wife’s body heat. He took Sherri’s face in his hands and kissed her on the lips. Then, they washed each other’s bodies with various soaps.

Funny, Sherri always said she wasn’t going to be the woman who teaches her man basic shit, but she delighted in finding the right soap for Clyde’s face when they were dating—not that rough ass Irish Springs bar he’d been using before. What was he thinking?! Only organic soaps for her and her Honeybunch’s faces. They were pricey. “Fancy soaps”, he called them.

The Bedroom

With lotions and oils (and arm) in hands and towels around their bodies, Clyde and Sherri walked into their new bedroom. They dumped their items on the unmade bed. Sherri sat down first and reached for her lotion. Clyde stuck a finger out and reached into her cleavage. He pulled back and watched her towel come apart. She pulled it all the way down for him, revealing all of her fresh and supple flesh. He held his hand out—palm up—and Sherri opened her lotion and squirted some into his hand. Then, he pushed her back on the bed—revealing all of her body to his eyes—and he knelt over her right side.

Clyde rubbed the lotion over her collarbone, her chest, and her breasts—massaging the cream into her already soft skin. His veiny hand slithered up to her neck, and he lightly rubbed the remnants into the skin. Sherri softly moaned. He journeyed up to her chin a little, just to rub his index fingers around the shape of her lips. Sherri gave his finger a kiss.

He held his palm up again, and she squeezed more lotion in the middle—more than the previous amount.

Clyde got off the bed and knelt on the floor. He patted slabs of lotion on her shins and her right ankle. He took her left foot in his hand and rubbed the lotion into her sole and up her ankle. Then, he rubbed in the slabs he’d placed on her legs, and massaged her right foot and ankle. With one more squirt of lotion, Clyde pressed deep into her thick thighs. Both times he reached the crease between her inner thigh and labia, he gave the lips light rubs.

Sherri stood up and motioned for Clyde to sit.

She poured lotion into her hands, stood in front of Clyde and looked over her shoulder as she slowly moisturized the back of her thighs. As she rubbed over her ass cheeks, she spread them apart—revealing the slick that had seeped out onto her labia. She walked back to him, with the bottle, squirted lotion in his hand, lifted her hair up and got down in a legs-opened squat position in front of him. As she bounced over a phantom dick with slow, sexy music playing in her own mind, he rubbed lotion into her back and neck.

Clyde couldn’t take it. He needed to be lotioned up, too, but he didn’t care. When Sherri rose, she turned to the sight of Clyde eyeing her with a stiff dick—veiny and throbbing. But Sherri only smiled. She picked up the lotion she’d placed beside him, squeezed some into her hands, and began rubbing it into his shoulders and over his chest.

“Baby...” he mumbled breathlessly.

She pushed him back, straddled him, and pressed lotion-covered hands into his abdomen. There was a light crack sound—he’d curled his toes. Sherri leaned down to kiss him, then squirted more lotion into her hands. She covered his arms and massaged between the fingers of his right hand. She kissed each fingertip. 

Then, she flipped her body around--resting her crotch on Clyde’s abs as she rubbed lotion into his thighs. He lifted his neck to see her brown lips peeking at him from between her rounded brown ass. He dropped his head back and groaned. 

When Sherri finished rubbing lotion into the soles of Clyde’s large feet, he slid to the edge of the bed, nudged her face up to his and shoved his tongue into her mouth. To Sherri’s surprise, he took a firm grip of her neck. The shock sent her hands to his thighs. She slid them down and massaged his balls with her right hand. Then, he released her neck. He reached beside him, grabbed his prosthetic and put it on and Sherri stroked his dick. When he got it on, he pushed the body lotion and the unused deodorants and facial moisturizers onto the floor, and swatted Sherri’s hand out of the way. “Every room?” he asked. She smiled and looked at him with seductive eyes. “Every room...” The Hallway With legs tight around his waist, Sherri bounced on Clyde’s dick as he kissed her and carried her out of their bedroom. He wanted to carry her into one of the spare rooms, but the image of screwing her on the floor flashed in his mind. He held on to the banister, lowered them to the floor, and let Sherri gently fall on her back. He peeled her legs from around his waist and held them up at the ankles. “Oh no...” she mumbled. Clyde re-positioned himself at Sherri’s entrance--tight from the positioning of her legs. He pressed beyond the lips--going, going, going, until every inch of him had disappeared inside of her. 

“Mmm...” she whimpered. 

He crossed her legs at the ankles and prodded dribbles of her juice in and out of her pussy. Each stroke drew breathless, high-pitched moans from Sherri’s throat. She reached out to grab something--anything. Only the carpet was available to her. She gripped the short fibers with all of her might, as she felt her husband in her gut. Clyde’s dick twitched at the sight of her pointed nipples--and especially at the sight of her desperately trying to find alleviation from the pleasurable digs he was stroking into her.

The Stairs Sherri was gasping for air. 

Clyde walked down the stairs backwards--two steps ahead of her, with three of his fingers stuffed inside of her pussy and his eyes burning holes into her soul. He didn’t move them. He couldn’t...her thick thighs restricted the movement of his hand--so all he could do was curl his thick fingers, back and forth and back and forth, as she held on to the railing, wanting to just drop down on a step and come all over it. When they reached the landing, he pulled his fingers out and licked them. 

Sherri fell to her knees, grabbed Clyde’s dick, and inhaled the whole thing until she gagged. She pulled away, bringing strings of saliva with her. Clyde rested his hand against the wall as Sherri bobbed her head and slobbered all over his dick. His fingers pushed through the coil and curls of her hair and rested on her scalp. She made sure that three of his senses were being satisfied--he needed to feel every stroke of her hand and tongue over his length. Every time he looked down, she was sure that his brown eyes met hers.  He heard every slurp and every suck and even every gasp for air.  “Ughhhh,” Clyde groaned. “To the couch, to the couch.” Sherri jumped up and skipped to the sectional. Clyde stroked himself at the sight of her bouncing cheeks and followed behind into... The Living Room Sherri sat on her knees, waiting for Clyde to sit. But when he sat down, he pushed her backward, held her left leg out and hovered over her pussy. He made out with his honey’s honeypot--running his tongue all along the folds and flicking it against her clit. Her leg instinctively bent at the knee, and he gave her some relief, allowing her knee and thigh to fall over her torso, exposing the crease where her ass ended and the back of her thigh began. Sherri grabbed his hair and began to hump his face. He let go of her leg and shoved his fingers back inside, curling them up until she came on his lips and fingers. 

Clyde licked his lips, grinned, and sat up. Without giving her a moment’s rest, he slammed his hard dick inside of her. “Oh shiiiit...” she sang.

After about his third thrust, Clyde managed to pump his lady like a well--clear liquid rushed out of her, causing her to scream and squirm under him.  “Fuck!” he groaned. He slapped her right thigh. “Ohh, baby you feel so goooood!” she cried out.

Clyde fell over Sherri. He curled his arms over her head and peppered her face with kisses--tenderly easing the overstimulation that waved through her body as he snapped his hips against hers. He felt his balls contracting and Sherri felt every spasm and every twitch. “Wher--” ”In me,” Sherri said. She clenched her teeth and pressed her fingers into his back. “Every drop of it baby. Every drop of it.” Immediately, Clyde emptied himself into her with an animalistic groan. Sherri ran her fingers through his hair and gyrated her hips in his direction, helping him ride out his wave. He collapsed on top of her and caught his breath. Then, he pulled out and leaned back. He watched his cum dribble out of her for a bit, before pushing it back inside with two of his fingers. Sherri blushed and closed her legs. When the press of her thighs caused more of him to gush out, he stuffed it back in again.  Sherri flipped on her stomach and Clyde fell back on the couch. She let her legs drape over his thighs and he reached over to give her ass a hard slap. She jumped, then grabbed one of the pillows to rest her face on. “Every room, huh?” he asked. Sherri’s shoulders bounced and her laugh filled the living room. “Give me a minute.” ”I think I done wore you out,” he said. He ran his fingertips up and down the back of Sherri’s leg. Sherri giggled. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

[journey-to-the-goddess]

What are you top 10 must reads for understanding the divine feminine/Goddesses? Much love~

Hi there!

I love this question! And such a difficult one to answer simply because there are so many great books. I am going to answer your question in two ways: first, by providing a general reading list, and second, by providing a select reading list by goddess.

There are inevitably some setbacks to my recommendations--specifically because I have a limited background in many areas—but I intend to update this list in the future. To that point—thank you 🌺 to the person who asked me this question! You have inspired me to put together a “living” Goddess Recommended Reading list on my website. I will continue to update there in the future.

Worth mentioning: Many of the books I recommend are to some degree scholastic. But, all of which are readable and enjoyable to anyone inside or outside of academia.

Finally, right now I'm building my Journey to the Goddess YouTube channel where you can find my in-depth Interviews with scholars and artists about the Sacred Feminine. If you journey over to YouTube and enjoy what you see, please hit the “subscribe” button on my channel. Like the videos? Hit “like” as it will help my content show up for other like-minded souls.

General Goddess book recommendations:

1)    “Goddess: Mysteries of the Feminine Divine” by Joseph Campbell

This book is a collection of his lectures on the Goddess. It was, essentially, my introduction into the Goddess. It is also a book that I return to from time to time for inspiration. I greatly appreciate JC’s unique way of emphasizing cross-cultural patterns and the psychological-spiritual meaning behind myths and mythic figures. Though not without a bit of controversy, JC was a brilliant comparative mythologist who truly believed that human beings could transform themselves through the wisdom of myth.

2)    “The Living Goddess” by Marija Gimbutas

Marija Gimbutas was an archeo-mythologist who dared to theorize that the people of Neolithic Old Europe and Anatolia were egalitarian and worshipped a Great Goddess. This GG was likely a prototype for the later goddess figures that we know today. She had, and still has, many critics in mainstream archeology, but I find her theories fascinating, plausible, and liberating!

3)    “Encyclopedia of Goddesses and Heroines” by Patricia Monaghan, PhD

Just a great all-around resource. She organizes by tradition, but you can use the index to find a goddess by attribute (i.e. sun goddess) or simply by name. I would trust any work written by her.

4)   “The Creation of Patriarchy” by Gerda Lerner

This book is been monumental in creating a solid theoretical framework for the development of patriarchy in the West and how it has impacted the lives of women and the role of the Great Goddess in culture.

5, 6 , & 7) 

“The Politics of Women’s Spirituality” Edited by Charlene Spretnak

“Weaving the Visions” Edited by Judith Plaskow and Carol P. Christ

“Womanspirit Rising” Edited by Carol P. Christ and Judith Plaskow

These three books feature a variety of essays, poems, and visions by the “Founding Mothers” of Goddess Spirituality. These books offer context, including an historical understanding of the Goddess; how to make meaning of the Goddess and why that is important for modern women; and most important, they present the voices and experiences of women from many different traditions—not simply those of from the Judeo-Christian world. With these books, you can learn from multiple lineages and lineage holders such as Paula Allen Gunn, Gloria Anzaldúa, and Luisah Teish.

Four books I have not yet read but have been recommended to me by grad school collogues:

8)    “The Myth of the Goddess: Evolution of an Image” by Jules Cashford and Anne Baring.

9)    “The Chalice and the Blade” by Raine Eisler. A classic.

10) “The Spiral Dance” by Starhawk. An ecofeminist, permaculturist and Earth-based spirituality practitioner.

11)  “Dancing in the Flames” by Marion Woodman. She was a deeply treasured Jungian analyst and teacher who taught on the subject of feminine consciousness.

Goddess recommendations by tradition and goddess:

1)    Mary Magdalene

Okay, it’s no secret that I am a Mary Magdalene devotee and I could recommend book after book after book. But, knowing what I know now, here are three books that I would recommend people start with:

      “The Woman with the Alabaster Jar” by Margaret Starbird for a well-researched approach to Mary Magdalene as bride to Christ.

      “The Meaning of Mary Magdalene” by Cynthia Bourgeault for a mystical Christian approach.

      “The Gospel of Mary of Magdala” by Karen L. King for a thorough academic approach.

       I have a full list of recommendations here: https://www.sheislove.com/mary-magdalene-celebration

2)    Inanna & Ereshkigal

“Inanna, Queen of Heaven and Earth” by Diane Wolkenstein and Samuel Noah Kramer. A beautiful collaboration between folklorist and Assyriologist. Poetic, historical, and psycho-spiritual.

“Descent to the Goddess: A Way of Initiation for Women” by Sylvia Breton Perera. A feminist Jungian approach to meeting the unconscious feminine, or “underworld” goddess within. Mostly psychological, but also spiritual and historical.  

 “Uncursing the Dark” by Betty DeShong Meador. A reclamation of the wisdom of the goddess of death as well as the repressed aspect of women’s psyches and archetypal expressions; that which has been labeled “dangerous” by patriarchy.

3)    Greek Goddesses

“The Goddess” by Christine Downing. Full disclosure, she is a professor at my graduate institution.

4)    Pele

“Pele, Goddess of Hawai’i’s Volcanoes” by Herb Kawainui Kane

5)    Hinduism

“Awakening Shakti” by Sally Kempton. Love this book.

“The Goddess in India” by Devdutt Pattanaik

“Hindu Goddesses” by David R. Kinsley

6)    Buddhism

“Wisdom Rising” by Lama Tsultrim Allione

“Dakini’s Warm Breath” by Judith Simmer Brown

“Buddhist Goddesses of India” by Miranda Shaw

7)    Black Madonnas

“Black Madonnas: Feminism, religion, and politics in Italy” by Lucia Chiavola Birnbaum

8)    Yoruba Diaspora

“The Divine Horsemen: Living Gods of Haiti” by Maya Deren. A slightly dated book but very good introduction to Haitian Vodun.

9)    Ecofeminism – If you want to understand the connection between the treatment of the planet and women under patriarchy. Timely in terms of understanding the psychological components behind climate change

“Gaia and God” by Rosemary Radford Ruether

 “Ecofeminism” by Vandana Shiva and Maria Mies

“Reweaving the World” edited by Irene Diamond and Gloria Feman Orenstein

“Mary Magdalene” by Pieter Leerman

[cawfulopinions]

Persona 4 Golden and the Problem of Appealing to a Wider Audience

I’ve been questioning how to go about writing this essay ever since I first finished Persona 4 Golden back in 2013. When I first finished the game, I came out of it not liking it very much – mechanically, it felt unbalanced; and writing-wise, I found it poorer than its original. My opinions on the game have shifted somewhat since then, helped along by the release of Persona 5 and the realization that many of the game’s mechanics were testbeds for that game. However, with time, I’ve found that I can articulate a lot of the problems Golden has with its writing a lot better. What I’ve ultimately settled on is looking at the Persona 4 we were originally given, then looking at its rerelease, and seeing what changed there and why I didn’t like it. Let’s jump in, shall we?

(Note: There will be complaining about Marie. My opinions on that subject sure as hell haven’t changed in the past seven years. Also, there will obviously be spoilers.)

I. A Brief History of Persona 4 as a Franchise

Shin Megami Tensei: Persona 4 (later spinoffs would drop the subtitle) released in the west in 2008 as a follow-up to the very strange (at the time) and very niche Shin Megami Tensei: Persona 3. Persona 3 was notable for deciding to go for an urban setting, an avant-garde aesthetic, and heavy philosophical themes, something that was rare for RPGs before 2010 (though not for its own franchise). While Persona 4 kept the philosophical focus of Persona 3, it decided to dial back some of the artsier aspects in favor of a more down-to-earth, focused story. Where P3 told a story about the inevitability of death and took place in a very modern Japanese setting, P4 decides to tell a story about the lies we tell ourselves and takes place in a rustic, rural setting.

Some of the first things that Persona 4 tells you after getting to its setting, Inaba, are that the town really only has one tourist attraction, it’s far from anywhere of real note, and its local businesses are all being driven out of business by the construction of a corporate superstore. It’s relatable, particularly to anyone who’s watched their local mom-and-pops go out of business after a Wal-Mart decided to move in.

The tone of this setting permeates through Persona 4 – all of its characters are pretty down-to-earth, and though there’s some cartoonish exaggeration in their writing, they feel more like real people than your average RPG character. Yosuke is the new kid in town who struggles with feelings of inferiority, something that’s not helped by his dad running the superstore that’s driving everyone out of business. Naoto is a girl with aspirations of becoming a detective, but hides her gender out of a belief that if she does so, she’ll be taken more seriously by the male-dominated police force. Even the game’s idol character, Rise, is someone who quit the business because the pressures of the idol industry became too much for her. Most games would take the opportunity to have an idol character written into the cast as an excuse for a pandering song and dance sequence and to play up her “waifu” aspects. Persona 4 spends the first hour after Rise’s introduced having her in and apron and slacks, serving tofu, and dodging paparazzi.

Persona 4 is not perfect in how it approaches its characters – in particular, Kanji and Naoto’s storylines have gotten a deserved level of flack for having essentially written coming-out stories for a gay man and a transman, and then immediately backing off and “no homo”-ing them. There’s a number of Social Links that end with the character deciding to go do the socially acceptable thing for them to do instead of following their own hearts, too – Yukiko’s comes to mind. But the character conflicts and stories told in the game’s Social Links are grounded and relatable.

The grounded-ness of Persona 4 was what really made it stand out in 2009, a time where RPGs and games as a whole were mostly concerned with showing off the cool things they could do with their engines (keep in mind, this was the early era of the PS3, and Persona 4 was a PS2 game). Looking back, it’s easy to realize that Persona 4 was made as grounded and rustic as it was because of budgetary concerns, but what was done with its limited budget was incredible. It looked at its setting and tone and embraced them, and that helped to make the game stronger.

And it worked! Persona 4 was easily Atlus’s biggest success in the PS2 era. Though the game was hard to find in the United States due to its short print run, it was inescapable online, and the early Let’s Play era helped keep it in the public eye. There’s a large number of people in the English fandom who only knew Persona 4 existed back in the day because of the hiimdaisy comic and the Giant Bomb Endurance Run. Meanwhile, the game was huge in Japan and topped sales charts for weeks.

Source: Gamasutra

And then Atlus almost went out of business! Oops!

Here’s what we know about Atlus at the time that Persona 4 came out: it wasn’t doing good. The PS2 Shin Megami Tensei games were all desperate attempts to try and find success, something that Persona director Katsura Hashino has been fairly public about in interviews. Dataminers examining the PS2 SMT games have found evidence that suggests every game was built on top of the previous, with every game using SMT: Nocturne’s models and basic gameplay system until after Persona 4’s release. Persona 3 and Persona 4 are so similar under the hood that model swap mods are everywhere for the two, with literally the only adjustments necessary being a reordering of animations to account for Persona 4 having a guard animation and Persona 3 not.

Persona 4 was a huge hit, but it wasn’t enough to save Atlus. The last games released under an independent Atlus were Shin Megami Tensei: Devil Survivor (one of my personal favorites) and Shin Megami Tensei: Strange Journey (a massive failure for the company). Following Strange Journey’s release, long-time franchise artist (and, more importantly, producer and creative designer for Strange Journey) Kazuma Kaneko near entirely disappeared from future SMT titles, only credited for writing the scenario concept for SMTIV and as a demon design supervisor for later SMT titles.

Soon after Strange Journey’s failure, Atlus was snatched up by Index Corporation. Very little is known about the internal culture during the Index era, but evidence suggests that it wasn’t great. The first few games Atlus produced after this point were all remakes, save for the strange, marriage-drama focused Catherine, a game that was assuredly in development before Atlus was bought out.

It was the original games and spinoffs that Atlus produced after they were bought by Index that started to show a shift in tone. Devil Survivor 2 is a notably different game than its predecessor (which was made while Atlus was independent). While I won’t get into that too much here (that game’s worth an essay on its own), it decided to trade it’s classical SMT-style aesthetic for something more bombastic and widely-appealing. Many of the characters in that game are better summed up by what anime tropes they appeal to than by their own character arcs, and the game’s plot is an unsubtle ripoff of Neon Genesis Evangelion. And it worked. Devil Survivor 2 very notably sold better than its predecessor despite being a DS game in the 3DS era.

At around the same time as Devil Survivor 2 was released, Atlus was preparing to release the first anime adaptation of Persona 4. Persona 4: The Animation was released in October of 2011, directed by Seiji Kishi (of Angel Beats! fame) and animated by AIC. I’ll leave my thoughts on Seiji Kishi as a director out of this and focus on the content of Persona 4: The Animation instead.

Let’s get one thing out of the way. Persona 4: The Animation is a comedy anime.

The anime is a fairly faithful adaptation of the game in terms of plotline. It follows the game’s story to the letter, hitting every plot beat. When it needs to get serious, it gets serious, and when it nails its emotional beats, it nails them well. While I’ll go on record in saying that I flat out dislike the anime, I won’t deny that certain episodes, like the Nanako arc, are done very well. However, when it doesn’t need to be serious, the anime decides to look at Persona 4’s subtlety in its character arcs, and says, “Subtlety is for cowards.”

There’s an argument to be made that there isn’t time for subtlety in a 24-episode anime, which is why everyone’s character arcs needed to be compressed and character traits shaved down to only the most exaggerated bits. I disagree. You can easily show character without exaggeration in short-form media – the entire short story genre is built off of that exact concept. The decision to shave everyone down to their most basic traits was a decision made to make Persona 4 more accessible to a general anime-watching audience, who likely came in expecting a more action-packed, high energy deal.

And it worked.

For many people, Persona 4: The Animation was their first experience with Persona, period.  The anime was incredibly popular, and it’s clear that at this point, Atlus (or, more likely, Index) realized they’d struck gold. Persona 4: The Animation was the start of a large spate of Persona 4 spinoffs, all of which adopting the character exaggerations of the anime in some form or fashion. Any time you see a scene in a P4 spinoff where Chie’s reduced to her love of meat and kung-fu? Blame the anime. Further original games after this point seemed to take a more mainstream shift as well – Shin Megami Tensei IV and its sequel, Apocalypse, are both very different games than their predecessors, with characters and plotlines seemingly written to appeal to Persona 4’s audience.

Atlus eventually managed to claw their way out from under the hand of Index, mostly because Index got caught up in a huge fraud investigation! Oops! Sega bought a whole bunch of Index at this point, and Atlus has more or less kept on trucking under Sega since. However, the shift in internal priorities hasn’t changed much – Persona 5, while still a good game, is much closer tonally to the games that came out under Index, Shin Megami Tensei V has been AWOL ever since its first preview, and the less said about Catherine Redux, the better.

II. Less is More, and Maybe Inaba Doesn’t Need A Nightclub

Which, after a long detour, brings us back to Persona 4 Golden.

Golden is a remake of Persona 4 with additional content, released for the Playstation Vita (RIP) during the height of its popularity in Japan. Like Persona 3 FES, a previous patch/remake for Persona 3, Golden primarily exists as a gameplay patch to Persona 4 with additional story content in places throughout the game. While most of FES’s additional story was segmented off into the controversial “The Answer” section, Golden’s additional content is peppered haphazardly throughout the game. Because of this integration into the main story, Golden’s issues are more pronounced than FES’s were – in FES, you could just not play “The Answer”. Golden isn’t letting you go home without at least pushing you toward Marie’s dungeon.

Golden feels like it was developed with an understanding that anyone who’s playing it has watched the anime, and decides to lean into chasing that mainstream appeal while also throwing out the intrigue of its plot and setting. This is first evidenced when you boot up the game and watch the opening. While it hits all of the same beats as Persona 4’s opening, Golden’s opening has a much cheerier tune to it, focusing on a dance sequence and colorful visuals instead of the larger tone of the game. It’s not like the Persona 4 opening is completely absent from the game, but you have to go out of your way to watch it, and first impressions are very important.

This change in opening tone is only one example of the general tone of the changes that Golden takes. While there are big issues with the game’s writing (specifically one big one, which, whooo boy, we’ll get to her), most of the issues are in the little things – the new gameplay elements, the new areas you can visit, and the new scenes that were added to the game.

I talked a lot about how important P4’s setting is to its game for a reason: most of Golden’s changes are ones that disrupt the carefully crafted tone and setting of the original game. From things like slice of life scenes about the party buying scooters for themselves, to a winter trip to a ski resort, to a goddamn idol concert on the roof of the supercenter driving everyone out of business, it feels like the game is trying to pull away from its rural setting and down-to-earth tone to appeal to the lowest common denominator: teenage boys who live in Japanese cities.

A big sticking point for me personally has always been that you can visit Okina City in Golden. In Persona 4, you visited the nearby city occasionally in social link events, but never explored it on the whole. It gave a sense that Okina City was somewhere inconvenient to go to – someplace worth going to for a day trip with your friends, but too out of the way to visit on the regular. In Golden, the city and all of its trappings are just a loading screen away. Having a larger setting change like this so easily accessible detracts from Inaba’s setting – it makes the anxieties that several characters have about being trapped by the town feel fake. It detracts from a feeling that’s so integral to the game’s tone.

Also, the first time you go there outside of a Social Link is because Yosuke wants to pick up chicks with his cool new motorcycle.

The first trip to Okina City is ultimately indicative of a larger problem with most of the added scenes in P4G have: because they were written after the anime, they’re written to appeal to anime watchers. You can immediately tell when you’ve entered a scene that is original to P4G because the writing almost immediately drops in quality – characters become less complex, scenes have nothing to do with the plot or character development, and, to be quite honest, the jokes get worse. The Okina City sequence ultimately just ends with a fat joke and another “no homo” moment with Kanji. It’s… really bad.

There’s four more of these additional sequences throughout the game, and they’re all similar slice of life sequences that rely on anime tropes to propel them. The next after this is a beach episode with the rest of your party. After that is the idol concert on the Junes roof, which gets a hastily written tie-in to the plot when an antagonist says that the concert was how he found the party. After that is the entire winter sequence of the game, which caps off with a ski resort trip that leads into the game’s extra dungeon (which we’ll get to), which THEN leads into the game’s second hot springs cutscene, which has even less purpose than the first one.

None of these scenes have any real substance – it feels like they were just included because they actually had the budget to include them this time around. It’s possible that Okina City and the nighttime areas in Inaba were originally intended for the original version of P4, and I’d believe it – the way nighttime jobs are implemented in the original version of the game is particularly awkward, and you visit Okina City enough times in Social Links that I fully believe it was intended for the full game. As for the idol concert sequence, it 100% only exists because they got Rie Kugimiya as Rise’s VA, but couldn’t fit a sequence where she sang into the original version of the game.

The problem is that these inclusions ultimately detract from the original story. They take a game with a pretty firm idea of what kind of tone it wanted to have and muddle it because, fuck that, we have a budget this time and we need more anime tropes, idols, and tsunderes for those kids who came in after watching the anime.

Which brings us to Persona 4 Golden’s biggest issues: its additional Social Links, the winter semester, and its new ending sequence.

III. We have to talk about Marie.

Like Persona 3 FES before it, Persona 4 Golden adds new Social Links to the game. The first of which is the Jester Social Link, which deals with Tohru Adachi, a local police officer and a major character. While I’ve never been a huge fan of this Social Link (I’ve always felt like it made the identity of the culprit too obvious), it’s fairly well received by the fanbase and I can see the argument for its inclusion, so I’m not going to spend time discussing it here.

The other is Golden’s new Aeon Social Link, who manages to encompass most of Golden’s issues in a single character.

Marie is a completely original character to Golden, the first of a long chain of Atlus “remake waifus” – characters who are added to a remake of a game that are intended to appeal to the otaku crowd, rarely fit in with the rest of the game, and introduce large changes to the game’s plot. These characters rarely work because the narrative wasn’t built around them, and the retcons these characters introduce are often detrimental to their games’ original plots or themes.

Marie has all of these problems. She feels like she was written by committee – designed to appeal to an otaku crowd with a fancy design and tsundere personality. On top of that, she’s voiced by a big name seiyuu (Kana Hanazawa), and her plotline is used to fill in gaps with the game’s ending sequence, since the original game struggled with setting it up and the anime barely even bothered to touch it (Persona 4’s True Ending was shuffled off into an OVA in the anime adaptation).

From the moment you first see Marie, it’s obvious that she doesn’t belong. It’s not that her character design is bad, but it doesn’t match with the rest of the game’s tone. This is something of a pattern for her. The first time you meet Marie, it’s in the middle of a scene that was originally dedicated to the protagonist meeting his new family in Inaba. It’s jarring, disrupts a scene that was about setting up the protagonist’s larger family dynamic, and interrupts the flow of the game’s opening sequence.

Personality-wise, Marie is probably the most tropey of Golden’s characters – she’s a tsundere with amnesia, has a mysterious past, writes bad poetry as a hobby, and has a very obvious crush on the protagonist. Romancing her is almost mandated – you’re required to complete her Social Link to access the winter semester of the game, and during the game’s new ending, she calls out the protagonist on television to talk about how much she loves him. You can choose not to romance her if you want, but the game does its best to push you into wanting to do so.

Marie ultimately becomes one of the Velvet Room’s new attendants, though a lot of the evidence suggests that she was intended to become one of your party members originally. This is partially because she has a unique Persona related to her, and partially because the game takes every effort to emphasize how much of a buddy she is to the party. Marie’s Social Link ranks are time gated, usually becoming available after a new party member joins your team. All of these early scenes are dedicated to the protagonist going on dates with Marie, and then a random party member will show up and immediately become friends with her. Probably the most egregious case is during any mid-game hangouts where you don’t rank up, because the entirety of your party will just show up at Junes at the same time as you and Marie. It’s so obviously artificially constructed and honestly feels insulting to the player.

This artificiality feels like it was a writer’s saving throw to justify why the team would go into Marie’s dungeon to save her. The problem is that it’s also an unnecessary move to take. The majority of Persona 4’s plot is about the party entering dungeons to save people that they don’t really know from a serial killer; it stands to reason that the party would decide to help Marie without that extra motivation. But no, it was important to the writers that Marie is also big friends with the party, so we got what we got instead.

Marie’s dungeon comes after the skiing trip that caps off the winter semester, a portion of the game that is only available if you’ve finished her Social Link. The skiing trip is mostly more slice of life/comedy scenes, right up until you get thrust into the TV World to help Marie. The dungeon itself is… notoriously bad. You’re stripped of your equipment and items, and can only use items found within the dungeon to fight back. On top of that, the dungeon constantly drains your HP and MP, and the boss of it can only be damaged by using items that give her elemental weaknesses, because she starts off immune to everything. Here’s hoping you didn’t bring Chie for that fight like I did!

As you go through the dungeon, it’s revealed that Marie was secretly Kusumi-no-Okami, a minor Shinto god in service to Ameno-Sagiri (the game’s first final boss). Kusumi-no-Okami’s purpose is that she’s supposed to observe humanity and suck up all of Ameno-Sagiri’s fog after the conclusion of the game’s plot, which will inevitably kill her. The dungeon ends with the party trying to appeal to Marie to convince her that she doesn’t need to die, and then beating her up to save her. It’s… not particularly well written, but if that was all to Marie’s character after that, it would be fine. Unfortunately, it’s not.

The game proceeds as normal after that point as you approach the actual final boss, Izanami-no-Okami. During the fight with her, there is a sequence where the protagonist is encouraged to keep going by all of his social links. In the original version of the game (assuming that you’ve done their Social Links), this sequence ends with Dojima and Nanako, the family he’s been staying with the whole game, encouraging him to keep going. In Golden, Nanako’s line is immediately followed by Marie showing up, once again taking a sequence about familial love to make it about Marie. It’s… kind of gross!

Then you beat Izanami, and in the scene immediately afterwards, it’s revealed that, just kidding, Marie wasn’t Kusumi-no-Okami after all! She was actually Izanami-no-Mikoto, the good part of Izanami that was shaved off so that she could do her whole evil plot. Once you beat Izanami-no-Okami, she absorbs that evil part back into her and everything is all hunky dory! Conflict resolved completely, no need to worry about it anymore!

The “Marie was actually Izanami all along” reveal undercuts the finale of the game significantly. It comes immediately after what was the final scene before the ending scene, where Izanami pledged to leave humanity’s direction to humans in recognition of your feats. It’s an unnecessary doubling down on a finale that was already pretty definitive, if somewhat bittersweet, by making it unambiguously happy. This remains a theme for Golden’s ending sequence.

Persona 4 ends with the protagonist leaving his friends behind at the end of the year. Though the killer is in jail and the mastermind defeated, Inaba is still in the same melancholy state as it was when the protagonist came to it, and ultimately, he has to leave his friends behind. There’s a bittersweet-ness to its happy ending – no matter what, you have to move on and trust that things will be okay without you. Obviously, the protagonist comes back – there wouldn’t be so many spinoffs if he couldn’t – but it’s important that Persona 4 ends the way it does at that point. It puts a definitive close on the game.

Golden, however, adds an extended epilogue sequence where the protagonist comes back a year later. In this sequence, you find out that Inaba’s businesses are recovering, Namatame (the false antagonist) is running for office with a lot of support from the town, Adachi (the actual antagonist) has been on good behavior in jail, and your party members are all making tracks toward happiness for themselves.

A theme of esoteric happiness runs through this entire sequence – it feels like it entirely exists just to tell the player not to worry, everything is fine now, don’t worry about any other points of conflict. If it was just one of these things, it would have been fine, but the gatling gun of happy endings makes every one of those little victories feel lesser for it. Marie, of course, is inserted into the ending sequence of the epilogue to cap off her involvement. The esoteric happiness started with Marie, and it ends with Marie.

Golden’s epilogue ties every conflict in the game up into a neat little bow, in a way that’s almost entirely at odds with Persona 4’s down-to-home nature. It’s a fantasy that doesn’t acknowledge the uglier parts of life that Persona 4 was all about confronting. It’s the same kind of lie that Izanami accused humanity of wanting to nestle itself into. Marie’s involvement in Golden sums up a lot of that game’s problems, but the epilogue brings them into sharp relief.

IV. So now what?

I wouldn’t call Golden a bad game – I’ve heard a lot of people call it the superior version gameplay-wise, and while I disagree with that (it’s got some balance issues thanks to its new mechanics), it’s definitely the most accessible version. But when it comes to how it relates to its original, Golden throws a lot of what makes it good out the window in favor of appealing to a more general audience with slice of life sequences, more familiar tropes, and a character who mostly exists to sell merchandise and tie up Persona 4’s ending in an unambiguously happy manner.

I realize I’m in the minority here when I talk about what I dislike about Golden – you’ll find a lot of people who dislike Marie, but not a lot who dislike the rest of the package. And if you have a Vita and haven’t played Persona 4 already, then you might as well use it as your entry point into the franchise. However, I can’t help but feel like Golden is the exact point where Persona as a franchise shifted from trying to tell philosophical stories with more grounded characters to chasing mainstream appeal. Even Persona 5, a game that tries to tell a story about very real societal problems, has a lot of the same problems as Golden does, and from what I understand, these problems only got worse with Persona 5 Royal.

At the end of the day, Persona is going nowhere anytime soon – Persona 5 is the best-selling game in the franchise period, and the influence Persona has had on JRPGs in general cannot be understated. But I wouldn’t mind if some of the things I disliked about Persona 4 Golden didn’t come back.

[ask-de-writer]

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : Part 25 of 83 : World of Sea

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SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

Part 25 of 83

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

copyright 2020

written 2007

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users   of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may   reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information   remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in   my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical   compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story?  Read from the beginning.  PART 1 is here

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Mord breathed a huge sigh of relief. Sarfin held up his hands, and the Longin’s Captain held his thanks.

“Not done yet.  I know that some sailors have been telling him tales about what happened to the last two who were cast off, because he asked me if it was true that they drowned when the rafts were stored back on the bottom.  I had to say yes.  

“If you give the boat and all to the fleet, to give him, then when he sees where it came from, perhaps he’ll know he’s not been wholly abandoned.

“If you feel that you can’t do that because of the ‘your boats’ provision, the fleet can provide it all, but you’ll have to pay for it.”

Mord felt some measure of peace settle over him.  “A good boat and all that is necessary will be delivered to the Dorton in two, or at most, three hours.”

Barad stood, delighted that, for once, all had gone as he planned.  Mord pointed to him.  “I cannot tell you how relieved I am to see a solution to this problem.  The Grandalor stands ready to help now that I can see a way clear to do so.  I will give a sun cooker and good pots to help save this young man who’s so important to you.”

Mord could only accept.  It triggered a breaking wave of similar contributions.  The water maker, blankets, fishing gear, including a small drag net that could be used while under way, even the provisions, and candle-lanterns with candles.  All that Mord could do was accept.  As Barad intended, all of the mixed gifts would serve to hide the origins of Silor’s help.  The Council broke up.  Relieved Captains went to their errands of mercy.

The shadows were beginning to lengthen as Silor, arms aching from being tied, watched a pile of supplies being made at the western boat landing area of the market rafts.  Sailors that he recognized as being from the Dorton delivered a day-cabin fishing boat and began to load and stow the pile of things in an organized and efficient way. The little boat was being fitted for a long journey.

Captain Sarfin approached over the slightly rolling deck of the raft, and spoke to him.  “Silor, lad, you ran aground so hard that you may never float on the safety of water again, but we are going to give you the chance.”  Hope flared within him.  I’m going to the Dorton! thought Silor as Sarfin cut his bonds with a Strong Skin tooth knife.

His hopes were dashed by the next words that he heard.  Sarfin was pointing at the boat that he’d just watch get fitted out.  “You’ve spoiled things here so bad that no ship will take a chance on you. The Council, however, agreed that you have done nothing to die for, unlike those two murderers before you.  The Pallant fleet is about a thousand miles west.  This boat and its equipment ought to get you a berth, with a clean parchment.  If you are not a fool there, as you were here, you should be alright.  If you are seen in these waters again, I am afraid it will not go so well for you.”  

Sarfin carried Silor’s duffel, while Silor massaged the circulation back into his arms.  They went to the boat.  The market crowds pulled back around them, giving them space.  As if I have the fire-cough, Silor thought.

Just then Kurin ran up.  “Captain Sarfin, I just finished this.  It is for you.  I would appreciate it, if it you gave it to Silor before he goes.  Thank you.”  She turned on heel and ran, white hair blowing back in the wind, tears on her cheeks.  She could not outrun the sorrow of losing yet another that she had known all of her young life.  Even if he had not been the best friend, he had been there, a shipmate.  It left a hole that hurt.

Kurin had put a knife into Sarfin’s hands, The handle, sticking up from the scabbard, was made of laminations of four different colors of nacreous shell, shaped to fit the hand perfectly and glowing with purples, reds, blues and greens in the late afternoon sun.  A dot of ivory at the end of the handle showed that the tang ran the full length of the handle, making it as strong as it could be.  The scabbard was of hard, pebbly, armor-scaled Wing Ray hide, finished to a high polish.  When he pulled the blade out of the scabbard, it was the slightly curved, fourteen inch, naturally serrated fang of a large Wing Ray.  It was the hardest, toughest material known for knives, and honed to a razor edge.  It was scrimshawed with a scene of the Great Sea Dragon, Blind Mecat, helping the First Folk to build the First True Ship.  On the other side was a two part scene.  The first half showed Cat, in human form, preparing to dive from the Wedding Rafts, with the Dragon Moons overhead and the Great Sea Dragon, Dark Iren, waiting while his Orca Whales sported about the rafts. The second part of the scene was the same rafts and moons, but two Great Sea Dragons, the black Dark Iren, and the white Blind Mecat side by side, Orcas leaping about them.

“If you give me that,” said Silor, in a rage, “will throw it overboard!  I don’t want anything that Dragon-witch has made! She’s the only reason that all this has happened to me!”  His eyes were wild and there was spittle flying from his mouth as he finished.  A fair sized crowd had gathered, drawn by his outburst.

Sarfin looked at him sadly.  “Son, if you think that, you have run hard aground on the reef of folly and are sinking fast, but you won’t drown.  Your wits are so far onto dry land that they will never see safe water again.  This knife would have bought you a fleet of boats such as this, with all the gear thrown in.  I’ll give it back to her.  Somehow.”  He heaved a sigh, and put Silor’s duffel into the boat.  

As Silor got into the boat, Sarfin added, “If you really don’t want anything from Kurin then step over the side and swim.  She asked Captain Mord to do something.  He pulled together the Council that got you this.”  He gestured at the boat.

Casting off the stern line and then the bow line, he pushed the boat free of the docking area and said, “Sail west, young man.”

One of Sarfin’s aides found him and handed him a note, explaining, “The Grandalor is going to test some new sails and rigging.  They plan to sail south until moons-fall and then return.  With this easterly breeze, they should have a simple reach each way.  It’s just a confirmation.  Captain Barad told me about it a little before this Council meeting.”

Sarfin read it, nodded, initialed it and handed it back. “File it.  It’s not important.  Oh, reminds me, enter this into the ledger and reserve the main square for noon, two days hence.  The Grandalor’s crew wants to do something in public.”  He gave his aide a small fistful of scrip.

Silor’s little boat could be seen making good time, straight west, toward the lowering sun.  The sails of the Grandalor could be seen, through the multitude of masts, yards and rigging between, going away, straight south.

Chapter 8: Visits

Kurin, with the permission of Captain Mord, went to spend the night aboard the Dark Dragon.  There, she got a small surprise.  She found the fierce Captain Sula sitting cross-legged on a cushion in a cabin hung with tapestries and woven decorations.  Like most of the crewmen and women that Kurin had seen when she came aboard, Sula was wearing a light colored hood whose eye openings seemed molded to her face, keeping them perfectly aligned.  A small bump in the fabric showed Kurin that Sula’s tongue was in the corner of her mouth as she concentrated on a piece of Longin Lace, making careful notes as she tried to unravel it.

Kurin couldn’t help herself.  She giggled.  “You can’t do it that way.  Hundreds of expert weavers have tried, and failed for something like fifteen Gatherings.  Besides, that is the Iren’s Orca pattern, absolutely the nastiest one that I make.”

Sula looked up, startled, “You make this?  I am the head of the Corlis fleet Weaver’s Guild, and I am amazed by it.  We have nothing similar.  How do you keep all of the different spacings so neatly?”

“I will show you.  There are two rules.  One, don’t let anyone in the Naral fleet find out how you do it and two, call what I show you, and any other patterns made by the same tools and methods, Longin Lace. Cat taught me to make it, and I don’t share it out to just anyone. In our Weaving Shop, only people who won’t marry off the Longin are taught how to make it.”

“I am honored,” said Sula, bowing her head, hands together, fingers pointing down.  “Why do you chose me?”

“You are strong, in more than muscle, and not afraid to be a weaver too. You remind me of Cat.  She would do any task that needed doing. Also, I want you to show me your ship, so that I can learn how it was made.  I have never seen a catamaran ship before.”

“I will be delighted to show you my ship.  I am proud of the Dark Dragon and would have shown you without the incentive of Longin Lace or tales of Mecat. — — So the Dragon herself showed you how to make lace?”

“That and much else.  As I told you and Huld, she was my mentor for most of a Gathering.”

“So, what do we need to make this lace?” asked Sula, leaning back on a large cushion, exposing the odd scabbard on her right leg to Kurin’s view.  It was still filled by the strange looking ax that Kurin had seen earlier.  “I will have it brought, bought or made.”

“You will need a dozen very small netting needles, — I will show you the pattern — a cushion, firm, with a hard back on one side, longer than it is wide, a lot of bone pins, fine and polished, and writing skin —”  The two women put their heads together and began to work, the sea Captain learning from the child.  As they worked, Kurin told Sula of her time with Cat and what she had seen and heard.  Sula listened intently.

“Sula,” asked Kurin, as they took a break to stretch fingers, stiff from the lace-work, “If you came all this way to hear these things, shouldn’t you write them down?”

“Huld does write what you say as you say it,” said Captain Sula, regarding Kurin with curiosity.  “I have no need to do so.  What you say is word perfect in my memory.  I have never been able to forget anything that I see or hear.  It is one reason why the Corlis fleet chose me to come.  I will write it all down, never fear.”

Kurin nodded acceptance of Sula’s statement and asked a question that was bothering her from the time that she had seen the young sailor Lenhe respond so violently to the attempt to unmask her.  “Sula, how violent are your people?  You go armed everywhere and your sailors are either armed or have several empty scabbards.  I saw a sailor of yours named Lenhe beat up a man far bigger than herself.  He was just playing about at grabbing her mask and if she’d had her ax in the scabbard, I think that she would have killed him.”

Sula regarded Kurin carefully for a moment before replying, “I heard about that.  Mistress of Armory Culark told me about it.  Lenhe was fully justified in her defense against face rape but should not have gone so far out of control.  She is only a tailor’s apprentice, not some skilled warrior.  To any of the Winternight born, face rape is one of the few things that we will kill to prevent.

“To answer your question though, we are not a violent people.  We have had to defend our host fleet in three unprovoked wars, so we do train and keep our edge.  We also follow the Meditations of Dark Iren to find and hold our inner peace.”

Kurin looked up sharply at Sula and said, “You worship Dark Iren, the Dragon of Death?”

Sula made a sign in front of her face and told Kurin, “That was a smile. No, we do not worship the Dragon of Death.  We follow the Meditations of the Dragon of Life.  Dark Iren kills nothing but the fish that he eats.  His task is to take our lives and reweave them into the web of all life on Sea.  Another time I will be happy to tell you more.

“I spent the afternoon inquiring about you.  You are something of a legend, yourself.  You learn new things at a prodigious rate. Every Craft aboard the Longin would be willing to have you as an apprentice.  Several, Clard, Master of Drums, Cirde, Master Weaver, Mistress Daeron of the Rope Walk and Juris, Master Boat-builder, have said that you are fully qualified in their Crafts.

“I wonder — Do you ever forget what you hear or see?”

TO BE CONTINUED

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[leahxx129]

The Last Descendant (Sam Winchester x Reader) pt.4

Disclaimer: Tumblr is being weird again so if you’re using the app, the ‘Keep Reading’ cut off line may not be visible inspite of the fact that I always insert one.

Summary for pt.4.: You split up into two search parties to look for Dark Kaia in order to obtain the spear and your teammate turns out to be an outstanding company. When you find her an unexpected turn of events ensues.

Warnings: cursing, some really awful smut (sorry for that)

Word count: 2.820-ish

PART 1.  PART 2.  PART 3.

The car ride to the location is pretty much the epitome of awkward. Dean drives, Sam sits by him and you and Cas have to share the backseat. He sits as far away from you as possible, which you guess is the normal reaction to almost being stabbed to death by you. Nobody utters a single word. You are kind of still pissed at Sam a little for expecting you to just fess up and of course for keeping a teeny-tiny bit of an information from you such as Lucifer has a son. Once you catch him staring in the rearview mirror at you, but as he realizes he’s caught, he looks away. You’re thankful when the car finally starts to slow down and then stops. You leave every belonging of yours in it. When you get out you notice a police car just a few meters away, a lady is leaning to the side of it. Her face lights up when she sees the boys and starts off in their direction.

„Sam, Dean!” she hugs Sam first, then Dean, but her eyes widen when she reaches Castiel. „Oh my God, Cas, what happened to you?!”

„She did.” he points towards you and you shoot a smile to the astounded lady.

„Oookay?” she looks at them confused but as none of them seems to be keen on offering explanation, she turns to you with an extended hand. „I’m Jody by the way.”

You look at Sam.

„So, you say she can be trusted?”

„Absolutely.” he nods in reassurance.

„Very well then. I’m Nat. Nat…Colt.” you take her hand and squeeze it. It feels a bit strange to use your real name again after all those years.

She suddenly appears to be thinking hard.

„Why does this name sound familiar to me…? Hey – isn’t your omni-killing gun called Colt?”

„Yeah, it is. It’s named after its creator, Samuel Colt. You just met his last living descendant. But I should warn you, her identity is not quite public and she can get stabby so… ” Dean shoots you a sarcastic look.

„Oh, wow, okay. Got it. I’m keeping my mouth shut.” she jabbers.

„So, how are we going to team up?” Cas takes the chance to speak up.

„You and Jody are with me ’cause I doubt that Little Miss Trust Issues over here is gonna go with anyone else but Sam.” Dean replies.

You roll your eyes as a response.

„So, Jody, where did your men see Dark Kaia?” Sam clears his throat and asks to switch the subject.

„They saw her west of here, but she’s been moving around, so basically the whole area is ground we need to cover.”

„Fan-freaking-tastic.” Dean pulls a face.

„I suggest we start moving. The sooner we find her, the better.” Castiel speaks on everyone’s behalf and so you all do as he says so.

The other bunch starts off to the direction Jody has mentioned and you and Sam take the other way. You’re a little bit ahead of Sam, trying to avoid any interactions at all costs. You really don’t feel like doing a heart-to-heart in the middle of the woods. Whenever he catches up with you, you start walking even faster. You probably keep on doing this for about a good twenty minutes when he finally grabs your wrist and turns you to face him.

„Okay, that’s enough! I know I screwed up by not telling you everything - and I’m sorry for that – but you haven’t been the most honest either so I don’t exactly think I deserve the silent treatment.” he bursts out, looking intensly in your eyes. You hold his gaze.

„I’d let go of me if I were you and wanted to keep my hand.” you say calmly.

He lets out a breathless laugh.

„Right. Empty threats. Your speciality.”

He’s crossed a certain line and before you know it, your free fist is on its way to collide with his jawline, but he catches it mid-air. Only a couple of seconds pass and he lets go of both your hands just to grab your face and crash his lips onto yours. You totally freeze because of his unexpected actions and forget to kiss him back. He pulls away, visibly puzzled from your lack of response. You realize your mistake and immediately yank him back by his plaidshirt. Your positive reinforcement really escalates things. In just a fraction of time he pins you against the nearest tree with his body, kissing you passionately. You bury your hands into his hair, getting entirely lost in the moment. His kiss is hot and wet and everything you imagined it would be like. He tears off your shirt, leaving you in your bra and that’s when you get back to reality.

„Sam…Sam! We…” he kisses your neck and it takes everything within your power to suppress a moan. „We… we can’t! Okay? Just – just stop!”

He pulls away just enough to be able to look in your eyes.

„We can. And we will.” he says out of breath and returns to kissing your neck. „You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this – how long I’ve wanted you!” he growles against your skin while his hands are traveling all over your body, making his argument even more valid.

„But..but what if the others stumble upon us, huh?” you give rationality one last try.

„Well, Dean’s a big boy, he can handle it and Cas is not as innocent as he seems. As for Jody… she’ll look away. I want you. Now.”

You don’t need to hear anything more to be convinced – the probabilty of an unwanted pregnancy equals zero, your pill makes sure of that. And as for other concerns…you hope for the best. Sam doesn’t strike you as the sleeping around type.

You take off his jacket and start to unbuckle his belt. He does the same for you and as a final step of the process, he yanks down your jeans as far as he can. You can see the lust clouding his eyes as he looks at your black lace panties. Soon enough he pulls it to the side, caressing you with his index and middle finger. Despite all your best efforts, now you’re not able to withhold a moan. He grabs you under your thighs and lifts you up gently so you would be at the same level he is.

„So wet…” he whispers against your lips and he pulls out his length to push into you. The first couple of thrusts hurt a little, but then it’s just pure pleasure.

You both know exactly that this is not a romantic act. It’s an act of passion and longing and displaying feelings – everything that have been held back for a long time now. His movements are fast, but gentle at the same time and you can’t help moaning his name. He moans yours in return before he starts moving even faster and it’s not long before you both reach bliss. Even though he’s released into you, you stay like that for a moment or two, panting. He kisses you one more time before putting you down. You take your torn shirt and use it to clean yourself up. In approximately three minutes both of you are dressed fully – well, almost fully. Your upper body’s single coverage is your bra thanks to the younger Winchester.

„Here! Take this.” he chuckles as he hands you his plaidshirt. ”I’ve got a t-shirt under this.”

„Oh yeah? And what should I do with it? It’s at least three times my size.”

„I don’t know… Put your belt around your waist, it’ll look like a dress.” he suggests.

„Dress on jeans? Sam, I hate to break it to you but we’re not in the eighties anymore.”

„Relax a bit, Nat. You’d even look smokin’ in a potato sack, a little dress on jeans won’t make you any less attractive.” he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and gives you a long kiss, which earns him a warm smile from you.

After you’re both ready, you continue your journey of looking for Dark Kaia, walking hand in hand.

„Jesus, Sam, you’ve been smiling for three consequtive minutes, are you alright? I think this is a new record for you, by the way.” you tease him.

„Very funny, Nat. I’m-I’m just happy, that’s all.”

„Really? And why is that?”

„Because of you.” he admits shyly. „I’ve been waitig for someone like you for a while now. You know, I used to think I can only have healthy relationships with women if I get out of this life. Been there, done that, got back in and I thought I could never have anything that even remotely resembles to it. But then you appeared in my life and messed up everything I believed in.”

„Same here, Sam. Same here.” you confess as well, squeezing his hand harder. Since the death of your family, Sam’s the only person who’s managed to break through to you, demolishing each and every one of the walls you built to protect yourself.

You stand on your toes and kiss him. As a result, he pulls you flush against his body, but both of you freeze upon hearing the horrible screams that – judging by the volume - come from a frighteningly short distance.

You both start running in the direction you think they come from and soon enough arrive at a small glade. The scene playing out in front of you is anything but encouraging – Jody is laying on the ground unconscious, blood trickling from her forehead; Castiel is kneeling next to her attempting to heal her wound, but you weakened him significantly in the diner so it’s going a lot slower than usual; and Dean is getting his ass kicked by a girl prominently smaller than him. Based on the stories Sam would tell you about him before you fell asleep together in the bunker, you imagine this is gonna shatter his ego.

The girl they referred to as Kaia is about to stab Dean with her spear, but she stops when Sam yells at her. Instead she just quickly delivers a punch to the older Winchester and turns to hurl the weapon at Sam.

“NO!” you scream and push him out of the way just in time, but consequently your left shoulder gets grazed by the pointed head before it settles in a tree trunk.

“Well, you’ve just ruined my shirt.” you exclaim indignantly, while you examine the hole that the weapon ripped into the fabric. Slowly, blood begins to soak the frayed ends. “Agh, and blood, too?? You can’t wash that out! Now it’s personal.”

You both start running at each other and upon colliding, you both manage to take in a hit. A long, tiresome combat ensues between the two of you – the others are too mesmerized by both of your grace and all the beautifully executed motions to join. A busted lip and several bruises later you see an opportunity to render her harmless by bringing her to the ground and you go for it. In a blink of an eye she’s down in the grass and you’re on top of her, holding her in a way that’s impossible to escape without obtaining serious injuries.

“Would you just stop it already?!” you hiss into hear ear, panting heavily. You consider yourself fit, but this little match made you sweat like a pig. “We don’t want to take that stupid spear of yours for good, girly! We’d just like to borrow it for replication so that we could kill an archangel named Michael with it! He’s gonna eradicate every reality you’ve ever known if we don’t stop him. And right now, it looks like our best bet at doing so is your pointy stick.”

“Well, your friends kind of failed to bring all of this to my attention!” she hisses back just as equally out of breath as you.

You let out a frustrated sigh.

“Alright. Promise me you’ll stay calm and I’ll let you go.” her lack of response makes you motivate her into cooperation by pulling back her arm just a bit more, making her scream out in pain.

“Alright, alright! I promise!”

You let go and both of you jump to your feet. When Kaia realizes Sam is holding the weapon, she goes over and takes it from him then brings it to you. Judging by her facial expression, she would have gladly punched Sam in the face for touching it, but a promise is a promise.

“That man you mentioned has sent his minions to get this from me. They’ve almost killed me twice now. If what your saying is true, take it. Make a copy then get the original back to me. Although I’m uncertain if it’s replicable. “ she says, handing the spear to you.

“Well, this is kind of my job, so I’ll try my best to replicate it.” you say as you take it. Sam, Dean and a now-conscious Jody with the help of Castiel all come closer to take a look.

“Your job is replicating weaponry?” she inquires, curiosity taking over her.

“Well creating and replicating. Whatever the customer pays for. But I make things for myself as well, just look at this ring.” you touch the ring on your right middle finger with your thumb. “This has angel grace in it. It glows when it comes in contact with angels. All I need is a handshake and I’ll know if the person is an asshat from upstairs or not. See?” you touch Castiel’s shoulder and the ring starts glowing with a bright blue light. “But when I touch Dean for example, it’s not glow-“ the words freeze in your throath as the ring burns brighter than ever.

Everybody stares at Dean expectantly, who seems utterly shocked for a minute, but then the mask falls off - he rolls his eyes and a look of indifference appears on his face. He straightens himself, even the tone of his voice changes when he speaks up.

“Alright! I must admit I did not expect such turn of events that would lead to my untimely exposure... I planned on pretending to be Dean for a much longer period to get what I want.”

“Michael…” Sam breathes out.

“In the flesh and bone.” he smiles coldly as he raises his arms and an invisible power pushes each of you against a different surrounding tree. Before your back collides with the trunk and the air gets pushed out of your lungs, you manage to throw the spear into the tall grass. If he wants it, he might as well just look for it.

To the biggest surprise of everyone present, the weapon is not the thing he opts for.

It’s you.

He calmly strolls over to you.

“My, my…” he says as he grabs your chin and scrutinizes your face. “You look just like her. Tell me, Nat, what is your story.”

Your eyes snap to Dean’s green ones, though he’s unmistakably not the person looking back.

“My story?!” you almost can’t contain the rage rising within you “You slaughtered my family when I was a kid, asshole, and I’ve been on the run ever since! That’s my story!”

“Interesting. In my dimension, I murdered your family, but you did not escape. You chose to serve me instead.”

“No!” you feel tears starting to sting.

“Oh, yes...” he tucks a lock of hair behind your ear. “In fact, your services covered a much broader area in life, including warming my bed. I have to admit, I felt a pang of jealousy when you appeared here in Samuel’s flanel.” he whispers the last sentence, his breath fanning your face.

“DEAN!” Sam’s voice rips trough the air all of a sudden. “I know you’re in there! Fight it, man!”

Michael appears to be a bit irritated by this and turns to walk in Sam’s direction. Your thoughts are racing, so it takes a couple of seconds to realize that what Sam’s doing is distraction. While Michael is set on him, he would concentrate on restraining the others less. It takes all your physical power to move your hand, but you succeed. You are able to dip your fingers into your bleeding shoulder wound and start drawing the angel banishing sign on the tree.

“Samuel. You know, your brother is pushed back so far in his own mind, that he cannot hear you. You might as well just stop talking.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“Then I’ll make you.” with a snap of his fingers Sam’s begins choking on thin air.

Your heart rate rises seeing Sam in agony. You swiftly dip your fingers one last time to finish the sign.

“Hey, Michael!” you scream, immediately earning a head turn from him. “This isn’t over, asshole!”

You slap your palm against the sign and both him and Castiel disappear.