#Ash post challenge level impossible

[bardic-tales]

This post explores a comprehensive set of behavioral headcanons exclusive to Bianca Moore in her draconic phoenix true form. It is inspired by a range of avian predators and reptilian species, including harpy eagles, iguanas, and komodo dragons.

These instincts, rituals, and social dynamics are not present in Bianca’s celestial humanoid state. Instead, they represent the raw, animalistic psyche of a form shaped by magic and survival. Each trait has been carefully mapped to real-world behaviors to deepen the lore of Bianca’s monstrous physiology.

Possible Trigger Warnings: Abandonment, aggression, bodily transformation, child endangerment (threatened but not acted upon), death imagery, emotional dysregulation, grief, mating/sexual behavior (non-explicit but instinctive), obsessive attachment, predation, psychological warfare, self-isolation, territorial violence, and trauma responses.

⚠️ Disclaimer: The following headcanons are exclusive to Bianca Moore’s true, draconic phoenix form. These behaviors are not present in her celestial humanoid form, which functions socially and cognitively on a human level. These traits are drawn exclusively from birds of prey and reptilian species, such as harpy eagles, hawks, and iguanas. I also had help from my daughter and my husband building this this. I want to say a big thank you to @prehistoric-creatures for helping me with the reptile behavior portion of this.

BEHAVIOR

Harpy Eagle: Perches silently at impossible heights, unmoving for hours, only to strike with explosive precision. Bianca’s stillness is a prelude to catastrophic action.

Bearded Vulture: She deliberately coats herself in certain kinds of mineral dust or ash, ritualistic behavior mimicking dust bathing, signifying dominance or emotional shifts.

Iguana: Tail-whipping is used to enforce territorial dominance or punish enemies. Her tendrilled tail arcs with concussive force to knock back challengers.

Red-tailed Hawk: She performs slow, spiraling flight displays over her domain to signal territorial claim. It’s not for intimidation. It’s declaration.

Harpy Eagle: When descending on prey or target, she folds her wings and drops in controlled freefall: an unnerving display of predatory focus.

Monitor Lizard: Slow, tongue-flicking behavior to “taste” magical currents in the air, testing ley lines or detecting metaphysical disruptions.

Hawk: She keeps an aerial map of her mental territory. She notices any spatial distortion, even if only an inch has changed.

Chameleon (reptile, not color): Subtle skin-texture shifts on her tendrils indicate mood. Raised barbs signal agitation while smoothness indicates calm.

Crested Caracara: She uses her talons to methodically rip apart magical barriers: tactile and almost surgical in her destruction.

Komodo Dragon: She "tests" magic or matter by briefly brushing it with a tendril, as she checks for curses, traps, or anomalies before deeper interaction.

Harpy Eagle: Perches silently at impossible heights, unmoving for hours, only to strike with explosive precision. Bianca’s stillness is a prelude to catastrophic action.

Bearded Vulture: She deliberately coats herself in certain kinds of mineral dust or ash, ritualistic behavior mimicking dust bathing, signifying dominance or emotional shifts.

Iguana: Tail-whipping is used to enforce territorial dominance or punish enemies. Her tendrilled tail arcs with concussive force to knock back challengers.

Red-tailed Hawk: She performs slow, spiraling flight displays over her domain to signal territorial claim. It’s not for intimidation. It’s declaration.

Harpy Eagle: When descending on prey or target, she folds her wings and drops in controlled freefall: an unnerving display of predatory focus.

Monitor Lizard: Slow, tongue-flicking behavior to “taste” magical currents in the air, testing ley lines or detecting metaphysical disruptions.

Hawk: She keeps an aerial map of her mental territory. She notices any spatial distortion, even if only an inch has changed.

Chameleon (reptile, not color): Subtle skin-texture shifts on her tendrils indicate mood. Raised barbs signal agitation while smoothness indicates calm.

Crested Caracara: She uses her talons to methodically rip apart magical barriers and reality, itself: tactile and almost surgical in her destruction.

Komodo Dragon: She "tests" magic or matter by briefly brushing it with a tendril, as she checks for curses, traps, or anomalies before deeper interaction.

COMBAT & TERRITORIAL BEHAVIOR

Harpy Eagle: Bianca divebombs with wings tucked in and eyes glowing like lanterns, hitting with the force of a meteor. It’s a trademark ambush style.

iguana: Her tail can lash in wide arcs with enough force to dent steel. She uses it as a crowd control weapon. Fast, savage, and meant to create breathing room.

Harpy Eagle: When challenged, she spreads her wings fully and arches her back, eyes narrowed, tendrils raised. This is the “I will end you” pose.

Chameleon: Her body shimmers with a miasmic overlay that lets her partially blend with shadows for ambush tactics, though she prefers direct dominance.

Komodo Dragon: Her bite can carry a necrotic venom from her miasma-infused saliva. One bite and it starts liquefying magical defenses.

Draco Lizard: She uses wind currents and thermals masterfully, able to hover near-still mid-air before plunging on her prey.

Harpy Eagle: If grounded, she grabs her opponent with both talons and repeatedly slams them into the terrain. Not subtle. Very final.

Anole Lizard: Her tendrils can swell and glow during rage-states. This isn’t fire, it’s a pressure signal. A silent “back off.”

Bearded Dragon: When truly cornered, Bianca will expand the muscles around her throat and chest, making herself look double her size before attacking with both claws and wings.

Harpy Eagle: Her scream during battle is a piercing shriek that echoes and rebounds through the air, disorienting the senses and sometimes cracking delicate structures.

COMMUNICATION

Budgerigar (parakeet): Clacks her beak to express happiness or low-level comfort.

Harpy Eagle: Ear-splitting, guttural screeches act as long-range vocalizations: biomagical sonar, locating her kin or warning interlopers.

Bearded Vulture: Rattles her tendrils together like dry bone to emit a low-pitched, rattling sound. This is a threat display or low warning.

Iguana: She performs exaggerated head-bobs and full-body sways during confrontation, which is visually intimidating but also ritualistic.

Raven (raptor-adjacent corvid): Mimics the magical signatures of others as a taunt. Her mimicry is eerily accurate and meant to disorient.

Bald Eagle: In close proximity to her young, uses soft grunts and throat-clicks to communicate comfort and presence.

Anole Lizard: Raises one limb slowly and pauses. This a sign of submission or “ceasefire” when addressing Sephiroth or children.

Screech Owl: Emits a bone-chilling shriek at irregular intervals to draw enemies into a false sense of distance. This is for psychological warfare.

Hawk: When guarding the sleeping forms of her children, she emits rhythmic breathing pulses that regulate their heartbeat and sleep cycles.

Iguana Tail Slap: She slaps her tendril tail against the ground or air to send vibrational messages through terrain. This is her version of seismic warning.

EMOTIONAL & SOCIAL BEHAVIORS

Harpy Eagle: Bianca will emit short, sharp cries when anxious. It is barely audible, like tension escaping a pressure valve. Only Aurora and Lucien can identify it.

Bearded Dragon: She tilts her head sideways when trying to understand something unfamiliar, especially tech or foreign magic. It’s… surprisingly cute.

Harpy Eagle: When excited, she will leap straight into the air from a crouch and spread her wings fully. It's an outburst of emotion she can’t quite control.

Iguana: During quiet reflection, her tendrils slow their movement and curl inward, forming spiral shapes that mirror her inner tension or thought process.

Budgie: She mirrors behaviors of those she loves (particularly the kids). If Lucien yawns, she might mimic it with an eerie, toothless stretch.

Komodo Dragon: When agitated or grieving, she scratches at the ground or walls with her talons, sometimes to the point of drawing sparks or blood.

Harpy Eagle: If humiliated or emotionally wounded, she retreats to the highest, most isolated perch available and perches there motionless for hours, wings tight to her sides.

Draco Lizard: She flares her wings like a cape when entering a room containing her loved ones: a visual affirmation of protection.

Monitor Lizard: When welcoming someone back (Sephiroth, the kids), she presses her body low to the ground and puffs out a warm gust of miasma. It's a version of a hug.

Harpy Eagle: When truly proud of Aurora or Lucien, she lets out a soft, upward warble. It's a note so rare that even they know it’s a mark of deep pride.

ENVIRONMENT & RESTING BEHAVIORS

Harpy Eagle: Bianca prefers roosting in high, desolate places. Nesting areas are built from bone and metal. Not comfy. Symbolic.

Iguana: She will bask in magical aether-light (magic) to recharge, stretching full wings and fanning her tail. Her tendrils writhe lazily in the glow.

Monitor Lizard: She digs shallow depressions with her forelimbs to rest, wrapping her body protectively around Aurora and Lucien in a spiral.

Budgie: When content, she softly clicks her beak and occasionally mirrors the subtle, high-pitched sounds of her children. It’s a kind of bonding echo.

Harpy Eagle: She perches on cliff edges with one talon retracted, eyes half-lidded but fully alert. Her apparent rest is always a lie. Harpy Eagle: In extreme emotion (grief, fury), she will open all the eyes on her wings and torso at once, creating a swirling hypnotic pattern of horror.

Anole Lizard: When adjusting to a new location, she cycles through minor color shifts in her feathered body to map magical leyline density. She’s a living compass.

Draco Lizard: When alone with Sephiroth, Bianca wraps her tendrils loosely around herself and tucks her head beneath her wings: half-hiding, half-relaxing. It's her rarest vulnerability.

Harpy Eagle: Her sleep is fractured. She dozes in intense micro-naps while one or more of her many eyes remain open, especially when guarding the children.

FUN, QUIRKY BEHAVIORS

Budgie: She grinds the edges of her beak to sharpen them. It's not unlike sharpening a blade on stone. Sometimes it sounds like bones crunching.

Iguana: When relaxed, her tail slowly flicks back and forth like a metronome. It’s hypnotic. Almost meditative.

Harpy Eagle: She will tap her talons rhythmically when thinking. It’s how she processes ideas like a ticking clock.

Harpy Eagle: If she’s bored, she starts rearranging things with her talons—bones and stones—into strange spirals. She tends to refresh her nest.

Budgie: She softly beak-bumps her children’s heads when they’re sad. It's her best attempt at comfort that doesn’t involve monstrous screeching.

Harpy Eagle: Bianca has a unique “laugh” in this form: a descending screech followed by a clack of her beak. If you hear it, someone is suffering, and, of course, she finds it hilarious.

INSTINCT

Harpy Eagle: When sensing a threat to her children, she divebombs instinctively from the highest point, striking before her mind catches up.

Bald Eagle: She will instinctively positions herself between danger and her children. No matter the odds, no hesitation.

Komodo Dragon: If injured, she instinctively attempts to reach a solitary height before healing. High ground equals safety.

Hawk: All of her eyes lock on the smallest movements even in chaos. She cannot “turn off” this behavior. She always analyzes the twitch.

Bearded Vulture: She avoids water instinctively prefers to clean herself in wind and ash in her true form. Water is “too still” and feels wrong.

Raptor (general): She instinctively guards her back with her tendril-fan when surrounded. No matter the angle, she knows what’s behind her.

Iguana: When startled, whips her tendrils in a frenzy. This is reflexive, not conscious. It can break bones.

Harpy Eagle: She reacts to sudden elevation drops by flaring all limbs and wings at once, spreading weight to avoid crashing.

Hawk: When separated from Sephiroth, she emits a singular, high-pitched whistle. She rarely even notices doing it.

MATING BEHAVIOR

Bearded Dragon: When feeling affection during courtship, she will bob her head once and then lower it. It's a subdued gesture but for her, it's intimate, nearly sacred.

Iguana: When highly stimulated by proximity to Sephiroth (emotionally or sexually), the color of her tendrils deepens in saturation and pulses rhythmically with her heartbeat. They do not act independently in this moment. They align toward him.

Harpy Eagle: Bianca creates elaborate sky displays, with shadow-miasma trails in precise spirals, as an invitation. She does not do this for anyone but Sephiroth.

Falcon: Bianca uses screeches that descend in pitch to signal her readiness. These vocalizations are terrifying to others, like death screaming, but to Sephiroth, they're a mating song.

Monitor Lizard: If challenged or interrupted during an emotional bonding moment, Bianca will rise to her full height, inflate her chest with air, and issue a growl-like hiss that makes the ground vibrate. She will not tolerate interference.

Bald Eagle: She brings Sephiroth a "gift" after every mating ritual, typically something symbolic from a former battlefield (charred bone, rusted metal). It's not romantic.

Harpy Eagle: After she recovers her love for flight, her mating space is always in the highest place possible whether a cliff or spiral. She views lower altitudes as unworthy for something so sacred.

Anole Lizard: Her tendrils can puff outward from her feathered crown in a fan-like display when in proximity to Sephiroth. This is involuntary: a sign of vulnerability, which she loathes and only allows with him.

Harpy Eagle + Frill-Necked Lizard: If threatened during courtship, her entire tendril crown flares and her screech becomes a multi-tonal, layered soundwave that sends weaker beings to their knees. It’s not for battle. It’s a warning: “I’m with him.”

PARENTING BEHAVIORS

Harpy Eagle: Bianca fiercely defends her young’s nesting site: the Ethereal Nexus. If Aurora or Lucien are even looked at wrong, she will drop from the sky like a silent executioner.

Komodo Dragon: Her miasma seeps into the walls of the nesting chamber, poisoning intruders while keeping her children immune. The shadows act as both guardian and cradle.

Harpy Eagle: She preens the feathers on her young with surgical precision, using the tips of her tendrils. Each movement is careful, as if they're holy relics.

Budgie: She makes clicking sounds by snapping her beak-like jaws together softly when around her children. It's a comforting rhythm. A lullaby in clicks.

Iguana: Her tail fan flares wide when her children are afraid, creating a shadow barrier around them. It whips to clear the area and reassure them, acting as both blanket and blade.

Harpy Eagle: Bianca rarely leaves her young alone for long; when she must, she leaves a spirit-bound echo of her form to watch them: one of the few signs of her sentimentality.

Monitor Lizard: She teaches through staged predation, creating illusions for the kids to destroy. She ensures they win, always. Not for ego, but to instill confidence.

Harpy Eagle: She brings them pieces of magic-charged prey to encourage channeling of their own abilities. If Sephiroth’s style is discipline, Bianca’s is immersion.

Lizard Brooding Behavior: When they’re sick or injured, Bianca curls her entire massive form around them, wings and tendrils creating a silent cocoon. Her inner miasma dims to reduce overstimulation, and she will not move until they heal.

@themaradwrites @shepardstales @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap

@inkandimpressions @arrthurpendragon @projecthypocrisy @serenofroses

[athingimdoingnow]

Day 22: Unburied

Unburied is our first with content warnings, so let me share them with you really quick- Content Warnings: Violence, Death, Human Remains, Body Horror, Possession.

Skip this one if those rub you the wrong way, otherwise, let’s unearth this post-apocalyptic zombie ttrpg.

This is like, really alright. Maybe the most alright one I’ve read so far. And just to be clear, I don’t mean alright as in best, I mean this is the most 8/10 one I’ve read. Not outstanding, but incredibly solid. Let’s talk about it.

Unburied is a post-apocalypse TTRPG that takes place after the Unburial, when the dead spontaneously emerged from their graves. There are four different types of undead, those being Ashes (clouds of dust, like those cremated), Cadavers (more traditional zombies and skeletons), Rots (living embodiments of putrefaction) and spirits (operating through possession usually). The game is really about living in the apocalypse, having rules for a traditional GM and player dynamic as well as solo-play. 

Originality: ⭐⭐⭐⭐

So, this one  might be a zombie apocalypse TTRPG, but the four different types of undead, and them ALL being completely unkillable (they’re unkillable btw) makes them feel new and interesting. I think maybe I’m scoring them a little high, but honestly it’s just a fresh take on an old concept with very thoughtful levels of specificity in their discussions of how the world works as a whole. 

Mechanics: ⭐⭐⭐⭐

These are actually pretty well done. So it works with a more standard DC system, they call it a challenge rating. If you’re doing something risky, you roll the challenge. It’s a d6, plus 1 if you’re using an area of expertise, plus 1 if you prepared, and plus 1 for each person helping. Now, the challenges range from 5 to 24. You may notice that at merely 5, even when you’re using an area of expertise and prepped, if you’re alone you’re looking at a 33% chance of failure. This, I think, is awesome. Here’s why. Firstly, it heavily motivates group tactics and teamwork, and you get some real rewards for planning. Secondly, it makes the whole thing feel pretty desperate and maybe even a little hopeless, which is great for the setting. The astute among you might notice that in a five player game (this is a five player game max) it’s still near impossible to hit the highest levels of the challenges with everyone working together. Well, you can also take a sacrifice (breaking equipment, estranging a friend, etc) to roll an extra d6. The system seems, on its face, to somewhat necessitate making semi-frequent sacrifices, which is also baller. If you aren’t prepared, or you don’t have teamwork, or if you’re just unlucky, you will be making sacrifices just to succeed. And that’s awesome. This is a really cool way of incorporating the tone into the rolls. The point off actually comes from a general failure to address stuff like injury, which I feel is pretty important in the context of an apocalypse. People are probably gonna get hurt, and that probably should have mechanical impact, so… But other than what’s been omitted, everything here is great.

Post-Script: Hey, I forgot to mention this, and I’m not gonna lower the score, but the solo play rules are only okay. There’s a small handful of prompts, with no tips for setting Challenges (something the game lacks generally, now that I’ve noticed), and I think that it doesn’t really work. They feel tacked on, being present on the last page and not discussed in enough depth for my cuppa.

Replayability: ⭐⭐⭐

I could see this being a longer campaign, given that even just inside of the game itself it has really rich things to look into. What caused the Unburial? Will the players defend this settlement? Do they have loved ones to find? While this, in rules as written, is a singular goal, I don’t see why you wouldn’t move to the next goal after one or the other. The downside is, well, it doesn’t have any progression. I think that’s alright, not the worst for sure, but between that and the simple (even if pleasantly fitting for the theme) mechanics,  it’s enough for me to bump it down from 4 to 3 stars. 

Variability: ⭐⭐⭐

It’s got good variance within the system. Like sure, it’s always kind of going to be the same tone, but you can do a couple different things in that realm. If nothing else there’s a lot of differences depending on the type of undead that you have to fight, and it seems like the game promotes fighting one specific type at a time. Which is good! It’s neat, it works, makes things feel different each time.

Character Creation: ⭐⭐

The real Achilles Heel of this game. It has character creation, based on how you survived the Unburial, which gives you one specialty. It also asks you to come up with occupation, age, gender, etc, all very good stuff, all very necessary, but there’s not much in the way of mechanical creation. Usually I’ve complained about too many mechanics and not enough characterization, but this time I think that the characters have too little guidance in terms of fitting them into the world of Unburied itself. It is serviceable, to be sure, another 2.5 star situation, but it’s what Unburied is the worst at. And if your weak point is “it’s okay,” you’re doing something right.

Overall: ⭐⭐⭐⭐

I really like this one. It’s simple, sweet, mechanically interesting and coherent, and it’s got some stuff I haven’t seen before in the sacrifice system. I do think it has weak points in character creation and solo rules, but those are really more nitpicks than anything else. Unburied is normally 10 dollars, but is 50% off for the next week or so. I think this one’s worth your time if you have any interest in the realm of the undead. 

[vonbergerpants]

So I've been playing a Maddening run file of FE3H lately. I made it interesting for myself by imposing the following challenge:

A 4 units only run: Caspar, Linhardt, Ashe and Lysithea. Everyone else gets benched, unless they're required, in which case I just keep them away from the battle.

Why those four?

For Caspar, I keep seeing people say Caspar's a bad unit, or they always bench him, and I'm here to prove that he very much carries my entire team. I cleared both my NG+ Maddening CF runs and my no-NG+ Maddening Golden Deer run with him being MVP in most of them. He was MVP in ALL of my AM Maddening run (except for the ones he can't be there for).

Linhardt, because you know the rule. Do Not Separate. Also, he's my best healer.

Ashe, because he's in a polycule with Caspar and Linhardt.

Lysithea, because I don't think I can do the late-game with 3 units. Also, she was an entirely random choice - I used a random number generator. "Who will be the fourth wheel to their polycule," my friends and I asked. Congratulations, Lysithea. You were the right pick for being a powerhouse, and the most hilarious pick for this silly narrative I made up.

This is also on NG+ Silver Snow because it's the only route I haven't done Maddening on, and I already did no-NG+ Maddening the normal way, I don't need to put myself through more pain.

This has been a fun challenge so far with some amazing highlights, such as:

- Caspar critting Ashe during the mock battle on turn 1, and then Ashe asking to join my class a few in-calandar days later.

- Lysithea having 6 range because I made her a Valkyrie (+1 Magic range), gave her S+ Reason (another +1 Magic range), and Thyrsus (+2 Magic range).

- The Remire chapter being done in 3 turns by complete accident because Caspar happened to be within Solon Slapping Range.

- Caspar becoming a War Master before the timeskip.

- The Hapi and Balthus paralogue that I SOMEHOW pulled off despite the position we all started with.

- Clearing the first mission of part 2, which meant being forced to attack and try to survive with a level 3 Byleth until Caspar and Linhardt showed up (AND THANK GOD CASPAR WAS THE FIRST UNIT TO SHOW UP OR THIS WOULD HAVE BEEN IMPOSSIBLE). Behold, their first level-up since Ch 1.

- Level 1 post-timeskip Bernadetta who will certainly die if she stubbed her toe.

- My 1 turn Fort Merceus and 2 turn Enbarr clears respectively.

So now this is where I am. I am very scared.

Wish me luck.

[paperanddice]

The crawling apocalypse earns its name by being nearly impossible to end. Krakens dragged up out of the water and mummified by an ancient empire, some have survived the ages past the destruction of their creators and still wander deserts to guard borders that no longer exist against enemies that died long ago. Some rare few still know the command codes for these engines of destruction, and may seek to unleash one upon their foes.

A destroyed crawling apocalypse reforms itself perfectly one day later, reforming even if the body is disintegrated. It must be destroyed on holy ground, burned to ashes, but achieving that is no easy task. Either it must be lured to holy ground and fought there, an exceptionally dangerous proposition, or the body of a destroyed crawling apocalypse must be transported to holy ground before it rejuvenates. Quite the undertaking with a corpse the size of a small house.

The mummification process imbued a terrible curse into the body of the kraken, allowing it to spread a tenacious cursed rot that causes the body of those afflicted to crumble into dust. Two twenty five foot long tentacles lash out, smashing enemies into the ground and dragging their bodies into the mass of lashing arms (in the octopus form, those aren't technically tentacles) closer to its body.

Originally from Sandstorm. This post came out a week ago on my Patreon. If you want to get access to all my monster conversions early, as well as a spot on the Paper and Dice Discord server, consider backing me there!

5th Edition

Crawling Apocalypse Gargantuan undead, unaligned Armor Class 16 (natural armor) Hit Points 198 (12d20 + 72) Speed 20 ft., burrow 20 ft. Str 25 (+7) Dex 10 (+0) Con 22 (+6) Int 6 (-2) Wis 20 (+5) Cha 20 (+5) Damage Immunities necrotic, poison Damage Resistances bludgeoning, piercing and slashing damage from nonmagical attacks Damage Vulnerabilities fire Condition Immunities charmed, exhaustion, frightened, paralyzed, poisoned Senses tremorsense 60 ft. passive Perception 15 Languages understands the languages it knew in life but can't speak Challenge 11 (7200 XP) Rejuvenation. If the crawling apocalypse is destroyed, it's body reforms 24 hours later with all of its hit points and it returns to life. Destroying the crawling apocalypse or its corpse within the area of a hallow spell, a wish spell or similar magic can prevent this rejuvenation. Actions Multiattack. The crawling apocalypse can use Cause Despair and makes two tentacle attacks. Tentacle. Melee Weapon Attack: +11 to hit, reach 25 ft., one target. Hit: 16 (2d8+7) bludgeoning damage plus 10 (3d6) necrotic damage, and if the target is Huge or smaller it is grappled (escape DC 15). The crawling apocalypse transfers grappled targets to its arms. The crawling apocalypse has 6 arms, each of which can grapple one target. Until the grapple ends, the target is restrained, takes 10 (3d6) necrotic damage at the start of each of the crawling apocalypse's turns, and if it is a creature it must succeed on a DC 14 Constitution saving throw at the start of each of the crawling apocalypse's turns or be cursed with mummy rot. The cursed target can't regain hit points, and its hit point maximum is reduced by 10 (3d6) for every 24 hours that elapse. If the curse reduces the target's hit point maximum to 0, the target dies, and its body turns to dust. The curse lasts until removed by the remove curse spell or other magic. Cause Despair. Each creature of the crawling apocalypse's choice that is within 120 feet of the crawling apocalypse and aware of it must succeed on a DC 17 Wisdom saving throw or become frightened for 1 minute. A creature that fails the saving throw by 5 or more is also paralyzed for the same duration. A creature can repeat the saving throw at the end of each of its turns, ending the effect on itself on a success. If a creature's saving throw is successful or the effect ends for it, the creature is immune the crawling apocalypse's Cause Despair for the next 24 hours.

13th Age

Crawling Apocalypse Huge 8th level wrecker [undead] Initiative: +9 Vulnerability: Fire Rotting Tentacle +12 vs. AC (can target nearby enemies) - 50 damage plus ongoing 20 negative energy damage, and the target is afflicted by mummy rot (save ends both) Each Failed Save (Mummy Rot): The target’s flesh rots faster and the ongoing damage increases by 20 (cumulative). Saves granted by special powers don’t increase this damage if they fail, only end of turn failures. Natural Even Hit: The crawling apocalypse grabs the target. At the start of each of the crawling apocalypse’s turn, every creature it is grabbing is afflicted with mummy rot if it wasn’t already, and if it is afflicted with mummy rot the ongoing damage increases by 20 (cumulative). Burrow. Cause Despair: The crawling apocalypse radiates a very powerful fear aura that can drive opponents into frozen terror. While engaged with the crawling apocalypse, enemies that have 200 hp or fewer are dazed and do not add the escalation die to their attacks. If such an enemy attacks the crawling apocalypse and rolls a natural 1-5, it is also stuck as long as it is engaged. Each time an enemy affected by this fear aura attacks the crawling apocalypse, hit or miss, it must roll a save. On a success, it is immune to the fear aura of the crawling apocalypse for the rest of the battle. Impossible Resilience: When the crawling apocalypse takes 20 damage or less from a non-fire attack, it takes no damage instead. Rejuvenation: The crawling apocalypse’s body reforms whole with all its hit points 24 hours after it is destroyed, unless the body is burned to ash on holy ground or through direct magic of an Icon. AC 22 PD 22 MD 18 HP 460

[amonrawya]

Two Wizards; One Soul

Little bit of dark!Dumbledore, and mostly rosy wording. I wrote this while listening to a Grindellore playlist on youtube, where I also posted this story. (I don't have the link right now but I will add it later). Nothing inappropriate!

_________________________________

Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald are the most powerful couple to have lived; the entire Wizarding World lay sprawled at their feet long before any ministry had the chance to act against them. No power remained to oppose either wizard alone, certainly not both.

They revelled in each other, drunk on power and the burning love shared between the two. No one else existed in their world, except them. Magic burst from their fingertips at a whim, and with the Deathly Hallows on their side, nothing could part Gellert and Albus, not even death.

Instead of revealing the world of magic, they infiltrated ever muggle powerhouse on earth, whether it be government or economies - it all fell to their influence, and without realising it, the world of the muggles came under the rule of Dumbledore and Grindelwald.

Many attempted to challenge them, rebellions that were crushed before the spark could become flame. But these new rulers were not cruel, only interested in peace and the end of fear. Any who disagreed possessed little power to do anything about it.

The two men, physically so different, bore twin souls, entwined by a searing, deadly love that overruled everything. Defied every possibility, spit in the face of doubt, and smothered the idea of the word impossible. Together, there was nothing Albus and Gellert could not achieve.

*

Dark eyes glittering, Dumbledore met the eyes of his lover. No. The eyes of his soulmate. What other word could describe them? From the moment they met, love blossomed with every word and stolen glance. He used to fear its burn, before he gave in and relished the power.

Grindelwald looked back at him, pale hair glinting in the moonlight. To anyone else, the apparent blankness of his face would put doubt in their mind; but Dumbledore, who knew him better than anyone, saw the bright fire flickering in his gaze. Those eyes, contrasting, clashing, but ultimately the same, spoke to Albus on a level nothing else could.

Magic crackled around them, the very air alive with their energy. Reflected in his soulmate's eyes, Albus saw themselves, and longed to stay there forever. The world could burn to ash, and he would not care, only if Gellert stayed too.

"My dear," came his voice, low, rough, laced with the chill of his homeland winds, yet still igniting fire in Albus' gut, "the day is fading."

Grappling for air to respond, Dumbledore unconciously stepped closer. "Time to go?"

Grindelwald's hand cupped his face, stroking over the trimmed beard for a moment. "Time to go."

With one last look at the smouldering ruins of MACUSA, they vanished, closer in embrace than any human could ever hope to be spiritually.

Their love, though hot and damaging to the touch, would change the world.

In fact, it already had.

[emmie-sue-who]

Cannibals

The first step is to find a body.

You can do this the easy way. Swipe left, swipe right, swipe left, filtering through hundreds in mere minutes. Or you can hunt for one the old-fashioned way if you like a challenge. Grocery store, night classes, bar crawling, church.

Maybe you’re not even aware of what you’re doing. You tell yourself that you’re driven by your inborn longing. For what? Love, you presume—wrongly. Your intentions aren’t quite so noble, whether you realize that yet or not.

You’ll find one eventually. She’ll be young in all the right ways. Loose spirit, bubbling laughter, and when she tosses her head back her hair shakes out in soft ripples. Naïve enough to trust you because she’s driven by her inborn longing. For what? You, she thinks, just maybe it’s you.

Take a moment to admire it. You eat with your eyes first.

You’ll enjoy her attention for a while. It’s nice at first to let your hungry eyes roam over the soft, cool skin stretched tightly over curves and grooves, hugging hips and thighs and shoulders. You’ll like how she leans in and rests her hand lightly on your forearm, fine dark eyelashes fluttering in front of the windows to a soul that you need not observe when her glossy, full lips, slightly parted, draw toward yours.

Cook until it’s nice and tender.

After a while, every fiber of that unobserved soul will ache for you, and then you’ll begin a slow boil, not enough for her to suspect that you’ll soon burn the entire thing to ashes. You’ll whisper a sentiment you don’t truly mean, and the hot breath grazing her ear will make her tingle. She’ll melt, melting into you, she thinks, but you remain cold and rigid while she becomes a formless pool under the low heat of the sweet lies you tell her.

“I love you” is said and for her, it’s her most sacred confession. To you, just words.

She wants with a kind of desire which is different from the one burning within you as you massage soft tissue. Your hands drift anywhere across the body whose slender limbs still do not require you to look upon her soul, now cracked open, overflowing with her kind of want—what you thought you wanted, what she trusted you to give, what you told her you felt.

Then gnaw at it, savoring your first taste.

She thinks of how, when your bodies touch, the particles mingle at the molecular level. She thinks that’s a beautiful metaphor. To her, your touch signifies the way she sees you becoming intertwined permanently. Literally and symbolically, you become a part of her and she becomes a part of you. To you, they are just atoms, interchangeable with any other, and there is nothing beautiful about what you are doing here.

You understand now that your longing is not for the lifelong connection that you promised with those lover’s words you manufactured for her delight.

Your longing is for a meal to be devoured.

She, anticipating communion instead, freely offers to you what she has not to any other. You take it. You trace your lips across the body you’ve conquered. One of many, probably, but in this moment, it doesn’t have to be. Because she’s yielded everything to you. In the most intimate act of faith, she’s granted you every piece of herself to do what you will with. And she thinks, as you eagerly take everything else, that you will see her beating heart, extended to you. That you will hold it close, gently caressing it, protecting it, cherishing it, and that you will give her yours in return.

Chew, tear, bite, faster, to the bone—

But you do not hear the soft thud of this precious gift falling to the ground, ignored. You’re too distracted by satisfying your ravenous appetite. She knows now that this isn’t communion, this isn’t sacred, and she made a mistake that it’s too late to fix. Maybe it would all be better if you held her and told her once more those things that you had deceived her with before. She would willingly be tricked again if only you wouldn’t leave.

—until all you see is a skeleton with two holes where the eyes used to be and a mouth that cannot smile.

You walk out anyway because even if she would be a willing victim, it is impossible to repeat what has been done. You cannot take everything from her when she has already given it. So you leave her pale bones behind. The heart which fell to the floor withers and gathers dust. And on the brink of her tongue would be the words “wait” and “come back” but you’ve rendered her incapable of speech, incapable of voicing what she wants, incapable of wanting anything but you even though she knows she should hate you right now.

Now you are a cannibal. You’ve had your first dish, a gorgeous young girl whose soul broke for you, whose heart is shriveling and decaying because of you. She’s nothing now and she’ll never be anything again that remotely resembles the life she was when you first met. No one can fix it now, least of all you, and you’ll move on to the next course with her already a distant memory.

Briefly, you may feel regret, knowing that if she can ever reconstruct herself she’ll never be able to feel about another person the way she felt about you, never be able to trust anyone as fully. She’ll keep her heart guarded from now on. She’ll meet a guy some day and he’ll feel all the things for her that she felt for you. She’ll try her best to love him, but she won’t realize until she’s completely consumed him that it’s impossible to give your heart and keep it at the same time. She’ll become a cannibal too. You may feel regret, knowing all this, knowing how it happened to you before her. Then the regret dies away because you realize that if you hadn’t done it, someone else would have.

Eventually, we all become cannibals.

A/N: This is a piece I wrote in college. In it, I wanted the narrator to take a really cynical approach to love/sex/intimacy and what happens when people place differing values on those things, so I just ran with that. It’s not my favorite piece ever but I’m never going to do anything with it so it’s getting dumped here. Also, sorry if the formatting turns out wonky. This is my first time posting from anything other than my phone in a very, very long time.

[amazingmsme]

Cabin Fever

AN: I had 2 different prompts for a Sam & Bucky fic where Sam cheers him up, & my sad yearning ass stuck in quarantine ran with it! Hope y’all enjoy!

The world has endured many struggles, many challenges, but she will always heal. But in the time it takes to get there, it can be bad and ugly. Bucky had seen more bad than good to be honest. Born near the end of the First World War, he grew up in a post war state. Many people who he should've known had died, and those around him shared that hole. Which is why the 20's were such a breath of fresh air. Everyone wanted to party and live high, but they soared too close to the sun, and the economy crashed.

He spent his adolescent years struggling to live through the depression. It wasn't easy, nor was it pretty, and he went to bed hungry every night. But through all the shit that had been thrown his way, he had Steve. Then, more war. He was afraid and angry with what was happening, and knew something had to be done. He made some amazing friends during that time, and lost a good few. That was when he and Steve became frozen in time, the latter quite literally so.

He doesn't remember too much from his time spent as Hydra's murdering puppet. It's all flashes of pain, fear, and screams. A hand on a throat, feeling as the windpipe gave way. A finger on a trigger from a distance. A knife plunged deep into a chest. It was all him, and yet, it wasn't. It was as though he was in an empty theater strapped to a chair, being forced to watch this horrific movie play out before his own eyes. For the longest time, he had no control. He wasn't an active part of his life. And then he broke free. He managed to escape, and was wanted for his crimes. He even managed to split up the avengers, the guilt overwhelming him. If he had just stayed low, none of that would've happened. 

And then those weird fucking monster things came down from space, yearning for blood and ready to destroy anything in their path. They fought good and hard, and he honestly thought they would win. The next thing he knows, he missed out on another four years of life that he won't be able to get back. His best friend in the world was now an old man, getting to live the life he had missed out on. He wasn't going to lie, that hurt. A lot.

But scattered amongst the wreckage of his life, glimpses of light shone through. His mother's warm embrace and gentle hum. Steve's bright smile and even brighter laugh. He and Natasha connected on another level that you couldn't even dream. T'Challa was understanding and a good friend to him while he was staying in Wakanda. Shuri was an actual saint, giving him a new arm and offering friendship in a dark and lonely time. He and Sam became reluctant friends, then took a shine to each other. Their sense of humor is one in the same, and they share the same taste on a lot of things. He was kind, funny, witty, compassionate, strong, the list could go on forever. And he was falling hook line and sinker. Utterly and completely head over heels.

Then just when he believed things might be looking up, the whole world shuts down. He remembers from what his mom said, there had been a pandemic in 1920. The Spanish Flu, if he remembered correctly. And now, exactly 100 years later, another pandemic rose from the ashes like the most hideous phoenix. Just when he was finally able to go out and try to live a normal life, another obstacle drops in his path. He had a whole list of things he wanted to do and places to see, and now he doesn't get to do any of that. Trapped within four walls and slowly going crazy.

He had every right to be mad. Nothing, it seems, would ever work out in his favor. And to top it all off, he was stuck with the man he wanted to kiss so badly but couldn't for fear of ruining what they had. He wanted to rip his fucking hair out.

Sam, god bless him, tried his best to keep him in good spirits. When news of covid-19 first spread, he had said, "There's still plenty of things we can do inside! I have Steve's old list of things he needed to catch up on, and I know you haven't heard of any of this stuff either, so we get to start from the top!" He excitedly pulled out the notepad, a few items down the list having been crossed off. "And the best part is, I keep remembering things I forgot to add, so we won't run out."

"Yippy," Bucky said in a flat tone. Sam nudged him with his elbow.

"Hey, there's some good stuff on here! There's tv shows, movies, and some of the greatest songs and bands of all time. You ever heard of Queen?"

"Who?"

"Oh my god you need my help," Sam said playfully, running a hand down his face. Bucky's lips quirked up ever so slightly.

At first he was okay. The constant influx of content kept him busy and his mind occupied. But he soon fell into a rut. Pacing the floor, he'd listen to his favorite songs Sam had shown him along with some new ones. Stare out the windows feeling empty, longing for society to pick up again. After watching a movie or two, he'd get fidgety and need to move about. He really enjoyed binging shows though. They sucked him into their world and wouldn't let go. Maybe because it was so different than what he had growing up. Thankfully they both knew to stay away from anything war themed or that might trigger his PTSD. But he'll be damned if he hadn't been completely obsessed with Breaking Bad.

But there were so many options, so many shows to watch that it was overwhelming. With so many things to pick, how could he choose? And out of the movies and shows, and the genres within those categories, it was simply impossible. And so he would cycle through in search of something to watch, only to come up empty handed. Things got better when he stopped trying to decide and let Sam pick for him. Sam really knew what's best.

God if he wasn't here, Bucky would actually go insane. He catches himself staring at the man even more now. Glancing out of the corner of his eye or full on staring, he just can't stop looking at him. He liked to keep his hair cut short, shaved down close to his head. His facial hair was neatly trimmed, the lines always smooth and precise and framed his mouth perfectly. His smile was so fucking bright it was almost blinding. That smile made his days better, and he tried to be less of an ass, just to see it more often. And his lips were full and soft, and he wanted so badly to be able to kiss them. His eyes were a gorgeous shade of dark chocolate, and you could get lost in them if you weren't careful. You could find yourself falling into them, deeper and deeper with no way out. Back when they were first shut in together, he remembers Sam playing the song Brown Eyed Girl. They had smiled as they listened to it, then slowly, began to dance along. That was when he knew he preferred himself a brown eyed man instead.

They were supposed to be watching some old scary movie that Sam claimed to be a classic. Had even said it was one of the most popular ones of all time, but he thought it was just plain boring and ended up watching the man beside him more than the screen. I mean, what was thrilling about a man in a hockey mask hiding in the bushes trying to kill teens? To him it was just lame, and no amount of fake blood could change that. Sam, as always, picked up on his mood.

"What, you don't like it?" Sam asked. Bucky jumped at his words and tore his eyes away from him, looking back at the movie.

"I never said that."

Sam shrugged, "Well you seem to be watching me more than the show." Bucky's face lit up a slight pink and his eyes widened slightly, not realizing he'd been caught so easily. Sam chuckled and bumped their shoulders together. "It's okay, I don't mind," he said to help ease his conscience. "But we can watch something else if you don't like it. Or we can do something else, I don't mind."

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah I'm not really into this," he admitted.

"Alright, no problem," Sam said. "You want me to pick, or do you want to choose something?" Bucky snorted, crossing his arms.

"Seeing as you picked this shitter, maybe I should be the one to pick the next one," he teased, snatching the remote. "What was that one Disney movie you told me about? The one where dogs eat spaghetti?"

"Oh so suddenly my choices in movies are good again."

"Just shut up and tell me what it's called."

"Well I can't do both," Sam joked. Bucky's mouth hung open in a shocked smile that he tried to mask as offense.

"Just tell me the name smart ass," he demanded. Sam was fighting back his snickers as he answered, "Dogs eat spaghetti."

"Dude I know that's not it!" he cried out.

"Yeah but you don't know what it's actually called!" he laughed, having fun withholding the information.

Bucky didn't mention that he just remembered the name of the movie. Instead he steadied him with a look. "Tell me, or else," he said with a playful growl.

Sam wasn't deterred in the slightest. He puffed out his chest as he said, "Make me."

Bucky grinned, wide with a hint of evil. "Oh I plan to." And then he pounced, pinning Sam down on the couch. He immediately started squirming as soon as fingers collided with his sides. His laughter soon followed. Bucky was completely entranced.

Sam threw his head back, allowing the laughter to flow freely from his mouth. He brought his knees up to his chest in a ball as he rocked from side to side, occasionally batting Bucky's hands away. "Dahahahamnit Bahaharns!"

"You know what you have to do to make it stop," he taunted. His hands journeyed up to dig into his armpits, making his laughter jump higher.

"SHIT NO NOT THERE!" he shouted, feeling his fingers scratch at the hollows. He squeezed his eyes shut as he cackled, completely unable to make the sensations stop. Bucky had a devious idea and bent down, blowing a wet raspberry against his neck. Sam squealed before dissolving into hysterical giggles.

"Nohohoho okay! Ohohokahay, I give! Ihi'll tehehell you!" Bucky continued the tickling for a second longer before backing off to let him breathe. Sam gasped in some much needed air. "Lady and the Tramp," he admitted. "It's Lady and the Tramp."

Bucky's smirk got even wider. "I know." Sam's eyes flew open and he glared at the other man. "What?"

Bucky shrugged his shoulders, "I remembered."

"Oh you little shit!" Sam cried, smacking his arm, making him laugh. "Now it's your turn!" Bucky stopped laughing, feeling butterflies begin to flutter in his stomach.

"Huh?" As soon as the question left his lips he felt Sam's body collide with his own as he was tackled. He held his arms in front of him to shield himself, giddy giggles already bubbling up in his throat.

"You didn't think I'd let you just get away with that," Sam teased, leaning closer. Bucky subconsciously scrunched his neck.

"Actually I kinda did."

Sam smiled, hovering his hands over his stomach with wiggling fingers. "Then you deserve everything you're gonna get."  

"Nohohohooo," he whined, knowing exactly what was to come. Sam made sure to keep his fingers a few inches above his stomach to keep him on edge. When he finally descended, he clawed into the muscle and vibrated his hands into the flesh. Bucky tried to hold his laughter back, he really did. But as soon as he saw the twinkle in his eyes and the goofy smile, he couldn't help the giggles that slipped out.

"Wow, you're more ticklish than you look," Sam commented. Bucky's face scrunched in confusion and embarrassment.

"Thahahank you?" It came out more as a question than a statement, and Sam had to fight the physical urge to aawww.

He moved on to his sides, squeezing up and down. His laugh became a deeper, more full sound. He grabbed onto Sam's wrists, but didn't bother pushing away. Instead it felt as though he was pulling him closer... He decided to make a mental note of that for later use.

He decided to drill his thumbs into his hips, making him buck and thrash wildly. Sam chuckled, "Is this how you got your nickname? 'Cause you buck like a wild bronco when tickled?" Bucky's cheeks grew darker at the question.

"Fuhuhuck you!" Sam gasped, never pausing in his work.

"How rude! And here I was just trying to strike up a friendly conversation!" He scratched along his waistline, drawing out mad cackles that left Bucky breathless. Sam was having the time of his life. "Who knew you could make so many sounds," he teased.

Bucky shook his head back and forth. "Juhuhust shuhut up!" Sam cocked his head to the side in a quizzical manner.

"Why? Does it make it worse?" When he didn't answer and only whined in response, Sam grinned wider. "I'll take that as a yes."

"You're sohoho mehehean!" he called out, unable to fight back, not that he really wanted to.

"Yeah? And you're cute when you blush," Sam barely realized he had even said it. It just slipped out and couldn't be taken back. Luckily the only affect his words had was darkening the already red blush. Bucky threw a hand up to hide his face as he giggled through his fingers.

"Nu uh, no hiding," Sam said, tickling under his arm and bringing it crashing down. His other hand trailed farther down, squeezing his thighs. Bucky actually screamed, his laughter hitting a whole new range. Encouraged by the new reactions, Sam brought his other hand lower. Bucky snorted when he squeezed the side of his leg, close to his knees. Sam raised his brows, an evil grin plastered on his face.

"Oh, is this a bad spot?" He skittered his fingers over his thighs, the thin sweatpants doing nothing to protect him. His eyes were squinted shut and his mouth hung open as loud laughter poured free. Sam moves to scratch the backs of Bucky's knees, making him snort once more.

"Nononono plehehehease!" Bucky pleaded.

"I'll take that as a yes," Sam chuckled. He raked his nails down the back of his knees, and Bucky practically screamed. He slammed his knees to his chest, which subsequently pushed Sam forward as well. He lost his balance and lurched towards him, catching himself by bracing his fall with his hands on each side of Bucky's head. They both froze, staring into each other's eyes. Bucky's laughter started to die down, his eyes glistening with unshed mirthful tears.

"You okay?" Sam asked, wanting to make sure he didn't go too far. Bucky nodded.

"Yeah, I'm good." Sam hadn't seen him smile like this in months, and it warmed his heart. "I, I needed that," he admitted. Sam smiled softly, the expression on his face could only be described as pure adoration.

"I'm glad to hear that." There was a beat where it was silent. And again, without thinking, Sam acted. He found himself leaning down and couldn't stop. It was as though time itself had slowed. And then in a rush, Bucky sat up and locked their lips together. They kissed for a moment before Bucky pulled away, still catching his breath.

"Still wanna watch that movie?"

Sam nodded and they cuddled next to each other on the couch. Bucky had an arm around his shoulders as Sam rested his head on his chest. The movie started. And if Sam was drawing lazy, tickly shapes into his side, Bucky didn't complain. Only would huff out a laugh every once in a while, squirming into the touch.

The earth may not be in a good place right now, but she will heal. Bucky was sure of it.

[calumcest]

there’s no time for running away now

so me exposing myself: yes i write fics that i never post. here is one of them that i’m pretty sure i wrote while completely out of my fucking mind at like 2am and have not re-read or edited so? absolutely cannot guarantee the quality of this fic in any way shape or form please do not hold me accountable for any of its content. unless you like it in which case please do hold me accountable because i require at least 3 doses of validation a day to survive. also this fic was literally me coming up with the final line and then writing 2.4k just to have a reason to have it

It’s three a.m., and Ashton’s awake. 

On the surface, that might not appear to be a problem. And ordinarily, it wouldn’t be - ordinarily, Ashton would either roll over groggily, will sleep to come with every fibre of his being and maybe a quick prayer or two, or read something mind-numbingly boring like his urgent work emails to send him back to sleep. This, however, isn’t the most ordinary situation. 

Ashton is awake because of Luke. 

And, okay, that’s a bit of an unfair characterisation. It’s actually Ashton’s racing thoughts keeping him up, but since Luke’s the focus of said thoughts swirling in a huge cluster through Ashton’s mind, overlapping and interlocking so Ashton can’t pick them apart from the love love love that’s threading through them all, he’s going to blame it on Luke. And it’s not exactly Ashton’s fault he’s in love with Luke, is it? He’d challenge anyone to spend years crammed in tight spaces with Luke Hemmings and not fall in love with him. 

(Michael and Calum don’t count, obviously. Ashton’s never seen two people so blinkered by love in his life, and he’s equal parts envious of their deep, easy love and grateful that they’re not his competition. He’s not sure he could take on Calum’s thoughtfulness if it came down to it.) 

The real problem is that Ashton’s alone. They’re in a hotel, some shitty place in northern England that Ashton can’t even remember the name of, but they’d all been so ecstatic to find out that they had a room each (each!) that they hadn’t been able to bring themselves to care. They’d all hopped straight in the shower, washing off three days’ worth of sweat and grime, and then one by one dropped out of the group chat (Ashton had heard Calum’s door clicking open and shut, muted footsteps and muffled voices), until Ashton thought he was the only one left awake. 

When Ashton’s squashed in a tour bus with God knows how many other six-foot-something men in their twenties, there’s nothing he wishes for more than a moment to himself. He sneaks the moments in when he can - a few minutes backstage, a few moments on the bus in the morning before anyone else has woken up, before Luke comes padding in with bleary eyes and a sleepy smile that makes Ashton’s stomach flip - but it’s never more than ten minutes, never enough time to feel the solitude. Now, though, he’s got nothing to do besides let the seclusion envelop him, listen to the silence and his tinnitus and let the ringing infiltrate his thoughts. 

It’s been so long since Ashton’s been on his own, really been on his own - usually on hotel nights, he’s so exhausted and grateful for a proper bed he falls asleep fully-dressed and wakes up disoriented - that he’s kind of forgotten what it’s like. He’s forgotten the way that his thoughts start to squirm around in his mind, all clamouring for his attention, one following the other in such rapid succession that Ashton barely has the time to process them before the next one is already gripping him by the throat and forcing him to look at it. He’s forgotten how fucking overwhelming it is, how it makes his breath catch in his throat, his stomach churn, thinking himself in spirals that he can’t think himself out of. 

The fact that Luke’s next door isn’t exactly helping matters. The hotel walls seem to be a product of a scientific experiment into creating materials that are one atom thick, so Ashton can hear every move Luke makes. He heard it when Luke padded into the bathroom for a shower, when Luke ambled over to the desk, heard the entirety of the news that Luke had on for about twenty minutes (apparently the Queen’s giving a speech tomorrow, and the EU are looking to pass a law about interest rates). He heard it when Luke got changed, heard his fucking jeans drop to the floor, heard him tossing and turning trying to get comfortable on the lumpy mattress. He can hear every creak of Luke’s bed, can almost make out Luke’s deep breathing if he really strains his ears, and it’s making it impossible not to think about him. Not that Ashton’s particularly good at ever not thinking about Luke. Luke Hemmings is definitely the majority shareholder of Ashton’s mind. 

Now, though, at three in the morning, in a shitty hotel room in God knows where, a country that isn’t home and never will be, on his own with nobody there to ground him, it feels frightening, more overwhelming than Ashton could ever put into words. He’s so in love with Luke, so fucking in love with Luke, and it puts everything on a knife’s edge. His sanity, his friendship with Luke, his career - everything’s on the line because Ashton can’t say no to those baby blues.

At half-past, when Luke rolls over in bed and makes a little noise of contentment, duvet rustling as he moves, Ashton breaks. 

“Wha’?” Michael says groggily when he picks up, sounding too sleepy to be annoyed. 

“Are you awake?” Ashton says, as quietly as possible, gnawing at his lip. 

“No,” Michael says, and then the line cuts out. Ashton hates him. 

“Are you up?” Ashton asks, when Michael picks up again, on the first ring. 

“Am now, dickhead,” Michael grunts. “‘s up?” 

“Luke.” There’s a pause, then a rustling sound and quiet footsteps, and then the sound of a door locking. 

“Ash, it’s three thirty in the fucking morning,” Michael says, and his voice echoes strangely, bouncing off the walls of what Ashton can only suppose is his en-suite, but it’s soft, understanding. He knows why Ashton’s still up, why he’s getting a call from across the hall at three-thirty in the morning. 

“Yeah,” Ashton says, hoping Michael understands yeah, that’s why I’m this fucked up. Everything feels worse at night, when Ashton doesn’t have the bright light of day to convince himself that it’s not that bad, he’s not going to fuck everything up that badly. Michael sighs, and it’s tinny and a little staticky, and Ashton’s suddenly struck with the thought that Michael’s voice is being beamed up to a satellite thousands of miles away before being sent back to Ashton, even though he’s about five strides away. It makes him feel a little sick, that level of removal between the two of them. Michael’s a few metres and yet thousands of miles away. 

“Ash,” he says gently, which is never a good sign from Michael. “You’ve got to stop torturing yourself like this.” Ashton bites at his thumbnail. 

“‘m not torturing myself,” he mumbles. 

“Oh?” Michael says, a note of scepticism in his voice. “You’re not lying in bed at three-thirty in the fucking morning thinking about how in love you are with Luke, convincing yourself you’re going to fuck everything up because of it?” Ashton hesitates. 

“Fuck you,” he says eventually, and Michael doesn’t even retort, just sighs again, heavy and sad. 

“I don’t like seeing you like this,” he says. 

“You’re not seeing me,” Ashton says, a little childishly. 

“You know what I mean.” Ashton does, and he hates it. It adds a sheen of guilt to all the other confusing emotions bubbling through him, that Michael’s got to deal with this, got to walk the tightrope of being between his two best friends. 

“Sorry,” Ashton says, a little too meekly. 

“Don’t,” Michael says sternly. “You’ve got to do something about it, Ash. You can’t spend the rest of your life stuck in perpetual limbo.” Ashton tears at a hangnail, relishing the way it stings when he rips it. 

“Do what?” Ashton says. “‘s not like I can tell him. Could fuck everything up.” He hesitates, and then adds: “Could fuck your life up.” 

“You think that matters more to me than your happiness?” Michael says, sounding genuinely incredulous, and Ashton loves him, absolutely fucking loves him, and absolutely doesn’t deserve him. 

“I love you,” he tells Michael, who snorts, the sound echoing strangely in the bathroom. 

“You’d better,” he says, but it’s fond. “C’mon, Ash, you’ve got to talk to him at some point. What the fuck else are you going to do? Sit around and wait for Luke to get married and have two-point-five kids?” Ashton blinks up at the ceiling, stomach churning at the thought of Luke with a faceless spouse and a white picket fence. 

“Maybe,” he says, counting the stains on the white paint to give him something else to think about. “Doesn’t sound like the worst plan in the world.” 

“No, Ash, it does,” Michael’s tinny voice tells him. “Christ. You’re such a fucking emotional masochist.” Ashton sighs, and casts his gaze down to the hem of his shirt, picking at a loose thread.

“What the fuck would I even say?” he says. It’s not like he’s never envisioned it; a grand declaration of love - always returned by Luke, of course - but in his fantasies, it’s a certainty that Luke’s going to feel the same way, so there’s none of that gut-wrenching, stomach-rolling uncertainty, no bile rising in his throat, no clammy hands and dry mouth. 

“The truth?” Michael suggests. Ashton rolls his eyes. 

“Mike, I can’t just waltz up to Luke and tell him I’m in love with him,” he says.

“Worked for me,” Michael says, and Ashton can almost hear him shrugging. 

“That’s different,” Ashton says, because it is. Michael’s not a massive fucking overthinker. 

“Is it?” Michael says, a little shrewdly. “I didn’t know if Calum felt the same way. But what else was I gonna do, wait around the rest of my life wasting my time on him? I needed closure either way. Would’ve spent the rest of my life making myself miserable living off hope otherwise.” Ashton knows he’s right, knows from the way his stomach sinks and his heart speeds up, but hates it, wants to rationalise why he doesn’t need to tell Luke, why he shouldn’t. “You’re overthinking it,” Michael says into the silence, like he knows exactly what’s going through Ashton’s mind right now, and Ashton scowls. 

“Right, fuck me for overthinking something that could end my career,” he hisses, gripping the phone tighter than necessary because his hands are a little cold and clammy now at the thought of having to actually stand in front of Luke and say the words I’m in love with you. 

“You’re such a fucking drama queen,” Michael says, tutting. 

“Are you insane?” Ashton demands, incensed, and this is good, this is safe. He can redirect all the discomfort and anxiety into righteous anger; he can handle that. That’s well-worn territory with him and Michael. 

“I’m not doing this, Ash,” Michael says sensibly, because he knows Ashton far too well for Ashton’s liking. “You can’t keep running from your feelings the minute they get too heavy for you to bear. ‘S never gonna get any better if you’re not letting yourself process it. It doesn’t go away on its own.” 

“I know,” Ashton says hopelessly, because he does, and it’s what he’s been trying to run from. He knows he can’t live in this limbo forever, but he can’t bring himself to take a step in either direction. “Fuck, Michael. I don’t know if I can do it.” 

“You can,” Michael says, gentle, encouraging. 

“It’d fuck everything up,” Ashton says. 

“It won’t,” Michael says. “You’re both mature adults.” He pauses, and Ashton knows they’re thinking the same thing, and then he adds: “Okay, well. You’re a mature adult. I’ll drag Luke into maturity kicking and screaming.” Ashton can’t help but huff out a laugh at that, chest warming as he hears the meaning behind what Michael’s saying - I’ll fight your corner. I’ve got your back. 

“What if he doesn’t feel the same?” Ashton says, biting his lip. 

“Then at least you know,” Michael says. “And you can start moving on.” Ashton swallows, ignoring the pain of the lump in his throat. 

“I don’t want to,” he says, and it comes out a little strangled. 

“I know,” Michael says. Ashton waits for something else, for him to justify it, but there’s just staticky silence from Michael’s end of the line. 

“That’s it?” 

“What, you want a deep, motivational speech as to why you should tell him?” Michael says. “I’m not going to give you that, Ash. Do it or don’t, it’s up to you. But you’ll never be able to rest, never have your mind to yourself, until you do it.” Ashton exhales shakily. 

“Yeah,” he says, and his voice cracks, because God, it’s fucking terrifying, thinking that he might have to face Luke and say the words I’m in love with you in order to get his own sanity back. “You’re right.” 

“I know,” Michael says, and Ashton huffs out a laugh to cover the flutters of panic in his chest. “Can I go back to sleep now?” Ashton blinks, and nods. 

“Yeah,” he says again, voice a little steadier this time. “Sorry.” 

“‘S okay,” Michael says through a yawn, and Ashton has to stifle a yawn of his own. Christ, he’s actually fucking drained. Overthinking should qualify as a sport. “Love you. Not as much as I love Calum, though.” 

“Arsehole,” Ashton says, rolling his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Love you too. But not as much as I love Luke.” 

“I’d fucking hope not,” Michael says. “Don’t want you to be fantasising about fucking me.” Ashton wrinkles his nose. 

“I don’t want to fantasise about that either,” he says. 

“So don’t.” 

“I won’t.” 

“Good,” Michael says, stifling a yawn. “Don’t fantasise about Calum, either.” 

“Why the fuck would I fantasise about Calum?” Ashton wants to know. 

“Hey,” Michael says, sounding a little affronted. “What the fuck are you trying to say?” 

“I’m saying neither you nor Calum are exactly at the top of my fantasy list when Luke’s right there,” Ashton says. 

“That’s fucking rude,” Michael tells him. 

“What the fuck? You just told me-” 

"Yeah, but on principle you should want to fantasise about us,” Michael interrupts. “You just aren’t allowed.” Ashton rolls his eyes. 

“I’m not fantasising about anyone except Luke,” he says. 

“I don’t want to know that.” Jesus Christ. Michael’s fucking impossible. 

“Go to fucking sleep,” Ashton says, because arguing with Michael is a waste of time on the best of days, let alone at four in the fucking morning. 

“I’ve been trying,” Michael says, and there’s rustling sounds as he gets to his feet. “Night, Ashton. Love you.”

“Night,” Ashton says, but Michael’s already hung up. 

He plugs his phone in and rolls back over in bed, the emotional exhaustion starting to kick in, and he closes his eyes, ready to fall asleep, when from Luke’s room he hears a very, very clear-

“Night, Ash.” 

Fuck. 

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[simplyclockwork]

Simplyclockwork Fic Rec

Supernatural/Fantasy/Magical Realism

This will be updated as I read more fics.

Graceless - Belladonna_Q

Mature. 1,296 words. One-shot.

He spins and throws blindly, and another soft whump, that comforting scent of home vaporizing before him. A single raven coloured feather seasaws through the air.

“God damn you, Sherlock!” He shouts, he screams, and there’s nothing in the space he can strike. Nothing he can grab and heave into the darkness.

Beneath the Silver Moon - SailorChibi

Explicit. 85, 993 words. 73 chapters.

After being bitten in Afghanistan, John was invalided home. Being a werewolf was new to him, and he wasn't interested in any of the help or orientation that the Centre had to offer, but even his wolf knew better than to enter territory that had been marked. Until his first outside change, when he met a strange alpha wolf that wanted John to follow it home into pack territory. John's initial refusal became a challenge for the curious alpha... one Sherlock Holmes.

All Things Inherit - BeautifulFiction (@the-pen-pot​)

Explicit. 53,682 words. 6 chapters.

"For John, it's not a bullet that throws his existence into disarray – it's a bite."

In a world where twelve percent of the population are Mactiri - people with the ability to turn into wolves at will - John finds himself struggling with a new and horrifying existence. The victim of a shocking attack, he is discharged from the army and sent home, determined never to acknowledge what he can now become.

However, when his health starts to fail, it is up to his enigmatic new flatmate to show him that perhaps his life is not the nightmare John believes it to be.

Inexplicable - emmagrant01

Explicit. 34,664 words. 6 chapters.

So what was in that matchbox, anyway? John and Sherlock find out, the hard way.

Simplyclockwork note: this fic ripped my heart out in the best way.

Riptide Lover - jinglebell

Explicit. 114,090 words. 20 chapters.

The year is 1866. When John becomes swept overboard, he never expects to encounter a living creature of myth. When the merman absconds with John, the lost sailor must use every tool at his disposal to convince Sherlock not to kill him. But it seems that killing John Watson is not what the deadly, beautiful creature has in mind at all...

Victorian mermaid AU. Heed the tags. Complete!

John Watson’s Moon - patternofdefiance

Explicit. 11,314 words. One-shot

“You’ll let me see it, of course.”

It takes John no time at all to realize what is being asked, to stiffen with indignation, but he asks, “See what?” nonetheless.

The look those grey-green eyes level at him says please don’t actually be that stupid far more eloquently than should be possible. “You are loup garou, recently infected under traumatic circumstances and subsequently discharged from military service, most likely from a post in Afghanistan or Iraq. Your wounds would have healed with the passing of the initial fever, so whatever lingering effects you are suffering are likely psychosomatic – and severe enough to bar you from the one occupation where being a ruthless hunter is seen as a qualification rather than a detriment.” Those eyes flick back up from their cataloguing of John’s limbs and body to meet his eyes. “When I say you’ll let me see it, I am then, of course, referring to your wolf form.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Potential flatmates should know the worst about one another.”

Hellfire - PrettyArbitrary

Teen and up. 2,966 words. One-shot.

John learns, with clawing, bloody slowness, how to fend for himself. He learns the capacity to love wasn’t taken from him, or the need for it. He learns what it is to starve. To need things that aren’t given to him.

A prequel to Graceless.

Full Moon - sommerprosson

Explicit. 5,151 words. One-shot.

Sherlock rather wishes the man hadn’t woken. Now, he has to talk to him before he bites his throat during the night.

Tedious.

The Curious Wine - songlin

Explicit. 15,095 words. 8 chapters.

"I want to watch you kill, because I want to see you lose that tiresome battle against your baser instincts. I want to drink from you, enough that you go weak and breathless and can’t stand properly, but I don’t want to kill you, because then you’ll be gone and the thought of never being surprised by you ever again makes me want to go naked into the sunlight and wait until it burns me into ash."

Blue Blood - You_Light_The_Sky (@youlighttheskyfanfiction)

Teen and up. 963 words. One-shot.

"I know you're here," John shouts into the darkness.

The Autumn Moon is Bright - barrowjane

Mature. 23,935words. 3 chapters.

John has two secrets he keeps from Sherlock - he manages this, he thinks, only because Sherlock would find the idea that John is attracted to him just as unlikely as the idea of John being a werewolf. He's not sure what it says about his life, that love and lycanthropy are considered equally impossible events.

The Stars Move Still - BeautifulFiction (@the-pen-pot​)

Explicit. 96,022 words. 5 chapters.

"What could I want so desperately that would make me sell my soul? What could possibly compel me to surrender the part of myself that makes me who I am: the source of my magic, my self-control, everything?"

Say That Again, But In English This Time - janonny

Explicit. 15,842 words. One-shot.

Lestrade was calling about a new murder, Sherlock was acting strange even for a consulting detective-werewolf, and John was missing blood from the fridge. Just another day in John’s life. (Alternate Universe where Sherlock is a werewolf, and John is a vampire. Everything else is exactly the same.

Darkling, I Listen - you_light_the_sky (@youlighttheskyfanfiction)

Teen and up. 73,254 words. 8 chapters.

No one who enters old London ever comes out. They say that the beast devours them. When his sister disappears, John ventures into the dead zone beyond the wall, and finds a brilliant madman under a terrible curse...

The Bite - Laur (@notesoflore)

Explicit. 48, 214 words. 16 chapters.

Sherlock gets it wrong.

Days, months, even years in the future, Sherlock’s oversight during the Baskerville case will continue to torment him, but nothing about that night will ever be as painfully vivid as the memory of John’s screams.

This is how it begins.

If you’re one of the authors listed here and have a Tumblr, and would like me to link it (if I haven’t already), please let me know!

[rhetoricandlogic]

Liz Bourke Reviews

The House of Sundering Flames

by Aliette de Bodard

November 22, 2019

Liz Bourke

The House of Sundering Flames, Aliette de Bodard (Gollancz 978-1-473-22340-0, £16.99, 550pp, tp) July 2019.

Also on the list of books I can’t recommend highly enough: Aliette de Bodard’s The House of Sundering Flames, the latest – and for now final – novel-length instalment in the series that began with The House of Shattered Wings and continued in The House of Binding Thorns. It’s worth reading the first two books in the series, for not only are they excellent in their own right, they lay the foundations for this capstone volume, which builds on their successes to make something even better than what has come before.

(Yes, I’m a fan.)

The powerful, magical Houses of de Bodard’s decayed, post-apocalyptic Paris are at peace, at least for now. House Silverspires, once in the first rank of the powerful, is much diminished; House Hawthorn is still strong, but its internal dynamics have changed since the dragon prince Thuan staked his claim on a true partnership in leadership of the House with his political-arranged-marriage husband, Asmodeus. Among the Houseless, the Annamite Immortal Philippe has been building himself a place in the community, along with the once-Fallen, now-human Isabelle, whom he brought back to life. (The complicated history is worth reading.)

But the peace of Paris is blown apart when an explosion levels House Harrier, one of the more powerful – and more bigoted – Houses. Emmanu­elle, partner and lover of House Silverspires’ head, Selene, is caught in Harrier’s territory, forced to navigate the disaster and a civil war playing out in the ruins of the House while suffering from a head injury that means she can’t remember what led up to the explosion, and to rely on allies who can’t be expected to have her best interests at heart. Thuan is negotiating challenges to his authority when war comes to his doorstep – for Hawthorn borders Harrier – and trying to establish himself as someone who can protect his dependents while also navigating his sometimes-fraught relationship with his husband. Internal power struggles threaten his ability to rise (alongside Asmodeus) to a threat to the integrity of the House itself. The wards that protect House Hawthorn and link the House heads to their dependents are cannibalising the people that both Thuan and Asmodeus would prefer they protect. If Thuan and Asmodeus can’t find a solu­tion, the House will eat itself.

Emmanuelle just wants to go home. Well, no, that’s not all: Emmanuelle wants to right the world’s wrongs, but, failing that, she wants to survive them and get home to Selene.

Philippe has been visited by an Immortal emis­sary from Annam. This emissary beseeches his help, because the Immortal court back home is essentially under siege from colonising Fallen. She wants Philippe to help her find a power – a warrior – kidnapped from Annam decades ago and brought to Paris to be a pawn in the struggles of the Fallen, an experiment or a tool. Dân Chay has suffered greatly, however, and in his freedom may not be inclined to help anyone when instead he could be burning the world to ash. And Philippe finds his capacities challenged, for the Houseless, too, are threatened by the power now burning through Paris, and Philippe’s best may not be enough to protect them.

This is a story about families and consequences, about power and what you make of it – the power to dominate and destroy set against the power to pro­tect and liberate. Emmanuelle, Thuan, and Philippe all in their different ways want to protect people, and to build a kinder, more forgiving world – a better one. If they can’t achieve that, they at least want to protect the people they care about from the worst of the cruelties of the world as it exists. But they’re faced with some pretty terrible choices, and the consequences of legacies of cruelty and domination – and Paris is burning around them.

De Bodard’s prose is precise and elegant, and her characters are compelling and fascinating, even – especially – when they’re making terrible compromises and impossible choices. They’re very human – even the immortal and the dragon prince. Events mount with increasing tension, histories hinted at with terrible implication, until the revela­tions and resolutions of the climax. This is a clever book, and a nuanced one, and to me it feels like a tour-de-force of storytelling. I deeply enjoyed it, and I recommend it highly.

[sammyhale]

Everyone is afforded some level of understanding except suddenly Sam and Dean? Nah. We’re all allowed to feel how we feel, obviously. This is how I feel. 

One of my favorite things about this show has always been its ability to be realistic about human beings trying their best, even when flawed, and not trying to make characters be "perfect." Sam and Dean, in particular, are, obviously, human. Some fans are mad at the Winchesters for manipulating Jack. People are allowed to feel how they feel. But I'm taken aback by those referring to them as villains and how quick certain judgments are being laid out without any acknowledgment for what they are going through emotionally. 

I've seen very little regard for the mix of emotions in that scene and how human and relatable it was. Not arguing good or bad here. Arguing from an empathic, psychological viewpoint which has always been an element to this show. It's never been black or white. Take Dean, who is angry, hurting, vengeful, and as a hunter recognizing that in his current, soulless, unpredictable and ultra powerful state, Jack is a threat all at once (side note: this thread brought to you by someone who loves Jack). Dean manipulates Sam into getting Jack in the box because he knows they're close. You can call that wrong, but for the sake of my point, we’ll go with flawed. He's human, he's emotional, he's completely messed up (see: sobbing alone in the woods) and all he can think about is his mother was turned to ash (by, yes, family, by someone he loved) and suddenly taken from him again on top of the weight of being a hunter and there's a dangerous nephilim killing people. 

Again, I love Jack. His relationship with Sam in particular means the world to me. And yes, he was being manipulated in this ep by Dumah. But like Jack himself said, he snapped. He wasn't even trying to kill Mary. He lost it. Yes, he thought he was doing good when he was being manipulated this ep, but he is absolutely a loose cannon at the moment. And without his soul, so casual about “whoops, killed your mom.” Also, what we see Jack going through as an audience can't apply to the knowledge other characters have (i.e., audience perspective and knowledge of everything going on versus the characters' perspective and lack of omniscience). 

Now, Sam. Sam who is trying to rationalize and compartmentalize his grief and pain (see: burying as much of it as he can, they know mom is in a good place, etc) not just of losing his mom, but what's happening with Jack. Sam has cared for this kid from pretty much the beginning. Always had his back, called him "our kid," wanted to be a good dad and even got parenting advice from Mary. Imagine your kid killing your parent and that you have to be the one to deal with that. 

Now, that scene. When Jack called what happened to Mary "the accident" my jaw dropped. Pure emotional response. And this is where it's relatable. If someone spoke about my dad’s death the way Jack did, so casual and cold, it would fucking kill me. Imagine, first, being Dean. Fresh loss. Full of anger and pain. And the person who killed your mom just likened it to "an accident" when she was literally ash. Nothing left. The same person who you looked at as family betraying your trust and love by killing one of the most important people in your life. And that person is now acting like it was nothing because Jack is a naive, soulless kid, fair enough. He’s not meaning to be cold, not “meaning” to do bad things because he’s convinced all of the killings (don’t forget - he’s been MURDERING people) are somehow good. 

But that doesn't take away from the emotional pain of our boys. Go to Sam. When Jack says that about Mary, Sam starts to tear up. Because Jack’s calling mom's death an accident, saying it so casually. This kid he thinks of as a son doing something unimaginable to them. And Sam is also recognizing that Jack really does not comprehend that he did something "evil" or bad. He's not being malicious; he genuinely doesn't understand how hurtful he is being and Sam gets that and hates that this is what they're doing. It was all over his face, especially after Jack was in the box and he had to leave the room. His first reaction was to drink. Not in celebration (I literally saw a tweet accusing them of that) but to numb. 

Dean is angry, but deep down cares about Jack. That doesn't just go away, but he’s shoving it aside and grief and rage have taken over. Sam and Dean are dealing with a really fucked up situation of this dangerous being killing their mother who they happen to think of as family but he could easily just "snap" at any time so they have to do something and guess what? They have a box, might as well use it because they are desperate. Because they are humans who don't get to properly grieve, ever, and it's always on them to fix it as hunters. 

Imagine being in those shoes. These guys have had their flawed moments over the seasons. They have made mistakes. And I love that because otherwise, they're not human. Our boys have never been perfect. But they've always been good. There is a difference between being a bad, evil person versus being good and fucking up sometimes. I have all the empathy in the world for them because of the weight of trauma, their childhood, losses, hunting, trying to save people, being heroes and sometimes failing on top of everything else --- all things considered, they're pretty fucking incredible men after all that they’ve gone through we can’t even begin to really comprehend. 

It's okay to be upset if they do something you think is wrong, but to throw them away entirely and call them villains or monsters or say they don't give a shit about family? Part of their family was just fucking killed and that same person is a ticking time bomb who was so easily convinced into straight up murdering other people. Honestly, the more hurtful things I’ve seen posted feels like some fans looking for an excuse to hate them. There is so much more going on here than just oh, they tricked poor Jack into a box. That's not what I saw. I felt for all three of them in that scene. I challenge anyone to jump into any of their shoes and try to do better with the knowledge they have individually and what they are and have suffered through. You're telling me you would be the pinnacle of humanity? 

This particular post isn't about whether or not they made the right choice. Fans can argue either way, and a lot of it depends on how you feel about Jack. It was desperate (and oh, for the people ignoring much of the dialogue and other scenes as well as the promo for next week - Sam was never going to let Jack stay in that box forever. Also, those saying, well why aren’t they talking to him through the box? We literally only got to see Jack in the box for a couple of minutes, y’all. We never got a chance to see what the boys would have done and if you really think they never would have gone to talk to him you don’t know these guys).  

This long-ass post is about the why, and that you can be upset but also, maybe, understanding? That this fucking sucks for all involved? Why is Jack the only one receiving empathy and understanding? Why aren’t they all? Sam and Dean didn’t “give up on family,” they are in an impossible, painful, fucked up situation. Mistake or otherwise. This show is capable of being so heartwrenching because it digs so much deeper than right or wrong but everything in between and how complicated all of that really is, especially when you're Sam and Dean Winchester and have that history and that constant weight and trauma and responsibility to carry. 

Be upset; it's supposed to be complex, not easy. They're supposed to be good and also make mistakes. But, again, to just throw them away without any regard for what they were thinking or feeling? That mentality is lost on me. This episode was honestly such a deep dive into raw human emotion and psychology for all involved, revolving around grief, desperation, and broken families. On top of that, still being in charge of saving people and trying to keep the world safe. Imagine that weight. That is always going to be complicated and never pretty or perfect. Sam and Dean Winchester are not villains or monsters. Full stop. 

[gametweaks]

The World as it is

The world of Dark Souls 3 suffers from a similar problem as its predecessor Dark Souls 2. The connectivity of the world is not on the same level as the first game.

In the first game the basic design of the world can be described as the majority of the game world being within easy reach. In so far as you can walk to nearly every location without hitting a loading screen from your homebase of firelink shrine. This is excluding the tutorial area, Anor Londo and the areas around it, and the DLC. This is just not the case in 3.

The major issue is that the Firelink Shrine of the 3rd game is completely disconnected from the world except for the tutorial area. This is a major problem as it disjoints the game by forcing the character to return to the home area to level up, improve their weapons, and buy items. Not having the ability to level up at any bonfire and not having the vendors and smiths out in the world hampers the third game.

Another issue with the world is the way in which the game starts you out near the highest part of the map. This may sound like a stupid gripe but the imagery and symbolism of descending and ascending to greater challenges has been present in all the games. To give perspective, it would be like the first game starting you off in the early part of Anor Londo where the enemies normally there are swapped with those from the undead burg before fighting a very weak version of the iron golem and then being carried by the bat demons to the undead Parish immediately.

A final issue with the design, which is also a stylistic choice, is the way in which locations, and entire environments change. This can be seen in how the Carthus catacombs, a desert inspired area, immediately leads to Irithyll, a cold area. I personally disliked the idea of the world crashing together and forming these impossible lay outs just to have further diversity of location within the game.

How I would change the World

Addressing my issues in order we start with the basic layout of the world. Lothric is no longer a mountaintop citadel but a large city built on a hill with the royal palace at the summit. I want to one up the first game and reduce the loading screens even further. The player starts in my version of the cemetery of Ash directly outside of the walls, from there you will progress to the first boss of the game which guards the door to the home base.

From there the map will open up to the early game area. The first and second bosses being in opposite directions, one higher up the hill near the gate to the city itself and the other further down near the edge of the outskirts. These areas would be populated with the city’s hollowed militia and hollowed inhabitants respectively.

The mid game would then become available as you go on your quest to reclaim the lords of cinder. There would be no changes to the lord’s themselves except for Aldrich who i thought should have had a design that was more than a sludge worm with Gwyndolin sticking out the top.

Yhorm would be in the ruins of his old fortress atop a nearby mountain, his linking of the fire having led to his people becoming leaderless and tearing his empire apart. Basically it would combine the backstories of Yhorm and Wolnir into a single piece, there is a reason behind this that will be discussed in the story post.

The Abyss Watchers would have begun purging what was left of Lothric, marching out and establishing a war camp in the woods on the slopes of Yhorm’s mountain. Similarly to the main game they would fall to infighting due to the influence of the Abyss on them and the forces they summoned would likewise follow suit. The player would effectively have to fight their way through a war zone to face them.

Also no poison swamp.

Just no.

Aldrich would return to the Cathedral of the Deep which is now in the center of the Boreal Valley. The entrance is in a ravine accessed through the Abyss Watchers’ camp. The ravine leads to the valley and the ruins of Irithyll, these areas are notable for the monsters fought there. There will be two bosses fought on the way to Aldrich, one in the ruins and one inside the cathedral, Aldrich will then be fought at the deep shore. Imagine an abyss tainted ash lake. These areas will include the presence of the undead legion trying to purge this corruption, as they do.

From there, Lothric city opens up. It’s pretty much the same except for being more like the castle than it originally was. More knights, more wyverns, you get the idea.

The royal chambers will not be the end of this path though. Neither will Lothric and Lorian be the boss you fight there. Instead you will fight the boss i’ve decided should be here and continue on to the final main game area.

It is predictable but the final area is the kiln of the first flame yet more like it looked in the first game. There will be a difference though, the dunes will be choked with the corpses of those who came to link or snuff out the flame. There will be two bosses in this area. One who i call the royal sentinel and then the twin princes.

From there the game will end and its either new game plus or roam about doing optional bosses and stuff. Unlike the original i want to add the bonfire ascetic mechanic back in. I thought it was a good mechanic that allowed you to replay your favourite bosses at your level without having to go back through the game all over again.

I believe that this layout honours the symbolic and stylistic choices of the producers at Fromsoftware. It fixes the issues i had with the original game, specifically linking the world together so that it feels like you can walk everywhere on a whim and not have to teleport.

Furthermore, though i think the locations are not as diverse as the main game; they still would maintain enough distinction from one another to keep environments fresh. Though optional areas were not mentioned above they will receive their own post to further elaborate on.

[animebw]

Binge-Watching: Gintama, Episodes 317-319

Seat belt? On. Tear ducts? Repaired. Brains? Scooped back inside my head. Kagura-themed supportive memorabilia? Raised high and proud. Welcome to Gintama’s final season, folks. Let’s get this party started.

Brave New World

There’s a not insubstantial part of me that dreads stepping into Gintama’s fourth and (thus far) final season. Seriously, every single time I look back over my history with this show I am gobsmacked by just how much it’s come to define this silly little anime analysis project I started last may. I’ve been watching this show for just about five months at this point, over half of this blog’s history. Talking about it has consistently been one of the most rewarding experiences of my day, and interacting with all the Gintama fans who’ve discovered me through my posts has been an absolute delight. I’ve felt my analytical ambitions develop in turn with Gintama itself, not wanting to let a single moment of all the wonderful things it’s doing go to waste. And that’s all before even considering just how damn spectacular the show is and remains on its own merits, a titanic achievement to the potential of storytelling that will remain at the forefront of my mind long after the final episode is over. How do I even begin to think about saying goodbye to that? Who will I even be once it’s done? I don’t know, but if there’s anything this show has taught me, it’s that it’s never too late to seize the next chapter of your life and make it something worth living. So until that time comes, I’m going to savor every last second I have remaining with it.

Which brings me, at last, to the beginning of season 4, now with a spiffy new late night slot. When we last left off, the world had been destroyed and remade anew, our heroes scattered to the winds yet all facing resolutely in the same direction: at the Amanto overlords who continue to drag this country through the dirt. The ashes of the Shogun Assassination and Farewell Shinsengumi arcs have ended up bringing together every competing faction that’s made Edo such a sprawling, lived-in world, and pointing them all at a common enemy. The Amanto have been hovering like a shadow over this show ever since the beginning; their colonialism was the initial driving force behind the show’s plot and themes, leading to the Odd Jobs crew coming together in the first place. Even if it’s dipped heavily into the background at times (a point which the show itself has endlessly mocked), it’s never truly gone away. And the past good chunk of episodes, ever since the Pinky Promise arc, has been about bringing that focus back into the spotlight and remembering where this whole massive journey began. We truly are coming up to the end here: our first and foremost enemy is finally back in the spotlight, and this time, literally everyone, from the Kihetai to the Yato to the Shinsengumi to Odd Jobs themselves, is gunning for their heads. The new world we’ve all been fighting for has arrived; now, it’s time to take it back from the forces seeking to grind it into the dirt. Which means it’s finally time to get a peek behind the mask of our foes and see who our challengers truly are.

The Final Boss

I’ll admit, there’s been a part of me in the long (long, long) lead-up to this inevitable confrontation that felt like the show might suffer once it finally decided it was time to blow the stack and put the final boss on the battlefield. Not that it would get bad- at this point, anything less than great from Gintama feels like an impossibility- but that it might get a bit too bogged down in the complexity of its own mythos. For as big as it’s able to get, Gintama’s heart has always been at ground level, with the people and characters we’ve come to care for over countless hours living by their sides. Meanwhile, the Amanto have so many different moving pieces at play, from space pirates to elder councils to government puppets, that it was becoming increasingly possible to get tangled in the countless strings of their web and lose the plot along the way. And while that had never really been a problem up until this point, I was nervous that the complexity might drag once it finally took center stage.

Apparently, despite my many statements to the contrary, I still haven’t fucking learned. Gintama’s got this, dude; I never had anything to worry about. Because now that it’s finally time to face the Amanto down, Nobume has given us the clearest insight into them we’ve ever got, and the result is a final boss I can get behind tearing down beyond the abstract concept of “bad people doing bad things”. At last, we’ve got some definite sense of the power structure behind our foes. The Tendoshu are the evil elders, the cream of the crop and the overseers of everything, of whom Utsuro is the newest member. Takasugi and Kamui have been dancing around as members of the Harasume, a twelve-faction group of space pirates under their command, but their recent failures have placed them both in opposition to Utsuro and his overlords. Oboro, meanwhile, serves as Utsuro’s right-hand man, still convinced of the divine justice of his actions. And most critically, we know what they’re fighting for: Atlana, a massively powerful energy resource the pursuit of which has led the Tendoshu to pretty much conquer everyone and everything to get it. To think they were initially formed to regulate it; power, it seems, can’t help but corrupt.

Earth has untapped resources of this Atlana that the Amanto seek to exploit, which was hinted all the way back in the second freaking cours with that episode involving Sadarhu’s backstory, shrine maidens, and baseball pentagrams. This fucking show. EVERYTHING’S CONNECTED, MAN. There’s no detail insignificant enough that it can’t become part of the overarching mythos with just a little prodding, building an interconnected world that feeds into itself so naturally it might as well be the water cycle at this point. And it all comes together to give our ultimate foes a real sense of weight, of influence in all the time we’ve spent with the Odd Jobs family, however small. We know our foes. We know why they’re fighting. We know what they’re capable of. Which means we can start figuring out how to tear them down.

Who He Couldn’t Defeat

And then, at last, there’s Utsuro, the man with the face of Gintoki’s former teacher, the man who started him, Katsura, and Takasugi down the paths they find themselves on today. Thank god his deal was revealed so quickly, because something as out there as resurrection really requires an explanation in a show as detail-oriented at this one. And what a deal it turns out to be. The Atlana, it seems, is coursing through his veins, and it’s made him immortal. Literally. He’s died no less than twelve times already, and he comes back every time. The Amanto are interested in him because they want to see if they can steal that immortality for themselves, unsurprisingly. But Utsuru himself? He just wants to die. After living so long, watching so much of life pass by him, growing and evolving and leaving him behind, he’s had enough. He wants to find someone, or something, that can finally end him. Even if it means blowing up the entire universe to do so. He’ll kill whoever he has to, tear down whatever he sees fit, all for the sake of ending the long nightmare that’s plagued him for so long. As if Sasaki’s fatalism wasn’t enough.

I mean, goddamn. God DAMN. If there were any doubts in my head about what such a risky choice as bringing the show’s most critical backstory character back to life in the present might have posed, this washed them all away. How ironic it is, that the man who gave Gintoki a future feels cursed by his own. We aren’t even quite sure what Shoyo was to this immortal being. Was he an escape? A means of trying to atone for the damage he’d already caused? An experiment to add variety to a stagnant life? Or was he just trying to train a warrior strong enough to finally end his suffering- holy fuck, I just realized, when Gintoki chopped his head off, his last words were “thank you”. He was hoping that death would finally end him! Jesus FUCK! No wonder Gintoki’s dreaming about the time Shoyo called them both monsters and urged Gintoki to grow even stronger than him with his own sword, the sword of a human; he’s just now understanding what his master was talking about. Shoyo knew. He knew every single ounce of the darkness festering inside him. And he wanted an out so desperately that he would dedicate a life to training lost kids and helping them find their place, all so that they could become strong enough to finally purge his sins.

The question remains, though; how much of Shoyo remains in Utsuro? How much of the man who gave Gintoki a life still exists in the man now trying to cut him down? Gintoki sees Utsuro as somebody completely different, somebody who Shoyo could never beat. Is he right? Is there still hope for the man who has dedicated his life to finding his own end, no matter how many people he must drag down with him? Even with how much humanity this show has found in all of its cruelest foes, from Hosen to Takasugi to even fucking Kamui at points, is there any path left for this broken soul to find his way home? I don’t know. But I do know that Gintoki won’t stop fighting until he finds out. This man has never given up on anyone before, and he’ll be damned if he gives up on the person who saved his life all those years ago. This is a new world, after all, a world where even the greatest of enemies can end up fighting on the same side. We need not settle anymore, not for anyone. I hope you’re ready, Utsuro. Because your students are all coming to drag you into the light.

For The Sake Of a Friend

And the first step to that light is saving the still-comatose Takasugi from the Tendoshu’s clutches. If you told me even twenty episodes ago that we would be fighting so hard for the sake of the Black Beast of Vengeance, I don’t know if I would have believed you. But the Shogun Assassination arc wiped all doubt from my mind: whatever his crimes, Takasugi is still worth fighting for. The pain he’s suffered, the faith he’s lost.., the light isn’t yet dead within him. And that mission will bring everybody together to fight not for the pupil of Shoyo, not for the classmate of Gintoki, but for the sake of a friend. Gintoki, Katsura, and Samakoto all standing side by side once more, ready to dive right back into the fray as brothers in arms. The Kihetai, the same ramshackle space pirates we fought all the way back in the Benizakura arc, finally working side by side with their leader’s former allies. Even Kamui and the Yato, including Kagura’s goddamn father, are heading into the fray to fight for the man I once mocked as Eyepatch Dio all those episodes ago. The show makes a smart play in making Bansai, Takasugi’s string-wielding Bohemian ally, the audience surrogate, seeing through his eyes at how remarkable this coming together of former enemies truly is. Finally, he’s coming to understand and respect the warriors his former master was once proud to call his friends. These guys have been through hell, but the tempered steel of their souls will never break. That’s what it means to be a samurai. And when the blood is all spilled and the dust all settled, that courage is something even he can be proud to stand beside.

What a remarkable new age we’ve embarked upon. Old foes on the same side, old friends together again, all fighting for the sake of a single, cruel man who deserves their sympathy perhaps more than anyone else. This is the promise of the new world we’ve always been fighting for: a world where everyone, no matter how broken, still has the chance to get lost, doubt themselves, and become the kind of samurai they want to be. Welcome, Gintama Season 4. I can’t wait to get this party started.

Kagura’s Quest

And speaking of parties, as if I couldn’t be more excited to see this show step into its final era, there’s reason to believe this might end up being my favorite arc of the entire show. Yes, I know the Shogun Assassination just upended Yoshiwara in Flames’ 150 episode run, but this is different. This isn’t just a massive, sprawling, game-changing arc; this is a massive, sprawling, game-changing arc where the star player is none other than the literal light of my life, Kagura. Holy fucking Christ, it’s time. It’s time for my favorite character in the entire show to see her journey to its conclusion. The girl with an attitude who sought to make herself anew on Earth, the warrior trying to break free from the bloodshed her family left her stained with, who has fought so hard and lost so much and has broken my heart too many times to count, has grown into a confident, loving young woman, at last ready to face the demons she’s been running from. Hell, all she has to do is eat the Kihetai out of house and home for them to end up on good terms; she can make any place feel like home.

But for now, home has a different meaning. Because this arc isn’t called Battle on Rakuyu for nothing: Takasugi’s shelter, the locus point for the ensuing battle, is on the Yato’s home planet, the rain-soaked wasteland that’s long since sunk into the muck, populated now only by scavengers and stragglers. And something tells me her history is going to come bubbling to the surface soon enough. Her bastard of a brother is lost in the wilds, and both she and her father are gunning for him. Because Kamui’s long trail of darkness has trapped them both inside for long enough. And both of them are ready to take him down by their hands. Both of them are ready to face the pain and sorrow that’s crushed their family for so long. And as if that wasn’t enough, I’m about 95% sure that the new figure in the killer new OP is her goddamn mother. The woman buried beneath the sands has her own story to tell, her own fractured piece of agony to add to this narrative before all is said and done. At long last, everything Kagura’s been fighting for and against for the past 300 episodes is going to reach its climax. Her rage, her hope, her determination, her grief, her regret, her hope... it’s time to settle the score once and for all and become the person she always knew she could be.

It’s going to be a hard fight. Already, she’s starting to make hard choices for the sake of the people she loves. The moment right before she leaves her new family, when she’s reminiscing at the old Odd Jobs door about the simpler days when she could just stuff her belly to the chagrin of her new family, before leaving just as Sadaharu bursts out to greet her, hurt so fucking hard. Some battles you just have to face alone. But Kagura has grown enough by now to let this pain in. Because however fractured her old family may be, she knows that her true family will always have her back. And when she spells this out to the Kihetai she’s elected to travel with- ”They’ll come to protect their family. So I’ll go to protect my other family.”- I almost lost it all over again. Because it’s so fucking true. She knows how much Gintoki and Shinpachi care about her; hell, we just had an entire mini-arc about her recognizing that fact. She knows that no matter where she goes, they will follow. And that doesn’t scare her anymore. If it’s time to settle old scores and put the old her into the distance for good, than she couldn’t ask for anyone better by her side than the family the new her has become a part of.

And holy shit, when Gintoki and Shinpachi make the decision to follow her with barely a second thought, my heart swelled so fucking much. Because there was never any question. They’ve all come too far together to let each other face this darkness alone now. Gintoki may be lost as Shoyo’s student, and he may be unsure as Takasugi’s former friend. But there’s one thing he knows for sure: he’s a member of goddamn motherfucking Odd Jobs, just like her. And he will stand by his daughter to the ends of the earth and back. That’s the future he’s always been fighting for, whether he realized it at first or not. This is the family he’s placed his faith in time and time again. Ready or not, the White Yaksha has embraced the second chance life has offered him, and he will face down his final challenge with the people he loves beside him once more, past and present alike. That’s how much faith they all have in each other; whatever darkness awaits them, it’s nothing they won’t face together. And I feel that love in the depths of my soul, in every single moment I’ve spent with Kagura and her family, with every single moment they’ve come together over the past 300 episodes of utterly fantastic show. I’m ready. Against all odds, I’m actually ready. Whatever pain awaits us by the end of this arc, I will happily stand right as Kagura’s side and share the burden. I’ve invested too much in her to allow myself any other option.

Burning Down the House

And what a battle it’s going to be. Even if we’re only in the opening throes, the clash to rescue Takasugi is already shaping up to be a clash for the ages. Hell, the crappy new Shogun Nobunobu has already sort of been overthrown, because that’s just how this new Odd Jobs rolls. They will fight for this new world with every scrap of breath they have left, even if it means throwing a goddamn coup d’etat in the space of thirteen seconds. This is their world now, and Nobunobu’s gonna have to start playing by their rules. Meanwhile, we’ve got a handful of Space Pirate sub-bosses to face down, including one who Katsura immediately waylays with a discussion on the relative benefits of the length of their character introductions, because of course that’s what he would be concerned about, the ditzy dork. Bansai’s starting to embrace his newfound heroism with aplomb, and goddamn, it’s good to see his strings in action again. It’s been too long since he last went down thanks to Gintoki LITERALLY FUCKING SUPLEXING A HELICOPTER WHILE SCREAMING ABOUT FRIENDSHIP(tm). Not to mention Umibozu already reminding us why he’s the best hunter in the universe by destroying a spaceship with a single goddamn boulder. The stakes are set, the players are on the field, and now, it’s time for the blood to start flowing. It’s time to fight tooth and nail the future within our grasp. Ganbattene, Odd Jobs. I believe in you.

Odds and Ends

-”Gilgamesh!” *frantically looks around for Saber*

-”Can you be more specific?” “Right around here.” This is your daily reminder that Shoyo was always a little shit at heart.

-”A seriously lethal weapon was about to pierce my skull.” ffs Elisabth

-”You will never lead a peaceful life again!” NOT THE TIME ZURA

-”Need somewhere to buy Love Live merchandise or sell your Love Live Sunshine merchandise?” Stone cold, Kagura.

-”We may get knocked down, but we always get back up with a service fee!” Needs workshopping, I think.

-Damn, Nobume’s looking good in her new digs!

-”WHY DID YOU CENSOR THAT?!” Good to see you, Matoko.

-So Oboro’s got some immortal bloodflow too. Good to know.

-”One good thing about Takasugi...” “You just want to sleep!” Old habits die hard, huh, old chums?

-”And so, in reconciliation, Zura will cut his hair!” You leave his precious locks out of this, Sakamoto.

-”And the manga artist drawing all that too.” “That’s just a gorilla!” Sorachi, I’m kinkshaming you.

-”Can you not? This guy doesn’t understand jokes!” Rip Bansai

-”Katsura, the insides! The insides fell out!” WELL RIP ELIZABETH I GUESS

Let the battle begin. God, it’s good to be back. See you all next time, folks!

[vcloudbreaker]

Writing Challenge: How did your muse meet some of the people in their lives?

Original Prompt here: https://saephoraembersky-wra.tumblr.com/post/179339498313

When I first got tagged for this, I picked Lesti’s husband, Xaereth, for the first of three characters I figured I’d write this out for. (Post there still to come!) The list of other possibilities ended up consisting MOSTLY of Blood Knights. When I started considering which two were “most important” and “most developed Lesti” I got bad feels about it. Then Lesti decided to make it semi-relevant to current RP and grabbed the keyboard and this happened.

Lesti’s been around WRA for 5 years now, and in that time MANY of the Blood Knight characters on this realm have helped shaped her character. We didn’t always get along (might be fair to say I didn’t like some of you and you didn’t like me on an OOC level, ever) and things weren’t always great. Still, I want y’all to know that Lesti wouldn’t be who she is today without each and every one of you, and I want to thank everyone for all the awesome RP through the years. (even if lesti’s IC opinion still isn’t glowing)

Tagging every tumblr for everyone I can find, mentioned below -- feel free to do the prompt yourselves for the originally intended sensible amount of characters and tag some other folks. WRA isn’t a perfect home, but it’s home and all we’ve got is each other.

Tagged By: @adilynia (your tags are always awesome ilu)

Tagging for mentions and for the prompt: @housetyrellian for Arth and Jaira, @bloodhawkrising , @jaypyreanor , @zanpyreanor , @drimmari , @azkariel , @mourne , @solarine , @talaenwildthorn-blog , @shakesthesun , @inathia , @raynellalaria , @hylaudius , @analyse-bloodwing , @trollydruid , @sworntothesun , @valorandvictory , @seekingthedawn , @bamsilverheart , @denlandis @catraena-blazewing

He'd put her in bed.

Valestia stared through the curtains that separated their bedroom from the balcony and her husband's back. He'd removed his armor, at some point, but his clothes hung unfastened on his body, bedshirt ruffling in the early morning breeze. He stood arms behind his back, legs set apart; rigidity had long since settled into his shoulders.

She wanted nothing more than to go to him and ease it from him. It wasn't what she needed to do. She went silently, his cloak still gathered about her shoulders. It wouldn't buy her much time before his notice, but it would be enough.

Ladyqueen and Nana lay sprawled across the nursery floor, as was their wont. She stepped carefully between tiger and hound, passing them only because they were accustomed to her presence. Elendae’s nightgown wasn't fastened correctly, but she could hardly fault Xaereth for his valiant attempt. Smiling fondly, she reached in and lifted the toddler from her cradle, hoisting her up against her shoulder before making her way downstairs.

The girl was awake by the time they came to the kitchen and dining, and Lesti picked her way across the floor to set her in a chair with a few rolls of harvest spice apple-pumpkin fruit leather and a glass of sweetened goat's milk.

“Shh, darling,” she instructed gently, brushing aside soft curls to press a kiss to the child's brow.

That done, she turned her attention to the first part of her task. Unlimbered of her platemail armor, the currents of creation flowed unhindered through her veins.  Shards of clay and glass and bent scraps of metal floated free of the floor, churning like a slow cyclone overhead until they came to rest atop one of the tables. The tablecloth fluttered, wrapping snugly around them.

She stared several long moments at the heaping bundle ready to spill off one side of the table or another. The image of the precariously confined disaster was not lost on her. At least it was for the moment contained.

Candles next. She dug out every box she had of every shape. She needed as many, she imagined. They were piled haphazardly atop the table in front of Elendae in short order. She climbed up on top of it, after, letting Xaereth’s cloak slip to pool about her as she knelt there. She gathered up a candle, snapped her fingers to light it.

It was Xaereth, who had taught her to look at the Blood Knight Order as anything other than an abomination. It was through him she began to truly get to know them, one by one. Beginning with…

“Lilendae,” she whispered hoarsely, causing Elendae to look up in confusion. She was Xaereth’s student, taken under his wing when they were in Venris Cinderblood’s guard, together. They had grown so close he had adopted the young Adept. They had all been, terribly close, until she disappeared. It was a loss that still haunted them both.

“I pray...that somewhere...out there...the Light guides you home.”

She tipped the candle to one side, let the wax pool on the table, used it to anchor the candle upright. Another candle, next.

“Jidai.”

She had known him through Lilendae. They two had been... close. Fond of one another, if she recalled correctly. She remembered him as a cheerful, upbeat sort.

“I pray...that you have grown strong in the Light, and that you are happy, with someone. She would want that.”

“Justicar Centari.”

He was a friend of her mother’s. Prominent, by her telling, but as oft delinquent as inspiring. He was impossibly jovial and carefree in his connection to the Light.

“I pray one day you blind us all with true Radiance.”

“Justicar Sunfury.”

Her father’s best friend, before her father had turned on Venris Cinderblood. Exian Sunfury had a resoundingly intimidating reputation, but by the time she had met him, the jaded Champion had lost his fiery convictions and was little more than a lamentor of glories lost.

“I pray… you walk into a fate you can accept with a glad heart.”

“Vemair…”

She shook. This was the first.

Anger can only fuel a flame for so long.

But Drimmari Dra’zar had no idea how long her flames could burn.

Vemair had kidnapped her sister, Laryana, for Venris Cinderblood, twice, to bait her father into traps intended to kill him. She HATED the Knight-Master. She could still put a hole in his chest without a twinge of guilt.

“I pray...”

That the Light has more mercy than I will.

“I pray…”

One Order, one body, one mission, one heart.

Aeliana…

“I pray that hatred releases your heart- and that I might be free of hating you.”

It felt hollow. It tasted of ash. Still, at least it was said. She had to say it, if she couldn’t yet think or believe it. She at least had to say it.

“Aeliana.”

Aeliana Malevus. The name still wrenched her heart. She met the Knight Master when the other woman got between her and Lucius Bloodraven, during a gathering in the Hall. It was nearly a bloodbath. She still believed that only Aeliana’s love for every knight in the room had spared them a fate to sully the entire hall.

They were instant and fast friends. She was the first Valestia had called “Sister.” She might have loved her more than those born to her. Aeliana spoke with her on the Light late hours into the night, conspired with her to heal the Order of its festering wounds, introduced her to dancing…

Aeliana, like Lilendae, had disappeared. She had been speaking of a covert mission, at the time.

“I pray you’re well and happy, and that one day I’ll manage to live up to your example-- sister.”

“-Lucius.-”

She could not keep the weight from her voice. There was too long and conflicted a history between her and Lord Bloodraven. She met him when he called conference in the Hall of Blood. It was the first of several he would stage in his vain attempts to wrest control of the Order. They began at one another’s throats, climbing to a conflict that ended nearly in blood before their war grew cold and civil. Her cursed scrupulous nature had even see her free him from behind bars for a crime of which he was accused-- framed, she’d discovered. He had claimed to turn a new leaf, after that, but she watched him hurt those who loved him and abandon those who cast their hopes on him, one after the other.

“I pray you found a true path to redemption.”

She would not be holding her breath, for that. But Lucius Bloodraven had consequently brought many knights of the Hall into her life.

“Master Alah’zaram.”

Another zealot who had stood alongside her and Aeliana, during their initial conflict with Lucius. Few knights had inspired her so, before or since. He was unwavering in his convictions, determined in his leadership. He had helped her and others who joined the Order after the Sunwell’s rebirth to settle into the ranks and take heart in their differences. She owed him a great deal, however much she had to admit his uncompromising nature did not always do her favors, in example.

That nature had taken him from them, too.

“I pray you’ve found a brotherhood and purpose that does not disappoint you.”

Her mind spun, calling back the events of the previous year. She looked on the Knight Master’s example, and saw her own actions in new, ugly light.

“Arthamir,” she hissed quickly, soldiering on before she lost her nerve for more introspection.

It was the night the Hall had nearly massacred itself, five years ago, now. Arthamir was on the opposite side of the room, then. He was an officer, if not second in command, to Lucius Bloodraven. But Arthamir had a level head, too level to follow Lucius down his destructive spiral for long. He was always proactive in the community and in the Order, almost always present. It was a horrible to watch him dance the line between soldier and politician, especially as honest a man as he was-- as he could be, for a politician. She found him the most agreeable officer to deal with, when she had to, and mutual respect had grown between them as they both worked in their own ways for the good of the order. The Champion was now the only officer she would address by his right rank.

“I pray your life is both long and satisfied-- I doubt you can see such a fate for yourself. And I pray the Light keeps you safe. I don’t know what I’d do without your guidance, sometimes, old man.”

She gave the flame of the candle a long look before nestling it amongst the growing cluster in the center of the table.

“Aervin.”

Arthamir’s wife. They had met few times, over the years. Aervin kept largely to their family holdings, especially since she had started producing heirs to Arthamir’s house. It was just as well. They seldom got along. Aervin was one of the few knights Lesti had ACTUALLY come to blows with, over the years. Still…

“I hope your children lead long and -happy- lives, Lady Tyrellian. May the Light bless them and the lands their inherit.”

She smiled as she set the candle, then sighed as she plucked and lit the next.

“Jaira…”

Arthamir’s daughter, taken in much the same way Xaereth had taken in his Lilendae. She had probably first met her while hosting other knights for dinner in the Fairbreeze in. She got to know her as a student under her instruction. Jaira was a fine study and a fine knight, when she was not testing her limits.

“I pray your heart finds contentment in your service to your people and your family, Jaira.” She said it, and wished it, earnestly.

“Jadoth.”

She met him perhaps the same night she met Jaira. Learning of his constantly precarious position in the Order, and seeing how desperately he seemed to need it, she had made it her mission to help. He only needed someone to believe in him. She had believed that for a long time; and believed in him through all the wrongs committed against him, all the wrongs against their realm and their world that chipped away at his heart, and all the wrongs he had himself committed.

One mistake. She had made only ONE mistake, but it was enough to earn his ire, and at last she understood. She learned, as others would have to, for themselves, what others had tried for years to make her see. She could not help him. It didn't stop her from wishing, every time she saw him, that she could.

“I pray that one day, you learn to -truly- let the Light fill the endless vacuum in your heart.”

She couldn't think of one without the other.

“Jayir.”

Jay Pyreanor was at the time Jadoth’s best friend. Another of her students. A better study but too easily influenced to think of himself as an outsider and misbehave by his friend. Jayir had been ever-present but avoidant, and she feared she had never put enough effort into understanding him with Jadoth absorbing her focus.

“I pray the Light has given you confidence your gifts and abilities, and in yourself.”

“Zan.”

They were too alike, she and Rerservist Zandrae Pyreanor- Champion, when someone else needed him to be. He was uncle or cousin to Jayir- she distractedly wondered if she’d ever bothered to ask- and often in the orbit of observing or aiding in her lessons with the Initiates and Adepts.

He had a gentle hand with the students but was outspoken towards officers- like she was. He could spend hours patiently listening- like she could. He could flare in righteous indignation and charge blind and furious to the defense of others or his own convictions- like she could. He could condemn and spurn, when those convictions were set- like she could.

They had inevitably gone up and down a rollercoaster of good times and bad between them, their convictions and inclinations to take “mother bear” stands in the face of what they perceived to be injustice led them to sometimes crash headlong against one another like Alterac rams.

He was, she was sure, still offended on Jadoth’s behalf.

“I pray the Light grants us both more patience, wisdom, and understanding; with each other, those around us, and ourselves.”

She needed those things, probably more than he did, at the moment. She had constantly told herself as much, over the years, unless she was angry. A stubborn and purposeful misstep- that was when she most needed them.

She closed her eyes a few moments, let the perpetual storm pounding in her head wash over her, mind and soul. Now was as good a time as any.

“Dr-mari…”

Not Dra’zar. Not today.

He had wanted to HELP. She was coming off too many bad experiences with the other officers when they met. From the beginning, she had gotten off on the wrong foot with him.

He was patient, and not rebuffed. He learned her troubles and reasons, and she learned his. They were quickly friends. He was always available, when she needed him. She had on turn helped him save his child.

He had a soft spot for children. She looked over her shoulder at the once-more slumbering toddler. He had loved Elendae from the start-- not that there was anyone who seemed immune to the child’s contagious charms-- and the more she grew, the more she seemed to love him back.  It was a more potent rebuff of Valestia’s temper than any the rest.

The candle snapped. She gave a start. Even the soft click of the wax giving was loud in the still morning. Light, but she was still angry. She started to set the broken pieces aside for another, but the flame yet flickering caught her eye. She found herself instead rolling the wax between her hands, softening it between the warmth of Light-blessed palms until it melted enough to come back together, if imperfectly. She nestled it next to Jadoth’s before it could take anymore punishment.

“Mother Moon,” she breathed with solemn desperation. “Grant us your grace.”

She fought the compulsion to strategize in her next choice, but chose him to avoid thinking on it further.

“Azkariel.”

She stared through the flame on the candle she lit for him, at Drimmari’s beyond.

Forgive me for heaping his faults on your shoulders.

Azkariel was exactly what she thought she needed at the time she met him. Someone who didn't need to be taught to handle himself on the battlefield. A veteran of the Northern War. A solid set of shoulders on which to lay their missions during the war against the Legion. It was too bad he thought as much of himself.

Azkariel was, she learned, impatient and power hungry and resentful of others’ recognition. More and more she got the sense that he thought he could do her job better than she could. She would not give him the chance.

But you did. I was like that, once. I pray you have been better repaid for it than I have over the years.

“I pray that the Light teaches you humility and the value in SERVICE.”

It was not criticism. She let him poison her heart with his own resentment enough to know that he would never be happy until he could change.

“Caci…”

Azkariel’s “student”. Lover, it turned out. She had done her best to receive and instruct the girl as if she were there for the right reasons. She believed she had a good heart. She regretted letting her go, most of all.

“I pray you have found someone to make your talents shine.”

“Terrestre.”

He had found them in the wilds, during the Legion’s invasions. He had heard word of them in the vicinity, and was determined to make himself useful. He was not particularly personable, and she was sure in hindsight that he deserved more notice than she had given him.

“I pray your valiance found good application. Lights grace and safe travels, Blood Knight.”

“Mourne.”

She had known him only the five years she'd known most the Order, but it felt like she'd known the Champion all her life. She couldn't even recall the exact moment she'd first seen him- though she had the strangest image in her mind that he'd been wearing a pink gown.

He was almost immediately one of her best friends. It seemed like they went everywhere and did everything together. Others had assumed they were married more than once- to both their horror.

They had grown apart, during the Legion’s invasions. It was her fault. She knew that. She would mend it.

“I pray you and Zozha are blessed in your union.”

“Solarine...Talaen, Lacryma.”

She lit and nestled two candles, held a third.

They were close to Mourne. Like Mourne and like her, they were priests before they were Blood Knights-- Shadow priests. They were a loose sort of circle, they five, in her mind. They knew one another, as others did not. They sensed things, when others did not. They could call on one another, when they could call on no one else. She did not often know where they all were, anymore, but she had a strange sort of constant confidence in them.

“I pray we all maintain The Balance.”

“Julian.”

Lucius had pulled Champion Julian Sunrest into her life. She could hardly say she thought much of his conduct or views, but battle against the powers of the Void had forged their relationship, and there were few Champions of the Order Valestia respected more for living up to their rank on the field. He would always be brother to her, whether or not she was always happy with the fact. There was only…

“I pray the Light keeps you on the right side of The War.”

“Nightsorrow,”

She didn't know the Knightlord outside of a few interactions, but few in the Order had inspired more confidence in herself. Nightsorrow saw progress in her. He had -threatened- to promote her, more than once.

He had seen little of her, but she suspected he knew her. The easy-going officer had a keen way of making her practice intense introspection with the lightest comments. She knew that even if she never saw him again, she would have much to credit him with, throughout her life.

“I pray the Light long continues to work through you to inspire others.”

“Forgefury.”

Her voice didn't shake. It was, perhaps, the first time she could say as much. The first night she met the Knight Lord, he was threatening to roll heads, and she had put herself in his path. She still felt the chill of that moment sometimes, and knew well what force had passed her by.

It hadn't taken long, however, to understand him. Veteran of the order. Jaded by the fate of their people. A survivor, desperate not to see the Order’s successors inherit any weakness. She hoped she had convinced him of the tenacity in the newer knights’ own brand of strength.

“I pray the Light heals your scars.”

“Ina’thia.”

They were alike in ways she and Zandrae were not. Looking at Knight-Lord Ina’thia Dawnblade was like looking at a prophecy incarnate. The mirror image was to be anticipated and feared.

Ina’thia was scrupulous. She had known her from the start. They two were sometimes nearly friends, sharing meals and speaking for hours together- and sometimes nearly nemeses, standing on opposite sides of disagreements that threatened violence. They usually tried to avoid both.

The two danced around the middle when it came to interacting with each other, keeping as close to a curt working relationship as possible as often as possible.

I wish I could trust you.

…

But I -will not BE you.-

“I pray you find true happiness. Someday.”

“A’laria.”

They called her Champion, sometimes, captain others. Whatever her actual title, Valestia had always almost exclusively known Raynell A’laria as “champion” of Ina’thia’s cause. Wherever the Knight-Lord appeared, Raynell always seemed to be in close proximity, if not at her heels.

Unlike the careful dance between her and Ina’thia, Valestia and Raynell had always had a relationship of casual but open rancor. A’laria was disdainful of the newer rank and file knights, sometimes threatening, sometimes more than threatening.

There was no faith in that one- lost, broken, or otherwise. There was no grim protectiveness some of the older knights like Xaereth, Drimmari, and Hylaudius exhibited. There was only vengeance. Valestia couldn't say she minded that A’laria’s focus was usually on shadowing Ina’thia.

“I pray the Light touches your life and your heart.”

“Dorennen,”

Another of Ina'thia's Phoenix Guard, Hylaudius Dorennen had been a fixture -- almost literally-- at the door of the Hall, since Valestia had been there. Not like the slackers or the goofs, or those who were looking to be available for even the most trivial of matters, like herself. Dorennen had always been there, to act when it -mattered.-

On hand for anything from cats up trees to trauma healing, in was inevitable that Valestia found herself often interacting with the Knight Master. He was seldom pleasant or agreeable, but he was honest with his evaluations. He'd come to remind her of her own father, in his conduct and service to his people.

He was gone. Lost in the war against the Legion.

“I pray… we who succeed you see the value of the dedication those like you gave us all in your service.”

“Ana.”

Analyse Emberbloom was Ina'thia's knight on one hand, led astray by Bloodraven on the other. Somehow between the two and the trouble that brought her, she and Lesti had become fast friends, if briefly.

Ana had seemingly withdrawn from the Order and indeed the public after a personal tragedy. She was well enough perhaps last they spoke, but Valestia knew how easily knights found a brave face.

“I pray the Light gives you comfort, sister.”

“Ele’nath.”

Taneisha Ele’nath had started out taking an interest in Valestia’s healing instruction for her students. The sister knight had come to learn and assist by turns, and to work alongside her when actual need arose.

She'd asked Valestia to become her teacher, once upon a time.

She hadn't seen her, since Draenor. She hoped fervently that she was alright.

“I pray the Light continues to guide your heart and your healing hands.”

Ele’nath had been close, if briefly, to one of her students. Valestia swallowed a lump in her throat.

“Farstrider.”

Ratheras Farstrider, a.k.a. Cascade Lightstrider. Xaereth often told her she belittled the progress he’d made, towards the end, when she called him by his born and inconveniently unoriginal surname. She couldn't help it. She still heard herself scream his name in agitation every time she thought of him.

A grin came unbidden to lift the corners of her lips.

She and Mourne had taken some of the students to Tanaris for “social skills” training. Laughable to some of the officers, she was sure, but to her mind you couldn't make a real defender of the people out of someone who was not for all intents and purposes, one of them. They had met Farstrider there.

He was a bumbling, naked drunk who accosted her and Jaira, of all people. Mourne had sent them away, in a rare show of seriousness and his temper, to leave him to deal with the bum. She had not expected him to turn up with the elf at the Hall of Blood.

Ratheras Farstrider was a former Knight Master who had fallen into despondence after losing the squad under the command of his Champion teacher to the Champion’s overconfidence. Mourne had convinced him to try and redeem himself and resume his service as an initiate. He asked Lesti to let him participate in the students’ lessons.

She had quickly found pity and understanding for his predicament, and soon asked Mourne to give him to her as her student. Farstrider had taken it too quickly and too thoroughly to heart. He was brash, defiant, and often delinquent, but he was thoroughly hers.

He was the only reason she had survived the initial invasion of Draenor, and for several months afterwards. The horrible fate that had befallen him when they returned home- when they should have been safe- continued to haunt her.

“I-I…” tears slid slowly down her face. “I pray… I live up to the faith you placed in me, someday.”

“Sillienth…”

WHY did the name even come to mind? Valestia's pulse pounded in her ears, and it seemed as if she could see her blood coursing in her vision, behind her eyes. Her tears tried in the face of hot fury, fresh as the first day.

Traitor…

Sillienth Goldenmist was one of the first knights Valestia met, and a close friend of her adopted daughter, Naatsu. Both elves had treated her as their mother, and Valestia had loved them both as a mother might. But in the end, Sillienth had literally betrayed Thalassian, Horde forces to an Alliance ambush. There had been casualties. Xaereth was supposed to have been there. If Valestia hadn't…

She didn't even WANT to wish it, she wasn't ready to let it go, herself, yet.

“Light forgive you.” she choked out.

“Althrin,”

Althrin Santhil. She had not said the name, in some time. He was one of her first friends in the Order, and they had quickly worked together on several matters.

But then, his pursuit of Lucius Bloodraven's corrupt conduct, he'd been awarded the rank of Champion. She saw him change, immediately. She could still hear her own voice in her ears.

“This is what you wanted- all along! This is ALL it was about! I hope you enjoy the new company you keep, -Champion.-”

She did not think she had ever spoken to him again, after that. Her eyes strayed past Althrin's candle to Drimmari's.

I don't want this, again.

“I wish I had given you more time...patience. I pray the Light and your station lead you to great things in service to our people.”

“Nestarion,”

More of the same.

WHY do I DO this?

She had been convinced Nestarion Sunsworn was good for the Order, when they first met. She had been ready to jump to his aid, any time there was the slightest need- even if sometimes she'd been as much trouble as help to him.

He had disappointed her expectations. She didn't even remember how it had happened, now. She had not extended him the forgiveness he had extended her for her own mistakes. She didn't even remember if she'd had the decency to tell him she was angry. The cold shoulder was her go to, after all.

I'll do better than this.

Now, all she hoped was that wherever he was, he was safe.

“You went through...so much. I pray that you'll have more happiness and less hardship in the future, than you did, then.”

“Arai. Thyrus.”

The brothers Sunshield.  She had not known them well. Arai was secluding to Pandaria by the time she met him, and Thyrus…

He had managed, however brief their interactions, to impact her.

“I read your report. As far as I'm concerned, YOU'RE as MUCH to blame for this, as HE is! I'd roll your head, were it up to me.”

It had made her re-examine the matter that had been at hand, again and again, until she was satisfied it was resolved in an unsatisfactory but correct way; and it had made her that much more thorough in her considerations, over the years- however short sighted they might still be. At least she was never satisfied with them, easily, anymore.

“I pray the Light and your families serve and guide your noble hearts and strong hands well.

“Dawnsword.”

He was positively contagious. He didn't seem to hold anyone -save the Alliance, of late- in contempt. He was bright, faithful, unstoppable.

Like so many knights, she had met him before the Hall. She recalled she'd overheard him defending his faith to another knight. They had connected instantly, and spent many hours on free nights discussing the Order, the Light, and the world's troubles. He seemed to rely on her consul, at times. She was the one inspired by him.

“I pray you and those who succeed US, and those who come AFTER YOU, are continually brighter a Light for our people and those who come after.”

“Rilserath. Latheri.”

Rilserath had come to her after Draenor, robbed of his Master on another world in another dimension. He was a good and dedicated study, a fine combatant, and possessed of a compassionate heart. She could not have asked for better, at her side from that moment until after Argus. She wasn't sure she'd ever told him that he was her pride and joy of a student.  If she hadn't, it was because she credited his previous master with saving her any hard work.

Latheri was his student. He'd picked her up between the Isles and Argus, and the Initiate had been forged in Felfire and endless battle, on the Legion homeworld. She was already, Valestia suspected, more technically skilled than her teacher.

She had let the two of them have time, afterwards. In the face of the ever increasing conflict over the past couple months however - Light, had it only been THAT long?- she could not help but think it was well past time to recall them.

“May the Light preserve us, and guide us in its wisdom as we hold one another up, shoulder to shoulder.”

They were with her, but there were three she missed keenly.

“Bamerin.”

Prodigy. Bamerin was everything she had ever wanted in a student. She had taken that opportunity, she feared, to drive him too hard; and ultimately away to his own counsel.

"I pray the Light has taught you better than I managed to, Silverheart."

“Dwin'arnith.”

With the threat of the Legion looming, she had pushed them all too hard.

Denlandis Dwin'arnith was headstrong, from the start. He reminded her of Jaira, and herself. He took what he needed but accepted only his own judgement. He never understood her explanations, and she hadn't the patience then to make sure they were clear. She suspected she had let him go to his doom.

“I pray our mutual impatience did not leave you long-wounded-- and that ... you have found solace for your losses, at last.”

She-

“Would you like some privacy for this, love?’

Reflexively, started to gather the cloak up around her, in the split second before she realized the voice of course belonged to the garment's owner. Xaereth stood there when she turned her head, looking at her with understandable confusion.

Don't mind me, just setting up a shrine on top of the kitchen table.

She shook her head.

“I only had Catraena left.”

Dear, sweet Catraena. As Xaereth gathered up Elendae and settled into the chair behind her, Valestia settled back into her contemplation.  It was Catraena who had delivered Elendae. She was previously a priestess who, like her, had come to the Order to do -more-. Like her, she was too easily touched, too easily wounded. But Valestia loved the Order, and she was sure that in time Catraena would too.

Perhaps she would have, if in her frenzy to confront the demons Valestia had not turned her away at her first doubt. It galled her on one hand. On the other, she HAD been too great a liability to take on the field.

“Catraena. I only pray you FOUND someone with the patience to help you through your doubts. You deserved better than you thought of yourself."

She had dreams, prayers; not just for herself, but for all these knights. This was the why. This was what she needed to remember.

[thxnews]

Brief History of Toyota Motor Corporation

  The Toyota Motor Corporation is a world-renowned car manufacturer that has been producing some of the most reliable vehicles since its inception on August 28, 1937. Founded by Kiichiro Toyoda, the company initially produced only a few cars per month but quickly grew to become one of the most successful car manufacturers in the world. As one of the largest automotive companies in the world, Toyota Motor Corporation's expansive vehicle line-up consists of 14 models.  

1924 Non-Stop Shuttle Change Toyoda Automatic Loom, Type G. Photo by Morio. Wikimedia.  

Toyota’s Early Years

The Toyoda Model G Automatic Loom was created in 1924 by Sakichi Toyoda. The Toyota Production System later incorporated the jidoka principle, which states that when a problem arises, the machine automatically stops. A modest production line was used to construct looms. The automatic loom invention was sold to the British business Platt Brothers in 1929, providing the seed money for the creation of automobiles. Toyoda Automatic Loom Works formed an Automobile Division on September 1, 1933, and formally proclaimed its plan to start manufacturing automobiles on January 29, 1934, both under the guidance of Kiichiro Toyoda, the founder's son. On August 28, 1937, the name “Toyota Motor Co.” was officially registered as a separate entity from Toyoda Automatic Loom Works Ltd. Under Kiichiro’s leadership, Toyota developed revolutionary production methods that would become known as the “Toyota Production System." This system combined both human and machine labor to achieve greater efficiency and cost savings than traditional mass production methods at the time. By 1941, 70% of all cars sold in Japan were Toyotas – making it by far the leading car manufacturer in Japan at that time. In 1945, following World War II, Toyota began producing larger vehicles for export to America under its new brand name – Lexus – to compete more effectively with American automakers like General Motors and Chrysler Corporation. At this time, only luxury cars were exported from Japan; however, this changed when Honda Motors began exporting smaller cars to America starting in 1968 (the same year that Honda introduced their Civic model). This shift forced Toyota to focus on developing smaller cars for export as well to remain competitive.  

Post-War Success

The story of Toyota wasn't always one of success and recognition. In the aftermath of World War II, the company was struggling to survive, facing a ravaged economy, limited resources, and a scarcity of skilled labor. Yet despite these challenges, Toyota managed to rise from the ashes, transform itself into a global powerhouse, and set a new standard for excellence in the automobile industry.  

Toyota Production System. Photo by Avi Alpert. Flickr.   Embracing Lean Manufacturing One of Toyota's key strategies for success was the development of the "Toyota Production System," a groundbreaking approach to manufacturing that focused on maximizing efficiency, reducing waste, and empowering workers. This system, also known as "lean manufacturing," helped Toyota streamline operations, eliminate unnecessary costs, and create higher-quality products at a faster pace than its competitors. By instilling a culture of continuous improvement and empowering employees to identify and solve problems, Toyota was able to achieve levels of productivity and quality that were previously thought impossible.  

Model car factory production line. Photo by Mr Wabu. Flickr.   The Power of Kaizen Another critical factor in Toyota's success was the concept of "kaizen." Kaizen is a Japanese term that means "continuous improvement," and it's a philosophy that Toyota has ingrained into its DNA. The idea behind kaizen is that even the smallest improvements, made consistently over time, can lead to significant gains in efficiency, quality, and profitability. Toyota encourages its employees to constantly look for ways to improve their work and the company's processes. By embracing kaizen, Toyota has been able to stay at the forefront of the automobile industry and maintain its position as a leader in innovation and quality.   Customer First Toyota has always placed a high priority on its customers, recognizing that their satisfaction is critical to the company's success. To this end, Toyota has invested heavily in research and development, using customer feedback to inform its product designs and features. It has also established a reputation for exceptional customer service, striving to provide personalized attention and support to every customer. By putting the customer first, Toyota has built a loyal following of customers who trust and value the company's products and services.   Global Expansion Toyota's postwar success was not limited to Japan. The company recognized the importance of expanding its operations globally and set out to establish a strong presence in markets around the world. Toyota began exporting its vehicles in the 1950s and gradually expanded its production and sales operations to countries such as the United States, Australia, and the United Kingdom. In the years since Toyota has continued to grow and now operates production facilities and sales networks in more than 190 countries and territories. This global expansion has allowed Toyota to capitalize on new markets, diversify its customer base, and further solidify its position as a world leader in the automobile industry.  

TOYOTA MIRAI. Photo by niconico0. Flickr.   Sustainability and Social Responsibility In recent years, Toyota has made a concerted effort to be a more socially responsible company, embracing sustainability as a core value. Toyota has invested heavily in green technologies, such as hybrid and electric vehicles, and has pledged to reduce its carbon emissions and environmental impact. It has also prioritized corporate social responsibility initiatives, such as supporting disaster relief efforts and promoting education and community development. By taking a proactive approach to sustainability and social responsibility, Toyota has demonstrated its commitment to being a responsible and ethical global business leader.  

Toyota Headquarter Toyota City. Photo by Chris 73. Wikimedia.  

Global Expansion

In 1957, Toyota established its U.S. subsidiary called Toyota Motor Sales USA Inc., making it one of the earliest Japanese companies to expand into international markets. By 1966 they had sold their millionth vehicle in North America and continued to grow throughout South America as well as Europe and Asia over time. In 1984, they established their luxury division Lexus which became highly successful almost immediately after launch.  

Conclusion

Toyota has become one of the world’s leading automobile manufacturers due to its commitment to innovation, customer service, and global expansion. The company has embraced kaizen principles which focus on continuous improvement in order to remain at the forefront of automotive technology. Toyota also places a high priority on sustainability and social responsibility initiatives that demonstrate their dedication to being an ethical business leader. With operations now reaching countries all around the world, it is clear that Toyota’s strategy for success is working - showing no signs of slowing down anytime soon!   Sources: THX News, Wikipedia & Toyota. Read the full article

[newstfionline]

Tuesday, August 10, 2021

UN report: Earth warming (AP) Earth’s climate is getting so hot that temperatures in about a decade will probably blow past a level of warming that world leaders have sought to prevent, according to a report released Monday that the United Nations calls a “code red for humanity.” “It’s just guaranteed that it’s going to get worse,” said report co-author Linda Mearns, a senior climate scientist at the U.S. National Center for Atmospheric Research. “I don’t see any area that is safe ... Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.” The authoritative Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) report makes more precise and warmer forecasts for the 21st century than it did last time it was issued in 2013. The 3,000-plus-page report from 234 scientists said warming is already accelerating sea level rise, shrinking ice and worsening extremes such as heat waves, droughts, floods and storms. Tropical cyclones are getting stronger and wetter, while Arctic sea ice is dwindling in the summer and permafrost is thawing. All of these trends will get worse, the report said.

Canada begins allowing vaccinated US citizens to visit again (AP) Canada on Monday is lifting its prohibition on Americans crossing the border to shop, vacation or visit, but the United States is keeping similar restrictions in place for Canadians, part of a bumpy return to normalcy from COVID-19 travel bans. U.S. citizens and legal permanent residents must be both fully vaccinated and test negative for COVID-19 within three days to get across one of the world’s longest and busiest land borders. Travelers also must fill out a detailed on application on the arriveCAN app before crossing. Even though travelers have to register, the Canada Border Services Agency won’t say how many people they are expecting to enter Canada for the reopening. But travelers should plan for the possibility of additional processing time at the border. The U.S.-Canada border has been closed to nonessential travel since March 2020 to try to slow the spread of the coronavirus.

Dixie Fire rages (1440) Northern California’s Dixie Fire has grown to the largest single-source wildfire in state history and the second biggest overall, having consumed roughly 490,000 acres as of this morning (21% containment). Most of the damage surrounds the Lake Almanor reservoir. At least five people are missing, with thousands under evacuation from small towns in the area. The blaze began 27 days ago, potentially sparked by faulty power equipment. Driven by high temperatures and unpredictable winds, the fire leveled the town of Greenville last week, destroying almost 100 homes. Fire officials said the Dixie Fire may be fully contained by Aug. 20, pending weather conditions.

U.S. sending drugs to Mexico (Washington Post) The most sought after marijuana being trafficked across the U.S.-Mexico border is now the weed entering Mexico, not the weed leaving it. “The demand here for American weed has exploded,” said one dealer in Mexico City, who estimated that 60 percent of the marijuana he sells now comes from California. “It’s aspirational for many of my clients. They want to be seen smoking the best stuff, the stuff rappers brag about smoking.” Over nearly a century, the United States spent billions of dollars combating drug trafficking from Mexico—with marijuana long at the center of that effort. Now the world’s most famous cannabis strains—with names like Girl Scout Cookies and Bubba Kush—can be purchased just north of the U.S.-Mexico border, including at outlet malls walking distance from Mexican territory.

More Cubans try dangerous trip to US across Florida Straits (AP) Zuleydis Elledias has gotten up each morning for the past two months hoping for a phone call, a message—any news on the fate of her husband and nephew, who disappeared at sea after the boat they were in capsized as they tried to reach Florida. Cuba is seeing a surge in unauthorized migration to the United States, fueled by an economic crisis exacerbated by the pandemic, increased U.S. sanctions and cutbacks in aid from its also-crisis-wracked Venezuelan ally. That has led to shortages in many goods and a series of protests that shook the island on July 11. And legal ways to leave have been strained by the Trump administration’s near-closure of the U.S. Consulate in 2017 following a series of mysterious illnesses among diplomatic personnel that some claimed could result from an attack—allegations Cuba bitterly denies. Most Cubans who want to try for a U.S. visa now have to go to embassies in other countries—and getting there is almost impossible due to sharp cuts in air traffic during the pandemic. Most can’t afford tickets anyway unless relatives abroad can front them the money. That has pushed many Cubans to launch themselves into the sea on small boats or rafts to attempt the dangerous crossing of the Florida Straits to the United States.

In Haiti, a clouded assassination probe prompts fears of political crackdowns (Washington Post) Nearly a month after the assassination of President Jovenel Moïse, none of the dozens of detained suspects have been taken to court. Some of the judges and clerks involved in investigating the killing have gone into hiding, fearing for their lives and claiming they faced pressure to tamper with reports. Now, with the plot and motives still murky, many Haitians have begun to believe the authorities are also using the investigation as cover to crack down on political foes of the administration trying to keep power after gunmen killed Moïse on July 7. A prosecutor for Port-au-Prince has issued a series of arrest warrants against political opponents—high-profile evangelical pastors, a former justice minister and Moïse critics—who all say they had nothing to do with the assassination. Steven Irvenson Benoit, a former senator and presidential candidate in Haiti, described the arrest warrants as “a war” against political enemies who could challenge the country’s interim leadership. “The regime in power wants to stay in power, so they issued arrest warrants against those who can be a threat to them,” said Gérard Forges, a well-known pastor in Haiti and outspoken critic of Moïse who was the subject of one of this week’s arrest warrants.

In border crisis between Belarus and Lithuania, salvos fly in ‘propaganda war’ (Washington Post) Belarus calls it shocking: state media reports on an Iraqi migrant who died while trying to cross into Lithuania. Lithuania calls it fiction: a story invented by Belarus to smear its neighbor amid a growing crisis in which migrants have been used as pawns by Belarus’s leader, Alexander Lukashenko. Amid the conflicting accounts, Lukashenko is raising the stakes in his showdown with the West as his country grows more isolated, his crackdowns on dissent widen and his tactics grow more defiant—including opening routes for thousands of migrants, mostly Iraqis, to stream into E.U.-member Lithuania over the past months. Belarus’s accusations against Lithuanian border guards came as Belarusian Olympic runner Krystsina Tsimanouskaya flew to Poland to seek asylum, saying she was afraid to fly home to Belarus after criticizing her country’s Olympic team.

France’s health pass (Foreign Policy) France today extends the use of a COVID-19 health pass to bars, restaurants, and long-distance travel as it seeks to encourage vaccination. The pass, which has been in use for those entering museums, theaters, and sporting venues since July, is backed by a majority of residents according to polls, but has still been subject to fierce opposition; 237,000 people demonstrated across France on Saturday to protest the measures, in demonstrations that united far-right and far-left figures wary of the damage to French ideals of liberty and equality.

Massive forest fire in Greece still burning for 7th day (AP) Firefighters and residents battled a massive forest fire on Greece’s second largest island for a seventh day Monday, fighting to save what they can from flames that have decimated vast tracts of pristine forest, destroyed homes and businesses and sent thousands fleeing. The smoke and ash from the fire on Evia, a rugged island of forests and coves almost touching the Greek mainland, blocked out the sun, turning the sky orange as the blaze rampaged across the northern part of the island. Evia’s fire is the most severe of dozens that have broken out across Greece in the past week, after the country was baked by its worst heat wave in three decades which sent temperatures soaring to 45 degrees Celsius (113 Fahrenheit) for days. The heat, coming amid what has already been a particularly hot summer, has turned Greece’s forests, including large areas of easily flammable pine trees, into bone-dry tinderboxes. Other big fires have been burning forests and farmland in the southern Greek region of the Peloponnese, while a major blaze that burned through homes, businesses and forests on the northern fringes of Athens was on the wane.

Virus-free New Zealand plans border reopening amid labour shortage (Reuters) Under pressure from businesses and public sectors facing a worker shortage that policymakers fear will fuel inflation, New Zealand Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern is due to unveil plans this week to reopen the country’s borders. Ardern garnered global praise for containing local transmission of COVID-19 via an elimination strategy, imposing tough lockdowns and slamming New Zealand’s international border shut in March 2020. However, that tactic is now straining an economy heavily reliant on an immigrant workforce, leading to higher costs and lower output. The dairy, horticulture, housing, services, health and broader public sector have all reported acute staff shortages, and called on the government to raise border blocks.

Spanish village seeks Unesco world heritage status for outdoor chats (Guardian) It’s a nightly summer ritual across much of Spain: as the sweltering heat of the day eases off, chairs are hauled out to the street for an alfresco chat. Now an enterprising village in southern Spain is seeking to have the tradition recognised by the United Nations as a cultural treasure. The aim is to protect the centuries-old custom from the encroaching threat of social media and television, said José Carlos Sánchez, the mayor of Algar, a town of about 1,400 people. “It’s the opposite of social media,” he told the Guardian. “This is about face-to-face conversations.” “We want to return to having everyone outside of their doors alfresco instead of scrolling through Facebook or watching television inside their homes.” Sánchez, who regularly spends balmy summer evenings on the doorstep of his 82-year-old mother’s house, is quick to list off the many benefits of what is known as charlas al fresco, from the energy savings gleaned from turning off the air conditioning for a few hours to the sense of community forged as neighbours share in the day’s gossip or comment on the latest news stories. The nightly chats also offer a sort of psychological release, keeping loneliness at bay at a time when concerns around mental health have sharpened, he argued. “Residents come out onto the street and instead of feeling that they’re alone, what they get is a therapy session,” said the 38-year-old. “They share their stories or the problems they’re going through and the neighbours try and help.”