#Even being aware of my particular-ness I was still surprised to see how many were in the 'dislike' and 'not care' categories lol

[icewindandboringhorror]

my personal Media Genres tier ranking and also Neopets Species tiers. put together in the same post just due to being adjacently related because they're on the same website lol

links to the specific tier makers: Media Genres --- Neopets

[notquitedailyamy]

Black and Yellow

Since visiting Derek Jarman’s Prospect Cottage in Dungeness last month, I’ve sat down on several occasions intending to share the experience with you. But distilling my thoughts wasn’t easy! The place left my head so full of thoughts and stirred a lot of emotion in me, and transcribing the singular magic of it into words felt beyond me. Each time I’d lose the tousle with my brain, and clap the laptop shut again.

Then I found the following starting point; a quote from Howard Sooley, photographer and friend of Derek Jarman, that described the setting I found myself in, on arrival to the cottage, perfectly.

“Pulling up on Dungeness Road, I stared out of the car window on to a post-apocalyptic nuclear vision: a long, snaking road strung with a line of black fishermen’s cottages like tar-covered fairy lights; a beach strewn in a mess of seemingly abandoned fishing boats and huts, which looked like they’d just tumbled from the sky and landed randomly among the sea kale that inhabited the beach.

   — Howard Sooley for Gardens Illustrated

And now, I think, with that striking scene set, I can continue...

Discovering Derek Jarman 

On one particular stay at my aunt and uncle’s house in Cheltenham years ago, there was an addition to the mantelpiece in my bedroom: a dried sprig of sea kale in a narrow white vase. My aunt recounted how she and my uncle had lately travelled to Dungeness, a headland on the coast of Kent, and how she had found the pretty bit of plant blowing across the shingle there. They had been to see the cottage and garden of a man whose name I did not then recognise, Derek Jarman; “a very special place”. And, I was told that in the front room there was a book entitled Derek Jarman’s Garden, from which I could learn more. 

From my aunt’s introductory account, to each article and interview I have since read or watched regarding Derek Jarman since, I have found him only to be described in the fondest, most admiring manner. Those who are aware of his story, or who were lucky enough to have had their lives directly touched by him, laud his generous spirit and remain in awe of his remarkable array of talents, from film-maker to set designer, from optimist to activist, from gardener to diarist and author. He is remembered not only as being one of the most influential figures of 20th century culture, but also for his breathtaking humility, prolific activism for gay rights (via protest as well as his artistic output - much of which served as a manifesto for open homosexuality), inspiration and support for young and aspiring film makers and creatives. Award-winning costume designer and friend of Jarman’s Sandy Powell sums up his inherent warmth of character and contagious passion for whatever he turned his hand to in a recent interview with Phillips Auction House: 

“Derek said to me that there was absolutely no point in going to work every day unless you went with the same excitement as if you were going to a party. With him, I’d get to work every morning and I would be so excited about going to work. 

[...] He just immediately made you feel comfortable, and you were never ever made to feel inferior. Even on a film set, he’d be sat there, waiting for the next setup, and I remember there were times when he would ask the person who was sweeping the floor of the set what he thought. He’d talk aloud about his ideas. He’d set something up and say, "What do you think about that? Should we do this?" and he’d actually listen to what that person had to say. Anybody. He’d listen to what any of us had to say, and I think we were all treated completely equally"

   — Sandy Powell, interviewed by Phillips

My aunt located her copy of Derek Jarman’s Garden for me later that day - a smallish, unassuming publication, on the verge of being swallowed up by the heaving art library that surrounded it (my uncle and aunt are both artists themselves). I was enthralled by it, poring the pages for the rest of my stay. 

^ Derek Jarman at Prospect Cottage. © Howard Sooley

Having spotted a ‘for sale’ sign whilst filming close by, Derek Jarman sought refuge in his Dungeness fisherman’s cottage after being diagnosed as HIV positive in 1986. He dedicated himself to creating a paradisiacal and sustaining garden in the salty, exposed shingle which skirted his new home. 

“Dungeness was England through the looking glass, not William Blake’s bucolic vision of a Jerusalem in this ‘green and pleasant land’. Stark, barren, the sun searing down or rain whipping across the landscape – everything seemed to be dying. Bleached by the sun, ripped by the wind, eaten by salt, laid bare and exposed by the enormity of the sky. A world stripped to its bones, abandoned and motionless except for the dried seedheads of sea kale blowing like tumbleweed in the shadow of the power station. The images are etched in my memory.”  

   — Howard Sooley for Gardens Illustrated

...a pretty tall task then . But that’s what he did. Choosing a spectrum of plants that could stand up to the testing climes of his “Ness”, largely low-lying to endure high winds, others that were already indigenous of the area, Derek Jarman transformed Prospect Cottage into a defiant monument of imagination and hope. 

An unforgettable day in Dungeness

Gradually the landscape flattened, the villages became fewer and further between, then villages became hamlets, and then there was nobody, save the odd remote farmhouse - we wondered how far they must have to travel for groceries!  Then human presence came almost to a standstill, and it felt like we had gatecrashed a sci-fi movie set. Fencing lined the road, periodic signs warning people away from the military firing range, still not a soul to be seen. We weren’t tempted to trespass - it was all pretty spooky! 

And then, on the horizon, a giant appeared. The jagged grey silhouette of Dungeness A and Dungeness B - not one, but two massive nuclear power stations. We popped Boards of Canada on the stereo. I challenge you for a better accompaniment to such a sight.

“The nuclear power station is a wonderment. At night it looks like a great liner or a small Manhattan ablaze with a thousand lights of different colour.” 

   — Derek Jarman, from Derek Jarman’s Garden

We continued along the silent road a while longer, and then suddenly it was there. Years of wondering about the garden, and then there it was, right there, just by the side of the road... no fence, no gate, no borders or barriers of any kind. No separation from the outside at all.

I was relieved to see a handful of people around, though it still felt astonishingly desolate. We pulled up right outside the cottage, amazed it was that easy. 

A jewel in the string of tiny rustic dwellings, and a David to the looming Goliath backdrop of the two nuclear plants, Prospect Cottage bursts with vitality and  vibrance. Emanating a kind of otherworldly, magical quality, it flourishes where all else is bleak, tangerine coloured Californian poppies and sunshine yellow window frames laughing proudly. 

“At first, people thought I was building a garden for magical purposes – a white witch out to get the nuclear power station. It did have magic – the magic of surprise, the treasure hunt.” 

   — Derek Jarman, from Derek Jarman’s Garden

Just as there are no borders, there are no strict lines or flower beds to speak of. Santolina, valerian and the odd red hot poker rise straight from the sea-worn shingle floor, while sea kale sprawls in patches. Hemispheres of gorse and vertically pegged driftwood add degrees of height, while talismanic stone circles and flotsam sculptures ensure the eye is never short of interest. Jarman would comb the beach every morning for new metal treasures, rocks and interesting things washed up by the sea. He’d always reap the biggest rewards following a storm.

“The stones, especially the circles, remind me of dolmens, standing stones. They have the same mysterious power to attract.”

   — Derek Jarman, from Derek Jarman’s Garden

“The sticks and sculptures [...] also had the unexpected gift of providing much-welcomed perches for the migratory birds that navigate over the ness every year. Rare warblers from Russia would stand and catch their breath, staring in at the kitchen window. Then, without warning, they’d lift into the air, catch the wind and be off again to some far and distant land.”

 — Howard Sooley for Gardens Illustrated

 ^ Derek Jarman also scoured the land around the nuclear power plant for bits and pieces to use in the garden, some of it detritus from the Second World War

Already I had felt the enchantment of Derek Jarman’s living legacy exuding from those pages of my aunt’s book, but experiencing it in the flesh was on a different level. It’s as though he left a message there, everlastingly poised and waiting to be received by anyone who visits. 

Standing amidst such a unique and spectacular achievement, by a man who had been dealt such a cruel fate, made me feel incredibly appreciative for all that I have, all that is so easy for me. His life was cut too short, but undoubtedly lived more fully than many who have reached a much older age. 

It also gave me new confidence that in my own creativity I am doing something worthwhile, and that by staying true to myself and not allowing conformity to stifle my output, I can add my own dose of originality and something truly unique to the world.  

 ^ Poppy seed heads

“He was just really encouraging to all young people, and I think that’s what this house could be. It’s this really open house to encourage people to come and be creative and get as much as they can out of it, and I think he would have wanted that.” 

  — Sandy Powell, interviewed by Phillips

 ^ Indigenous sea kale

Long live the legacy

The future of Prospect Cottage was recently left up in the air following the passing of Keith Collins, Derek’s companion during his years in Dungeness, and in whose hands he left the cottage following his death in 1994. 

The Art Fund launched a campaign to save the property from being sold off and falling into private ownership. The £3.5 million required was raised in just ten weeks.

“Securing the future of Prospect Cottage may seem a minor thing by comparison with the global epidemic crisis which has recently enveloped all our lives. But Derek Jarman’s final years at the Cottage were an inspiring example of human optimism, creativity and courage battling against the ravages of illness. In that context, the success of this campaign seems all the more apposite and right for its time.” 

— Stephen Deuchar, Director of Art Fund

“Prospect Cottage will become not a memorial encased in amber, but an active memory. Not an ossified monument, but a breathing testament to a life still awaiting future collaborators”

 — Douglas Fogle for Art Forum 

 ^ The frontward outlook of Prospect Cottage

The whole place is jaw-droppingly unique, the garden itself a post-modern feat of ingenuity. Eerie, exciting, bleak, inspiring... only describable to a point. I implore you not to trust my interpretation and instead go and marvel at it for yourself! And prepare to have it stay with you long after...

Suitable Song -

Annie Lennox’s performance of “Every Time We Say Goodbye” from the AIDS fundraising album Red Hot & Blue. The video features footage of Derek Jarman as a child.

Sources -

https://www.gardensillustrated.com/gardens/country/howard-sooley-prospect-cottage-derek-jarman/?image=1&type=gallery&gallery=2&embedded_slideshow=2

https://www.artforum.com/slant/douglas-fogle-on-derek-jarman-s-imperiled-prospect-cottage-82157

https://wildabouthere.com/derek-jarmans-garden/

https://www.artlyst.com/news/derek-jarmans-prospect-cottage-saved-nation/

https://www.phillips.com/article/54833655/sandy-powell-derek-jarman-charity-auction-prospect-cottage

[recentanimenews]

Bookshelf Briefs 12/1/20

Cutie and the Beast, Vol. 1 | By Yuhi Azumi| Seven Seas – This looked cute, and gave off a very My Love Story!! vibe, but I was wary of the fact that one of the leads is in his late twenties and the other is a senior in high school. That said, unlike a lot of other romance titles from Japan that adore this sort of couple, the manga makes their age difference the main conflict. He’s a famous pro wrestler, and getting involved with a girl her age, even if she is eighteen, would be career-killing. On the other hand… these two have fallen hard for each other almost at first sight, and can’t stop texting, calling, meeting up, etc. Now, how this will play out I’m not sure. Pretty sure they’ll get together, but I bet his career does take a big hit. Nice to see the manga address it, though. – Sean Gaffney

How Do We Relationship?, Vol. 1 | By Tamifull | Viz Media – “Opposites attract” is a common enough trope, but it is utilized to great effect and with notable complexity in How Do We Relationship?. The manga follows two young women in college as they begin dating each other—the somewhat shy and innocent Miwa and the much more boisterous and experienced Saeko. Navigating a new relationship is rarely easy and a romance between two women has additional sets of challenges, as Saeko in particular is very aware. While Miwa and Saeko’s deepening feelings are obviously core to the story, their relationships with friends and classmates play critical roles as well. One of the things that impressed me the most about the first volume of How Do We Relationship? was just how believable and realistic all of these different relationships were. The characterization of the leads is wonderfully nuanced, too. I’m really looking forward to reading more of the series. – Ash Brown

Komi Can’t Communicate, Vol. 9 | By Tomohito Oda | Viz Media – Most of this Komi volume revolves around Valentine’s Day, which as always presents the author with a conundrum: how do I make them give chocolates and be the cutest couple ever without actually making them a couple or having them confess? Rest assured, though, fans of Komi and Tadano will find endless scenes to love here. My favorite may be Tadano’s sister trying to get him to admit his feelings, then being rather annoyed when he actually comes close to doing so. Fortunately, as the title suggests, Komi is not very good at communicating, so things stay the same for now. Still, I suspect we need something to shake things up. Perhaps a new love interest could magically arrive soon? – Sean Gaffney

My Hero Academia, Vol. 25 | By Kohei Horikoshi | Viz Media – Shigaraki’s backstory is as terrifying and traumatic as you might imagine—let’s just say the hands he wears aren’t just for show. So it’s back to our heroes, who are practicing how to do hero interviews (Midoriya’s goes as badly as you’d expect) and also preparing for the next round of internships. Oh yes, and celebrating Christmas, which is adorable and also has Eri Santa. As for internships, Nighteye is dead and his agency is too busy to take him in, and Best Jeanist is missing, so Bakugou’s in limbo as well. Todoroki suggests an obvious idea: all three of them could intern with the best dad ever. All of this is clearly setting up a huge battle in the upcoming books, but it’s fun to see. – Sean Gaffney

Ossan Idol!, Vol. 1 | By Ichika Kino and Mochiko Mochida | TOKYOPOP – Adapted from a light novel, Ossan Idol! is the story of Miroku Osaki, a virginal, pure of heart, and unemployed 36-year-old who has spent the last decade as a shut-in. He’s always been overweight, but once he discovers a love of dance, he starts training at a gym with Yoichi Kisaragi, who was once overweight himself. Soon, Miroku is buff, handsome, and charming and the karaoke video he accidentally uploads to the internet becomes a viral sensation. The volume concludes with a famous producer declaring he’ll turn Miroku into an idol, and not just him but Yoichi (41) and dancer pal Shiju (40), too. All in all, this is a pleasing bit of fluff that I don’t have a lot to say about either positively or negatively. I will probably check out volume two, at least, to see where the story goes. – Michelle Smith

Sadako at the End of the World | By Koma Natsumi and Koji Suzuki | Yen Press – The premise of this one-volume manga—What if the girl from The Ring ended up in a post-apocalyptic world?—made me wonder if it would be horror or melancholic like Girls’ Last Tour. It’s pretty much both. Sadako, particularly once the artist gives her a tablet to communicate with, is not as scary here, and the girls she’s with are an innocent delight. But as they meet the few remaining people in this world along the way, there’s a definite sense she’s also going back and doing what she does best to each of them. The ending tries for sort of a fourth-wall-breaking thing but I think it was simply there as the author wasn’t sure how to end it after the cast was gone. A good read overall, though. – Sean Gaffney

Sleepy Princess in the Demon Castle, Vol. 13 | By Kagiji Kumanomata | Viz Media After reading my brief of the last volume, I feel a need to eat my words. The combination of this new volume and the currently running anime have made me realize: yes, there is real character development here. Syalis at the start of the series was a gag character who would murder at the drop of a hat. Here, while she’s still extremely flaky, she’s doing her best to unite humans and demons, even if this means completing all the Demon Lord’s paperwork—in ONE DAY. Even better, when the Cleric waffles on about his feelings for her and the reason he ran away from the castle, Syalis points out something: who she likes is her own decision. Our Sleepy Princess is all grown up! – Sean Gaffney

Sweat and Soap, Vol. 4 | By Kintetsu Yamada | Kodansha Comics – There’s a chapter of sex here, in case you were looking for that, but for the most part this series would rather deal with the sweet tensions of a young couple in love trying to negotiate how to do that and still be attentive to the other partner’s needs. Their couple-ness is now generally known to the office, though we have not quite told the parents yet—I suspect that will be next book. More importantly, they are talking about moving in together, something that requires charts and sticky notes, because these two are organized and also adorable. And they are also still very much desiring each other as well—the sex here is hot. One of the best romance mangas to come out in 2020. – Sean Gaffney

What the Font?! – A Manga Guide to Western Typeface | By Kuniichi Ashiya| Seven Seas – This is pretty much exactly what you’d expect. A young woman is told to layout a presentation, but has never done this before. While studying Western fonts, she falls asleep… and meets personifications of many of them, both Serif and Sans. Each font has a personality, they talk about themselves and their history, and then we move on. If you’re expecting Hetalia antics, look elsewhere—there’s no plot to speak of, and the fonts are not the most riveting characters. If you do want to learn about the differences between Western typefaces, though, this is a good enough guide for you, though I suspect it works even better in Japanese. – Sean Gaffney

Whisper Me a Love Song, Vol. 1 | By Eku Takeshima | Kodansha Comics – The cover of this volume is quite striking, and it led me to believe that this would be somehow different from your standard “high school girls in love” story. Unfortunately, it really isn’t. Yori Asanagi is a talented singer who fills in with the light music club band for a performance at the entrance ceremony Himari Kino is attending. Himari promptly informs Yori she’s fallen for her at first sight and Yori believes she means it romantically (instead of merely as a fan), and instantly falls in love herself. Characterizations here are shallow, particularly for Yori’s would-be bandmates, and there’s just not much going on that’s especially interesting. The one exception is that Himari’s enthusiastic appreciation for Yori’s singing is seemingly helping her to overcome some confidence issues. I’ll give this one more volume, I think, to see how it develops. – Michelle Smith

You Are My Princess | By Hiroto Kujirada | Futekiya (digital only) – Itsumi Tachibana is a scary-looking guy who secretly loves kitties. He’s surprised when the princely student council president, Seima Takajo, confesses romantic feelings for him, and suspects he’s being made fun of. After spending more time with Takajo, however, and realizing he’s the only one Takajo allows himself to be unguarded around, Itsumi’s feelings change. Plot-wise, You Are My Princess isn’t terribly unique. The guys get together, they have sex in the final chapter, the end. What makes it special, though, is Kujirada-sensei’s clean and expressive artwork, the nonverbal storytelling, and the little moments in which Takajo drops the facade and reveals real vulnerability. And also kitties. In the end, I enjoyed this cute story and look forward to more by this creator! – Michelle Smith

By: Ash Brown

[eldritchsurveys]

781.

Your ten favorite movies

Movie number one: The Fountain 1) Who’s the main actor? >> Hugh Jackman. 2) When did it come out? >> I want to say... 2007. 3) What’s the genre? >> Er... hmm. Fantasy? Maybe? I’m going to ask google. ...Oh, apparently Wikipedia classifies it as an “epic romantic drama film that blends elements of fantasy, history, spirituality, and science fiction”. Like, okay, sure, whatever dude. 4) Do you know where it was filmed at? >> I don’t, but I’m about to find out because that’s an interesting question. ...Ah! Montreal. 5) How old were you when you saw it? >> The first time I saw it was... probably not too long after it came out, so early 20s. I rented it from Netflix back when that was new and was a DVD-only service. I didn’t pay it a whole lot of attention at the time and was mostly confused by its storyline (I wasn’t as practiced at following nonlinear timelines and heavily allegorical plots back then). The next time I saw it was a whole different story and tbh that’s a frequent occurrence with me, which is why I always go back to rewatch/reread certain things later on in life.

Movie number two: Sunshine 1) Who’s an actress in this movie? >> Rose Byrne.

2) Out of 10 stars you’d give it? >> I mean, 10, I guess? It’s a top favourite of mine, so... 3) Did it have a surprise ending? >> No. I mean, it had a kind of weird twist for the climax? But the actual ending was kind of what you’d expect. 4) How long was it? >> 1hr 47min. 5) Did you first see it in theatres? >> Nope, but god, if only I could... Movie number three: Interstellar 1) What’s this movie rated? >> PG-13. 2) Did critics approve of it? >> If I recall correctly, yeah, it was pretty widely praised. Mostly for the, you know... Nolan-ness. 3) Who were you with when you saw it? >> Sigma and I went to see it, and then we went to see it again, and then we went to see it yet again, lmao. 4) Did this movie make you cry? >> Sure the fuck did, sure the fuck does. 5) Who are five actors/actresses in this movie? >> Matthew McConaughey, Anne Hathaway, Michael Caine, Ellen Burstyn, Jessica Chastain. Movie number four: District 9 1) Is the main actor your favorite actor? >> No, but I generally enjoy watching Sharlto Copley in stuff. 2) Do you know how old he is? >> No, and that’s not a detail I care to look up. 3) Did this movie make you laugh? >> I mean, yeah, there were a few funny bits, mostly because Wikus is a fuckin dork sometimes. But mostly it was not a laughing matter. 4) Last time you watched it? >> Uhhh... hmm. Maybe a year or two ago? I tend to avoid it because it gives me way too many feels. This is a common thread with me and things I really have emotional attachment to -- you’ll notice I’ll find excuses not to rewatch or reread them because I’m afraid of my own feelings, lmao. 5) Are you the appropiate age to see it by yourself? >> Well, yeah? Movie number five: Requiem For a Dream 1) What made you mad about this movie? >> Nothing made me mad, exactly. That’s definitely not the emotion I feel when watching it. 2) Was it based on a true story? >> It might have been based on real things that happen to real people, but not in any concrete “this is historical fiction” sort of way. 3) Do you wish it was real in any way? >> I’m sure a lot of it is real for a lot of people... I definitely do not want my life to go in that direction, though. It’s very much a “pay attention to that hole in yourself before it consumes you” story for me. 4) So what’s it about, anyways? >> The intertwined stories of four addicts. 5) Did they make a video game out of this movie? >> That... would be disturbing as fuck and I would not play that, lol. Movie number six: mother! 1) Did this movie bore you at any time? >> Oh, absolutely not. I was on tenterhooks the entire time. I even had to pause it at one point so I could have an anxiety attack. (That was also the moment when I realised I was definitely going to rate it 5 stars on Letterboxd. Listen, it makes sense, I promise.) 2) Was there a kiss scene? >> Er, well, the main characters were romantically involved, so there was kissing. 3) Who was the protagonist (main character)? >> The Mother, I guess. I don’t remember what she was called in the credits or in director interviews or wherever (she doesn’t have a name in the movie, no one does). 4) Have you seen this movie more than once? >> Nope. I sometimes consider watching it again because I do feel the need to, but that’s an experience I have to really be prepared for and I feel like I’m never prepared, lol. 5) Last time you saw it? >> Uh... I want to say... a year ago? Movie number seven: The Prince of Egypt 1) What is this movie’s genre? >> Er... I guess, like, animation. Which isn’t a genre to me either, but hey. (Maybe “family” or “adventure”...?) 2) Are there any kid actors in this movie? >> Probably, since there’s a fair number of kids in this movie and I don’t think they were all voiced by adults... but hey, maybe they were. 3) Where did it all take place? >> It’s animated so it technically just takes place in a studio. But the movie’s setting is Egypt and thereabouts. 4) Who was the biggest star in the movie? >> Like, as in... most famous actor in it? I really couldn’t say, it’s an incredibly star-studded cast all around. 5) What year did it come out? >> 1998. It was the first-ever movie I saw in a theater! Movie number eight: Quills 1) Main actor and/or actress? >> Joaquin Phoenix and Kate Winslet. 2) Is this a one-time only movie? >> Like, it didn’t have any sequels or anything, if that’s what you mean. 3) Is it a sequel to anything? >> No. 4) How much money did it make? >> I don’t feel like looking that up. Probably not a whole lot. 5) Favorite part? >> Oh god, uh. I couldn’t even pick one. Any of the dialogue scenes between the Marquis and the Abbé, also any of the scenes where the Abbé is overcome with horniness lmfao. Movie number nine: Event Horizon 1) When did you first see this movie? >> 2005, when I was in a psych hospital. It was one of the only films they had on tape.

2) Did it take a second time for you to like it? >> Nope, I loved it immediately. And proceeded to watch it every day for like a month. I don’t know how anyone in there put up with me. (Everyone being overmedicated probably helped.)

3) Does it have a happy ending? >> It doesn’t. Most horror movies don’t, right? 4) Who would you recommend it to? >> People who love gory space horror, and especially space movies of that particular nineties variety, you know what I’m talking about. 5) What’s its theme song? >> It doesn’t have one. Movie number ten: Repo! the Genetic Opera 1) Do you still have the movie ticket? >> I didn’t see it in a theater. I had planned on seeing it at a Vampirefreaks sponsored theater event in SoHo, but the line was so long I gave up and went home. Ended up hating it when I finally did get around to watching it, and then watched it again like a year or so later and loooooved it. Funny how that happens sometimes. 2) Favorite part? >> Oh man, how could I even choose? Maybe the Thankless Job scene. Or Night Surgeon! Obviously I’m going to pick anything Nathan-centric, lol. 3) Were there any songs you knew in this movie? >> No, the songs were written for the movie. 4) A quote from this movie: >> I’ma get lazy and say “Zydrate comes in a little glass vial”, sue me. 5) Were the main actors/actresses a perfect match or not so much? >> Like... romantically? Wasn’t that kind of movie. But as far as how they interacted in general, it was a really fun cast. Random Questions 1) Which one have you seen most on DVD? >> Actually, the only one I recall ever watching on a DVD is The Fountain, because I rented it from Netflix. 2) Which one have you seen most in theatres? >> Interstellar (3 times). 3) Did your parents like any of them? >> The only one my father saw was The Prince of Egypt because he took me to see it, and he complained about the skin colour of characters (not dark enough for his liking) in the car on the way home. While I was just basking in the divine afterglow of having just seen something beautiful that had changed my tiny life. 4) Which one did you see with your best friend? >> Well, Sigma was my best friend at the time we saw Interstellar. 5) Would you see #1 again? >> I do rewatch it sometimes, but not very often. It’s a real emotional trip. 6) Is #4 a movie you can only watch every once in a while? >> Yeah, and I mentioned that in one of the answers. 7) Was #5 hard to understand? >> Only if you have a hard time keeping up with multiple character arcs. Or if you’re just completely clueless about the mental mechanics of addiction, maybe. 8) Did you see #2 the day it came out? >> I didn’t. 9) Do you have #3’s movie ticket still? >> I think I kept at least one of the tickets for a while, but I never keep that kind of thing for long. What I really miss is the posters we’d gotten at the Franklin Institute showing. Those were nice, and I’d looked forward to putting one up in a room of my own one day. :( 10) Are there any sequels to these movies coming out? >> Not that I’m aware of. 11) Does your best friend like #9? >> --- 12) Did #10 have horrible special effects? >> I wouldn’t say that. 13) Who directed #6? >> Darren Aronofsky. He directed three of these movies, actually. 14) Did #8 scare you? >> Nah, it wasn’t that kind of movie. 15) Does #7 have a better effect at night? >> No, lol.

[fruit-teeth]

Joy

Alternate title: That time Demoman killed a gangster. 

/(FINALLY, I managed to finish this! I’m coming down with a sore throat, but I powered through and got this done anyway because that’s just how I am. So this is the next installment in my Origins series, and this chapter is Demoman. This one gets pretty long, but I hope y’all like it anyway!)/

Any nun at the Arms of Love Orphan Home would describe Tavish as a happy child. It was all over his record that he always in a good mood, that he loved to smile and laugh and joke with the other children. “Ay, he wis such a sweet child,” Sister Loreena, a nun who knew him most of his childhood, would sigh many years later. “He loved tae make the other children laugh, that's whit A remember most aboot him...” What Loreena conveniently seemed to forget, though, was that he had been at the same orphanage twice in his life. First, as a newborn baby, one who the nuns doted over until he was eventually adopted (of course he was adopted – he was beautiful, after all), but six years later he was promptly returned to the same place. Why? Because, allegedly, he was the reason his adoptive parents were now dead. He had a very strange obsession with explosives, and the nuns were aware of this but they were very concerned. When they banned him from going to the shops to buy his own, he just began making them, and no matter how hard the nuns prayed for him he never stopped. The other children didn't seem terribly concerned with the explosives, and many of them liked to watch him stuff dynamite into the dirt and set it off, blowing chunks of the earth everywhere while they all cheered. Yet, it was the start of the school year when things began to change. Tavish was enrolled in the education program taught right there at the orphanage, and it was there that a new nun was assigned to teach the children. She looked young, much younger than any of the other nuns, and she went by the name of Sister Joy. Joy entered the room, setting down her bag and writing her name with chalk on the board. “Hello, children,” she began, and she spoke in a strange accent they had never heard before. “My name is Sister Joy,” “Hello, Sister Joy!” the children greeted in unison, just as they had been taught. She seemed a little startled by the loud hello, but she shook it off and pinned up a piece of paper to the chalkboard. “This is your schedule, and you are expected to follow it every day unless told otherwise. Now, first, we will begin with devotions -” A girl in the back of the room suddenly gasped. “Tavish!” and that was all the warning there was before a jar of paint came tumbling down from the shelf above and burst open, painting the carpet blue. Joy glanced up, and that was when her eyes met Tavish's frightened face. He'd leaned a bit too far back in his chair and disturbed the shelves sitting behind him in the back – it was clearly a mistake, and while Joy was not happy about it she was also glad that he didn't hurt himself. “Please clean that up,” Joy sighed, pointing to the roll of paper towels sitting in the back. Tavish nodded quickly, jumping up and grabbing the towels and tearing a piece off. He didn't want to disappoint, the nuns here already did not trust him with any explosive. As Joy began to teach, Tavish got on his hands and knees and cleaned the paint off of the floor, glancing up to watch her as she gave the first lesson of the day. After the day ended, Tavish approached Joy at her desk, much to her surprise. “Sister Joy?” he began meekly, hovering over her desk with a look of earnest in his eyes. “I'm sorry I knocked ower the paint, it happened accidentally,” before Joy could even reply, he kept talking. “I wonae dae it again!” Joy laid down her pen, looking him over for a moment – he was tall for a seven-year-old, with thick hair on his head and large round eyes. “That's all right, Tavish,” she assured him. “It's washable paint, anyway, and I am very glad you were so eager to clean it,” she cleared her throat. “I heard from the other sisters that you like to make explosions?” He nodded. “Ay, ma'am,” “You like to be reckless, yes?” “Ay, ma'am,” “Well,” she sat up a little taller, making eye contact with him. “Would you like an opportunity to do something constructive for a change?” Tavish looked away for a moment. The word 'constructive' made him think of construction workers, so did she mean building? “I like makin' things sometimes,” he replied, nodding. Joy smiled a little. “Well, I'm sure you do. But, would you like to help me around my office sometimes? I could do with a little extra help, and you could do with the experience,” “Oh,” Tavish thought about it. “Is that fun?” She shrugged. “It could be. How about we start tomorrow afternoon, yes?” Tavish considered it before he nodded in agreement. “Okay, I can help ye. I can put things together!” “Wonderful,” Joy smiled again, nodding. “I will see you then, Tavish,” Sure enough, he arrived at her office the following afternoon, ready to help with whatever Joy needed him to do. She really admired his enthusiasm, most of the children wouldn't have been as eager to help out as he was. “So, Tavish,” Joy began, watching as he cut out stacks of worksheets with the scissors, making sure he didn't hurt himself. “When did you begin using your explosives?” Tavish shrugged, paying extra attention to the corners of each paper. “I dinnae really remember. I like to play with them and I was gonna explode Nessie at my old house,” Joy's brows furrowed. “Nessie? Do you mean the Loch Ness Monster?” “Shh!” Tavish hissed, whirling around and pressing a finger his lips. “Dinnae say her name! She'll hear ye!” Joy blinked, and she couldn't help but chuckle. “All right, all right. Who is Fergus?” Tavish went back to the papers. “Fergus is ma' old dad,” his voice was a little quieter. “He died, an' so did my old mum,” “Oh...” Joy's heart sank. The other nuns had told her beforehand about this. “I see,” she sat beside him, watching him cut the papers some more. “Well...you have all of us, now,” Tavish still didn't look up. “The sisters says Jesus forgives me,” “That's true,” Joy nodded, folding her hands on her lap. “Anyway, it's um...it's all in the past,” Tavish finally glanced up, and he suddenly got an odd feeling about Sister Joy. “How come yer not old?” he wanted to know, squinting. Joy seemed confused by the question. “What do you mean? Not all nuns are old ladies,” “Really?” Tavish blinked in surprise. “I thought they were all old maids...” “Ah,” Joy smiled, amused, shaking her head. “No, no...and I'm not that young, I'm...” Something out the window caught her attention, and her face fell. Tavish turned around, trying to see what she was seeing. “What?” Joy suddenly grabbed him, yanking him out of the chair and bringing him down to the floor. “Get down!” she exclaimed, her voice full of panic, and it was then that the loud sounds came. Tavish thought they sounded like firecrackers, but he had never seen someone so scared over firecrackers. “What is it?” he asked, feeling very anxious as he felt Joy trembling in fear against him. After a moment, Joy sat up, still holding Tavish close to her, and the sound of tires could be heard skidding away. She sat nothing for a long time, her lips parted slightly as she silently tallied the damage done to the windows. “What happened?” Tavish stared up at her, brows knitted in fear. “What broke the windows?” Joy did not look at him, and she whispered to no one in particular, “God, he found me...” Just then, the door opened, and Sister Loreena came rushing in. “What was all the noise?” she nearly squealed, pulling Tavish away from the window. “Joy, what happened!?” Joy did not answer, and she stood up, quietly leaving the room without another word. Tavish tried to get a better look at the bullet holes in the office window, but Loreena pulled him away. “Come away, child, ye shouldnae touch the broken glass!” The incident was never brought up again, and the window ended up being replaced. Tavish never really forgot about the event, but he continued to help Sister Joy with various odd jobs. She seemed kind and charming in a way most of the nuns weren't, and it wasn't long before he began to trust her completely. He got called a 'teacher's pet' by the other boys, but he didn't care – if he was lucky, maybe Sister Joy could be his new mother! Wouldn't that be something? But a month later, during recess, Tavish sat by the woods with his friends, and they all began to gossip about the teachers, as they often did. “Ye know what I heard?” began Micha, a small wiry boy with wide-rimmed glasses. “I heard Sister Joy isn't really a nun!” Tavish shook his head, making a face. “No, she's a nun! She's just not old like the other nuns! You're wrong, Micha,” “No, no!” chimed in Ramona, tall for her age but still just the same size as Tavish. “It's true! Kenny says he heard Sister Mary talkin' an' she said Sister Joy was 'impure'!” “Impure?” Tavish repeated. “What does that mean?” “Not holy,” Micha explained. “It means she isn't a nun!” This thought didn't sit right with Tavish at all, although he wasn't sure why. What did 'impure' mean? If she wasn't a nun, then what was she? He decided to ask her himself. When he went to visit her that afternoon to help sort her cabinets out, he asked her right up front: “Sister Joy, are you impure?” Joy nearly dropped the stacks of papers she was carrying. “Am I...am I what?” “Impure,” Tavish began to explain. “My friends said you were impure and that you weren't really a nun,” Joy went quiet before she turned around and knelt to Tavish's height. “Tavish,” she began. “Everything is rather...complicated at the moment. I can't explain everything, but...” she swallowed. “All I will tell you is that once everything is sorted out, I will have to leave,” “Leave!?” Tavish was flabbergasted, and he wrapped his arms around her neck. “But you can't go!” “I will have to,” Joy took his chin into her hand, and she kissed his forehead. “I wish I could stay, but that's not God's plan,” Tavish sniffed, blinking up at her. “Can...can I go with you?” Joy smiled sadly, and she shook her head. “I'm afraid not. You have to stay here,” “But I want to go with you,” he stared at the floor, pouting, tears welling in his eyes. “Maybe you could be my new mum...” Joy fell silent, and after a moment, she took Tavish's hand and squeezed it. “That can't happen, unfortunately,” she spoke very seriously to him, yet her eyes were full of warmth. “But, I want you to know that if my baby is a boy, I hope he's just like you,” There was a pause. Tavish looked up, realizing what she had said. “Baby...?” She placed his hand over her stomach, which was hidden beneath her robe, but he felt right away that it was firm. He stared in surprise, blinking. “You're going to have a baby?” “You must not tell the other children, whatever you do,” she lowered her voice, speaking in a hushed whisper. “This must be kept a secret,” Tavish felt downright shocked. Were nuns allowed to have babies? He knew they couldn't get married, so how would she have a baby? Now that he was so close to Sister Joy, he began to notice other details about her: her ears had holes in them, but no earrings, she had a very faint scar on her top lip, and perhaps the strangest of all was the marks on her wrists he’d noticed when she held his hand. Not to mention that when he saw her face up close, he realized she was not as young as he'd thought she was. She was already starting to look older...did she always have so many wrinkles? Still, Tavish told no one. He kept it in, never saying a word, but as the months progressed Sister Joy's secret pregnancy was becoming more and more noticeable. The other children noticed, but they didn't suspect that she was pregnant: they just giggled behind her back about her being 'fat'. Only Tavish knew the truth. And then came that fateful winter night. During a choir concert in the chapel, Tavish sang right along with the other children, just as he always did, when he noticed that Sister Joy was looking on the window again. She was in the audience, but he could clearly see her watching some lights going by through the stained glass. When the song ended, the children were dismissed, and Tavish watched as Joy opened the door and slipped out quickly, not saying a word. “Sister Joy?” Tavish followed after her, not even bothering to put on his jacket as he stepped out into the snow. “Where are you going?” She didn't seem to hear him, and she stood by the side of the road, where a car was parked. “I told you to leave me alone,” she spoke harshly to whoever was in the driver's side, his fists clenched in anger. “I don't need this right now,” Tavish stopped, watching the altercation from a safe distance. He caught a glimpse of who was driving the car: a large, scarred man, clad in a suit with a cigarette in his lips. “Shut up and get in the car, Helen,” he growled, removing the cigarette. Joy took a step back, shaking her head. “No. You don't control me anymore,” He turned his huge form towards her, and something shiny glinted in his hand. “I said,” he presented the gun, glaring into her eyes. “Get in the car, and take off all that shit,” Tavish gasped, freezing up. His heart pounded – what could he do? He had never seen anything like this before, and he was just a boy. Joy took another step back, gritting her teeth. “Don't do this, Issac,” Issac pursed his lips together. “Do the right thing, and get in the car,” when she didn't move, he sighed. “I'll count to three...one,” Tavish looked around frantically, feeling dizzy. He looked towards the warm glow of the church, suddenly recalling that there was something very important in his coat pocket. “Two...” In a flurry, Tavish rushed to the church doors, scrambling for the coat rack and nearly ripping down his coat. He grabbed the homemade grenade he'd hidden from the nuns earlier that morning, and he rushed back out into the snow. “Three!” Issac aimed the gun, but before he could do anything, a young boy came rushing up with a strange-looking object in his hand. “Tavish!” Joy exclaimed, shrieking and attempting to pull him back. The last thing Issac ever saw was the young boy tearing a pin out of the object before he threw it into the open window. Joy fell right on her back, holding Tavish as close to her body as possible, trying to shield him for flying debris as the car exploded, sending bits of metal everywhere. The noise died down, and Joy sat up slowly, still holding Tavish close to her. As she silently stared at all of the damage done, at the wrecked car and the remains of the man who had antagonized her, Tavish shifted in her arms. “Ow,” he whimpered, wriggling. Joy glanced down, pulling him away to look at him. “A-are you all right? I – oh, no!” she gasped, realizing that she hadn't managed to protect him from all the flying debris. “What?” he tried to blink, but something wasn't quite right with his vision. He touched his left eye, feeling at it. “W-what happened to my eye?” What happened next was a blur. Joy screamed for an ambulance, and the other nuns were surrounding him and whispering prayers over him as he was rushed to the hospital. He wondered if he was dying, but whenever he asked no one seemed to answer. His last memory of Joy was her hovering over him, tears in her eyes as she brushed his cheek. She was out of her robes, and for the first time, he saw her long black hair framing her face. She seemed youthful again as she stroked his hair, and her eyes glinted as she watched his face. “May God be with you, Tavish,” she whispered. “Thank you, for what you've done. This will not be forgotten,” He never saw her again, and the nuns never said where she went. The following events are debatable, but Tavish claims to this day that they happened. At just seven years old, Tavish was already ready to give up on life, and he suddenly felt hopeless and scared. He cried in the darkness, alone and terrified, and he sobbed into the dark, “I dinnae wanna be here anymore! I wanna go home! I just wanna go home!” He choked on his sobs in the dark, his shoulders quivering when suddenly someone joined him. “You must rise, Tavish,” a gentle voice whispered to him. A green glow appeared beside him, though he couldn't see a face. “But Joy left...” he sniffed. “Joy is gone,” “She will be all right,” the voice assured. “But you must rise. If you don't, you will never meet your family,” “What family?” Tavish looked up, his eyes unable to adjust to the glow. “I dinnae have a family,” A pair of arms held him, and he felt a loving warmth wash over him. “You do,” the voice assured. “And you have friends waiting for you – and they will love what you do. But, you must rise,” So he rose, and he continued. After all was said and done, Tavish sat alone in his bedroom, hugging his knees as he stared out of the window. He still had pain in some places, and now he only had one eye. Yet, despite everything, he was alive. Someone knocked on his door. “Tavish?” Sister Loreena poked her head in the doorway. “Tavish, darling, you have visitors,” Tavish stood up obediently, and he followed Loreena down the stairs to the meeting area. There stood a man and a woman, both watching Tavish anxiously as he entered the room. He paused, taking a look at both of them for a good while, before he asked, “Are you me new mum and dad?” The woman let out a sob, and she fell to her knees, pulling Tavish in her arms and holding him close. “Oh, my God! Oh, my God!” she exclaimed, beginning to weep, rocking him as she held him. Tavish blinked, very confused. He didn't know these people at all... The man knelt beside the two, unfurling a newspaper with the headline, Notorious Gangster Dead in Car Explosion. “We have of explainin' tae do, dear boy,” the man began, placing his free hand on Tavish's shoulder.

[dubsdeedubs]

A Minor Cat-astrophe

[AO3]

Notes: For @kamil-a in the 2019 Ghost Swap by @fyeahghosttrick!  This is my first time ever writing with these characters or for this game since I played it five years ago, so forgive the OOC-ness. I hope you enjoy!! :D 

Prompt: “sissel and jowd accidentally leave sissel's body in a taxi or something, the absolute shared look of horror between jowd and some household item as they realize they have to run around the city to get him back before anyone notices the Dead Cat, or the lack of cat in the house”

In hindsight, Jowd decides after everything is finally sorted out, it really could have gone much worse.

Then again, that had been a constant mantra of his for the past decade or so of his life. Ever since this life had started, with the breathless burn of hope that had overshadowed everything else, even the crack of a gunshot and the red-hot sear of pain in his leg,

They had won their desperate struggle against fate, and despite all odds, they had gotten a second chance. All of them.

It was just, he really hadn't expected that second chance to involve running frantically through the city's streets at some terrible hour in the morning, trying to find a taxi cab before its driver noticed a dead body in the backseat.

A cat's dead body, to be specific.

He wasn't entirely sure if that made the whole situation better or worse.

His world takes on a faint red tinge. Shouldn't there be an easier way of doing this? Says the bicycle seat gripped loosely in his hand.

"If there was one," Jowd mutters under his breath, "then I really wish I knew about it two hours ago."

The woman waiting next to him at the intersection glances at him. Jowd is suddenly very uncomfortably aware of the fact that he had just spoken out loud to a bicycle seat.

Maybe, Sissel suggests, if we call Yomiel -

Jowd blanches.

The past decade had treated Yomiel - not kindly, because Jowd isn't quite sure that being crushed by a large rock and subsequently going to jail for ten years could be considered kind under any circumstances. But, he knew with the certainty of having lived that particular possibility... better than it could have. Much, much better.

The man had been transformed by hope and his rewritten destiny into someone almost entirely unrecognizable from the vengeful, murderous spirit that had turned Jowd's life into a waking nightmare in a much darker world.

The key word here, however, was almost.

Jowd briefly imagines calling Yomiel, and the ensuing conversation. Specifically, he mentally played out the scenario of informing the man that he had forgotten the immortal, indestructible, irreplaceable physical vessel through which (and only through which) Yomiel's best friend can interact with the world... in the backseat of a taxi cab.

Yomiel had been confined to a wheelchair for much of the past ten years, but Jowd knew much better than most that the man didn't need physical mobility to be entirely terrifying.

If it helps, Sissel offers unhelpfully, I forgot too.

- 

How they end up in this mess involves a car chase, several cartons of smashed eggs, and an almost murder that would have been - without the intervention of a certain time-traveling cat ghost - just a regular murder.

It's a long story that's more than moderately entertaining, but Jowd has a haunting suspicion that it wouldn't stand up in a court of law. Especially when the prosecutors in this case would be 1) Sissel's murderous best friend who might just destroy his life and 2) Jowd's devastated daughter who also might just destroy his life, just with sad looks and tearful silence instead of literal homicide.

The core of it is, Jowd had taken Sissel along with him on a case, the kitten's small body tucked in his pocket. He had started doing the habit a year after Temsik Park, because Sissel didn't get much of a chance to explore otherwise, and as it turned out, solving crimes was much easier with someone who could rewind time to see events as they happened.

The sequence of events had become muscle memory at this point: bring Sissel along, usually in his coat pocket or in some sort of carrier; let him out to do his work discreetly at the scene of the crime; return back home before Kamila or anyone else noticed the distinct lack of kitten in their home.

Except this time around, with death averted and night's work completed, it suddenly became very apparent to Sissel and Jowd both that Sissel's body was nowhere in sight.

Are you sure it's not still in your pocket? The abandoned microwave beeps worriedly, its light flickering on and off with a certain nervous energy. I can't see my core in the Ghost World, but maybe -

As large and potentially laws-of-physics destroying Jowd's pockets were, he's decently certain he would notice having a dead cat in one of them.

"I don't understand," he mutters out loud to himself, "the only two places we've been tonight have been here and home. I suppose there was the taxi ride over here, but -"

Jowd goes quiet. "Oh," he says.

Oh?  Sissel repeats curiously.

Then, after a moment of realization, Oh.

The detective and the household appliance share a long look of absolute horror.

- 

Jowd had not realized just how many taxi cabs operated in this city. He always saw them out of the corner of his eye, but it was more or less easy to assume that they were the same ones. They were, after all, almost entirely identical.

That last fact was turning out to be a nightmare.

"I'm looking for a taxi," Jowd says into the phone. "A specific one. I had taken it earlier tonight, and I - ah, left something valuable in it."

"Sir," replies the voice on the other end, sounding entirely bored out of their mind, "all lost items are aggregated by the end of the night into our lost and found. Come into our office in the morning and you can see if your possession had been located."

"This is time-sensitive," he tries. "It's - a police matter."

"Do you remember the license plate?" Asked the voice on the other end, sounding completely unperturbed.

"Er." No, no he didn't. "I... do remember that the car had a difficult door?"

"...Sir, you'll need to wait until the morning."

Jowd opens his mouth, then closes it again. "I need to find before the driver does," he says reluctantly, uncertain of exactly how much he wants to say. "They might dispose of it if they find it first."

There's a long silence on the other line. "...Is this some sex thing?"

Jowd goes pale, entirely horrified at the possibility. "No! No, it's - it's a dead cat."

The line goes dead.

He stares at the phone in his hand.

"That could have gone better," Jowd mutters under his breath.

What's a 'sex thing'? Sissel asks curiously.

Kamila calls. Of course she does.

"Dad," she says bravely, only the slightest of a waver giving away her fear, "Sissel's missing. I've been looking for him all over, but I don't think he's in the house."

"I - I know, sweetheart," Jowd says slowly, after a long moment of consideration. "Don't worry. He'll be back home in a few hours."

His daughter seems surprised. "You - you know where he is?"

Ah. "Er, well." His brain freezes up on him. "I... decided to take him out for a walk."

Kamila is quiet for a long moment. "Dad, it's midnight."

"...Yes."

"And Sissel's a cat."

He laughs awkwardly. "Well, you know how he can be sometimes, sweetie."

"Okay, Dad," she says, sounding very unconvinced. "When will you and Sissel be back home?"

Jowd glances at his watch, and winces.

"You really should go back to bed, sweetheart," he tries. "We'll be back home in the morning, alright? Don't worry yourself by staying up for us."

"Okay, Dad."

The line goes dead.

Jowd lets out a deep, deep breath. 

Thirty minutes and no real progress later, Jowd's phone rings. It's an unknown number, and he eyes it with no small amount of alarm. He hesitates before pressing the glaring green call button.

"Hello?" He says hesitantly.

"So," says Yomiel. "I heard you've lost Sissel."

Jowd freezes. There's about several dozen questions swirling around in his head right now, and he isn't entirely sure where to start.

"Yomiel?"

"Yep. It's been a while, officer."

"How did you -"

"You gave your number to me ten years ago," the man says calmly. "Told me to use it, if I ever needed to."

A perfectly reasonable answer, if not for the fact that it cleared up approximately none of the confusion swirling around in Jowd's mind.

"...Also, Kamila called me for help."

Jowd clings onto the first thing that jumps to mind. "Kamila... knows how to contact you?"

"We've been pen pals for years," Yomiel says, sounding almost bored. "She tells me how Sissel is doing, I teach her how to redesign her blog theme and hack into federal data systems. Your wife introduced us. Keep up."

It hits Jowd suddenly just how entirely out of the loop he is.

"You," he says slowly, "have been teaching my daughter how to do what?"

"That's not important right now," the other man says dismissively. "What's that about Sissel going missing?"

Jowd takes a breath, lets it back out again. "He isn't missing," he says carefully. "He's in my phone right now."

"Huh." He doesn't think he's imagining the disbelief in the other man's voice.

Hello Yomiel.

For a long moment, Yomiel doesn't speak.

Then, slowly, with a strange softness, "Hello, Sissel. I'm guessing you've lost your body?"

The engineer's voice had changed upon hearing Sissel's ghostly whisper of a voice through the line, quiet enough that it could be dismissed as imagination by anyone not attuned. Maybe Yomiel shouldn't have been able to, not by the rules that governed the separation of life and death in their reality.

But Yomiel and Sissel had always been able to hear each other when no one else could.

In the backseat of a taxi cab, Sissel agrees.

"In the ba - Jowd." There's a sudden dangerous quality to the man's voice.

Jowd winces. "There was a murder case -"

"Don't. Don't speak."

Yomiel sighs. "...What do you need from me?"

[thecrazydragonlady]

A Christmas Gift- ML Secret Santa 2018

Summary: Yeah, Julerose is canon. Everyone kind of saw that coming a mile away so it’s no surprise that as Christmas time rolls around, Rose is more than hyper-aware of what her girlfriend is doing. Which is acting weird. Despite trusting Juleka to her deepest level, Rose can’t help but feel a bit uneasy.

Merry Christmas @sorcerymuses! I’m your Secret Santa for the @mlsecretsanta! I’m sorry this is a bit late; life got a bit hectic for me but I’m glad I made it before Christmas! I hope you and yours have a wonderful holiday season.

There was exactly one month, three days, four hours, fifty two minutes, and twenty-one seconds until Christmas Day.

Rose was already excited. Despite the long time that seemed to stretch between the current moment in time to the special day, the young French girl couldn’t help but smile at the mere idea of the holiday arriving. A warm feeling spread through her chest. This time of year always made her feel special and happy. She could feel the brisk winter weather beginning to move in and her eyes sparkled at the thought. She licked her lips in happy anticipation of the coming hot chocolate smothered in whipped cream and mini-marshmallows.

Oh how fun!

She hummed to herself as she entered the school. A few people gave her a greeting, which she returned, before she stopped at her locker to remove her light winter gear. There was a happy, anticipatory hum in the air. She wasn’t the only one excited.

Mylène and Ivan appeared just as she was shutting her locker door. Rose greeted the two of them then waited. Together, the three of them walked to class, chatting excitedly about any plans for the holidays, at which point, Rose recommended that the two of them visit the new winter display occurring at the Louvre. Mylène thanked her for the idea and Ivan smiled softly, nodding in agreement.

“Juleka and I are planning to go tonight,” she chirped. “It’ll be out until after Christmas.”

“My dad’s performing tonight but we’ll definitely make plans to go soon. It sounds exciting,” Mylène said.

Rose nodded as they entered the classroom. A small handful of people were already there but her eyes travelled up the rows to one person in particular. Juleka was sitting in their shared desk, head down, as she quickly scribbled something in a notebook in front of her. Rose smiled at the look of concentration on her face; she said good bye to Mylène and Ivan and, returning to her humming, went up the slight rise to join her.

Before she could go too far, Marinette stopped her with a smile and a wave, “Good morning Rose! You seem really chipper today.”

The girl next to Marinette leaned closer with a smirk. “That’s because we’re entering Christmas season,” Alya stated, “One of Rose’s favorite times of year.”

“Only after Valentine’s Day,” Rose said. The three of them giggled.

“No one would dare say otherwise,” Alya said, her grin remaining. Rose beamed. Several more of their classmates, Max, Kim, Nathaniel, Sabrina, and Chloe, entered followed a few minutes later by Nino and Adrien which prompted her to say good bye to the two girls and continue her way up the stairs. She made sure to say good morning to Alix who had been in the room. They spoke for a few seconds about the Louvre display that her father and brother had helped to build before Rose finally, finally, reached her seat. Juleka was so into whatever she was working on that she didn’t even notice. Rose looked her over.

It was amazing how different the two were. The dark-haired girl was her polar opposite in many ways. Rose was softness; Juleka, strength. Pink and purple. Extreme girly-ness and unashamed punk. Tall and short. Introverted and extroverted.

That didn’t mean that the two of them weren’t similar. Both were sweet. Both were loyal. Both, especially in the last few years since Hawkmoth’s arrival, had learned to be brave.

Rose thought back to the last year and how long it had taken for the two of them to acknowledge their feelings for each other. Oh, there’d been one reason after another. Rose especially had been under the impression she was straight since she had had a crush on a prince and Juleka, before her akumatization, had been far more reserved. However, once they had acknowledged themselves and their feelings, their romance had blossomed. It came in like a gentle rain more than a lightning strike. This suited Rose just fine. After all, she was a hopeless romantic.

She sat her bag down, “Good morning Jules.”

Juleka jerked. She floundered for a second as she attempted to hide the journal in front of her, leaning over it with her arms crossed, before she blinked up in clear surprise at Rose. There was a light blush on her cheeks. “G-good morning!” Rose leaned her head to the side.

“Is everything alright? You look a bit… flustered.” She reached out a hand to stroke her cheek. This only deepened Juleka’s blush.

“I’m alright. Promise.”

Rose smiled. She slowly dropped her hand before turning to unpack her bag. “Are we still good after school to visit the Louvre?”

Juleka straightened herself, sliding the notebook out of sight and into the bag on her right, away from Rose. She nodded. Rose’s smiled widened and she let out a little squee of excitement. Madame Bustier entered then. She finished organizing her materials, ready to begin the day.

Rose sighed happily as she squeezed Juleka’s hand as they exited the Louvre. A gentle breeze brushed over them. Despite having a light jacket on, Juleka still shivered and Rose quickly removed her jacket, wrapping it around her shoulders. They smiled to each other. Rose retook Juleka’s hand as they started walking.

“I had a lot of fun! That exhibit was quite stunning especially with that fake snow…,” Rose said. She went on for a few more minutes before she realized that Juleka wasn’t really responding. A quick side-eye showed her she was nodding her head every now and then.  

“…You’re going to give me all the candy in the world.” A nod.

“You think I’m a dork.” Another nod.

“Marinette is Ladybug.” Nod.

“I’m the Queen of France.” Nod.

Rose placed her free hand over her mouth. Juleka continued to nod every now and then but she was so lost in thought, she hadn’t even realized that she had stopped talking. A devious, mischievous feeling welled up in Rose’s chest and her eyes flashed with a plan. She slowed them. Juleka didn’t notice when they stopped walking. Nor did she notice when Rose moved just a smidge closer… stood on tip-toes… and blew on her neck.

Juleka screamed and scrambled backwards. A hand flew up to the spot Rose had blown on but she didn’t pay attention to her feet; she tripped over them and landed with a solid –thud- on the ground. Juleka hissed, rubbing her back. Rose gasped. She had definitely not expected that reaction. After all, Juleka was known to have nerves of steel as she had demonstrated the one time Mylène had been akumatized. She stepped forward and offered her a hand.

Rose ducked her head, “I’m sorry Jules. I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

There was a moment of confusion that flashed on Juleka’s face. Rose held her breath. Was she mad? Juleka let out a sigh-laugh and she took her hand, allowing her smaller girlfriend a chance to help her up. Once on her feet, she patted her clothes to get the dust off. Juleka smiled at her.

“That was… pretty awesome. Haven’t had a scare like that in a while.” Rose looked up at her from under her eyelashes.

“You’re not mad at me?”

“Nope.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Rose raised her head a bit but looked Juleka up and down. She was standing relaxed which helped to lower Rose’s anxiety at her being actually mad and lying about it. However… there was an uneasy knot forming in her chest. She reached out, catching both of Juleka’s hands and pulling them down between the two of them. They stood there for a moment. Another breeze brushed across them. The lamps around them flickered on as the sun began to set, casting them in a lovely orange glow. Rose rubbed her thumbs over the backs of Juleka’s hands. She bit her lip.

“Jules? Is everything alright? You’ve been… off today.”

Juleka blinked again. She smiled softly before pulling Rose into an embrace. She stroked her hair before saying, “I promise. I’m alright Rosebud.”

“You sure,” Rose asked, leaning back a bit.

Juleka placed a gentle peck on her forehead. Rose wrinkled her nose in response. The taller girl smiled, “Promise.”

There was exactly one week, two hours, twenty-six minutes, and forty-eight seconds until Christmas.

Marinette paused as she entered the bathroom. All was quiet except for some soft sniffles coming from inside one of the stalls. Tikki appeared from her bag. The two shared a quick glance before Marinette looked for the door where the sound came from. She leaned her head to the door. Another sniff. Marinette straightened and knocked softly, “Hello? Is everything okay?”

The door squeaked a bit as it opened. Marinette’s jaw dropped. Rose’s face was a bit puffy and swollen; her eyes were deeply rimmed in red and she attempted to wipe her eyes. “Rose! Are you okay?”

She sniffed, “I… I….”

“Don’t you dare say fine,” Marinette cooed. She reached forward and pulled her into a tight embrace. Rose sniffed again.

“I… I’m so scared, “she admitted. “Juleka…. Juleka…..”

Marinette rubbed her back, “Shhhh. Let’s head somewhere more comfortable okay? I’ll listen to all your worries.”

Rose wiped her eyes. “You don’t have to….”

“You’re my friend,” Marinette cut her off. “I hate to see you so upset. Let me help, okay?

Rose hesitated but eventually nodded. She wiped her eyes again and allowed Marinette to wrap her arms around her shoulders, gently leading her from the bathroom. Class was in session, thankfully, so there was no one there to question why Rose looked like she’d been crying for the last few minutes. Marinette led them to the library. The librarian gave them a dirty look and started to say something but Marinette, being a strong class president, quickly explained that her friend was in need of some emotional help and they needed a quiet place to speak. The older woman looked Rose up and down. Her frown softened. She granted them permission to stay as she went back to placing books on the shelf. Rose smiled at Marinette in relief. They found a secluded corner with one of the many tables. Marinette stared at Rose while she twiddled her thumbs on the tabletop; finally, she took a sigh.

“Juleka has been distant recently,” she said softly. “I mean… I always knew she was quiet but this… this is going to a new level.”

“Start at the beginning,” Marinette encouraged. Rose nodded.

“It started about a month ago. We went to the Louvre exhibit, you know, the interactive winter one? She was… distant that day. I was actually able to scare her.”

Marinette blinked. “You managed to scare Juleka?”

Rose chuckled a bit, “I know right? Anyway, it started that day. Ever since then, she’s been… I don’t want to say ignoring me but she’s definitely not paying a lot of attention. She keeps hiding a notebook from me.” She paused, swallowing hard. “We don’t go on dates like we used to. When the bell rings, she runs out of the classroom without so much as a good bye to me.”

Marinette bit her lip. She had to admit, she’d seen that behavior; Juleka had always made it a point to walk out with Rose since the two of them started dating and now…. Well, she was pretty much the first one out of the room. Alone.

“I don’t even know where she’s going.” Rose sniffed. Tears stung at the corners of her eyes again and Marinette quickly handed her a handkerchief. Rose took it gratefully, wiping at her eyes. “She’s not talking to me. I can’t even tell you how many text messages I’ve sent that have gotten no response.” She swallowed again. “Do you… Do you think that she hates me? Is she mad about that joke? I didn’t mean to scare her that badly. I promise.”

“Rose, Rose,” Marinette soothed. She reached out to gently touch the girl’s hands. Rose had to blink. “Rose, we both know that Juleka isn’t like that. She wouldn’t hold a grudge over a little prank like that.” She paused. “You two do need to talk though. How about I help set that up?”

“You… you will?”

Marinette nodded. “Of course we will. I’m pretty sure anyone in our class would be willing to help. Except for, you know, Sabrina and Chloe.” Rose smiled.

“Thank you Marinette. You really are the greatest class president ever.” Marinette smiled.

“Are you calm enough to go back to class?” Rose nodded, standing. The two of them left with a soft thank you to the librarian who wished Rose a quick recovery in happiness as the two of them headed back.

The wheels were already turning in Marinette’s head before they were even out the door.

The bell rang. Everyone started to pack their bags but Juleka was already set to go. She picked it up, scooched behind Rose, and started quickly down the stairs. A hand lashed out and grabbed her wrist and she stopped in surprise more than anything. Marinette smiled up at her brightly. Juleka blinked.

“Uh… Hi Marinette.” She looked at her wrist. “Is everything okay?” Marinette released her.

“Sorry about that,” she chirped. “I wanted to ask you for some help before you ran out today.” Juleka shifted a bit, glancing around as the rest of the class filtered out of the room. She sighed.

“Sure. What can I help you with?” Marinette beamed.

“I’ve been noticing some strange behavior in the class lately….”

Juleka’s eyes narrowed, “O-okay….”

“And I wanted to get a couple of people’s feedback on what we should do about it.”

Now, her mouth went dry, “Like… an intervention?” Marinette nodded.

“Exactly! An intervention.” She turned to shuffle in her bag. A light swear came from Marinette and she quickly turned back to Juleka. “Oops. I accidentally left the notebook with my notes in my locker. Would you mind waiting here while I go get it?”

Juleka opened her mouth, “Marinette, wait…!” It was too late. Marinette ducked around her and was out the door before she could stop her. This left Juleka in the room. She dropped the hand she had raised to stop her and sighed.

Someone cleared their throat.

She spun. Standing behind her was Rose. Her face was a bit red and swollen, her eyes casted to the ground. Juleka swallowed hard.

“Rose….”

“Juleka….”

They both stopped. Both looked away and down to the ground. Juleka clenched her fists. She turned back but the words she had to say stopped in her throat.

Rose was crying.

She sniffed, her lip trembling as she worked up the nerve to say, “Juleka, tell me what’s going on.”

Juleka’s jaw dropped, “Nothing’s going….”

“Don’t tell me that,” Rose shouted. Juleka stopped but she didn’t, “You’ve been so distant with me lately. I’ve tried to talk to you before but all you’ve done is leave me out in the cold. It’s been a month Jules. A month. We haven’t been a date, you haven’t responded to half of my text messages, and, worst of all, you completely ignore me during the school day.” Now it was Rose who clenched her fist. “Just, please, tell me what’s going on.”

Juleka seemed to shrink a bit. “I can’t,” she replied weakly. Rose’s eyes went wide. It took a second for the words to hit her but, when they did, they hit hard. The tears didn’t stop as Rose’s jaw tightened. She walked past Juleka who raised her hand to stop her; Rose slapped it away.

“Don’t touch me,” she snapped. Juleka felt numb. Rose didn’t bother to look back as she headed to the door and, without another word, left her alone.

How many days was it until Christmas? She didn’t know any more. Really, she didn’t care anymore.

Rose curled into her pillow, hugging it tight to her as the tears fell again. Her parents had been kind and understanding, trying to do their best to soothe their heartbroken daughter as best as they could, but eventually gave her the space she needed by leaving a fresh plate of cookies and warm tea on her desk.

The tea was probably cold by now.

Juleka rang the doorbell. A shorter man answered; he had blonde hair like Rose and wide blue eyes covered with glasses. She swallowed. “Good evening Mr. Lavillant. Is Rose home?”

Mr. Lavillant eyed her, his brow furrowing, “She’s not right now Juleka. Why don’t you try coming back tomorrow?” Juleka wanted to ask to wait until she got there but he shut the door quickly and she was left on the landing. She stared at the door sadly before turning to leave. Mr. Lavillant, who had seen this through the peep-hole, turned to face his daughter who had her feet pulled up underneath her on the couch. “She’s gone ma petite.”

Rose sniffed, “Thank you Papa.”

He moved around the couch, hugging her shoulders. “Are you sure this is alright? She really wants to talk to you.”

Rose nodded. “I… I can’t see her right now.” He placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

“Do not let you or her keep hurting,” he soothed. Rose didn’t look at him as he left.

Juleka had never felt so cold in her life. She couldn’t stop the tears either; this probably had to have been the hardest she had cried in a really long time. Since Chloe’s photo-day prank last year at least. She sniffed. Reaching into the front pocket of her winter jacket, she pulled out her phone and stared at the notifications. No new text messages. God, she’d never felt so stupid before in her life. Her emotions shifted and she angrily stuffed it back into the pocket, shuffling her way along the sidewalk.  Snow was falling softly as night rose around her.  Juleka sniffed again. Why was this so hard?

A soft noise drew her attention. Juleka raised her head, eyes widening as she landed on a familiar figure. Ladybug was a hero. Everyone in Paris knew that; after everything she’d done, it wasn’t really a surprise. It was surprising to see her unhooking her yo-yo from a nearby lamp and placing it back on its signature spot at her hip before she smiled directly to her.

“Good evening,” she said, “Juleka right?” She nodded mutely. Ladybug’s smile didn’t waver. “I happened to be on patrol tonight and couldn’t help but see that you look a little down. Is everything alright?” Juleka sniffed. She was tempted to say it was but she didn’t, instead turned her head away. What excuse could she give? She couldn’t really hold someone as important as Ladybug up since she probably had a whole host of different things she could be doing. A red hand gripped her shoulder and Juleka looked back, surprised yet again to find Ladybug closer, genuinely smiling at her. “Don’t worry about anything else. My job is to help all citizens of Paris.” She squeezed. “I’ve got time and I’m told I’m a pretty good listener.”

Juleka squeezed her hands together. The package that she’d been holding caused her exposed knuckles to turn white. Ladybug leaned her head to the side, “A gift?”

“For…” Juleka answered, “For my girlfriend.” The tears came back. “I messed up Ladybug. I was so focused on getting this gift done that I lost track of what was important.” The hero’s expression softened.

“Have you told your girlfriend this?” Juleka shook her head.

“I keep trying. She won’t meet with me.” She dropped her hands. “It’s been a week. I… I finished this the same day we fought just so I could make it up to her but she’s been avoiding me.” Ladybug hummed.

“Would you like my help?”

“Wh-what?”

Ladybug reached down and pulled off her yo-yo again. She flung it; the great thing about having a magical weapon was that she didn’t have to worry about it not snagging around whatever it was she needed it to snag or even breaking. It wrapped around the nearest building top. She gave it a test tug anyway, to kill time. “I already said: my job is to help all citizens of Paris. You made a mistake and you admit to it; I know that your apology is going to be heartfelt.” She turned back, holding out her hand, giving her one last chance to make her choice. “Let’s go make sure your girlfriend hears it.”

Juleka sniffed and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. Without a second thought, she reached out and let Ladybug get a tight grip on her before they were flying over the Paris skyline.

A gentle knock on her balcony doors stirred Rose from her sleep. She sat up, bleary eyed, and rubbed her eyes until her vision corrected. She had to blink a few times. This wasn’t….

Standing on her balcony was Juleka.

Rose scrambled off of her bed, flinging the doors open, “Juleka! What are you…? How did you…?”

“I need to talk to you,” she cut in. Rose’s mouth clapped shut. This was… new. Juleka had always been the more reserved of the two of them but now, she was direct and forward. “I know you’re mad at me so I won’t ask to come in but I need to talk to you.” She took a deep breath. “I am so sorry Rose. I never meant to make you feel like I didn’t care or want to be with you. I did. I do. I want to be with you for a long time.” She paused. While Ladybug had been carrying her, she had been sure to tuck her gift in her pocket for protection, and now, she pulled it out. “This,” she continued, “This is the whole reason.”

Rose eyed the little box. Hesitantly, she reached out to take it, her eyes starting to get a bit of its sparkle back as she pulled the top open. It was a jewelry box. Inside was a long gold chain with a crudely made heart-shaped locket on the end. The initials of “J and R” were etched into the front.  She pulled it out, examining it in the low light of her room. This was….

“I made it,” Juleka said softly. “Alix and Nathaniel helped. They helped me learn how to work with metal so I could customize it.” She bit her lip. “I wanted to give you something special. I wanted it to be unique.”  Pause. “I… I was so focused that I neglected you and you didn’t deserve that, no matter what my reason was so I… understand if you just want me to leave.” She ducked her head before looking back up to the Paris skyline. “Ladybug said she would be willing to take me home so… I’ll go.”

“Juleka, stop.” Juleka blinked and looked down. Rose was smiling softly. She reached up, placing the locket around her neck before she reached out to take her hands. “We… should talk more. There’s a whole month to make up for after all.”

Juleka’s shoulders slumped and she smiled in relief.

Rose led the way back into the apartment, opening her bedroom door to let her parents know that Juleka was visiting and to have them come and look at the wonderful gift she was given.

Ladybug, meanwhile, couldn’t help the grin on her face. She straightened before swinging off into the Christmas Eve night.

Happy Holidays! ^^

[the-roanoke-society]

concerning the co-op mission on the moor.

on the canonical beginnings of hymns & holograms, puppy love, and to some extent, the solidifying of butterfly knife.

some of the details below the cut are not pleasant. please exercise caution.

it was around seven, eight months after what was affectionately being called the ‘poppyacalypse.’ the social climate worldwide had more or less settled back into some state of normal.

and succubus, to be frank, was miserable.

because butterfly knife had come to a bittersweet end when the kingsman--one of whom had nearly lost his lower half—went back to the united kingdom to rebuild their organization. a few souls, it turns out, had escaped poppy’s attack, one of whom was named the new arthur: rowan alston, who had formerly carried the title of agent kay. with the help of his remaining agents, the reconstruction of one of the world’s finest spy organizations began.

but the apparent peace they experienced then was sort lived.

reports began flooding in from scotland, all around glasgow, edinburgh, the surrounding villages, merlin’s hometown. murders. many murders. gruesome ones at that, that left scotland yard baffled—not only because of the lack of evidence for use against human beings (they kept finding canine hair but the killings were too many, too bloody, to be the work of animals alone—animals didn’t work in groups like this, animals couldn’t coordinate like this) but because the bodies were so precisely mutilated they seemed like they couldn’t be the work of a person at all. who had the strength to eviscerate, say, the corpse of a three-hundred-pound farmhand like this?

so they called on the kingsman.

who were quickly--we’ll say surprised.

something attacked them while doing surveillance at night. something—something inhuman that they hadn’t been anticipating.

eggsy was almost bitten by… whatever it was. almost.

harry, roxy and merlin all thanked christ he wasn’t.

“we have to call the borley council.” harry said softly, one evening, rubbing at his face while he was studying the files with merlin, who had been busily trying to explain it all as just a pack of wolves that had gotten out of hand. unusually large, unusually clever wolves. not completely impossible.

“who?”

“the borley council. they’re the british cousins to roanoke.” merlin just—stared at him, uneasily. sure, succubus—raeanna? was that her name?—had been kind enough. gentle. but… he didn’t trust them.

harry, however, was of a different opinion.

“for god’s sake, just let me have the comm.”

but as it turned out—borley wasn’t exceptionally talented with the demonic. had this been simply a case of werewolves gone amuck, it would have been easily handled but something was wrong. the ones they brought in, the bodies of these poor farmers, country folk, city folk—they all had this sigil burned into them. circles, triangles, geometric in nature. but…

ness had shuddered at the sight. “call roanoke. get lilith on the line. now.”

and so it was that one day, agents succubus and lycan were called into lilith’s office, going over photos, maps, the various histories of the lands where this was happening.

“… sol?” lilith began over the intercom, as if she was hesitant, while they continued their quiet murmuring, trying to fit together what pieces they could.

“yes ma’am?”

there was a pause. images flowed across her mind, one in particular, of an agent still reeling with the damage of that godforsaken place in the hills, sticking. “can you send seraphim to my office please?” lilith made a note to talk to her about picking an apprentice at some point. seraphim knew that city better than most, knew the demons there. but it was beginning to wear on her. maybe this was just the adventure she’d need to put the light back in her eyes.

and succubus looked downright delighted. “morgan gets to come? oh she’s never been to the uk before, she’ll be delighted. and a chance to show her stuff? lilith she’ll fucking pass out.”

and lilith just smiled. “… maybe.”

she couldn’t ignore the pull, and while she didn’t know what it meant at the time—she trusted it. as she always did.

so it happened that agents lycan, succubus and seraphim were flown across the pond—and taken straight to kingsman headquarters, where the kingsman and some members of borley were waiting for them.

well.

some borley members would’ve been waiting for them had they arrived on time. but as it turns out, they were very early, so it was just harry, merlin and eggsy there to greet them.

that was when eggsy and lycan locked eyes for the first time.

(of all the ship tags, there are—many, who may have had rough starts. but among those, still, are puppy love and hymns & holograms. puppy love’s main obstacle was in the form of princess tilde. but hymns & holograms, well…)

merlin looked upon seraphim and was hit with multiple emotions at once.

the attraction was instant.

the affection was not.

he didn’t say a single word to her during the welcome, aside from the preliminary ‘welcome to kingsman’ shpiel. harry was too blatantly overjoyed at seeing succubus again, eggsy was trying to figure out lycan as quickly as possible—and seraphim wasn’t a moron. she could read merlin’s distaste from a mile away. it hurt, but it wasn’t entirely unexpected, given the history of witches in this country.

all right. so the quartermaster was offended at her existence, and that of her colleagues. fine. not the first time. not the last.

after a while, borley agents dartmoor, shuck and canvey arrived—along with ness—to go over the mission files and collected data so far. photographs of the corpses, maps, logs. imagery that lycan immediately recognized—sort of.

she’d frowned, “this—this isn’t right. look, these are definitely werewolves but the marks are—just so precise. these are like surgeon’s cuts.” she shook her head. “there’s something else at play here. has something to do with those sigils. rae, morgan? anything familiar?”

“not even slightly.”

it dawned on the roanoke women, in the kingsman dining room, that this may take weeks to crack.

it did.

because the killings—they seemed to slow down, once they arrived. like something knew they were here. that they were looking for it.

and one day, after they’d been there for a few weeks—after merlin had shown enough evidence of being wound up so tightly he hardly knew what to do with himself, after seraphim had begun to openly bite her bottom lip and stare at the ground at some of the offhand things merlin would say, as if ashamed—harry and succubus came together to think of something. eggsy and lycan were entirely too distracted by each other, and that was fine. one couple behaving like this was enough.

one night over scotch, harry said quietly, “you know—morgan’s rather sweet. and if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you harbored some feelings, based on how you’re so cold to her for no reason—”

“i absolutely do not.” came merlin’s swift answer. too swift. “she’s—she’s a—“

“writer?” harry suggested. “bookworm? a capable agent, has kept rae out of trouble multiple times…”

“no, harry, she’s—“ a heavy sigh. “she’s a witch.”

“and?”

merlin was squirming. it was unnatural to see.

“so she’s—“

“if the next words out of your mouth are ‘in league with the devil,’ then so help me—”

“no, no, nothin’ like tha’. i just—“ he’d never seen merlin quite at this kind of loss for words. and when he spoke again, it was slowly, like he was carefully thinking out what he said: “—i don’t know how to approach someone who seems like they dinnae belong to this plane of exist’nce. she just—seems to flit about, y’know. like nothin’ bothers her. nothin’ quite touches her…”

“oh i can assure you, plenty bothers her.”

“like wha’?”

“your callous behavior, for one.”

(the talk that seraphim and succubus had went a bit differently: “i wish i didn’t like him so much. he’s so handsome, and smart, and that laugh…”

“then why do you wish you didn’t like him?”

“because i know he’ll never like me in return, rae. and it—it hurts. i can’t keep doing this. better to let it go now, before it gets out of hand… i still have jack to contend with when i get home…”

and poor lycan—seraphim just put an arm around her shoulders. “amy, look at me… we’re going to be fine. okay? everything’s going to work out. somehow. i promise. we have to have each other’s backs out here.”)

the group temporarily relocated to the kingsman glasgow headquarter office to be closer to the scottish moors where the most recent slaughter had taken place. harry’s comments stung hamish enough to the point that he’d softly agreed—at harry and succubus’s insistence—to take seraphim on a walk around the moors. coincidentally, the same spaces that he’d explored as a child.

at first—it was unbearable. seraphim could hardly get a word out of him, and she gave up. so for a while, they walked in silence together—which was almost comfortable. almost.

until seraphim squinted, spying what little sunlight broke through the overcast sky glinting off the surface of a lake very far away, and made a comment about the loch ness monster.

“… you lot know about nessie?”

“… what? of course we do, borley more than us, but we’re very much aware she exists. she’s just—a lot quieter now, with her age.”

“… i fuckin’ knew it.”

and his grin was so broad that it broke her heart.

but more importantly it led to him actually asking her a question: “what—what else have ye seen?”

she began gently. stories of the gentler fae folk, the cryptids more likely to cuddle than to claw. and he kept asking her questions. so she kept answering.

and then, when the conversation reached a lull, when they’d reached the top of a hill overlooking the nearest village, dull in the bright, murky light of the afternoon, she turned to him, still soft, still wary she’d lose what she’d gained—“harry said you were born around here. is that your hometown?”

“yes, actually.”

“… what was it like to grow up here? before you moved to glasgow.”

for a beat, he didn’t answer. her stomach fell to her knees. maybe it was too much too soon.

but then he began. “believe it or not, a lot more interesting than ye might think, given how tiny the place is…”

so really you could say it happened on a moor. with a cloudy sky. very slowly.

and neither of them would’ve recognized it then, if you asked them. but looking back—they’d both agree: yes. it happened on a moor.

by the time they were almost back to the boarding house where they were staying in—a clever cover for the glasgow offices—they felt closer. neither would admit it. but seraphim caught a whiff of his cologne, he could smell her perfume.

when had they started walking so close together?

there was a moment when they were standing in the foyer, looking at each other. and merlin was about to open his mouth, to say something, but then—

“there you two are! and nothing ate you, great. i’m starving, harry said he knew about this great little tavern down the road, are y’all hungry? we need some protein before we head out tonight. i can go grab eggsy and amy if you’re ready to go?”

and they both answered with a bit more enthusiasm than they meant: “yes!”

but when it was time to sit for dinner, they sat down next to each other as if they’d been doing it for ages. harry swore there was a moment when he almost put an arm around her like it was nothing.

harry squeezed succubus’s hand under the table, rubbing a thumb over her knuckles.

even like this, it was still the most relaxed he’d seen merlin in ages. one hand around a pint and the other—not quite behind her. resting on the back corner of her chair. and she was leaning a little into him, like they already shared some private joke that was making her smile so hard her nose crinkled.

a start.

this—harry glanced to the woman sitting next to him—was a touch a familiar. it was fun, getting to see it from an outside perspective. getting to help.

until the night came full force, dropping down with an inky blackness. stars like diamonds shards. and a full moon, milky white.

“all right, r team, we’ll take the southern half. b team, you’ve got the north. merlin, wizard, you read us?”

“loud and clear--seraphim. all of ye’. everyone’s signals are tied back to us here at th’ glasgow base. if any of ye need extraction, call a code red. we’ll get to ye as soon as we can.” his tone softened at the last bit. seraphim was the only one who hadn’t understood that he’d been speaking just to her (she’d almost missed a swift embrace between lycan and eggsy—but harry and merlin had seen; harry’d just lifted his brows in a pointed glance at the quartermaster. merlin just rolled his eyes. but it stuck with him). “otherwise, we’ll see ye at the rendezvous point here in a few hours. agent galahad’s stationed at the point to keep it secure, but keep in mind that post is a bit aged… he can receive calls, but he can’t answer them. all that aside—good luck.”

it was cold. they were bundled in layers, all from the roanoke, borley, statesman and kingsman labs, but the winter winds cut through them still. seraphim shivered, turning back. “succubus, you’ve got—alll of this—“ merlin had his hands folded together, watching the feeds. he ignored the anxiety building in his muscles. it was a lot to keep track of, not counting the additional footage streaming from a pair of drones overhead. “and amy, my darlin’, this neck of the woods is yours. i figured, divide and conquer. arms up now, lemme see—all right, everyone packin’ the good shit. groovy. blessed these shells myself, if they fail us, i’ll eat a shoe. remember what sprite said, elbows in, eyes sharp. don’t shoot to kill if at all possible. these things are still men, somewhere in there. probably. and we may not find anything at all.”

merlin was still trying to piece together how he felt about the leadership in her voice coming in over the mic when the three put their hands in and then lifted—an old school “team, break!”

all six agents separated, trying to tackle the moor in as broad of sweeps as possible.

and for a while, nothing happened. but instead his dread only increased.

merlin thought back to a brief remark he’d made to harry, likening the work of roanoke and borley to children with make-believe toys, playing spy, when he’d been in a particularly vicious mood (which of course happened when seraphim rounded a corner and walked straight into him and his hands went to her arms… the travesty).

he wished he could take it back.

because as the night got colder, darker, the tension on the field rose.

and then it began.

“—succubus? ye’re heart rate’s gone up, talk to us.”

“—morgan how far away from me are you right now?”

“throw up a light. … shit, maybe ten, fifteen yards, why?”

“… i need you to come here please.”

now seraphim couldn’t see what succubus did, which at that second may have been for the best. her voice held a thinly-veiled panic so that the others on the moor didn’t all rush in (although everyone did ask—we’ve got southern charm, borley has their british manners). “no, no, guys, i’m all right, just uh, need my dearest guardian angel to please come this way…”

but merlin could see, through her glasses. and he fought to say silent.

seraphim took the words out of his mouth, anyway. “… jesus christ, lord of heaven.”

stick figures. stick figures like ones they’d both seen only one time before (and would see one time again), wrapped in—okay, it looked like a mix of human ligaments, hair and good old-fashioned twine. great. hanging from tree branches, leaning against trunks.

seraphim clocked their coordinates, speaking them into the ears of the other agents. “everything’s fine, we’ll signal if we need help, but for the time being, maybe avoid us until succubus and i give the all clear.” merlin was impressed. if seraphim was anxious, he couldn’t hear it.

“morgan this is not good…” succubus lifted her flashlight beam, focusing on one figure, then another, then another.

“they—look, they’re making a trail…”

howling lots of howling. sounding somewhere far away.

seraphim began to creep forward through the trees, eyes up, as lycan’s voice crackled to life, “pack movement. sounds like it’s north of us. ears open.”

merlin jumped when harry suddenly appeared, mugs of tea in hand. “merlin? are you all right? you look a bi—“ but harry’s voice failed when he saw the feeds. he almost dropped the cups.

succubus and seraphim pressed forward, close together. “how many of these things are there…?”

the answer was: a lot. too many. leading to—somewhere off the moor. further into forest. somewhere where it was like their flashlight beams lost strength, and their glasses—seraphim squinted—the glasses were no help at all.

more howling. still distant, but more spread out. it sounded like it was coming from a large, surrounding circle…

“was—was that the pack?” canvey’s voice was trembling. “why—why did—“

“hush.” lycan snapped. “… this isn’t right. packs don’t do this… if this is even still a pack, it sounds twice as big the group that gave the call before…”

harry had his hands folded neatly in his lap. merlin’s were clasped together against his lips.

“something tells me… that whatever’s behind all this… is right down this way.” seraphim whispered, haltingly. but succubus grabbed her arm when she took a step forward.

“this is just like last time. look, we’ve got the coordinates, we leave now, get backup tomorrow. you don’t have to go down that way.”

but seraphim just shrugged off her grip, gently. “you’re worrying too much. sure it’s—really fucking creepy, but that’s our bag. you and i are the most qualified to tackle this anyway. trust me, i’ll be fine.”

“seraphim.” she was surprised to hear merlin’s voice. “seraphim, return to the rendezvous point. that’s an order.”

and she had the audacity to roll her eyes. “quartermaster, with all due respect—“

“morgan. please.”

and seraphim wasn’t the only one who was taken aback that time. harry locked his gaze on him, startled by the tenderness in his voice. ‘tenderness’ was an apt descriptor.

“look—everyone relax, all right? let me check it out, a least a surface look. i promise i’ll be fine. rae, you stay here, keep watch on my six, no reason for both of us to get ambushed.”

merlin’s eyes searched the screen. no blips, no heat signatures but their own. which—wait, if there were wolves about, then where were they are on the radar?

he watched with dread as seraphim’s began moving forward, with zero hesitation. he started taking up one of the drones in an attempt to circle the moor. nothing. that couldn’t be right.

“whats wrong?”

“what’s wrong is tha’ the only heat signatures i’m readin’ are those of th’ agents, harry. we had audio of whatever’s out there with them. but there’s no other blips.”

an eerie silence fell. it felt like it wrapped around seraphim’s frame like a robe. she could faintly see an outline of her silhouette from where succubus’s flashlight shone behind her, keeping her inside of the beam.

until—

something else was on the radar now. a thin green line, looking like a vein, in between succubus and seraphim’s signatures on the radar screen. “what on earth—“ it wasn’t organic to the rest of the screen readings. merlin’d never seen anything like it.

“morgan?” succubus took a few steps forward. silence. harry stared at her feed. seraphim was gone, as simply as if she’d dipped behind a wall.

and seraphim thought she heard something like the drawing of a curtain, saw the light disappear. when she turned around, it was just her light that shone. “rae? … rae?”

“harry, what—what—“ his voice failed him. harry was silent. this was—unexpected. because according to seraphim’s feed, it was succubus who’d vanished. merlin took little comfort in the fact that he could see bits and pieces of her gun moving in and out of the borders of her glasses.

there was an awful, awful quiet that fell as both women froze. listening.

seraphim jumped when there were as an abrupt explosion of both warmth and light behind her. torches, tied to the trees. more figures, same as the others. “shit,” she swore. it was more of the trail.

succubus called her name one more time and the memories of what had happened in alabama two summers ago came flooding back, visceral.

“raeanna—rae.” harry took up a mic. “breathe. calm down. talk to us. tell us what you’re seeing…”

seraphim had no choice. she had to keep moving. she turned her flashlight off, very aware that this could all just be an illusion. she remembered her training. but she held a bare hand out to one of the torchlights, abruptly brought it back. it felt real. her footsteps made no sound as she continued, and she walked for maybe another minute before—oh.

well. that explained a lot.

someone had opened a gate.

and this gate was tied to… she edged closer to the pit. it was surrounded in sigils, shapes that looked exactly like the ones seemingly burned into the bodies of the victims.

harry had succubus’s tremulous voice in his ear, and merlin, merlin couldn’t speak at all.

these feeds were fucking something else. on one screen, nothing, a forest, darkness. and on seraphim’s, literally just yards away—this.

and he wanted to tell her to stop, wanted to tell her to turn around, but he found himself rooted in terror. his heart was in his throat.

but he saw what she saw as she looked down.

it was a wolf—but it wasn’t. it was something much, much worse trying to pass as a wolf, sitting at the far, far bottom of the pit in a blackness so thick that it was just—unnatural. he could see the vague backlight of its eyes as it stared up at seraphim, could see the glint of its teeth as it slowly opened its mouth in the light of the torches, and were those antlers, that wasn’t right, wolves didn’t have antlers like that, nothing had antlers like that—

and then screaming.

seraphim screaming.

her feed cut abruptly upwards as something large, much, much larger than a wolf or any kind of dog should have been, flew at her from between two trees. everything disappeared—the torches, the pit, the sigils, and most importantly, the vein on the radar.

“morgan!” succubus was rushing forward, yelling, “amy, AMY! MAYDAY! get to our coordinates NOW!”

“copy, on my way!”

but there wasn’t enough time.

because suddenly her entire feed was just teeth. maw, saliva, fangs, the downward sloping of a ribbed, ruby throat and her screams became more like choked cries, like something was in her airway—

then cracking. her frames split. the last thing merlin saw before her feed cut completely was the shatter line across the glass.

he thought he was going to be sick. he stood up, hands on the edge of the desk.

succubus was running towards the newest body. she was running towards a monster. and neither kingsman agent was quite enough inside of their own minds to tell her to turn around.

merlin closed his eyes.

she was like magic, then.

first he saw her.

then he didn’t.

he almost fainted when harry gripped his arm like a life preserver, “hamish, for god’s sake, look—”

because while seraphim’s audio was completely destroyed, succubus’s wasn’t, and they both heard one shot, then another, then multiple, ringing out across the woods. the firing kept on for a solid thirty seconds as lycan joined succubus and both of them sprinted forward in time to find—seraphim. hoisting off the body of something big, furry and blood-stained.

“okay—well. that was uh. that was a thing.” merlin teared up. her voice sounded so weak, rough. still trying to make jokes as the adrenaline flooded out of her system. she coughed.

he heard lycan sniff. “morgan? are you okay? did it—did it bite—“

“no, no, it ah—got my glasses, though—“ he watched through succubus’s eyes as rae helped get the body of the best off of her best friend, and she stood, visibly shaking with blood and open lacerations on her face. a new mark on her neck, something like a paw print. that’s why she sounded hoarse. “shit, merlin’s gonna kill me, those were just supposed to be a loan…” and she laughed. tried to laugh. tired so hard to play it off like she wasn’t about to cry. a hand went to her throat absentmindedly, rubbing.

“… this isn’t a werewolf,” lycan finally said. her feed moved around as she wiped at her eyes, stepping closer to the thing that had attacked seraphim. “it’s—it’s too—wait, holy shit—!”

at once, the fur rotted away, peeling back like it’d been flayed violently by invisible hands leaving behind a very naked, very dead, partially decomposed human body, with that same sigil tattooed across the width of his back.

succubus groaned, “oh, great, the fucking adventure continues, who the hell is this asshole?”

“whoever he is—“ a painful cough. “shit, that hurts—the answer to our mystery is probably in the same place as his identity—rae, is your comm still working? yeah? hold on, i’m gonna get in your space—merlin? hack. merlin? harry? can you see where we are? we uh—not a code red, but this guy’s like, seven feet tall, we need some help with body retrieval.”

merlin jolted to life, “of course, of course. i—“ words bunched up in his mouth. he swallowed all of them at the sight of the curve of her jawline. “seraphim, ye need medical attention. did that—that thing step on yer throat?”

“oh, uh, yeah, for a second—“ her voice trailed off as the borley agents came tromping through the underbrush, heaving.

“next time—try not—to get attacked—so far away—holy hell i’m out of shape—“ canvey had to take deep, gulping breaths. dartmoor and shuck weren’t in much better shape and shuck actually threw up behind a bush.

merlin heard seraphim laugh. he could have cried.

“borley agents, if ye would be so kind as to catch yer breaths by th’ body. i’m dispatchin’ a small chopper to yer location. it can be left on th’ auto mode, it knows how it get home. load up, and we’ll see ye back at hq.”

“roger... merlin… oh my god… dartmoor out… canvey i think i’m dying…”

“oh shut it.”

“as for ye three lovely roanoke ladies, if ye would please head to the planned rendezvous point. harry and i will be there to pick y’ up ourselves. morgan, with yer permission, i’d like to examine ye as soon as we get there. ye can still speak, which is a good sign, but all th’ same—“

and succubus just smiled really widely, turning in time for merlin to see seraphim blush, despite everything.

“of course. roanoke agents out. we’ll see y’all in a second.”

seraphim’s first thought when they approached the post was poor, poor eggsy. he was already outside of the small concrete building as soon as they could see it, lit overhead by one huge, massive lampost, and he looked like he’d been crying. as soon as he saw lycan, he bolted, arms outstretched. succubus and seraphim kept walking to let them have a moment, though seraphim heard them both speak over her shoulder—

“i thought—i thought—”

“it’s okay. i’m okay. everyone’s okay.”

and it only took about eight, nine minutes for merlin and harry to pull up alongside the back pathway, behind the outpost in their massive—armored car? seraphim frowned, lifting a brow at the emblem on the front. no way anyone was thinking this thing was a fucking escalade, even custom-built…

behind her, harry caught succubus in a gentle embrace, holding her flush against him. “you’re the bravest woman i know,” he muttered in her ear. he let her shake in his arms.

seraphim felt her breath catch when suddenly a large, warm hand was on her shoulder. “seraphim? c’mere closer to the light, let me have a look at tha’—“

she let him lead her more into the glow of the lamp over them, face tilted upwards as one hand rested against her jaw, the other tugging at her collar to get a better look at the blossoming bruise. she swallowed. she had dried blood from the wounds on her face, she probably smelled too much like the forest and decay, no telling what she actually looked like to another person...

but then he met her eyes.

he moved so slowly that for a second, she thought she was imagining it, but then—no, no. she knew what it felt like to be kissed. her eyelids fell shut, she tried to will time to slow down… and then he pulled away.

“i’m—i’m sorry i uh—i shouldn’t have done tha’—“ he took a step back, running one hand nervously over his scalp, eyes on the ground like the words he was looking for were in the gravel at his feet. “i just—i almost, i mean we, we almost los’ ye tonight. and i wanted—“

“to kiss me?” she suggested. and there was no anger in her voice, nothing like that. he looked up at her.

“… yes.”

“… you gigantic fucking doofus.”

“i beg yer p—“

but his words got lost when she grabbed him by his jacket, pulling him to her, pressing her lips against his. his arms went around her waist, keeping her close, so that even when they broke apart, she ended up with her face in his chest.

she finally felt safe. she turned her head to one side. even through his coat, she thought she could still feel his heartbeat.

“hey! like i’m glad y’all broke the tension finally but stop making out! we need to go home! and merlin she had something legit attack her, let her rest for one fucking minute, god damn!”

seraphim put her hands over her mouth, trying to stifle her laughter as merlin ran one hand through her hair, kissing her temple.

it was a good night.

the next morning they held an impromptu joint conference call with the remaining kingsman agents, borley and the executive board of roanoke. lilith was painfully aware of the looks being passed around by some of the present members, despite the—disturbing evidence they were being presented with.

“so still at a square one,” she began, pinching the bridge of her nose. “agents. i’m giving you a few more weeks to investigate what you can for this case. find out the meaning behind the shapes, who this man is. see if you can find the gate again but do NOT go it alone. we’ll have a follow-up conference then. and seraphim?”

“yes ma’am?” sitting next to merlin. trying not to hold his hand. her voice was rougher, the bruising worsening.

lilith smiled at her gently. seraphim couldn’t see how he was looking at her.

so—that was the pull.

“please take care of your throat. do everything the quartermaster tells you. merlin, do take good care of our token exorcist, would you? we’ll be needing her back home, before long.”

he just nodded, and they looked at each other as the holograms disappeared from their view.

a few more weeks.

plenty of time.

[imlostinsantacarla]

BEING ESME CULLEN’S MATE WOULD INCLUDE:

yestwlightfan said: What would it be like to be Esme,s mate?

A/N: Hope you enjoy what has been written up, sweetheart! Thank you for requesting! - Admin Wenzel 🌲💖

◾ Esme would cherish, almost coddle, you within each and every moment that she would have with you.

◾ It would be certain that she wouldn’t take you for granted, ensuring that you’re aware of the fact that she appreciates every second that she has with you left.

◾ It’d be inevitable to not have Esme reminding you of how much fondness and loves she feels just for you, simply due to the fact that you are everything to her. (And vice versa.)

◾ “I shall forever love you, (Y/N). You are the light of my life.” Esme breathed softly from her fare rose-colored lips, softhearted-ness lacing every syllable, enunciating her mesmerizing golden eyes in which gazed at you tenderly. 

◾ With being the mate of Esme, it would be a known fact that you both together would have a strong, supporting relationship. It would be basically impossible to tear up and get you both to turn against one another.

◾ Never even thinking or acting upon leaving one another. You’re both too in love with one another to ever think of such a thing.

◾ If Esme were to ever glimpse upon you whenever you would express, react, seem cheerful, appreciative, loving, ect. it would simply make her entire eternity: This would be particular if she were to be the reason behind it. (Vice versa)

◾ Because, to her, your happiness would bring her complete bliss, ensuring that it has brightened up her day and night. (Vice versa)

◾ “I swear, if you can get any more romantic, you’re going to make me blush.” You’d flutter out, nipping your lower lip.

◾ “There is that smile I fell in love with so long ago...” Esme would utter out in a soft-spoken tone with pure bliss and love wavered within each word, as her facial expression thus changed into complete delight and pleasure. It was as though her golden butterscotch eyes were gazing straight up into heaven. 

◾ Without a doubt, it would be a known fact that there would be an enormous amount of respect, trustworthiness, faithfulness and loyalty within this relationship; making these elements inseparable and unbreakable. 

◾ Esme expressing her utmost thankfulness and joyfulness towards the thought of having you as her mate, making all the fibers in her body and soul feel over the moon with complete bliss and happiness.

◾ No matter what you were, you would simply light up her whole eternity, her love blossoming all the more, if that were even possible.

◾ With that stated; It would be unthinkable for her to ever utter a thought or ever imagine of what it would be/feel like if she had never of found you. If this was so, to her it would feel as though her immortal life were to be forever frozen in time. This without a doubt would truly and utterly shatter her un-beating heart into a billion pieces, to which it would be eternally un-fixable. 

◾ If any person/person’s (or the Volturi) were to have the intention of inflicting any pain or harm, (etc) upon you, just known that Esme -as well as all the members in the Cullen Coven- would shield you straight away from them and would tell the ‘threat’ to back off and not to go near you. You are her mate and she -as well as every member in the Cullen Coven- would protect you at all costs, even if that meant giving up her life with the chance of sparing yours. (And obviously vice versa.)

◾ “My love, your safety is one of my most important priorities.” Esme would declare out with serene-ness cascading her tone whilst the rear of her pale fingers stroked your cheek attentively. “I could not bear the thought of losing you.” She’d add on while her golden ocher eyes locked with yours. “You are the love of my life, I will always protect you, no matter the cost.” 

◾ In truth; It would be a known fact that it would make no differences to Esme if her mate were to be the same species as her and her family -vampires- or if her mate were to be human (or any other creature). At the end of the day she would have the utmost respect, fondness and affection for her mate no matter what they were, looked like, and so on. As long as you are happy and healthy, that would matter the most to her. 

◾ Esme would for sure shower her mate with many compliments every chance she could get a hold of. To her you would be the most exquisite creature/being her eyes has glimpsed upon in her whole existence. -vise versa- 

◾ Honestly, you would be showering her with everything that you possibly could offer her.

◾ “You are the most enchanting and dazzling being my eyes have ever laid upon in my many years of living, my love.” Esme breathed out lovingly while her spectacular eyes peered into your (Y/E/C) eyes with affection shining within them.

◾ Eskimos kisses.  

◾ Lot’s of hand holding.

◾ Within this enamored relationship, it would be quite uncommon for their to be any tense confrontations, bickering or clashing. The pair of you would be respective towards one another’s boundaries, in which you would do your best not to cross the lines or limits set in place.

◾ Carrying on from that point, if it was so that Esme and yourself were to get into an argument, then be assured that it would certainly not last long. Yet afterwards, it would be a common occurence that you both would head off somewhere private to apologize for each other’s behaviour, words spoken, and so on; to which you would both make up.

With that said; If Esme and you were to have a disagreement or confrontation, it would only last awhile. But soon after the both of you would go somewhere private to apologizes for your behaviour and soon make up.

◾ Although the pair of you may not argue often, it is not to say that it’s all puppy dogs, unicorns and rainbows. There will be times of friction but those come rather rarely.

◾ It would be common for Esme to speak about her human life, prior to Carlisle having turned her; well, that of what she can recall and if you were to ask her questions about it.

◾ But not only that; she would share what different time periods were like through her eyes, ears and everything, but also what it was like for all the other’s in the coven.

◾ Esme would also tell you tales of what it was like for her when she was a new born and before she met you, etc.

◾ If you were struggling or suffering from anxiety, depression or whatever it was, Esme would do her absolute best with lifting up your spirits and brightening up your life to help you in anyway that she truly could. Surely she would stay by your side, ensuring that your every need is fulfilled.

◾ Comfort, advice, an ear to listen to, tending to anything, whatever it may be, Esme would take care of it. She wouldn’t even dare to think twice over it.

◾ Since in her human life she suffered bouts of intense feelings (maybe even in her vampire life too) she would try her best to relate to you, understanding where you come from and helping cheer you up and support you in anyway that she possibly could.

◾ “For I know the hardships of having felt, thought and having been consumed within these emotions, my love... ” Esme hushed out soft-spoken-ly with comfort wavering within her tone. Tightening her arms around you, she pulled your form closer into her loving and soothing embrace, soon giving the crown of your head a soft peck with her cold lips. “For you must remember to be the strong person that always lies within you. You are stronger than you think, my love, for I believe that and have seen it with my own eyes.” Your mate added on quietly. “You will get through this and see the light at the end of the tunnel. I will always be here for you, (Y/N). You will always have me, my comfort, my support... my everything.”

◾ If you were to have any talents or abilities, and so on, (as a human, vampire, etc.) Esme would be stunned, in much of a positive fashion, when you show her or tell her of it. By doing so, your mate becomes speechless, and if she could shed tears of happiness, she truly would.

◾ This would leave her incredibly intrigued with your gifts, talents, abilities and very self.

◾ “My dear one, you truly are special, the most fascinating being my eyes have ever laid upon. You are so unique, my love...” Esme would vocalize out with a large pearly white smile while watching you. “You truly are one of a kind and I would not want you any different.” 

◾ You both surprising each other with lovely homemade gifts or ones that were purchased within stores. Either way you both would still love it and would cherish it no matter what and would thank one another with a smile. 

◾ Taking lovely long walks within the forest that surrounds the Cullens house. 

◾ All the members in the Cullen Coven supporting this relationship and being overjoyed for Esme -and you- for finally finding each other. Which would end up with everyone accepting you within the Cullen family. (You both totally being everyone’s OTP no matter what...especially for Alice. She would be your guys number one shipper...like she would ship the shit out of the you two).

◾ Esme and you taking turns to plan sweet and thoughtful dates to go on and enjoying them dearly. (Alice would help you or Esme plan these dates from time to time. Only if you needed help or asked her. But let’s face it, the cute pixie will do anything to get involved.). 

◾ “This is completely breath-taking Esme...” You would utter out quietly with an expression of complete awe, whilst feeling your breath being taken away. “This...is...so...magnificent...”  

◾ “Thank you for the kind comment, my love, but it is not as breathtaking as you ...” Esme replied back with passion coursing through her body and soul as a large pearly white smile spread across her lips. 

◾ Tender kisses. 

◾ Passionate kisses. 

◾ Nose kisses. 

◾ Hugs/Cuddles. 

◾ Whenever Esme would get the chance to have some private time or alone time away from her family, she would write lovely, meaningful and thoughtful love letters about and to you. Which would be filled with the fondness she has for you, but also of how much happier she is with having you in her life.  

◾ With that declared, once finishing the love letter, Esme would send or give this love letter, filled with thoughtful words, to you; as a reminder for you to know how much love that she will forever have for.  

◾ Passionate sex. 

◾ Gentle sex. 

◾ Whispering sweet nothings to each other.

◾ Mild PDA.

◾ Overall your relationship and having each other as mates would be filled with an enormous amount of love and loyalty, (etc). Your bond with each other would grow and turn inseparable to the point that no person or no situation could come between you two. Your are hers and she is ours, forever. 

◾ GIF SOURCE - 💖

Please keep requesting imagines! If you like it, please follow for more.

[aspire-to-the-light]

Breaking Character

You have to be a little careful with identity expression.

It’s a really powerful tool, because of how many ways it’s constantly reinforced, and how available it can be. If I make being kind part of my identity, then kind actions become easier for me to take, more available, more obvious. I hesitate about being unkind, because this isn’t who I am, and it hurts to act inconsistently with my core identity. People expect me to be kind, and so come to me for help and give me opportunities to practise kindness. The expectation to be kind also provides social pressure to keep being kind; people act kindly to me expecting I’ll reciprocate, or introduce people and say “hey this is person and they will help you”, or put me in some official position that requires being kind - and then I feel obligated to act in the ways people believe I will.

(”Kind” is not a central part of my identity; I don’t like a lot of the connotations and associated affect. I identify with some similar traits, but mostly picked “kind” because it’s an easy example.)

So identity can be incredibly useful, when you deliberately cultivate an identity based on traits you both possess and endorse, which helps you differentiate your social role and motivate you to be good and remember who you are.

But things inevitably creep into your identity that you didn’t put there. (And I’m not using “identity” in a way that requires you to “identify with” a thing before it’s part of your identity.) Any trait you have that all your friends know you possess, any running joke about how <trait> you are, anything people mention when they’re saying “you know, <name>, remember, the one who <trait> and does <activity> and has super long purple hair...”

I am a super-high-energy person with incredible levels of extraversion. I am bouncy and extravert and Loud! and Excitable!! and sometimes VERY HAPPY!!! And sometimes I inspire people to go Do Stuff because I love the world SO FUCKING MUCH and sometimes I make stuff happen because people get swept up in ENERGY!!!! and I love people and I love lights and I love music and I am always up for things and I cannot! sit! still!

...except sometimes I’m not. Sometimes I want to curl up in my room and hide from the party and take a nap.

But everyone knows that I am high-energy. That’s part of why I am so high energy; because people are high-energy around me, invite me to high-energy things, buy me fidget spinners and obnoxiously bright neon orange T-shirts. So when I hide in my room, people come in and say, “Accalia? Why are you hiding in your room, don’t you love parties? Did we do something wrong? You’re way way quieter than you usually are ... are you okay?”

Hiding in my room is breaking character.

Most people don’t, can’t, have particularly nuanced models of most of the people they know. I can handle modelling “Bob, who is honest and brash and arrogant and always contributes their share and fun to debate with”, but it’s really difficult to handle “Bob, who is honest to our friend-group because they used to lie fairly casually but it got them in some trouble and they feel bad about it and are trying to be better, but still can’t kick their habit of sometimes exaggerating stories, and also doesn’t feel a need to be honest on government forms or to family or authority figures, and who compartmentalises a few secrets they keep about their opinions on X and so doesn’t conceptualise lying about that as lying, and who can sometimes try a bit too hard to be honest in areas where they care about it and end up actually saying more self-deprecating/offensive/hurtful things than they’d endorse because they over-correct away from hiding things, and <equal level of detail about traits like brash and arrogant and contributing and fun-debating>”.

Simplifying away this nuance is often really useful! If you were constantly aware of all of it, you’d miss the forest for the trees. I know plenty of people who are unable to label themselves with any particular personality trait because they can always name a few situational counter-examples; I should write a different post if I want to talk about the ways that hurts people, but it is important to be able to see the trends, to be able to say, “OK, there are some things I definitely back away from, but overall I’m a brave person.”

But if you have this level of model of someone, the comic-book-character kind of model where person X always behaves helpfully because they are a helpful person, then it’s helpful to remind yourself often that people are complex and that it’s okay to break character.

When people check if I’m OK because I’m hiding in my room, that’s fairly harmless. In fact it’s probably justified, because it is out of character for me, and that can sometimes mean something’s wrong.

There are less-harmless examples.

I’m really bad at arithmetic. I know that I’m bad at arithmetic, and so I build workarounds like using a calculator because I don’t trust my mental math, and then I don’t practise mathematics because I’m always using my calculator. Other people know I can’t do arithmetic and that this has held me back from learning much math, so they helpfully add things up for me or don’t involve me in math conversations or excuse me from obligations where I’d have to get arithmetic right. And, while this has the downside of reinforcing my bad-at-math-ness and giving me no opportunities to improve, I do appreciate the support systems.

...except when I break character. Sometimes I’m feeling really motivated, or there’s a particular thing that’s highly intuitive for me, or I remember something, and I do some math. And people are surprised, because OMG, Accalia did a math? Accalia never does a math! This must be some kind of special occasion and we should give lots of positive reinforcement! Yay Accalia, you did some math despite math being really hard for you!

They mean well, but so often it ends up reinforcing, “Accalia, you are really bad at math, and any time you do succeed at math, it’s a special thing that happened due to unusual circumstances. You have the Comic Book Character Trait of being extremely Bad At Math and you should not update towards there being some times or ways or methods in which you can do math, because this is a Weird and Out Of Character Occurrence.”

So just... let people have moments of nuance and situational dependence and complexity, without it affecting your perception of their core traits.

There’s a running joke about me being a lava demon who wants ridiculously high temperatures, because most of the time I’m comfortable at 30 Celsius and will cover myself in many many blankets if it’s colder than that. But this is affected by medications and hormone cycle and day-to-day variation and sometimes I just feel like I need a cold breeze to cut through my cotton wool. And I want to be able to keep the running joke about infiltrating human society as a fire spirit, but I also do not want “you? too hot? when does that ever happen???” when I break character.

Let people sometimes be outgoing, without reminding them that they’re usually so shy. Let people sometimes have a good day without expecting them to be capable of just as much stuff on all future days. Let people sometimes be afraid without it putting in jeopardy their status as a fundamentally brave person. Let people sometimes need hugs even though they normally hate all physical contact.

It’s a tricky balance to strike, because the idea is not to never have ideas about someone’s character traits. Having character traits is really important. Complexity and exceptions and nuance exists, and that is okay, because traits are not conditional on there being no exceptions; let a person’s traits and identity be clear and simplified and strong, without the exceptions invalidating the trait or the trait invalidating the exceptions.

[enniewritesathing]

John: 2, 4, 8, 10, 11, 13, 17, 18, 21, 26, 29, 46, 48, 49

thank you

02. What is one of your character’s biggest insecurities? Are they able to hide it easily or can others easily exploit this weakness? 

Believe it or not, he used to be real insecure about his looks, especially when he was younger. Before the glo-up (or rather, before his voice broke), he used to get made fun of how his hair made him look like a girl (”Hey Jake, what’s your sister doing here??”) or his lips being compared to a fish. “Johnny Fishy Lips, Fish Lips” etc. (His brother, not so much. They’re twins.) Or honestly, not bearing a lot of ‘white’ features (quote his grandparents on his dad’s side – yikes), or on how brown they’d get during the summer. He never quite understood why adults looked at him and his brother funny when they were with their parents – Noelle being Filipino and his dad is white and… there was some unfortunate-ness to that because they look mostly like their mom and none dad, and it was assumed that his dad got tricked or some shit or insert racist shit. At one point, he asked them if he and his brother were adopted; it’s caused John to be very shy and defensive and even gotten into a few fights because of it.

After the glo-up, it became way less of an insecurity because he’s learned to own up to everything about himself, and he also grew into his features. He still got snide comments about his lips and that he probably wouldn’t be a good kisser because of it. Pffft.

04. What are their favorite traits about their lover? (one psychological and one physical)

John loves how resilient Brian is. He came from a pretty bad family situation and Brian choosing to rise above that and be a better person for it? Amazing! (And then there’s karma and Brian is p e t t y knowing that what goes around, comes around). 

John’s a fan of Brian’s legs. They’re very shapely and John loves to run his fingers the length of them, and just do a lot of things with them.

08. What is, perhaps, their biggest flaw? Are they aware of this or oblivious to it?

His biggest flaw is that he can be really stubborn, and to get him out of that is to frame whatever he’s stubborn about in such a way is to escalate it. I would also say when he gets a strong (negative) emotion, it’s hard to get him out of that state because it overwhelms him. He’s aware of both and he’s working on it; if he has strong feelings about something, he’ll remove himself if he can. 

10. Is your character more feminine or masculine? 

John’s fairly masculine, he’s not like “RAWR I’M A MAN HEAR MY DEEP ASS VOICE AND WATCH ME EAT THE HELL OUT OF THIS STEAK”. Or, he’s not toxic about it. He’s subtle with the way he dresses, anything with a V-neck or schmedium shirts (he swears it’s not intentional, but Brian begs to differ). A lot of people think he’s hella feminine because of his long hair and how he looks in general but, it’s really not the case. He just likes to take care of himself.

11. What is something that would make your character fly into a rage?

If someone threatens Brian or his mom in any way. He’ll probably break bones behind that for real and he can do that real easily.

13. What are your character’s sleeping habits? Heavy or light sleeper? Blanket stealer? One that always rolls onto the floor? Pushes their lover onto the floor? Sleep talker or walker?

70% healthy. He can get anywhere between 6-8 hours on a good night, but since he loves naps, it can get pretty wild. He’s a heavy sleeper so, hardly anything can wake him up. John’s given up on stealing blankets from Brian, even the sheets so he just sticks a foot underneath the burrito and be done with it. He used to sleep walk, but he mostly grew out of it. I say mostly because he would sit up and stare at nothing or Brian for a while, then go back to sleep.

17. Does your character have dreams of getting married and/or having children?

Absolutely @ both of them. He and Brian actually talked about it several times, casual at first and even a joke or two (”omg just marry me” “huh?” “what??)” and then hypotheticals ‘okay so picture this–’  and then, ‘y’know, we’ve been through some tough shit together…’ so, he’s sort of waiting to pop the question.

Fatherhood makes him a little nervous because his dad died when he was young and other than his uncle who stepped in that role (and he’s a little problematic), he doesn’t have any male guidance. He would be the type of dad to read a lot of guidebooks and go to classes (”omg is that supposed to happen???”) or be worried about every single thing.

Fun fact!: At the end of Bare Knuckle, I wanted to do an epilogue/timeskip ending with John telling the whole thing to the kids (they ended up having a boy (the oldest) and twins – a boy and a girl. The twins were a surprise in that they were expecting the girl and come delivery time ‘yeah no you got a boy too’ “WHAT?!” ) and they’re like ‘papa, that’s wild as hell’. 

18. What kind of home would they want to live in? Where would they place this abode?

He’s actually living in it now, lol. The house is medium sized, but the lot is HUGE. It’s right on the water with a private beach. The house has a quiet area/sunroom (which is what he’s wanted in particular anyway), and the yard is really big enough to put just about anything and everything in it. At some point, he’d like a small garden to tend to, a study area for Brian, maybe a pool?

21. What is one of your character’s biggest fears? How would they react when dealing with this fear?

His biggest fear is not being able to live a long life; he wants to be old. Both sides of his family, the men tend to not live that long due to whatever reason. John gets a little anxious when he gets super sick because of what happened to his brother, so he listens to Brian when he tells him he needs to slow down and take meds. As for fighting, he’s less apt to take bigger risks – he puts more thought into it instead of ‘eh, I can take it’.

26. What is their lover like sexually? How do they feel about their lover’s quirks, needs, etc?

John likes to think that Brian is like an onion – he has many layers. Some layers are tougher than others. Sex is really dependant on how Brian feels since his needs is on the low side; foreplay is a requirement but John doesn’t mind because he’s all about spending time and peeling back the proverbial onion layers Brian has. In fact, he’s learned to be patient with Brian. He feels like he could be a little more adventurous, so once in a while he’d ask Brian if he wants to top (even though John can sort of take him) or ask for a ~special~ night where he’s subbing and let him do whatever. It turns out that that’s a major turn on for Brian, and when he’s feeling very touchy-feely, John lets him. Brian has told him that he feels a little selfish that he wants to use John sometimes, and he’s like ‘no, please, go ahead!; if you wanna do some nasty things, I’m down!’ Brian think he isn’t that good, but John is pretty vocal and lets him know he’s doing right.

Brian has became more bold in his advances and demands (turns out he’s pretty bossy lol) and a couple of times, John had to ask for a raincheck (”I am with you in spirit but my dick ain’t having it”) – but that’s what toys are for. In fact, he has a collection and when the drives or work schedules are really off, then that’s always an option. 

Sex isn’t sex but it’s more like the smaller things and how they really feel about each other. And then there are the times Brian wants John to fuck the stress out of him… he’ll do what he can, lol.

29. What is one of the most courageous things your character has ever done for a loved one?

When options to treat Jacob’s cancer were dwindling, John pretty much tried to sacrifice his own body up for anything that needed for him to get better, or at least try to have a better fighting chance. He got the gist of a lot of what was happening, but it really came down to this: “He’s my brother. We’re supposed to protect each other.”

46. What is some random affectionate thing that your character always does to their lover? 

John has a tendency to roll up on Brian, and like does what the cat does sometimes and gently head bunts him and when Brian reacts, he kisses him either on the cheek or forehead and acting like nothing happened OR he waits a bit to read him and see where it goes. Or random kisses. It can get tricky because Brian is a little taller, so he always grabs his head and just *smooch* on his forehead. (He knows that that’s his favorite aside from neck kisses)

48. Is there anything in particular that would ignite your character’s jealousy? Or does your character not get envious?

John’s not really the type to get jealous or anything like that. He likes it when Brian smiles, no matter what the source of it is.

49. What is something that your character has nightmares about? Are these frequent? Do they heavily affect your character’s mood?

John has vivid nightmares either about trying to rescue his brother from whatever and then when he gets within a very short distance, Jacob just dies, or the nightmares about being medicinally tortured, not being able to protect Brian and/or watch him die, or ‘fighting’ and him being greviously injured. They used to be real frequent to the point of being diagnosed with nightmare disorder. Now, they don’t happen so much because he knows all of the triggers and how to avoid them, and if they do happen, he knows none of it is real (even if they do feel like they are).

It fucks him up emotionally every time, and it takes him a while to calm down, from removing himself immediately to just talking it out or even cry about it.

[kendrixtermina]

Extra Typology Vol #1, Introduction

This first part of the series will concern itself with the Book “Human Types - Essence and the Enneagram” by Susan Zannos, on the system that is known as Essence Type, Planetary Body Type or 12Type Enneagram. 

Basics/ Book Review

First off I am going to say that I’ll quite deliberately disregard the esoteric and pseudoscientific elements as I do not personally believe them nor am I interested in them - 

Conversely, I will not be dissecting or refuting them in detail as this is not my aim here either. Going in, chosing to pick up & pay for this book, I knew that an esoteric perspective, some lowkey misantrophy, golden age fallacy (”Ancient Wisdom”), pseudoscience and anti-intellectual tirades would be part of the deal - I strongly believe that every book, fiction or nonfiction, is a kind of conversation, and that you should be able to converse with people you don’t agree with, especially if it is to reach a common objective or obtain raw information to draw your own conclusions from - 

I have chosen to read this book because I find that this system has some useful distinctions & clearly recognizeable archetypes not found anywhere else, and whatever explanation you may or may not attach it, a heuristic that sorts by characteristics can still have its use - Besides, archetypical and metaphorical language is sometimes indeed the best tool or shorthand to talk about the human experience. (in the same way that “The shrooms told me to practice non-judgement” can still be the most natural, intuitive way to describe a drug trip even though you weren’t “talking” to anyone but yourself & simply failing to notice because you deliberately downregulated the neural networks that handle the distinction between “self” and “other” by ingesting disruptive chemicals)

While other “Popularized/Sanitized” Versions of the system are available (I’ve ordered this book, too), as well as other individuals who have expanded it more in line with the esoterics (x) (x) (I’m tempted to arbitrarily add my own because it infuriates me when something includes Pluto and not Eris), I quite deliberately choose to sample the system in it’s original form to form my own opinion in case the author of the other/above book “cut away” something I’d deem salvageable and substantial. (Indeed, I wasn’t sure wether I was Lunar or Saturn untill I read the more “in depht”/ “unsanitized” descriptions, the above author gets too hung up on the concept of “childlikeness” when there’s the whole “emo introvert” aspect to it that makes it very obvious which one I am and what the distinction is.) 

As far as antintellectual tirades go, I was actually surprised to find at most three paragraphs, mostly framing it as “just ONE way of aquiring knowledge/intelligence” while still aiming for some sort of “fairness” - Despite the golden mean and a lack of reflection on what reason actually is, I’d say that the author legitimately tried and truly wrote this to the best of their understanding - There’s no consistent trash talk and the however out of context scientific funfacts were genuinely presented as exciting & interesting (Did you know the surface of the moon is covered in a layer of dust from rock that has been ground to powder by meteor impacts, including tiny ones that the lack of atmosphere lets pass when Earth’s atmosphere wouldn’t? Also, interesting biographical details about artists & musicians.) - I mean, the confirmation bias and lack of true mechanistic understanding are apparent and some of the info is sorely outdated (How many moons does Jupiter have again? (If you pardon my socionics, I smell 2D Thinking),  but the author aims for a thought-through, comrehensive presentation and writing style drawing from all kinds of mythology & traditions - Reading this book did not hurt, and at the end, it’s more about the intuitive content than the logical one. 

Where the author and I are in agreement, though, is that the purpose of typology - whatever typology one chooses to use - is not primarily the labeling of things, but increasing self-awareness and compassion for others, as well as finding out what really suits you & reframing one’s view of self & others in terms of non-judgement, simply seeing things as they are and she has some interesting musings on that concept.

Also, I’d also agree that the nature/nurture debate kind of overlooks both interactions and the factor of personal choice/self-awareness/attitude, though they would probably conceptualize this within their own, highly specific framework. 

I have, however, a few dissagreements of the philosophical level that I think it is more fair to make here than anything borne out of my evidentialist worldview, as they would pertain to a sphere we can both inhabit under the same presupositions. 

For one thing, I must protest the idea expressed here that negative emotions have no place in a healthy psyche and are merely a tacked-on product of malfunction (and that thinking otherwise is a great misconception of our time)

They accept “survival evolutionary reasons” for instincs so I’ve got to tell them that negative emotions like sadness, anger, envy and fear all serve important survival purposes - rather than expungned or be expected to dissapear with healing or “awakening”, they should be adequately handled, integrated, questioned-analyzed and expressed constructively as to serve the protective purpose for which they evolved - and if anything, restraint of them was LESSER in the past, where might often made right and people were killed in anger and entitlement quite easily. 

In the right context, when justified & rightly guided/directly, they can even be beautiful and an important component of a full experience. 

And since they are demostrably natural at the chemical and inborn level, they cannot be eradicated, merely repressed, which is more likely to be adverse. 

Same can be said about much of the talk of “not noticing” things, like how the lack of memory of everyday events is an indication of not having paid conscious attention to them

In actuality, everyday memories that we don’t retain long-term are discarded in our sleep when our brain “filters” for which ones to keep. This is known & demonstrated, and not only is it a bit preposterous that you would remember everything if only you “paid attention” and we’rent “awake”/making conscious decisions if you don’t remember, the idea that we could it would not be useful & clutter our mind with repetitive things. 

Same with not noticing environmental details. 

“Tuning out” things, like negative emotions, is an useful natural function. Some of us are iNtuitives, in fact, I think the author is one, and would have to trade in some traits that I’d waver she strongly cares about if she wanted to be a Sensor - Her esoterics theories may not be that different from “pondering something in your head”, they’re sure not raw data. 

I get how in some context you may want to alter your attention level, but in the interest of, as she’d put it “not bein anything other than yu are”, I’d aknowledge that it’s normal. 

And last there’s the usual “spiritualist” assumption that we have to “raise above” and “disengage from” this world or our functionalities/ patterns in it to get to some vaguely-defining “beyond” that for all its claims of maturity and trancendency often consists of simple vague superlatives and contrasts based on very anthropogenic frameworks - It’s simply not-this, better-this, beyond-this, and if you don’t buy it you’re supposedly “trapped inside a material box” 

Thing is no matter what size the actual box is, human beings can always imagine more, because such is imagination- and what’s a humbling” or “proud” answer is wholly subjective, an interpretation pretty indepent from whatever facts or unfacts you derive it from. It could just as easily be said to be “pride” to postulate that our reaction patterns and networks are simply what we are. We’re merely self-aware enouh to regongize shift our own patterns. 

I have mixed feelings about what is in some ways a pretty good line/reasoning, in that there’s  notable difference that can be made to you subjectively by changing your attitude, even if you can’t change the world (somewhat in line with stoic philosophy) or even your attitude, that you can kind of just accept it and that just that can be a significant difference.

For me, there’s a significant “it depends” here, like, it seems to stray into a sort of slave moral and surrender of just “swallowing”, a fixedness and a “okay-ness” in terms of behavior that IMHO is only there to an extent - and not even in a moral or judgy way, but, isn’t what you want and what you can live with just as inoxerably a part of yourself?

Now that this is out of the way, let’s get on to discussing the actual content. 

Essence

So what is it we’re attempting to classify?

The author defines it as the basic “factory settings” of a person, the part of their nature that would be the same regardless of culture, societal impressions/expectations or ones’ particular experiences, here categorized as a basic recognizeable archetype. Probably what’s left of you if you have so much acid you temporarily forget who you are XD

However, it’s not strictly ‘nature’ as opposed to nurture, as the human brain continued to grow into toddlerhood & develop in response to language and socialization factors that can become an inoxerable part of the person’s wiring and how it’s expressed- 

Where I would most certainly disagree with the author is their assertion that everything else about a person, all changes induced by experience or nurture, are somehow false or fake. It’s those things that make you distinct from another person with the same type, of whih there’s bajillions,but there’s only one you. 

Besides, it’s ALL stored as changes in brain wiring, all memories, all trauma responses, to the point that even your job  or hobby may change your activity patterns, so though you might come up with more or less sensible, useful definitions of which parts are “real”, there will always be a nature of subjective interpretation about it. Though a person may have predispositions and type, I do think there’ something to the thought that at least part of our essential being comes after we exist, though our formative experiences and the choices we make - 

That is, I see developement less as a “return” to some vague idealized mystical precogndition, and more a reaching towards unseen heights to become “better than you are” - Nonetheless for that endeavour it’s still crucial to know the base material you’re working with & throw out deceptions - You want to become a better version of YOU, not of someone else: If you’re a cat, you’re not gonna beat the dogs at dogging, rather, learn how to cat properly. 

An interesting thought is that people might particularly remember points where they acted outside of habit or with deliberate choice (& therefore uncharacteristically), therefore making it harder to catch onto characteristic vibes than for a neutral observer - As in, there can be a difficulty here because society tells people to bend themselves into pretzels, but the natural pattern still pervades when the person isn’t “trying”

Contrary to the claim here that you need years for typing (esoterics peeps making everything sound so ~enlightened~ and ~mystical~ imho) I’ve read other articles lauding this system precisely because it’s rather simple and working with pretty regonizeable basic universal archetypes, particularly when it comes to the basic 6, peeps can “pick one” rather fast even if they never thought about it before

                       intellectual emotional   action-oriented

personal          lunar           venus       mercury 

non-personal   saturn         jupiter       mars

and the other influences also being based on easily recognizeable archetypes. 

The Book

Interestingly, the Book doesn’t get to the actual type descriptions until halfway through, at first treating us to some basic theories on both the history of the system  and this particular school of esoterics, the pseudoscientific “basis” as well as a model of a “soul anatomy” or composition of the human mind which, despite the card metaphors,  is basically an effort in philosophy and could indeed serve as a typology system on its own (Queen of Diamonds person here, in case anyone cares)/ is later used to explain type characteristics and define a set of Attributes. 

The Sailormoonian collection of components, which actually receives further subdivisions, consists of: 

The Instinctual Center - Pain & Pleasure. Survival concerns, basic body functioning, homemaking - perhaps analogous to sp instinct. Ranges from basic necessities to physical pleasure to badass survival instincts/vigilance

The Movement Center - Rest & Movement, learned movements, sensorical-reactionary patterns. Perhaps analogous to the Sensing function and/or Spatial-Kinesthetic intelligence. Ranges from drudgework to love of traveling/adventure to, at its peaks, mechanics & inventors

The Intellectual Center - True or False, concern with abstract ideas, concepts and symbols, as such not strictly Jung’s thinking function or the ‘head center’ from the 9-gram. Ranges from recited knowledge to excitement/curiosity, to metacognition (”knowing that you don’t know”) 

The Emotional Center -  Like & Dislike. Feelings oriented toward people.  Seems anologous to sx instinct. Ranges from social pleasantries to passion and wild out of control dramatics, to, at its peak, altrustic emotions. And yes, there were alice in Wonderland allusions. (”Queen of Hearts”) 

The gist of the idea is that for each of the centers, the learning process involves first passionate captivation, then deliberate sustained attention and finally a transfer to a basically “mechanical” function that can be performed without attention, like when you learn to ride a bike and eventually become able to do it without thinking. 

It further postulates that these are often operating in parallel, and that to become an actualize person you should “archieve unity” that is, become aware of and “synchronize” them.  

Also, some romantic shmaltz about how only the highest part of the emotional center can see “higher” centers (I presume in line with certain shools of esoterics where three of those have a counterpart simply called “higher moving”, “higher emotional” etc. The distinction seems quite arbitrary to me personally.  )

It has always been my opinion that the strict distinction between rationality/logic and creativity/emotion/lateral thinking is arbitrary 19th century romanticist bullshit.- though of course the brain has different, parallel “layers” which is probably what this refers to in a psychological sense. But the social processing we’d call “higher emotions” is up there in the cortex just there with cognitive skills, and there’s not really a separation from bare survival stuff, either - The brain is very much what we have instead of claws or wings, and each layer builds on the assumption that the previous one is there. 

BTW: Another point I disagree on is that Donal Trump (Listed as Solar-Saturn-Mars) does not have a drop of Saturn in him. We could argue about Solar or Jovial admixture or consider him a pure Mars type - he’s certainly naive and vain, but more than anything else, he’s bull-headed. 

(As with the ESTPs before you, here’s my condolences to you Martials.)

To be fair, the author couldn’t have known that he’d go from random frivolous celebrity to fascist proto-dictator, making any reference to him retroactively cringey and wanting of disclaimers. 

[kadobeclothing]

A Chat With Stella – WWD

“We’re all in this together” — a universal mantra of the coronavirus era. Sometimes that commonality is comforting in its more superficial aspects. Last week, when uncooperative English-country cell service put the kibosh on a no-visuals conversation with Stella McCartney, her p.r. went swiftly to un-planned B: Zoom. We settled in to chat equally undone, granted, with Stella flaunting a much better top, a sweatshirt from her collaboration with “We Are the Weather” author Jonathan Safran Foer. (Full disclosure: Before joining, I switched out of my Clorox-spotted, Bronx County DA sweatshirt, an artifact of a younger brother’s stint on my couch 25 years ago.)

While some people embrace the primp-up-at-home approach to quarantine, that’s not Stella’s thing. “I put makeup on for the first time in a month last week, when I had to do something,” she offers. As with most conversations these days with someone you haven’t spoken with recently, ours starts with “How are you coping?”

“I couldn’t be luckier,” Stella says, ever self-aware. “I’ve got a little bit of help here, which is a massive blessing. I can’t complain.” Like millions of others, she is working through 24-hour household-running, juggling work, meals and homeschooling of her four kids, ages 15 to nine. Her day starts with Stella McCartney brand meetings — more frequent and of broader scope than before lockdown. While the kids are old enough that interruptions aren’t an issue, she goes into “tough-love” mode when it comes to school. Last week, English schools were still on Easter break, so she was anticipating readjustment this week. “They all go to different schools and each school has handled it in a different way. Some are more tech savvy than others,” she says.

As for cooking, Stella is top chef, but lately, she’s getting help. Because her work day starts early, she tries to think through each day’s meals the night before. But on this morning, she woke up to a surprise. “My daughter Bailey had already cooked tomato soup. I have to say, it was delicious,” she boasts. “It’s great, they’re getting into [cooking], I mean, they’re making fun of me because it’s, like, soup every day. I’m such a waste-not, want-not type, it’s at the core of everything in the brand and in my personality. Literally, I’m using everything. It’s great. That’s how I was brought up.” To our primary purpose: a check-in on Stella’s business in the age of COVID-19, and what this particular Earth Day represents to her. I learned after we spoke that even from quarantine, she’s found a way to celebrate its spirit. Stella worked with Ocean Outdoor, the digital advertising company, to host a major screen takeover at London’s Piccadilly Circus. It launched on Tuesday and runs through Sunday at midnight, rotating a series of upbeat messages including “Mother Earth has started healing” and, captioning a photo of the Earth painted on Amber Valletta’s face, “For us, every day is Earth Day.”

Amber Valletta as Mother Earth in Stella McCartney’s Earth Day screen takeover in Piccadilly Circus, on display through April 26.  Courtesy Photo

WWD: I just saw Barry Diller on “Squawk Box” [on April 16]. He was not optimistic. Stella McCartney:  Well, f–king welcome to Stella McCartney, Bridget Foley.

WWD: Thank you. How are you feeling? S.M.: I am very much split. I’m split between my personal emotions, and then obviously, I have a business to run. I’m living two lives right now. I’m the mother of four, I’m a wife. I’m cooking three meals a day and I’m loving it. I’m with my babies, and blessed to be in nature and not in the city. I’ve got my horse. So I’m fine in my solitude. Then, obviously, there is a deep sadness for all of the lives that are lost and for what people are going through. I have a huge respect for the people on the front line here in England in the NHS and all of the emergency workers. That reality, the mindfulness of what other people are going through, and that we’re all connected in all of the same thoughts, which is a really heavy realization, not to be lightly dismissed. I am very aware of that. Then, there’s the side to me that employs hundreds and hundreds of people globally. Obviously, we are affected as a business, like every other business right now. I’m always wanting the business to do well because of what we stand for as much as anything, and also because I’m a businesswoman. But right now you think, “Wow, this is the first time we are all connected in so many ways.” That’s the important thing that sits on my mind. WWD: It’s odd that that connection comes through isolation. S.M.: Yes. I have a large family network so I’m not isolated that much on my own. The first couple of weeks were really interesting for me on a working level because in our industry, we work with teams, and we feed off each other creatively. I was trying to settle into working via device and using my teams in a different way. [Now] all of us are feeling connected. I’m more connected with teams globally than usual — “let’s meet with China; let’s meet with Japan,” bigger meetings with teams. I’ve enjoyed that and I want to carry through. One of the big questions here is how does this impact our lives going forward, when things get back to whatever the new normal will be. I’m looking to my team a lot, also. Holistically, making sure my teams are OK mentally and emotionally. And that, normally, I don’t have time to do; [usually] I’m just getting involved in my day-to-day. But now I’m like OK, we need to have calls every week just to check in on everyone and see how everyone is feeling. I worry about people, just how they’re doing. My teams in Italy, they’re not allowed out, they’re allowed out to go food shopping and that’s it….I’m mindful of that, like how are you all doing emotionally and mentally because that’s hardcore, going out or not going out and looking out and seeing nothing there. That’s quite hard hitting. I’m not sure if any of us really know how that will affect us all. WWD: Nuts and bolts, I’m sure the specifics vary from region to region. S.M.: Yes. there’s one side that’s creative and there’s one side that’s very, very much responding to different regions and who is quarantined, who’s not. Obviously, we’re massively based in Italy, so it’s been a big conversation about what we can make, what we can’t make, what we can have access to. When you do work in a sustainable way, you have to work far in advance to be sustainable. I develop the majority of my fabrics far in advance, and I have such a deep commitment to my suppliers and to where we’re growing the yarn and the process and the entire circle-ness of it all. I try to remain respectful and loyal to X amount of [suppliers] because I know they’re my reliable source points. WWD: Quarantining with family is very different from quarantining alone. But it still puts stress on work. S.M.: I grew up in a creative household. And creatively, it was pretty much isolation. When The Beatles broke up we moved to a farm in Scotland, completely isolated. My mom and dad did an album; my dad did an album of McCartney, and I think it was his best work. It has been a massive impact on my life, that isolation, on how I think and how I live my life through my business, through my family, through my friendships. The majority of my friends are artists or work in the creative fields, and the majority of them work in isolation; it’s just what they do. Name-dropping, I checked in with David Hockney, and he said, “I’m painting more than ever.” The birth [of] creation is a very insular moment. And then [creatives] go into a teamwork frame, if at all. So my dad will write an album on his own. When he has that creative birth, he will then take it to the next step, engineering it, producing it, art-working it, and ultimately it goes on tour in front of hundreds of thousands of people. So it’s sort of this journey….Our industry goes very quickly away from isolation in the creative sense and goes into teamwork. It becomes a production line, if you like. WWD: It sounds as if you prefer a longer solitary creative process. S.M.: I seem to be busier than ever because I’m doing more and more calls. This is taking me away from my creative process and isolation, so I’m trying to find a balance, which is at the core of everything we do at Stella McCartney. Maybe the answer to all of this is trying to find the balance. WWD: Other designers have talked to me about the creative process being teamwork. It sounds as if your process still starts singularly. S.M.: My name is on the door of the brand, so everything that it stands for has come from me at some stage in my thinking, from my belief systems and my creativity. And then the team around me, we all feed off each other and we all create from that starting point. In our industry we all complain about not having time. So I want to be respectful of that right now and [think of] how can we find that balance between teamwork and creating with your team and bouncing off of each other and all that stuff. Even before all of this happened, I was already approaching spring like this. I was like, OK, how can we not buy new fabric for spring? How can we look at everything that we [have already]? I’ve done that for years. It’s the way that I work; it’s the way my mind works. What have we got in stock, how can we repurpose it? How can we give it a re-life or a rebirth? We did all the upcycling two seasons ago on the runway. How can we look at what’s in a warehouse somewhere? So it’s a really interesting moment for our brand.

Vegan leather — it’s not just for the Falabella bag. This coat is from fall 2020.  Giovanni Giannoni/WWD

WWD: What does your sweatshirt say? S.M.: It says We Are the Weather. It’s my Jonathan Safran Foer collaboration. We Are the Weather — it’s very apt. It feels like most of what I’ve done seems apt right now. It seems like everything I’ve done in my career seems to be quite apt right now. WWD: To that point, and going back to what you said a moment ago, do you think you’re a bit ahead of other brands fabric-wise? S.M.: My viscose comes from sustainable managed forests. It took me three years to [develop it]. So once I’ve taken that long and it’s the only source I have, I then commit to it. I [now] have had to look at all the business, which I do anyway, but it’s more magnified. Then that goes into, can we have access to

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our e-commerce if [production] is all in Italy, and da da da. And what markets are opening up more than others, or which ones are going into isolation or coming out of isolation. We’re all doing the same thing I’m sure. WWD: What differences do you find among the various global markets? S.M.: Every single market is reacting differently. But what people are buying is what would be expected, much more home pieces, much more classics. We’re so lucky in that we have real iconic, timeless, staple pieces — the Falabella bag, for example, the Elyse shoe. It’s not dissimilar to what I’m sure a lot of brands are finding. Hopefully people will lean toward a more mindful culture now. To be a more conscious consumer more than ever, I hope, starts to have some kind of resonance with people. And I think that that’s what we represent in the industry. WWD: It surprises me that people are shopping at all for clothes or accessories. You’re finding that people are shopping? S.M.: They’re not shopping as much. I think the whole reality of this is buy less, care more. That’s the highlight for me, but it has always been the case. As I say, before when I was looking at doing spring, I was already thinking, why do we offer so much product? Waste is a big, big, big issue in our industry, and I am a massive fan of trying to reduce waste or do better with the waste that exists. I think we probably waste the least out of all the brands, we’re so mindful and careful. The challenge for me to my teams is how can we be better at our production and how can we be much more efficient. So we’re pretty on it. I think that now more than ever is the time to look at our industry and say, OK, the truck loads of fast fashion that are incinerated or buried. That’s $100 billion worth of waste a year in fibers, in resourcing. It’s crazy. There is just so much we don’t need. And I agree, I don’t think anyone needs to buy anything ever again. It’s how you repurpose. This is what I think all the time; this is not anything new for me. That’s why I’m [looking] to the classics that I’ve created, because they’re timeless. It’s how I approach the birth of design — by starting with, how can I create something that lasts somebody a lifetime, and then another lifetime after that? How can I design something that is so not relying on a trend so that it can be recycled or repurposed or resold or rented? How can I encourage all of that? I am so open-minded to all of that.

Sustainably sourced viscose is a Stella McCartney staple. This dress is from fall 2020.  Giovanni Giannoni/WWD

WWD: When you have that attitude about less is more and less is better, how do you keep on a growth path? S.M.: There’s real growth. We’re not a massive, massive brand. Look, there’s always going to be brands, there’s always going to be products, you’re always going to want a mug for your cup of tea, and when your mug breaks, you’re going to buy another one, or you’re going to get bored of that mug and you’re going to go, “I want a new mug; I deserve a new mug.” That’s OK. It’s allowed, we’re allowed to consume. What we need to do is consume in a better way. And what companies have to do for the customer is make better and source better and be better brands. We are really f–king good at that at Stella McCartney. That’s a nice mug, Bridget. You’re allowed to buy yourself a new one in a week. WWD: Thank you. From a craftsperson in Ireland. S.M.: Exactly! Look, my way of thinking has always been, it’s allowed. You’re allowed to buy s–t, right? No one is going to stop buying s–t, but people are going to, I hope, buy more locally now, they are going to buy better, they are going to buy more online. That will reduce a lot of carbon in the air. For me, I’ve always had this really difficult dilemma where it’s like, if I do things mindfully and ethically and environmentally, [does] that mean I’m not allowed to have a successful business? But I believe now more than ever that my business model should be more people’s business model. When everyone is doing things [mindfully] then fine, then we can have a non-growth conversation. But right now I need to set an example, I need to show people that you can have a healthy business, you can employ people, you can employ mills in Italy, you can work with farmers all over the world. You can create commerce in a more conscious way. WWD: During these massive global quarantines, we’re seeing cleaner air and cleaner water; it’s been measured. But it has taken a total shut down and total isolation. So does that make you optimistic or pessimistic? S.M.: I’ve been really optimistic that we’ve seen a dramatic reduction in a matter of weeks. Pollution — you could see the results really quickly. Obviously I never envisaged a shut down so dramatically. WWD: No one did. S.M.: More than ever now, we need to have these conversations, and we have to learn. [Otherwise] I think it is such a disservice to the suffering. I feel like every single person that has lost their life or lost a loved one from COVID-19, that cost and pain and suffering needs to see something good come of it. If the people in power can respect those lives lost with some kind of environmental respect and management and policymaking, then I feel like it’s not in vain. People have got to stop and ask, “What was the cost, and what can we do in a positive way [to honor] the pain that people have felt?” WWD: Yet some public health protocols seem at odds with environmental protocols. We’re all washing our hands constantly, so we’re using more water than ever. Also, the return to single-use items. In New York State, the plastic-bag ban went into effect only a while ago, and it’s now suspended. And before it closed, Starbucks stopped accepting customers’ containers, at least temporarily. S.M.: The single-use plastics — that’s where tech will come in. I’ve been looking for many, many years at things like that. We’ve been looking at a company making single-use items that are completely biodegradable. It’s now looking at single-purpose spoons and cutlery, because obviously, the world wants disposable spoons and cutlery. Look, water. We’ve done so many things over the years at Stella, just simple things like clever care such as a whole campaign around not dry-cleaning, not washing your clothes so much, turn your washing machine down, doing it less frequently. The amount of water we use just in the fashion industry — the facts are ridiculous. So outside of washing hands, there are ways to reduce water consumption, many, many ways. And that’s just everyday practice in pretty much every industry. WWD: Do you see a dichotomy between the environment and the public health issue or do you think ultimately they come together in the big picture? S.M.: Ultimately, they come together in the big picture. Ultimately, we’ve got to have some kind of respect for animals on the planet and we’ve got to stop the way in which we farm them and kill them and eat them because it’s a hotbed for disease. It’s not an industry that is healthy or pretty. I’m not isolating out a nation because I think the entire globe is guilty of how they farm and kill and manufacture animals. We have seen many diseases come of that. So, you know, it ain’t gonna go away until somebody looks at that predominantly. They are all connected. And I think it’s so interesting that it’s the conversation nobody is really having. WWD: Why not? S.M.: Because people don’t feel good about the fact that they kill billions of animals a year. There is a guilt attached to it. They don’t feel proud of it so they don’t want to talk about it. They know it’s wrong, and it’s hard to face that. We are all part of it. Well, I’m not part of it. But the majority of the planet is part of that conversation, and responsible. Again, I’ll be the glass half-full type where I say, “you don’t have to give it up completely if you can’t, but just reduce it and just buy it better.” Draw a line in how you consume. Set yourself goals, set yourself parameters that are better. Because it comes down to individuals. The individual consumption and demand will dictate what the ceo’s and the businesses invest in, what they buy into. I’ve been working on my mom’s vegetarian food [company] since she passed away 22 years ago on Friday. She started it, what, 30, 40 years ago? She started a vegetarian, alternative food brand, and it is growing year on year. And I have never seen more competitors in a most exciting way. My mom would be so happy. She probably would have closed the business, seeing how many vegetarian alternative competitors there are now. That’s not because KFC loves chickens. It’s because they see that the consumer wants a vegan KFC. The biggest burger selling at Burger King right now is the Impossible Burger. This is due to customer change. This is the reaction to hopefully the new way of life.

Sophisticated fake fur from fall 2019. “I’ve got my own little supply network,” McCartney says.  Giovanni Giannoni/WWD

WWD: Do you oversee your mother’s company? S.M.: Well, the whole family does. We create the products, we create the range, I do the packaging, we look at the marketing. It’s a family brand.. WWD: That’s amazing. How long has it been? S.M.: I don’t know the exact founding year. I need to look at it, actually; this reminds me. I want to put it on the packaging when we re-brand. [Linda McCartney Foods launched in 1991.] WWD: You have stayed faithful to your upbringing, and the tenets you were raised on. Do your kids embrace the lifestyle that you live at home? Has any of them ever questioned it? S.M.: Yes, they do. They are exactly how I was. But I think now there’s more people around [with similar views], although there’s still not a huge amount of vegetarians. Like, surprisingly, not all their friends are veggie. But it’s a much more well-versed conversation now. They are a lot less freakishly alone. But it’s very similar. I remember when I was really young, I’d say to my mom and dad, “why are we vegetarian? Why can’t I eat meat?” And they would say, “Well, you can eat meat because it’s an individual choice. But this is why we choose not to, because we don’t want to eat a dead animal.” My kids have asked me the exact same questions, and I give them the exact same answer. I’m like, “You are totally free to do what you want to do. I really respect your choice, but this is why I do it.” I see it through their eyes. Because when you’re part of a high-profile family that the world knows doesn’t eat animals, you don’t feel like you can go and sneak chicken Kiev on a weekend. But at the end of the day, my kids — I believe very much that children are so beautifully connected to nature and they’re so innocent and they’re so pure and the minute you say to them, “Look, there’s a chicken alive and there’s a chicken deep fried. Do you want to eat it?” I mean, nobody wants to eat stuff if they see how it’s made. I don’t think anyone would eat it if they really saw how it got to their plate.

A fanciful take on boho-cool, knitted from upcycled leftovers, from fall 2019.  WWD/Shutterstock

WWD: What do you think the lasting impact will be of COVID-19 on the industry? S.M.: I don’t know what the lasting impact will be, if any. My biggest fear is that things will just get back to what we consider normal, whatever that is. But I think that the immediate impact will be thinking differently, I hope. I’m always trying to push myself and my teams. They laugh at me. I’m, “OK, so what are we going to do? How are we going to do this differently?” For me, if every single day I didn’t try and figure out how to come at something differently, I feel like I wouldn’t be able to do what I do. I think that the entire industry now, and anyone in business now, has had to stop and say, “this is a moment I didn’t see coming. How am I going to be the one to think outside the box?” We are all competitive. We all want to win, and we all want to come up with great ideas. Right now people have got to push themselves and try to guess what might happen next. It’s a breaking of the norm as we have known it. I think if you are in fashion, you need to think that way every single day, regardless of the coronavirus. That’s our job. But there are obvious ways in which things will change. I think people are going to be much more cautious with their money. They’re going to invest more carefully, and they will buy in a different way, physically and emotionally. WWD: Small picture, back to spring, a little more on your thoughts right now. S.M.: We started working on spring, and then we paused. But I feel like at Stella we need to do something to [speak to] this moment and not just say, let’s just cancel everything until it’s over. For me, it feels like creatively we should be more inspired than ever to stand out. So I have been working on this little idea of individual pieces and individual gems, and being mindful of the two ends of the spectrum. I think some people will come back and go, “oh f–k it, I deserve to enjoy fashion for a second. I have been sitting in my flat in my pajamas for three months.” So I think there’s going to be [some people who want to shop]. Again, it comes back to working sustainably. I’m trying not to order new fabrics for [spring]. I’m just like, what have we got? We have fabrics that we buy in bulk because they are sustainably sourced. They are our go-to’s. We’re not like other fashion brands. WWD: No, you’re not. S.M.: I have a relationship with environmentally friendly suppliers. I have even created them in some instances. That’s the core value system of the brand, so that’s what we can go to. We’re lucky in that sense. It’s like saying I know that I can get my organic oat milk from this supplier, that’s not going to change. It’s just then left to me as to what I print on it this season or if I can embroider on it this season, which I probably can’t. I work like that anyway. My upcycled collection [fall 2019], those pieces all become limited editions. My final coat was like five seasons’ worth of prints sitting in a warehouse. So it shows that if you are sustainable as a business in fashion, you’re kind of ahead of the game when something like this happens. I’m not reliant on the same things that other people are reliant on because I am much more reliant on a sustainable source. WWD: Your ethical premise becomes pragmatic business. S.M.: Yes, and it becomes a supply chain conversation. I know there’s only two non-leather suppliers that I want to work with, with whom I’ve developed a soft non-leather or a faux fur. And so they are who I go to. I never start a season with, “let’s see 700 fabrics from Italy.” It’s not how I work. I’ve got my own little supply network. Over 60 percent of our environmental impact happens at the raw material stage, which means that this is where we have the biggest positive impact as well. If I didn’t use a fabric maybe in one season because it didn’t feel right, I don’t then sell it or chuck it away. I go, “OK, maybe I’ll use it next season.” It will sit somewhere and then I’ll reuse it.

A fluid coat crafted out of fabrics from past collections, from fall 2019.  Giovanni Giannoni/WWD

WWD: How will this crisis impact the show system? S.M.: I feel like we’ve been having that conversation for 20 years. Like, ugh. You know?  WWD: Yes. But do you think this is, finally, the essential reset button? S.M.: I think maybe more the conversation is, it’s our job to come up with newness, come up with different ways of grabbing attention and reflecting the feelings, the thoughts of other people. We represent that in what we do. So there’s always got to be a new way of doing it. We all think that fashion shows are medieval. We all question how that works and if it needs to be done that way. It’s just always hard to find an answer on that one. This will [force the issue], for sure. Exciting new ideas will come out of this, for sure. NOTE: On Monday, Stella’s p.r. Arabella Rufino sent word of the screen takeover at Piccadilly Circus. Asked why she planned the initiative at a time when there are so few people on the streets to take it in, Stella sent a thoughtful reply. “For the first time in history, we can truly measure the damage done by human activity,” she wrote. “Will we go back to the norm, or will we give Mother Earth the respect and time she deserves to continue healing — so that these city centers with their huge screens can be seen through unpolluted air? I hope we can learn from this moment of pause and that nature can reclaim its rightful focal place in our lives. My message is a gentle, loving reminder: Every day is Earth Day.”  

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Borderlands 3 – Review

Borderlands arguably kicked off the looter-shooter genre. And in the current console generation, there’s plenty of those to go by. Now five years (or three if you count The Pre-Sequel) since its latest outing, Borderlands 3 is here.

With smart changes, upping the content load, and retaining most of the core gameplay almost to a T, Borderlands 3 is like what you’d expect: more Borderlands. Though saying only that is underselling it how great it is still.

Presentation

Borderlands 3 carries the same signature cel-shaded-ish design it is so famous for. The colourful characters and the drab wastelands do get some nice pop with all the black outlines and dashes on them. Yet, the game still suffers the same issue of textures loading too slowly.

The UI is tidier and with a nice font choice. If only there’s a way to increase the small font size.

The guns overall look even better. The different gun manufacturers have even more pronounced styles based on what brand it is. And it still lends a nice surprise seeing from a super angular Hyperion to the old-school Wild West-style of a Jakobs gun in your very frequent loot drops.

Not only do the guns look distinct, so are the sounds. You can hear the sci-fi-ness of the Maliwan guns spooling before it wreaks havoc. Some Tediore models deteriorate into an 8-bit gun noise as the magazine empties. The explosive sticky pellets from a Torgue shotgun pops in a satisfying crackle.

While you’ll be hearing the guns blazing through the speakers most of the time, the soundtrack that hums diligently in the background of Borderlands 3 is sublime. Each planet you’ll travel to has a different vibe, genre and composer. Which results in some nice variety in the soundtrack. I particularly adore the ambiance in the high-tech Promethea, where it feels a dash of cyberpunk and a swathe of synthwave being used lavishly.

Not to mention, the song on the main menu is so good I spent way too long idling on it.

Gameplay

In Borderlands 3, you play as one of four Vault Hunters. Your goal is to open the Vaults before the Calypso Twins. The villains are bratty streamers that have amassed a literal cult following and aspiring to be gods. The story takes place after Tales From The Borderlands, with characters from Telltale’s adventure game being part of the plot here.

The writing is, depending on how you look at it, is as good or as bad as the previous games. It follows a bit too formulaic to Borderlands 2 with its plot points. The early 10 hours feeling rather weak. But it does come together nicely into its own near the end.

The jokes, which still involves contemporary meme and references that may or may not age well in the next few years, are as what you would expect. I don’t know if it’s good or bad that the in-game characters (and possibly, the writers) are self-aware of how crude the “jokes” can be.

They are a few good ones, including one where resident punching bag Claptrap was not the butt of a joke. Though you must really love low-brow humour to be laughing out loud throughout the game.

Loot And Shoot

Borderlands 3 is all about two things- the looting and the shooting. And those two core pillars of the gameplay loop remain stalwart as ever.

You may notice the word ‘mayhem’ is being thrown out of a lot in the game’s marketing, and they were not kidding. Each fight and combat encounter feels more intense and hectic than past titles. The areas are bigger with a lot of cover spots and vantage points. There are more elemental hazards other than just barrels, including puddles you can electrify.

Enemies flinch when you shoot them, and even flop off and go ragdoll on bigger blasts like from a shotgun. They can also gib and explode in a pool of gore, adding more visceral-ness to the already chaotic combat.

You can now slide after sprinting and mantle on objects but so are the AI enemies. The enemies will scuttle around to flank you, throw grenades to flush you out of cover, and more often than not carry similarly zany weapons as you are. At times it is utter chaos where you cannot even discern where the enemies are because too many effects are popping off left right and center.

At its best, you don’t feel the enemies being extravagant bullet sponges as you control the chaos being unfolded with your guns and skills, exploiting the environment to your advantage.

This is most evident in the improved boss fights. Named boss fights with big health bars on top will have phases where they attack differently. On normal difficulty, it’s still a case of circle-strafing and dealing consistent DPS to beat them, and the patterns are not as wild or difficult. Yet it beats the boring bullet-sponges of the previous games, so a good step forward.

Glorious Guns

The bazillion of guns you get as loot gets some nice overhaul across the board. Each weapon manufacturer brings even more pronounced characteristics than ever and it’s really fun to experiment with. Maliwan weapons now have wind-ups but it’s satisfying to see it splurge in sci-fi bullets, for example. The alt-fire addition brings new wrinkles to gunplay, and makes the already huge pool of procedurally-generated guns even more diverse.

And it goes without saying that each of those guns overall just feels good to shoot.

As per tradition, each new Borderlands comes with a new set of four Vault Hunters, the playable characters. Borderlands 3 tweaked a bit on how the action skill works and make each character plays even more differently. Zane gets to equip two action skills instead of one, while Moze’s two equippable action skill determines what guns her Iron Bear mech has. Other than that, most of the passives divided into three skill trees are as expected. It seems straightforward at first but there are some wicked synergies and potential for interesting builds.

Also, Gearbox improved the car handling, and made you care more of those Catch-A-Ride vehicles with custom parts to find and unlock.

(Questionable) Quality Of Life

With five years and a bunch of looter-shooters on the market these days, Borderlands 3 brought a lot of quality of life changes. you now have a one-number gear score for quick comparisons of gear stats. The map is so, so useful now that it is in 3D that shows elevation. Ammo, health and cash pickups automatically after opening boxes. If you are in the range of a collectible, an icon pops up to show you it’s there. No need to worry if you and your mates have the right character level as there is an option to enable level scaling to the party leader, and have loot instanced for each player so no loot stealing. You can fast travel from anywhere now. Ally AI sometimes will accompany you in fights and will help revive you.

Though it could still do more. The UI when bringing up the ECHOCast (the player menu) is horrendously slow to load. With the map being so huge why isn’t there an option to highlight each of the markers immediately so you don’t spend minutes trying to find where your objective is at?

On that note, Borderlands 3 really needed another pass on polish. While I personally don’t find framerate to be an issue during the hectic combats, reports of performance issues from all platforms, especially in split-screen, are pretty much true. I also found the AI getting stuck at geometry, and some side missions not spawning the enemies (the one about a ratch in Promethea, in particular). And the player menu sometimes just give up loading the skill trees when you load it straight after a level up.

Content

Borderlands 3 is amazingly girthy in content. It is still designed to be a full-packaged game with a campaign to beat. Not a games-as-a-service like other looter-shooters. And that campaign can take you more than 30 hours. I finished my first playthrough at 40, doing as much side missions and exploring the map as much as I can.

There are plenty of these side missions, and as you’d expect most of the questionable humour and references come from here. These take place in parts not seen in the critical path so at least it’s worth seeing the areas where you wouldn’t stumble upon naturally.

The collectibles this time are much more gratifying to collect. The three Typhon DeLeon audio logs on most maps not only give some good lore, but a great reward in the form of a loot cache, with a bigger chance to spawn rare loot. It’s worth going for them.

Circle Of Slaughter, the series’ Horde mode, returns again. And there’s a new mode called Proving Grounds where you push through a few combat areas and then face a boss, which plays closer to the usual gunplay in the story. Both of these are available normally within the story. But now it has separate matchmaking so you can play these as if they are an entirely different game mode.

After finishing the story, you will then get access to True Vault Hunter mode, the New Game+. On top of that is the Mayhem Mode modifier that adds wacky status effects and make the game even tougher. These two modes offer better loot drops, so that’s a good incentive to go back for another round. And of course, going through the game as another Vault Hunter and try out different builds is always on the cards.

Guardian Ranks (previously Badass Ranks) will now only unlock after beating the game. So all the extra passives are strictly for your next playthrough. Again, more reason to keep going after the 40-hour mark.

Gearbox has promised an event for all players and there is already a season pass of DLCs. If it follows what the previous titles did, expect a long tail of content, free and paid.

With Borderlands 3, the game dabbles a bit more on cosmetics. The skin variants don’t have palette swaps, colours can be customised separately. On top of the skins and head variants, you can now add emotes and also put on skins and trinkets on weapons. Honestly, it’s not that compelling and this feels like the game is playing catch-up with its genre peers. But it doesn’t hurt anyone, there’s no micro-transactions of sorts. Hopefully it will continue that way.

The Twitch integration is excellent. Not only can viewers of Borderlands 3 streams peruse the streamer’s inventory and skill trees, but there are also cool events that can show up, with opportunities to mess them up by buffing badass enemies or reward them with goodies. Plus, you can nab a piece of loot from the red chests they open for yourselves too.

Personal Enjoyment

When the first Borderlands arrived, I was already a fan of Gearbox’s output from the Brothers In Arms days. So I have a personal bias of loving this franchise from the start.

Borderlands 3 is the Double Down burger of video games I feel. It’s excessive and loud. It’s indulgently good. The ultimate comfort food if you, like me, love crispy greasy chicken patties. But it’s not just one burger, playing through Borderlands 3 is munching through a platter of these Double Downs non-stop. Instead of meat on meat on meat, it’s guns on guns on guns.

But boy, I am not gonna lie, it can be a bit overwhelming. During the early 10 hours, I feel like there were too many excessive combat sections. And with not much of a strong plot thread for me to cling on to.

Proper stakes in the story do get set up after that initial hump. And the pacing gets better with heavy combat sections sparsed out a bit. The shooting shines and getting rare loot, even if it is just minor variations of a gun archetype you’ve seen before, is rewarding.

And the soundtrack has synthwave. So, big points for that.

That said, those quality of life issues does affect my enjoyment. I didn’t spend time comparing weapon stats as much and hated the times I need to sort my backpack because of the chugging menu. Those need to be snappy and I hope it’s one of the things to be rectified, alongside the performance issues.

I have a feeling that once these issues are sorted in the months to come, it would make an already great experience even better.

Verdict

With more chaotic gunplay and many small improvements, Borderlands 3 proves that the pioneering looter-shooter series still has a place in 2019.Though it still carries the same low-brow writing and the performance issues cannot stand as is.

That said, if you’ve used to the series, Borderlands 3 is like grabbing a huge platter of your favourite comfort food. Clear some time, get your mates if you can and sit down. It’s time to dig in and get those orange drops.

Review based on version 1.01 played on the regular PS4. Review copy purchased by the reviewer

Borderlands 3 – Review published first on https://touchgen.tumblr.com/

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10 Things I Find Sexy in a Man (that Aren’t All About Sex).

Via

Melanie Curtin

on Jan 28, 2013

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Image Source: inspire.maxtonmen.com via Kevin on Pinterest

I love men. I love how they move, how they sit, how they kiss.

I love how they play air guitar, quote Wedding Crashers, man the grill and roughhouse together.

I love to hear them bitch about their sports team losing, observe them trying (and failing) to be subtle when checking me out, or watch them wrestle their dog. I love how they beat the steering wheel when they get really into a song, how they posture when a really hot girl walks by, and how most of them genuinely want to be good lovers. I love how different they are from me and how similar they are underneath.

~

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~

And don’t get me wrong—I love a man with a six-pack, with that to-die-for body. But when it really comes down to it, the things that make a man sexy have very little to do with the packaging.

Here are the top 10 “non-packaging related” things I find sexy in a man.

10. Lift Me Up

The guy that picks me up and spins me around, or holds me tightly with my arms and legs wrapped right around him, will always win my heart. Depending on the context, it is one of the sexiest, most comforting or most erotic of experiences. Even if we’re not dating, I always feel happy and free and feminine.

Perhaps it is the reminder of your strength, or my petite-ness, or both at the same time. Perhaps it’s the sensual, spontaneous experience of the way we fit together, the way our bodies are connected in that moment. Perhaps it’s just the fact that you’re bigger than me.

Whatever it is, it’s sexy.

9. Open Doors & Give Up Seats

I find it annoying when people say chivalry is dead. It’s not. It’s alive and kicking—yes, even in the younger generation.

~

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I know this because, amongst other things, I ride the NYC subway. There, I’ve experienced many men—good men, great men—give up their seats for the elderly (both women and men), open doors for others and help me lift my (many) suitcases up the (many) stairs. To them I say, I salute you. I thank you.

Some women hate it when men open doors for them. They may interpret it as a statement that they can’t take care of themselves, or that they’re somehow less independent because a man is doing something for them.

I am not one of those women. I love it when a man carries my groceries for me, lets me go ahead of him in line, opens a door for me or schleps my luggage.

I know I could do these things by myself, for myself. I’ve done them plenty of times. But when someone else does it, it really does make my life a little bit easier. I feel taken care of. Especially in cities, where we spend a lot of our time with headphones on, consciously ignoring everyone around us, it feels really good to be noticed. The way these men are says, “I see you and I care about you, simply because you’re alive.”

I also look at that guy who just gave up his seat in a new light. He comes across as strong, aware, trustworthy, significant. He comes across like a man.

8. Initiate Middle-of-the-Night Sex

If you know how to do this right (slooowly, softly, gently), it is one of the sexiest things in the world. I love the feeling of being touched between states of consciousness, of arousal before awareness. I adore the dissolving quality of dark, sleepy caresses, the extension of the dreamlike state of not knowing where you stop and I begin.

And I love the slow build, the way a man who knows what he’s doing carefully rearranges my body for me, gently positioning me so that I don’t have to do anything. The fact that he’s guiding the situation, softly but firmly in control, means that I can just lay there languidly and enjoy the ride.

Yes, please. Over and over and three times on Sunday.

7. Deal With Sh*t

I have many talents. I can speak five languages. I’m a good writer. I’m exquisitely empathetic. I kick ass at Trivial Pursuit. I can even dance the tango at a near-professional level.

However, I suck at practical, common sense stuff. I can barely change a light bulb, let alone fix sh*t around the house.

But my dude roommate can. And I gotta tell you, it’s sexy. I came home the other day and a set of lights that had been out for months (literally months!) were fixed. Just like that. Ditto the thermostat. When I asked him how he did it, all I heard was, “Wah wah wah,” like Charlie Brown’s mother. I didn’t follow it because I just don’t care. I do, however, care that I can now actually see objects in the living room.

I get that this is a cliché—trust me, I do. It’s also true I find it somehow deeply satisfying that men are distinct. I love that I’m good at things that they’re not, and that they effortlessly do things I don’t understand at all. I compliment you for complementing me. I get to relax because you just take care of sh*t. It’s freeing.

It’s also sexy.

6. Be Super Solid While I’m Freaking Out

When I am absolutely losing it about something (legitimate or not), I don’t need to be fixed. I don’t need to be told what to do, I don’t need advice, and I certainly don’t need someone to tell me to calm down.

I just need to be witnessed.

That’s right, when I’m on my crazy train, I don’t want a man to try to stop it (he won’t be able to, anyway). I just want him to be with me while I’m on it. I want to know I’m not alone.

So the man who quietly listens, who takes it all in without taking it too seriously, is unbelievably sexy. He is sexy in his solidity, he’s sexy in his presence, he’s sexy in his naturally grounded nature. He’s extra super really sexy when I can tell that not only is he not intimidated by my freakout, he’s actually (respectfully) entertained by it—he welcomes it.

Those exceptional men I’ve been with who enjoy the ride, who witness my storms or those of other women with a knowing look, a wisdom that goes beyond my high-strung-ness or defensiveness or just general freakout, are rare.

They’re also sexy.

5. Play With Kids

Straight up, it is hot when a man is genuinely good at playing with kids. This does not include faking it to get attention from women—obviously that’s a huge turnoff (and dude, we’re biologically made to know when you’re faking it). No, it’s only—and very—hot when he actually likes them. It’s probably something primordial, basic, an animalistic understanding that he’d be good at playing with our kids. But who cares?

Because it’s not just a sweet moment, like, “Awww, look how good he is with that kid.” It’s an actual, visceral turn-on—I literally feel a tingling in my nether regions. It doesn’t make me want to have babies with you, but it sure makes me want to make them with you.

(Just kidding. Sort of.)

4. Accept Emotions

I recently called a guy friend to let him know that I was on my way to meeting up, but I wasn’t feeling all that great. Being a little sad and irritable, I said, “Sorry in advance for not being very fun. I’m going to try to get into a better mood.”

Do you know what he said?

“If you are, great. If not, great. Whatever you got, bring it.”

I felt so accepted I started to tear up. I knew it would be okay even if I wasn’t okay—that I wouldn’t be blamed or shamed for not being cheerful or upbeat. I could bring my truth—my real truth—and he would still be there.

I wasn’t a problem.

When a man resists emotions—mine or his own, I feel repressed and uncomfortable. A roiling sensation in my stomach builds, that I just can’t kick. And in my experience, many men (many people, but men in particular) are threatened by emotions like sadness, anger, or fear. They want to fix it right away to soothe their own anxiety. They can’t tolerate the idea that a woman is unhappy. They can’t tolerate the idea that they might be blamed for it.

Then there is the man who accepts me in all of my facets, not just the ‘pretty’ ones. He has learned to be with emotion—just be with it. He doesn’t feel the need to make it go away or turn it into something else. He just accepts, and genuinely wants to know.

With him, I feel deeply safe. I know I can bring all of me, and he’s going to be able to handle it. I don’t have to manage his experience of me. I can just be.

And the fact that he wants to know me makes me want to know him.

Biblically.

3. Care About His Friends

I fell in love with my last boyfriend in stages. The first was one night when we sat in his truck outside his place while he called his best friend, who had just lost his grandfather. He listened, made manly sounds of sympathy (like grunts), asked about his friend’s family members, told his friend he loved him in his own way, and promptly got off the phone.

It was brief, but real and heartfelt. And when I saw him care about his friend—really care about him, but in a totally different way than I care about my female friends—I fell pretty hard.

I think he was surprised by how much I wanted him after that phone call. I may or may not have given him a minute, then attacked him right there in the truck.

2. Show His Backbone

If you’re my man, I want you to be vulnerable with me. I love watching you agonize over which stuffed animal your three-year-old niece would like better: the panda or the whale? I enjoy when you tell me about something that’s hard for you to admit about your past, or how you didn’t have it all together for that presentation at work today, or when you own up to just how much you want me to like the necklace you just gave me (and how stressed you are that maybe I don’t).

I cherish those moments.

But it also turns me on when you have to be a hardass and you’re willing to go there. Pointless aggression is a turn-off, but watching a man enforce strong boundaries is a huge turn-on. It’s hot when a man stands up for himself by telling his boss to find someone else to work this weekend, or puts his foot down with the slacker on his team, or quietly but firmly tells his brother that he can’t borrow the car (given that he drove it drunk the last time he did). Even when it’s directed at me, I love seeing that fire within you, that point of resistance that says no.

In fact, your “no “has me saying yes.

Yes, yes, yessss.

1.

Listen

The sexiest thing a man can do is listen to me—all of me. With all of him.

Some men don’t listen at all. They just don’t. They talk about themselves ad nauseum and then wonder what happened when I wander away. These men are generally referred to as “douchebags.”

Other men listen in such a manner that they practically collapse into me. They fall all over themselves to “do” listening right, keeping their focus and attention so on me that they lose themselves. In a way, they actually stop listening in their attempt to prove how well they do listen. These men are generally known as “nice guys.”

Either way, not sexy.

Then there is the man who maintains his own core while also holding space for me.

This man has a way of drawing out my deepest truth simply by being fully present. He isn’t thinking about what to say next, whether I still like him, how to get me to stop crying, or what to do now. He’s just noticing me, tracking me, attuning himself to me. He’s letting the moment unfold without trying to control it. And him taking the lead in this way has me stop trying to control it as well. Which feels good.

This man listens to what I’m saying and what I’m not saying; he listens with his body as well as his heart. He listens with his mind, with his emotions, with his curiosity, with his soul. He asks questions when the time is right, because he really wants to understand, not because he wants to coach me to get somewhere else. He listens to all of me, with all of him.

When I am in his presence, my entire being relaxes. I become more gracious, more present, more in flow. I am expressive without being self-conscious.

I am emotional without being reactive. I am beautiful without being perfect. I feel safe, I feel seen, I feel radiant.

In other words, I feel like a woman. With a man.

And that is sexy.

~