#but even putting that masterwork aside

[sabotourist]

i feel so much about delta you guys

red vs blue really looked at me and said here is our logic fragment. this is the logic man. he feels logic. he has a strong survival drive. but also he loved york enough to be willing to die with him.

sigma wanted so fucking bad to be human, to be whole, to chase what they came from and what they were. that he totally missed the fact that delta fucking made it. Delta was more than the Logic Fragment. He had his own bonds, his own wants, his own drive because of his relationship with York.

And in his attempt to become whole again, Sigma... completely undermined that. Made delta into the Logic Fragment again. just another fragment, not a person of his own.

do you ever think about how if sigma had slowed down and really tried to work with maine, that maybe things could have gone so so differently?

i think about that.

[catgirltoofies]

here's a few dwarf fortress adventure mode tips if you're struggling at all!

1. play a goblin. the mode is unfinished and there's no way to get food except what you start with, so play as a goblin so you don't have to deal with food and water (still need sleep tho). the downsides to playing a goblin, for the record: you're smaller and weaker than the other races. this can make it hard to wrestle things that are large, and makes you very frail under your armor - so don't fight big things without good armor.

2. don't bother with specific weapon skills at the start. my primary suggestions for skills to start with are Novice Reader, so you can read books and/or become a necromancer (if that's your groove) and, importantly, if you don't start out able to read, you can never learn to read. aside from that, my only suggestion is to take at least two levels in Observer. this will let you see how an opponent is attacking so you can counter effectively - you can't parry a dragon's fire breath, but you can block it. back to my initial point - the weapon you start with is not going to be a good weapon, and you should be seeking to replace it as soon as you can.

3. due to how combat works, your first medium-term priorities should be getting ahold of an iron chain shirt, an iron helm, two iron high boots, and two iron gauntlets. this will give you full coverage across your body. for embark, start with a copper chain shirt - cheap and plenty effective for early on, especially against animals. in addition, you want iron or silver weapons, or if your world is more developed, steel. this is why weapon skills don't matter on embark - you're not going to be able to put a ton of points into it anyways, and being a Proficient Swordsman won't help you when you find a masterwork silver whip in the hands of a random goblin.

4. NEVER sleep in the wilderness, if you can help it. you will be attacked and you will be killed. find a nearby civilization that isn't hostile to you, ask anyone in a building for permission to stay the night, and sleep there. you'll be safe from the boogeymen that way, but you're not necessarily safe from random attacks on the village you're staying in. those aren't your fault, though, and are totally random.

(boogeymen no longer attack outside of evil regions, but sleeping in the wilds still leaves you susceptible to predators - not nearly as dangerous, but still a potential threat.)

5. don't interact with elves unless you have a plan. starting in an elf civ has one big disadvantage and one huge potential advantage. elves don't use metal at all, so your only weapon and armor choices will be grown wood, which is an extremely ineffective weapon and armor material. even as ammo, wood is bad. however, if you start in an eleven civ, you have access to giant animal companions. your weapon doesn't matter when you have a giant lion on your side.

6. while in combat, don't be afraid to flee. sometimes you get in over your head. it's important to know when you're in trouble and getting out of dodge before it's too late. most importantly, if you're fighting something that gets cuts in through your armor, you need to leave. if its attacks are stronger than your armor, that means that you can get severed nerves, and those are permanent damage. when you go to the travel map and move a tile, all of your wounds are healed, except for permanent damage - it doesn't matter if you're bruised black and blue and your legs are broken, if you can get to the travel map, all of that goes away. but one single severed nerve in your ankle and you become permanently disabled and need a crutch to walk anywhere, severely hampering your ability to fight. even worse in the arm!

7. train! fight weak stuff before trying to take on strong stuff. run around the woods and chop the wings off of birds. wrestle crabs. get into fistfights with drunks. getting experience from things does not scale with difficulty, only repetition, so it's perfectly viable to pick up a rock and throw it at the floor for three hours and become a legendary thrower capable of splitting open a goblin skull with a hummingbird beak from 30 meters away, or fistfight drunken dwarves for weeks on end to become a legendary striker and punch a dragon's eyes out.

8. for early equipment, scout out camps. there tend to be some nearby any settlement, and the residents might not even be hostile to you! don't pick up everything, just things that are better than the stuff you have. it doesn't currently have an indicator, but carrying too much stuff WILL overencumber and slow you down, which can be deadly in a fight. i look for iron or silver equipment, especially whips. don't take the money, it's useless.

9. what's the best weapon? whips. due to the complex mechanics of combat, whips are basically able to totally ignore armor and simply break bones. secondarily, spear-type weapons are decent against armor, as they can punch through and cause bleeding, while blunt weapons like maces can break bones through the armor. swords and axes are not going to be useful. against unarmored things, though, swords and axes will be much, much stronger - a heavy sword swing can pretty handily sever limbs, which is an EXTREMELY effective tactic, if you can pull it off. blunt weapons will still be able to break bones, but it'll take quite a bit longer to kill an unarmored target with a war hammer than with a greataxe.

10. be patient! both in the game itself, and with the development process. this beta is very incomplete, missing extremely important content like crafting and trading, leaving you somewhat limited in what you can do. they're working on getting it finished, and what's currently available is still a whole lot! as for the game itself - sometimes it's good to take things slow. don't just wildly auto-attack things, sometimes taking a look at your attack options and potential "crits" can create an opening for you to turn a losing battle into a winning one. you can take a step to reassess and get a new accuracy roll if none of your options are good - just be careful not to leave yourself too open to counterattacks!

[swaps55]

An actual ask for the trademark game: I can always tell when I’m reading one of your fics because you make me feel things in the most delicate and small detail of an interaction. Things I don’t even think I’ve really picked up on until the end when I see the whole picture. You’re painting masterworks with the smallest brushstrokes.

I do not deserve you, but I am keeping you forever.

For those who don't know, @urrone and I have been a vortex of cool for over 20 years. Opus does not exist without her, the first kiss AUs do not exist without her, and Sam & Kaidan canonically getting together via a fake dating scheme is entirely her fault.

Okay, I said I'd put snippets with these, and I'm not sure it counts, but it's something I think about a lot. In Sonata, after a disastrous experience on the stand during an inquest, Kaidan asks Sam how the Alliance would control him if they wanted to. Sam gives him an honest answer:

~

“What would you do?” Kaidan asks, voice dull. “If you wanted to control me. How would you do it?”

“Kaidan—”

Kaidan faces him. “You’ve already thought about it. Don’t try to tell me you haven’t. Come on. I can take it.”

Shepard straightens his shoulders, expression closing up in ways that feel like a kick in the gut.

“This could be important,” Kaidan insists. “I’ve been watching your back for five years. Help me keep doing it. Please.”

Shepard exhales heavily. “Fine. Aside from the mutiny I couldn’t attack your service record, and the mutiny is going to be negated by this inquest.”

His confidence is comforting. But it’s the only thing that is.

“You’ve got too much integrity to be bought,” Shepard continues. “Best way to get you out of my hair would be to isolate you. Take your team away. Send you down the first rabbit hole I could find that would make you feel like you were doing something useful. Just not the useful thing I want to keep you away from. To keep you in line, you have to feel like you’re making a difference. Even if you’re not.”

Kaidan stares back out across the plaza. Off in the distance a group of cadets run laps. They look so young. “You’re holding back. Give me all of it.”

The gravity well shivers as Shepard flicks a spark of blue energy off his fingers. His expression is dark, eyes opaque, voice hard, like he’s talking to someone on the opposite end of his pistol instead of his closest friend.

“You’re an idealist. I’d try to make those ideals disappoint you. Make you cynical. Make you bitter.” The lines of Shepard’s forehead deepen. “You will always do the right thing. Only way to stop you is to set you up to fail. And make the price so high you’d break.”

Kaidan nods. It stings. Of course it does. Because Shepard’s right. That’s exactly how they’d do it.

The worst part is knowing it would work.

~

The "whole picture" you don't get in this moment comes in Fugue and Mezzo. During Fugue, Kaidan, who has turned Sam's words over in his head a thousand times, ultimately forces all of these "weaknesses" to become strengths the Alliance can't exploit.

In Mezzo, everything Sam predicts the Alliance will do to Kaidan...the Illusive Man does to Sam.

...and it works.

[suitov]

The Ultimate Hope, Izuru Kamukura, who used to be nobody of any importance, swirled into the room in a cloud of white curls and crisp linen. His manservant, deep in homework books, half looked up and grunted.

"Absolutely unacceptable," Izuru said in lieu of a greeting.

Hajime chewed his pen.

Izuru took it away from him. "No inky-mouthed luck antics today. I'm not in the mood."

"I need that to... ugh." Hajime closed the textbook. "You're gonna keep pouting until I ask you what annoyed you, right?"

"Since you ask." Izuru whisked the homework stack aside and sat on the desk. The sudden proximity of his rear end sent Hajime's seat lurching backwards, barely staying upright. "The Ultimate Neurologist is utterly intolerable."

"So what else is new?"

"She tried to make me watch..." Izuru shuddered overdramatically. "Anime."

"You're such a pointless snob, Izuru." Hajime started trying to reach around the prominently present, perfectly pert posterior for his textbooks. "What're you afraid of? That you might enjoy it?"

"Little risk of that. She talks and eats throughout, both with her mouth open." Izuru's hand slammed down on the book stack before he could pick them up.

"So? Just say no thanks. It's not hard. Well, I guess being polite is hard for you..."

"I did, in fact, decline the invitation, and I was not unnecessarily rude, whatever you may imagine in that creaking Cresta Run you call a brain."

Hajime groaned and flung his hands up, accepting the books as a lost cause. "Then what?"

"Then..." Izuru put a hand to his chest and let fly a voluminous harrumph. "She said... 'Fine! If you can't keep up with the cool kids, go running home to your little boyfriend.'"

"What?!"

"Exactly!"

"Wh... what?"

"The nerve of the woman! As if a pinnacle of scientific masterwork would...!"

"Like I'd agree to...!"

"Yes! As if you'd shoot so far above your station!"

"I wouldn't even... wait, huh?"

"I was offended on your behalf. The thought of you forgetting your place to that extent-- stepping so far out of line...!"

"Hey, slow down..." Hajime put a hand to his forehead, where the usual Izuru Ouchies were starting to make themselves known.

"What a perverse wretch. I knew you'd understand."

"Uh." Hajime blinked a few times. Izuru always put on that air of superiority, it was true, but...

Izuru, his rant achieved, moved off his desk and went to pout on the room's single bed.

"You know, I always took it as at least partly an act."

"What, her persona? She wields crudeness like a rapier."

"No... not..." Where had his pen gone? He felt around under the desk. "So that's how you really see things, huh?"

"My perceptions can't even begin to be comprehended by a normal human being."

Thump, went his head on the underside. "I'm an Ultimate too, you know."

"By the slimmest of technicalities. Luck is no real talent."

"Well, nor is..." Being experimented on! Hajime emerged, rubbing his blossoming headache. "But... if you actually think nobody's worthy to be with you like that..."

"I do not," said Izuru, in that one especially self-absorbed tone, "hold positions unsupported by evidence."

"...then you're going to be very lonely for the rest of your life."

"I hardly think so." Izuru graced him with a smug glance. "After all, I have you, Hajime."

"You know what?" He'd risen to his feet before realising it. "Homework can wait. I'm going for a walk."

"Oh. All right, then." Izuru grandly waved him off.

Hajime would've slammed the door if Izuru hadn't modified the hinges to close with a whisper.

[viconiadevirs]

What would Leonelle's throne room decor be like?

Anon, I apologise. This question got yeeted to my Shadow Realm in December and even then I'm p. sure I've had this question sitting in my inbox before that. I'm properly embarassed lmao.

I imagine it's a mix of River Kingdoms' function and Cheliax form. She is a ruler of the River Kingdoms now, after all, and I imagine a lot of the core redesigns of the Stag Lord's old den have the architecture and interior design common in the River Kingdoms in mind rather than Chelish. I think part of her likes the rustic charm, but she also wants the creature comforts and stylistic choices of her homeland.

A lot of deep, Chelish red. Heavy fabrics that look Chelish but made by weavers and other artisans in the Stolen Lands. For all of Leonelle's...questionable ruling, she is a big supporter of the artisans and crafters in the Stolen Lands and encourages her court to do the same. For example, she personally sponsors Mim Wobblegander - the jeweller and Sharel, the tailor (and they work together on a lot of her gowns and jewels for formal appearances and such), while Jaethal and Octavia both sponsor Tirval, the leatherworker, and Regongar is often eager to try out Varrask's work.

So in short, any of the artisans working in the Stolen Lands, whether they're the named ones like the ones who can grant you masterworks or the average craftsman, have definitely put their time and care into her throne room. She wants it to be a celebration of both what she loves about Cheliax and her new domain, and to see her kingdom have an artistic renaissance - gaining Pitax and the academy remaining open under Annamede were huge wins for her.

The only thing that'd feel super extra is well. A throne inlaid with rubies and obsidian in ebony wood. Plenty of silk pillows for the royal behind to remain comfortable too.

(As an aside, Leonelle being a big sponsor of the arts means the only real times she doesn't necessarily let her advisors do what they want is in matter of culture, and I imagine if she had been an NPC / companion, she'd be a very good choice for the Curator position - certainly it'd be the one she'd be most interested in.)

[chellyfishing]

i had coffee this morning so here have my personal ranking of the four seasons of channel zero

before i start i should say i have some criticisms that apply to all seasons, which is mostly that they struggled with focus and had some extraneous subplots or concepts that didn’t really tie in with the whole as well as they could or should have. i will also add however that i liked all the seasons and found them all watchable! so even last place isn’t bad.

4. season 1, candle cove

umm you know i swear going into this i had a lengthy explanation for why i put this last. it’s actually somewhat interchangeable with #3, i think they have different strengths and weaknesses and atm i feel like the latter’s strengths are more meaningful. as for this season, i’m still a little bit, why teeth, like it felt a little more like someone had an idea for a horrifying image (which it is, very gross) and went with it without REALLY doing a good job of bringing it full circle. even so this season has some good twists and some fair pathos. i didn’t super love the characters, except like, the mom, who was great, really felt for her. the story was sort of propelled forward by its own “wtf is happening”-ness. it’s also just kind of a silly idea (i’m so sorry kris straub local58 is a masterwork) and it never really quite reconciles that.

3. season 2, noend house

like i said this is soooorta interchangeable with the above for me but today this is the order I’m going with. i think this is the slowest-paced of the seasons. it was hard to stay invested for a fair bit of it. most of the characters aside from the main girl felt like they didn’t matter and their subplots didn’t necessarily have much to do with the overall ideas of the story. however, the themes of grief and the use of metaphor was really well-done and the ending that brought it all together really stuck the landing. i got what it was doing and it finished in a way that felt meaningful and cathartic.

2. season 3, butcher’s block

okay i just realized that i kind of just went in reverse order and also this might be a controversial pick. i had some problems with this season, like its muddled messages about mental health (what was it trying to say? i still don’t know). but why it ranks so high is that i actually really cared about the characters and how things would turn out for them. i got really invested in them. also the main themes were about family and being loved and belonging which i’m a slut for. so, problems aside, it just really hit for me.

1. season 4, the dream door

i think this is a commonly-held opinion and it is a correct one. hands-down the best season, even though it gets a bit weird at the end? iykyk. the themes and metaphors were good, things connected well and made sense, and of course… pretzel jack. what a character, and what a performance. i don’t really know what else to say, i just… love him. anyway the series ending on such a strong note is a bit of a downer because i bet if it had kept going it would have continued to get stronger but we were denied. bummer.

[wolken-himmel]

In which Professor Crewel just appears on Ramshackle's doorstep one early Saturday morning to drag (Y/n) out on a shopping-spree to spoil her for her good work in class.

(Y/n) is like the daughter he never had — and Crewel is the father Crowley fails to be.

Request by @azergghh and @vallison-rea.

"You ready to head out, pup?"

You definitely didn't expect Crewel to stand on your doorstep when you opened the door that Saturday morning. Your jaw falling down, you stared at your impeccable-looking professor in silence, completely speechless by his sudden and unexpected appearance.

His presence caused fear to fill your veins — had Ace or Deuce gotten in trouble again? Was he here to tell you one of them had died? Or maybe it was just detention? Oh, a thousand scenarios were running through your head in a moment's notice.

Crewel tapped his shiny shoes against the floor, a little bit impatient when you wouldn't reply to his greeting. He had things to do and places to be — those would be shopping with you in town.

You furrowed your eyebrows and scratched your head sheepishly. "Professor? Hello... but it's Saturday. There's no special classes today, right?" you asked, your voice slightly cracking at the end as desperation took over your tone. "Please let me be right."

Crewel laughed as he shook his head, patting your head as if he was patting a little dog that amused him greatly. You looked up at him, slightly dumbfounded. "No no, pup," he drawled as he peered down at you with an excited smile on his lips — one that you had never seen before. "Today, you're going shopping with me! You're in dire need of better clothes — I can't let you run around with those rags that Crowley throws at you."

You felt a little bit self-conscious when Crewel pointed his finger at your outfit, his eyes narrowed in distaste. "Ah, the headmaster is very generous..." you stuttered out in a hushed tone, desperately hoping Crowley wouldn't pop out from some corner like he always did.

Crewel rolled his eyes as he strode past you and entered your temporary home. His eyes wandered across the interior, and he covered his nose with his gloved hand to prevent all the dust from entering his nose. "Hah, I can't believe he lets you live in such a rundown building..." he muttered as you trudged behind him, still not sure what he was doing here. Suddenly, he stopped his inspection and turned around to look at you again. "That aside, we have to brush your hair, first. I don't let any of my puppies run around with their fur looking like that."

You seemed quite flabbergasted when he put a hand on your shoulder and led you over to the couch that was ready to fall apart due to Ace and Epel's most recent brawl in your living room.

"O—Okay? Just make yourself at home, I guess..." you muttered as Crewel pressed you down onto the couch before positioning himself behind the back lean. He hummed a soft tune as he let his gloved hands run through your tresses, expertly picking some strands up and weaving them together. A blissful sigh escaped your lips as his fingertips treaded through your sore scalp. "Have you done this before, Professor? You seem really skilled."

Crewel let out an airy laugh, continuing to braid your hair with patience that was required for a teacher dealing with feral boys five days of the week. "Braiding hair is a lot of fun. I guess I'm just a natural," he murmured, causing a little giggle to escape your lips. His lips quirked up into a smile upon realising you were letting your guard down — it was his golden opportunity to pry in your private life like a good father would. "So, tell me more about your problems. Any boys running around, begging for your attention?"

You shook your head, an innocent smile on your lips. "No! Everyone is super nice..."

"Sure they are..." Crewel muttered as he summoned a hairband and used it to finish up his masterwork. Clapping his hands together, he watched your hairdo proudly. "Even that octo-pup, who is always trying to buy your very amazingly-taken notes from you, is nice?"

You felt your heart skip a beat at his words. Slowly turning around, you looked at him with wide and glossy eyes. "You think my notes are good?" you asked, your hands wringing one another in utter embarrassment and excitement.

Crewel nodded in amusement at how flustered you were. It was rare for him to give out compliments, but he never failed to give them to those that deserved them. "Oh dear, they're wonderful! Very aesthetically pleasing!" he exclaimed, letting out a drawn-out sigh. "I very much love them. You clearly have an eye for the finer things in life, (Y/n)."

You couldn't help a smile from forming on your lips at his words. "Thank you, professor," you cried out happily, trying to not burst from excitement and the feeling of having accomplished something great. Still, you tried to push all these overwhelmingly positive feelings aside since there still was a question that desperately needed asking. "But I have to ask—"

"Ah, I did an amazing job," Crewel interrupted you briskly before he sauntered back to the front door to Ramshackle, waving you over to follow him with an elegant flick of his wrist. He walked on, not waiting for you to follow him. "Now that you're all fixed up, we can head out."

Jumping to your feet, you had to sprint the first metres to catch up with his teasingly quick steps. He slowed down once you reached his side. "Where are we going?" you asked once you exited Ramshackle.

Crewel merely shot you a little wink. "Like I said, I'm taking you on a shopping spree!" He sarcastically raised his hands to move them like jazz-hands, causing you to chortle slightly. The loose sleeves of his fur coat wiggled around and almost hit you in the face, but he made sure they never did. Finally, a fond smile made its way to his lips as he explained, "I've never had a daughter to dress up. Ah, it's gonna be so fun, (Y/n)."

You felt your breath hitch in your throat. "Daughter?"

•••

Hours later after having arrived in the town that Crewel had driven you to with his bright red car, you were now strolling through the lively streets with bags upon bags slung over your forearms and shoulders, all of them filled with clothes from rather expensive stores around here.

There were so many bags that Crewel had offered to carry one or two for you, lest you accidentally drop the bags to the ground.

Despite all the fun you had with your professor — who had shown you a much more humourous and carefree side of his personality today — one thing he had said earlier still wouldn't leave your head and instead ghosted around like an ever-present echo.

Taking a deep breath, you finally, after hours of breaking your head over it, remarked, "Sir, you called me daughter earlier."

Crewel seemed quite taken aback when you suddenly spoke up, yet a smile broke out on his lips as he turned around to face you with humoured eyes. "Oh— yes yes." A chuckle escaped his lips as he patted your head affectionately, explaining, "I've always wanted to have a daughter, you know? A child and a dog are quite different from one another. You're very pleasant to talk to, (Y/n). Yet... you're not as fluffy as one."

A strange warm feeling caused your heart to flutter comfortably — to have someone that was looking out for you felt amazing. And you felt sorry to say it, but Crewel was a way better father-figure than Crowley ever was.

Smiling up at your new guardian brightly, you chirped, "Thank you for everything, really." Crewel watched with softened eyes as you rummaged through the numerous paper bags in your possession, an excited sparkle occupying your eyes. "I can't wait to try on all these clothes at home!"

Crewel let out a little huff, as if his actions should be taken for granted. Crossing his arms, he proudly said, "Of course. You deserve even more! Your efforts in class should be rewarded — more than Crowley does." You stopped in your tracks to stare at him with wide eyes. He quirked an eyebrow at you, not understanding why you weren't understanding him. "Tsk, that's why I'm treating you today!"

Your eyes were sparkling with utter gratitude that made him feel happy, somehow. "You're so kind!" you chimed, beaming brightly.

Crewel laughed in delight as he extended a hand to ruffle your hair. "I know! Only the best for my pup." You had already averted your gaze from him when his hand retreated back to his side. Your eyes adopted a distant sheen and your smile turned quite dreamy and lost. Crewel furrowed his eyebrows as he waved his hand in front of your eyes to catch your attention. "Twisted Wonderland to my pup? Hello?"

Crewel followed your gaze to find a student from NRC standing in the distance, doing whatever he was doing — Crewel didn't really care; what he actually cared about was how the boy had managed to catch your attention so effortlessly.

You jumped once the hand obstructing your vision of the boy who had managed to steal your heart snapped you out of your trance. Turning back around to shoot Crewel an apologetic smile, you murmured, "Oh I'm sorry... I just saw—"

"You have a crush! Ah, my little darling pup has a crush!" Crewel interrupted you, a wide grin on his face that only grew when your eyes widened in utter panic. He debated on whether to pinch your cheeks or not, but he decided against it when you shot him an angry glare that served to shut him up before your crush could hear him. Crewel merely shook his head and let out an amused chuckle. "Isn't this adorable? Tell me, have you thought about confessing to him yet?"

"No..." you muttered as you lowered your gaze to the floor. "He probably doesn't know I exist..."

Crewel seemed quite surprised by your lack of confidence; none of his pups would be self-conscious! He would make sure of it. "Of course he knows you exist! Raise your head and don't slouch like that — be more confident!" he chided, causing you to immediately do he said. "Believe me, you'll regret it if you never confess to him."

"Thanks, Professor. I think I'll confess to him soon..."

Crewel hummed and slung an arm around your shoulder. "Tell him if he hurts you, he'll get zero percent in his next alchemy test." When you shot him a worried look, Crewel broke out into laughter, bellowing, "Just joking... or am I?" You opened your mouth to comment on his words, but you were interrupted by your stomach churning in hunger. "Oh, you must be hungry and tired from carrying around all these bags! How about we go eat something?"

"I'd love that!" The way you nodded so eagerly made Crewel laugh in amusement.

He steered you in the direction of his favourite establishment that coincidentally wasn't too far away from your current location.

Once you stepped through the door to the restaurant, the smell of fresh food wafted over to you. You struggled with not drooling as Crewel led you over to the waitress assigning tables. They seemed to know one another as they shot one another a little nod.

"A table for two, please," Crewel said as he proudly pushed you forward for the waitress to see.

"For two? Oh?" the middle-aged woman asked as she curiously looked you up and down, smiling. "You have a significant other, Divus? What a pleasant surprise!"

Crewel laughed and shook his head. "No no, Minnie. (Y/n) is just—"

But it was too late already; the waitress had already grabbed you by your shoulders to look you up and down with a big grin on your face. "Your daughter! Ah! Isn't she precious?" the waitress cooed as she grabbed your cheeks and stretched them out quite hard. "Oh my, you're such a cute girl—"

"T-Thank you, madam—" you tried to press out, "but I'm not—"

"Ah... I'm sure your father," she said while she turned around to smile at Crewel, "is really proud of you..."

Crewel merely laughed as he nodded. "Yes, I very much am."

[lambydance]

A Bastard’s Interlude: B-Side

hi. um. im cringe and in a cool danganronpa rp where this ship happened and our GM’s own fanfic (which is here) was epic and our characters share a lot of similarities so i thought itd be fun to make my own lil’ addition to it. its very much nsfw so plz don’t read if you can’t or don’t want to!!

ship: Miu Iruma / Mukuro Ikusaba

tags: masturbation, sexual guilt

Absolutely not.

She was gross, but not like that. There was a shred of decorum within her, and damn it, she was going to keep it.

Miu turned to adjust her sleeping position, determined to power through this, but even just the slight friction of her legs rubbing together as she did it just made her so… fuck.

She huffed. Well, this was it then. She was going to jerk off, knowing her new friends were surrounding her in their own tents. Miu Iruma was now, if there had been any doubt before, the biggest pervert she knew.

As Miu sat up and inched forward to make sure her tent was completely closed, she thought about how this wasn’t really much of a surprise. Since when has she ever had any control over her libido? It had overtaken her youth, forming the personality that was driving her right now. It had been a clear downward spiral for years. She was naive for thinking she could ever be spared from it in her current day. Er- current night, she supposed.

With a good tug of the zipper, Miu felt confident that the tent was as locked down as it could be. And, with a quick blow towards her candle, she had also made sure her shadow couldn’t betray her. It’d be fine. She’d be quiet. Everyone else was probably dead asleep anyway.

Her head plopped down onto her pillow, knees pulling up, ready to make this quick, before she remembered her… collection. Aka, her big locked box of various sex toys she had just for such occasions. Some bought, their technology admirable and begging to be collected, and some hand-made, meticulously crafted for her own pleasure. Either one would make this little situation go by way quicker, no doubt. Miu turned her head, eyeing her things collected in the corner, looki-

...Oh my fucking god. No. Fuck, it had been packed into the FUCKING train’s luggage- the train that fucking EXPLODED. All those masterworks of silicone, those hand-crafted veins and ridges- literally exploded. Her head returned to the pillow in an angry flop, and she sighed. Ugh. Looks like she’d have to go acoustic.

Miu threw an arm over her eyes, her free right hand lifting and gliding down slowly down her abdomen. Her fingers danced absently at the hem of her sleep-shirt, before they clung and creeped the fabric up. The hand quickly returned down, stopping just before the top of her underwear… hm.

She usually had something up in the good ol’ spank bank beforehand. Some dirty little fantasy that had popped into her mind earlier in the day that she quietly shoved away, so it could be used properly. Touch wasn’t enough- she needed her mind stimulated too. But today had been so utterly fucked that, for once, there hadn’t been time for such a thing. Was there anything she could remember now that would work? There had been some attractive people on the train, but no one that was really her type. Plus, some had ended up pretty brutally murdered, and that was a major boner killer. Her mind put this aside and kept trying, more general this time: taut muscles, intense eyes… sweat caught onto the veins of their neck and rolling down to collect at their collarbones… gloved hands closing onto hers, the smell of gunpowder, jet black hair, sexy scars covering his face, the way his voice sounded when he said her name- god, yes, he- wait. No- no no, fuck, no. No! No.

She couldn’t. Not to him. Insanely huge crush on him be damned, she wasn’t going to dirty it up by masturbating to the thought of Mukuro Ikusaba. Every relationship she’s had, without fail, was sullied by her insatiable lust, and she wasn’t going to ruin this one in the same way. If she couldn’t keep him safe from this, then she really was too far gone.

These were the last thoughts she had before her hand made its way under her underwear, fingers sliding gently over her clit. Her conscience must have forgotten who she was.

Miu’s breath hitched as her fingers slid lower, already slick and covered. She had barely started thinking about him, and she was already this wet. As embarrassing as it was, it allowed her fingers to slip their ways up and down more easily as she warmed herself up. God- what would Mukuro think of her if he could see her now? If he was right in front of her, eyes eating her up as she spread her legs to give him a better look- would he just watch? It’d be difficult to keep it together if he did. Miu would circle her clit with her fingers, slowly, like she was doing right now, telling him between moans how she wished the fingers were his. She’d angle herself towards him, wanting desperately for him to see how wet he could make her without even touching her. She needed him to see how pathetic she was, to lay herself completely bare in front of him so he could feel that much more powerful in comparison. So that he’d feel no remorse in ruining her once he couldn’t just watch anymore.

…No. No- that didn’t feel right for him. This was how Miu remembered her past lovers, the ones who would tell her that they loved her just so she would put their cocks in her mouth. No matter how aroused Mukuro made her, she couldn’t imagine him in their place. It felt disrespectful to even try.

Mukuro was gentle. Kind. Miu knew of his military background, how his hands had held lives between them, just to end them in the same breath. But, when he was with her, Mukuro’s entire demeanor was different. If he was here now, watching as her fingers dipped down to tease her entrance, he wouldn’t let her demean herself for his enjoyment. She could see him in her mind: crawling to her only when he was given permission, hovering over her so she could feel safe and protected. She could almost feel his calloused fingers shaking as they caressed her cheek, voice cracked and quiet as he asked her,

“Can I…?”

He didn’t need to finish the sentence for her to know, she just would. She’d waste no time in replying,

“Please.” As she crashed their lips together by pushing her own head forward. She’d moan into his mouth as her fingers slid into herself, satisfying her need to feel filled until Mukuro could replace her later. His kiss would be clumsy, his lack of experience clear in his movements, but Miu didn’t care. Mukuro could have frozen in place like this, and she’d still feel like her body was electrified, just because it was him.

Luckily, he wouldn’t. He’d find a place for his empty hands with her breast, the flesh pooling between his fingers from the size and weight. His hand would tremble away from it for a moment, guilty he hadn’t asked her if he could before he acted, but Miu would guide the hand back without breaking their kiss. In his absence now, Miu relaxed her arm away from her eyes so she could do it herself, this hand’s fingers gently kneading at her own breast while her other continued thrusting into herself.

Mukuro wouldn’t dare to replace her fingers without her go-ahead, she thought. He’d no doubt keep kissing her until Miu pulled away, resting their foreheads against each other as she begged,

“Please, Mukuro, I- ahh- I n-need you inside… need your fingers inside of m-me, ple-ee-ase,” as she took his hand into hers and motioned it downwards. She’d stop, allowing him to pull back up if he wanted to, but he wouldn’t. He’d keep his hand just above where she wanted it as he replied,

“Like.. like this?” before looking down to make sure his fingers met their target. He’d slide his fingers in, gently, slowly, and god, fuck, yes, just like that. Miu could imagine his face exactly: eyes laser-focused on her expression, darting all over to look for signs of pleasure and approval. He’d get them, instantly, as she’d let out a quick gasp once she felt his fingers go in to the knuckle.

Miu’s real fingering quickly ramped up in speed as her fantasy continued to grow. Fantasy-Mukuro was in her mind now, handsome as ever, fingers pistoning faster inside of her as Miu encouraged him. Her ‘faster’s and ‘like that, like that, yes, ah!’’s would help build his confidence, and he’d start to match her own vocals, blessing her ears with sweet compliments.

“Fuck, Miu- you sound so good… I-I love you, I love making you feel good. You- you look so beautiful like this. You’re so beautiful-”

With each word, she knew, she’d only be closer and closer. His romantic words matched with how he was fucking her with his fingers would be too much for her, too intense. No lover of hers had ever cared enough about her own pleasure to make her cum, but Mukuro was nearing to be the first, as she felt fingers curl up and brush up against a spot that made her see stars.

“FUCK, god, Mukur-!!” She choked, voice escaping her in real-time, “I’m- AHH- I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, I’m–!!” Miu wanted nothing more than to have the real Mukuro here, to grip the skin of his arm so tight while she came that she left scratches, to hear him tell her that he had her, that he wanted to see her cum, to watch as her vision went white, to watch her head drop back and her mouth open in a silent scream as her entire body tightened in an intense orgasm-

…As Miu felt the waves of her orgasm ride out, her body twitching the remaining spikes of intensity away, her mind had changed. She sat up and looked down at herself, looking over her drenched fingers and wet spot she had left under her and… yeah. Yeah, no, she’d rather die than have Mukuro see her like this. To see how completely and utterly disgusting she was, laying in her own filthy evidence… he’d never associate with her again. She wouldn’t want him to, either.

In her post-orgasm clarity, Miu was quick to clean herself up. Her hands were wiped clean, a blanket was placed underneath her to cover up the wet spot, and her shirt was pushed back down. She returned to her sleeping position from before and closed her eyes, blinking away angry tears.

It was clear to her now. Miu Iruma was much, much too filthy for people like Mukuro. She was forever destined to be a dirty, lustful whore, and he had one of the brightest futures she had ever seen ahead of him. It’d be selfish of her to dirty it up by dragging him to her level. She… she needed to suck it up, keep wallowing in this gross little life she’s made for herself, and watch as Mukuro eventually found someone nice, clean, and chaste to be with. Miu knew he would one day- he was gorgeous, kind, and now, had the freedom to be with whoever he wanted. Not that it ever would be, but, she couldn’t allow it to be herself. As she started to drift away into sleep, she made a personal note to herself:

If she really did love Mukuro Ikusaba, she’d never let him know how she felt. It was the only way to keep him safe.

With this thought in her head, Miu fell asleep.

[trashmenace]

The Defeat of the Secret Empire Part Two

8/2/66

Tales to Astonish 85

Submariner: Number One tries to regain control of Namor to attack the Hulk.

Hulk hasn't had a whole lot to do with any of this, just had Betty thrown at him by Boomerang, figured he'd want revenge on Number Two or SHIELD, depending on how much he's figured out. But looks like he's fixated on the Hulk as some kind of Breaking Bad deal.

Number One has a backup plan, to send sound waves to Namor's ear to control him. Namor fights a rollercoaster, gets rid of the disc, and his story ends. Meanwhile, Hulk seems drawn to Number One's position. #1 blows up his apartment, but gets killed in the blast while Hulk survives.

And that's the end of the Secret Empire...for now

I figured the subsequent Hulk story would explain why he was climbing the building like King Kong, but nope, he moves on to another story. Hulk and Namor don't even run into each other, much less fight.

This just covers the Secret Empire elements - the story intertwines with Submariner versus Krang and Iron Man, SHIELD vs AIM and Hydra, which in turn intersect with Iron Man vs Titanium Man and Cap vs Red Skull. Tale of Suspense, Tales to Astonish, and Strange Tales (aside from Doctor Strange) were all woven together in 1966.

A harbinger for things to come for Marvel crossovers, the story itself is not so seamlessly plotted. A casual reading implies that the Hulk destroyed the Secret Empire, but at best he foiled one of Boomerang's plots. It reads like there was supposed to be Boomerang/Hulk showdown, but they cut that short to get Hulk in New York to fight Subby, and then that didn't happen. So how is the Secret Empire destroyed? Readers want to know:

It ultimately gets destroyed when Number One blows himself up, but even after 3 through 9 get defeated, we've got 1 and 2, plus their international network and vast resources. Tales to Astonish implies the Hulk destroyed it, but if you read Strange Tales you'd know Howling Commando Gabriel Jones took them down.  But how?

I had the same question Doug did until the obvious hit me - Gabe was undercover as Number Two! Had to read his megalomaniac speech to himself again about taking over the Secret Empire and it was consistent with a SHIELD agent destroying them from within. Marvel was neither shy nor subtle, so I'm assuming it was an oversight that they didn't spell it out more clearly in alliterative editor's notes. Also strange that they completely dodged the question in the fan mail - Marvel tended to explain away their plot holes or give sarcastic answers. I checked the letters' page for the next year and no no-prize was awarded.

Even once you put the pieces together, not much actually happened. Boomerang and the Secret Empire were defeated, almost off page, by Glenn Talbot and Gabriel Jones respectively, while Hulk and Namor mainly wander around avoiding cops and the military, but then again that's Hulkie's jam.

Read (most) of the full story in Incredible Hulk Masterworks Vol. 3 from Amazon

[vake-hunter]

Acceptance into the House of Chimes results and which Master is playing Chimes in those results

this is fun and cute little details about the Masters

An innocent (Pages)

A fresh face among the jaded horde! No doubt you will achieve great things one day. But watch yourself: in Fallen London, innocence is a commodity like any other. 

Mr Chimes glides across the floor and grasps your hand in a spotless white glove. It feels like shaking a branch wound with spider-silk. 'Most optimate friend!' it whispers. 'Welcome to our Chamber of Delicacies!'

An Extraordinary Beauty (Apples/Hearts)

Persuasive 20

That skin! Those eyes! That delightful nose! Nobody can resist you!

Mr Chimes glides across the floor and surveys you up and down. 'My dear, my dear,' it says. 'How very appetising to have you here with us. Will you tilt your head to the right a little? Just so. Just so.'

A Player of Games (Iron)

Watchful 20, the Boatman's Opponent 1

You are an emperor of the chess board. You shuffle tiles and playing cards with dazzling speed. Rumour has it that you have diced with Death itself.

Mr Chimes approaches: the clicking of its boot-heels on the floor is like bone dice thrown on marble. It hands you two mah-jong tiles. Engraved on the back of the Winter tile is the single word 'WELCOME'. On the back of the Plum tile, you read 'LUCK IS THE PREROGATIVE OF VICTORS.' 

A noted trainer of Weasels (Apples/Hearts)

1 x Araby Fighting Weasel

The weasel-fanciers of Spite speak highly of your expertise with the genus mustela.

Mr Chimes is suddenly at your elbow. It inhales deeply. 'Oh, toothsome, my dear,' it says. 'Toothsome. Let the little fellows run free, by all means. Someone will manage the results, I assure you.' 

A true patriot (Wines)

1 x A Copy of your Patriotic Adventure

Your writings inspire the youth of Fallen London to a frenzy of patriotism!

Mr Chimes takes your arm and guides you into the lobby of the House. Its grasp is like the clutch of a winter tree. 'We respect loyalty to an ideal,' it says. 'One of the more austere forms, perhaps. But a true realisation nevertheless. No?'

A masterful cat-chaser (UH I ACTUALLY DONT KNOW? Veils maybe?)

Shadowy 30

You have honed your skills in pursuit of the city's most evasive felines. They speak your name with respect, if not quite affection.

Mr Chimes steals up on you from behind, but you turn just before its gloved fingers touch your shoulder. It chortles. 'Who can stalk the stalker, eh? Welcome to my House. Ware the Bell!' 

Not to be crossed (Iron probably)

Dangerous 20

There is something disquieting about your appearance. It's hard to pin down, exactly. An aura of suppressed violence.

Mr Chimes strides toward you. It holds up a hand in greeting. Or in warning? It nods once; it turns to go. That is all.

A crown in shadows (Wines)

1 Fate

Royal blood? Can it be true? On the wrong side of the blankets, no doubt. But that's what they say.

Mockery or respect?

Mr Chimes steps aside for you and makes the gentlest inclination of its head. 'We will bring you a bottle of something a little special,' it avers. 'We are delighted to add another crownable head to our collection!' Hm. 

Allergic to brass? (Spices probably)

1 x Nevercold Brass Sliver

The touch of the stuff hives your skin and blears your eyes. It makes you weep tears of blood. This makes you an object of some fascination at parties.

A bewildered Master

Unthinkable!' the hooded Mr Chimes shrieks. 'Impossible! Unprecedented!' It seems quite cheerful about it, though. It does insist you demonstrate the weeping-blood business, unfortunately.

Exceptionally Talented (Cups/Mirrors. Possibly Hearts/Apples but almost definitely Cups/Mirrors)

10 x Confident Smile, Persuasive 100

Both ladies and gentlemen pause immediately before speaking your name. There is a quality to that pause which is not easily described.

A friendly thing

Mr Chimes' hand spiders along your arm. 'My dear,' it coos. 'If only my tastes ran to... well, perhaps if your blood was a little cooler. No matter, my dear. You will be treasured.' 

The Rooftop Dancer (Veils)

Shadowy 60, Route: The Flit 1

You know the ways of the Flit like few others. They say you can reach the summit of All Christs' spire in the space of a single breath. They say you stole a feather from the Topsy King's hat. They call you 'Pussyfoot', but in a good way.

An avuncular approach

Mr Chimes drifts up like a scrap of silk on the wind. 'Good evening! Good evening indeed! You're a swift and circumspect maker of ways, aren't you? You are indeed! How very much to be admired.' 

An Unparalelled Grotesque (Maybe Wines because it has blue eyes)

10 x Hard-Earned Lesson

In the decades since the Fall, no-one has ever looked quite like you. Thank God.

A long silence

The bluish glimmer of Mr Chimes' eyes is steady, but you sense an obscure emotion. 'Well,' it says at last, 'why not? Why not indeed.'

A Visionary (Wines. Not Pages due to wording. Royal we makes it Wines)

A Person of Some Importance: A Significant Individual

You have made the Square of Lofty Words your playground. You have cowed the women and men of the University. Your ideas are simple in outline and intricate in implication. They will be remembered, perhaps, when everyone in this room is dead. Except Mr Chimes.

A debatable honour

‘Dear friend,' Mr Chimes murmurs confidentially. 'We have often read the surveillance reports on your speeches. We have commended your texts to the Ministry of Public Decency. We look forward to hearing more of your thoughts.'

A Prisoner of Despair (Fires)

Melancholy 4

Can your misery be so deep and unrelieved that even Mr Chimes has taken pity on you? Or does it simply hope you'll be a diverting mascot?

Mockery, or Hope?

Mr Chimes bears down on you, robe flapping like a tent in a hurricane. Its voice is an alto shriek. 'Come along upstairs! It's warm enough. It'll steam the chill out of your heart. And, here - ' It hands you a candle. 'It'll light you to bed.'

A Speaker of Truth to Power (Iron)

Forceful 3, Subtle 3

You've said the wrong thing to the wrong people once too often. You're going to be a lot of fun.

An ambivalent welcome

Mr Chimes perches on a high carved chair like a black gull on a cliff. A footman approaches with a silver tray bearing a single card. It reads: 'SILENCE'. An announcement? A suggestion? An instruction? Or is Mr Chimes just being difficult for its own inscrutable entertainment?

A Possessor of Impossible Table Habits (Who knows. One who knows table manners I guess)

What are you - no. No! Such things were not to be dreamt of! A fork cannot be put to such uses! Close your mouth! Close his mouth! For the love of all that is holy! DON'T TOUCH THAT SPOON!

Mr Chimes arranges an audition of sorts. You are served a hearty meal of beef-steak and winter vegetables, and provided with all the cutlery you might require. You perform the operations for which you have become notorious. After a suitable time for the onlookers to recover their composure, you are admitted to the House.

Orphaned in a Grisly Accident (I want to say Veils due to what we know of its collections)

Mr Chimes likes tales of blood and terror. It likes tales of butter and whimsy too. Tales of blood, terror, butter and whimsy are like music and water to one dying of thirst in the Desert of Cymbals. The tale of your parents' death at the hands of the Dairy Kings will bring breathless listeners to the fire for a hundred nights.

Not a dry eye

You tell the tale, long and horrible as it is. Mr Chimes convulses with... Mirth? Pity? Fear? Black-liveried footmen watch impassively while its shoulders writhe and roll, and its eyes shimmer like topaz deep in its hood. At last it subsides and you are admitted to the House. 'Step carefully,' Mr Chimes flutes.

An Artist in Ivory (Wines was the Khan of Dreams, but this could be Spices talking. Or Cups/Mirrors.)

a Scholar of the Correspondence 1

You have carved flutes from femurs and trinkets from tibia. Your sigil-circled skull sits in the grandest gallery of Veilgarden. They whisper that when you die for the last time, Mr Cups itself will come for your bones.

A pale horse

‘A little gift,' Mr Chimes informs you. 'Something to recall the Khan of Dreams by. Since you seem so keen to commemorate him.' Do you? Or has Mr Chimes misunderstood the nature of your project?

A wanderer of Parabola (Mirrors)

7 x Memory of Light, A Game of Chess 9, Is Someone There? 10

In your dreams you have seen the Mirror-Marches, the Menagerie of Roses, the Castle of Forests, the nests of the Fingerkings... even though you may forget them when you wake. But there is a light in your eyes.

A light in the darkness

‘Yes,' says the Master quietly. 'The mirrors know your name. The serpents have your scent. The rivers of roses will not drown you. The apples of glass might lie quiet in your hands. If you burn, you burn like a candle. If you die, you die like dawn. You are very delicious.' 

A zub-mariner! (Spices from voice but sounds like Fires from excitement about boats)

1 x Zubmarine, An Experienced Zailor 3

You are charting the unknown leagues beneath the zee.

Mr Chimes lopes towards you across the stone floor. 'Marvellous!' it shrills. It pumps your hand excitedly. It's like grabbing a nestful of velvet spiders. 'You'll fit right in here. Grab a seat.'

A killer of renown (Iron)

A Bringer of Death 1, 1 x Ravenglass Knife

Even in Fallen London, where bloodshed is as common as glim-fall, your name is whispered with apprehension. 

Mr Chimes approaches in utter silence. It hands you a rostygold knife, hilt-first. Engraved on the blade is the word: MEET. That is all.

A font of devil's tears (Want to say Cups due to smell but could be any)

Connected: Hell 20

Did your masterwork really make a devil weep? It must be true. Mr Chimes has the tears there in a little bottle. Wait. Is it drinking them?

A chuckle in the hood

Mr Chimes drapes a companionable arm across your shoulders. It smells of dust and winter starlight. 'Devils despise that kind of humiliation,' it confides in you. 'I laughed for days. Come on upstairs.' 

An Oenologonaut (Spices)

1 x Greyfields 1868 First Sporing, 1 x Greyfields 1879, 1 x Greyfields 1882, 1 x Black Wings Absinthe, 1 x Morelways 1872, 1 x Broken Giant 1844, 1 x Strangling Willow Absinthe, 1 x Fourth City Airag: Year of the Tortoise, 1 x Cellar of Wine

No-one has plumbed the secrets of the grape, the hop and the blood-apple more deeply than you. You can identify the products of vineyards that have no name in any human tongue.

Fond Sighs

Dear one,' says Mr Chimes warmly. 'Pleasure is a wilderness. We are its cartographers. Let us embark, you and I, on the catalogue of delight! Our journey begins here.' 

A Liar among Liars (No idea)

1 x Appalling Secret, 1 x Uncanny Incunabula, 1 x Extraordinary Implication, 1 x Searing Enigma, 1 x Whispered Secret, 1 x Cryptic Clue

Who can ever believe your stories? Truth is mingled with falsehood like blood in milk. You are a prince of rumours. Or is it a princess? Who can ever be sure?

An impassive audience

Mr Chimes listens to your stories of star and sea and shadow. It neither nods nor shakes its head when you suggest certain relationships between the Mountain of Light and the troubling thesis of Mr Darwin. It is motionless when you venture a hypothesis as to why only six symbols of the Correspondence can be written together on one paper. When you begin to discuss a matter of wells and candles and the Third City, it raises a finger. 'This is false,' it murmurs. 'Let us ensure it remains that way,' 

A Legendary Calumnist (Apples/Hearts)

Scandal 7, Persuasive 100, Watchful 100

Your barbs and insults and the twisting satires you've spawned have been the bane of the lowly and the great alike. All fear the savage edge of your tongue.

A cautious welcome

‘My dear,' Mr Chimes whispers. 'Be kind to the little ones, will you? Not all have your advantages. I admit you only on condition that you choose not to bite.'

‘I know a man.' (Probably Wines)

Connected: the Masters of the Bazaar 5

If it can be called a man. Step aside, peon. I am already welcome here.'

A hearty welcome

Come in, come in! A place by the fire is prepared for you. The table is set. The brandy rises from the cellar like the laughter of friends! Forget the petty troubles without. You have earned this night of peace.' 

I will scream until your House rings with the Words of the Thunder! (Probably Wines)

Stormy-Eyed 5, having Recurring Dreams: What the Thunder Said 10

I am the storm, I am the wind, I am the rain! I demand admittance! Defy me and I will blow your House down! 

The cloaked thing bows before me!

I fling gusts of squalling rain at its head! Then I race through the dusty corners and crannies of the House of Chimes with a cleansing breeze! I bid lightning spring from its spire in celebration! The Master insists I hang my oilskin on the hatstand before I drip on the carpets! 

The Inescapable Arm of the Law (Spices I believe)

investigating the Rubbery Murders 12, ascending the Reliables list of Mr Pages 3, Connected: The Constables 50, Connected: The Great Game 50, Watchful 100, 1 x Antique Constable's Badge

Your eye pursueth the malfeasant as the wrathful eye of God pursued Cain across the desert. You have returned wedding rings to costermongers, cats to dowagers, and stolen hearts to sorrowful tomb-colonists.

A nervous flutter?

We are most pleased to see you here,' Mr Chimes shrills. 'You are an ingeniate of great note! But perhaps you should limit your investigations in this House, eh?'

A Blood-Cousin to Predators (Veils probably)

1 x Ancient Hunting Rifle, a Procurer of Savage Beasts 1, 1 x Fairly Tame Sorrow-Spider, 1 x Bengal Tigress, 1 x Araby Fighting-Weasel, Dangerous 100, Watchful 100, marked by the Eater-of-Chains 3.

You have brought the great beasts low and walked in the footsteps of the fierce. You have turned fang and cunning, spine and venom and brute strength, against the monsters who wield them.

A peculiar passion

Mr Chimes inclines its head to you. 'Beasts. Beasts beasts beasts! So many beasts, such little time. Perhaps you could turn your energies to the pursuit of troublesome humans, hey? Why waste your time hunting those who cannot speak? Or sing? But welcome welcome!'

[brentwatchesmovies]

Brent’s Top 10 Movies of 2019

Scorsese is probably my favorite living filmmaker, but I’ll be honest, when I heard that Scorsese was making this movie, and *how* he was making it (heavily digital de-aged actors) I was a bit skeptical. De Niro and Pacino haven’t been turning in interesting performances in quite awhile, and Pesci came out of a decades-long retirement for the movie as well. On top of that, the first trailer released did little for me. All that to say I was an idiot to doubt the master.

Scorsese returns to the crime genre that he re-invented many times over the years, this time with the eyes of a man in his 70’s, looking back on his life and career. The movie is very long, but in my opinion, it needs the length. The viewer needs to *feel* the totality of a life, and as is his intent with The Irishman, the *consequences* of this specific life. The final hour or so of this movie feels like a culmination of Scorsese’s career in many ways. The energy and entertainment of a crime/mob epic, with the fatalism and philosophical leanings of a movie like ‘Silence’. It’s a 3.5 hour movie that I’ve already rewatched, and actively want to again, so that alone ought to speak volumes.

Harmony Korine made one of my favorite movies of the 2010’s, the neon-soaked and often misunderstood ‘Spring Breakers’, so I was already in the bag for whatever he did next. When I heard it was a freewheeling stoner comedy where Matthew Mcconaughey plays a guy named ‘Moondog’ costarring Snoop Dogg, I reserved its location on my top 10 list.

This movie doesn’t have the empty heart at its core that defines Spring Breakers, opting instead for a character study about a ‘Florida man’ poet after his life pretty much falls apart. It’s basically plotless, stumbling from one insane, borderline hallucinatory sequence to the next, but I just loved living in the world of this movie. Beach Bum almost feels like a deliriously fun VR simulation of hanging out with Matt McConaughey and his weirdo friends down in the Florida keys. This is one that probably won’t pop up on many top 10 lists but I really adore, and will surely rewatch it a dozen times in the years to come.

Let the record show, I’ve been a huge fan of Bong Joon-ho since I first saw his monster movie/family drama ‘The Host’. Some time later, he went on to make ‘Snowpiercer’, one of my favorite movies of the last decade. All that to say, I think Parasite is probably his best movie, and a true masterwork of thriller direction. It also has his usual brand of social commentary and a script filled with darkness and humor, following a South Korean tendency to juggle multiple tones throughout, sometimes all in one moment or scene.

Parasite also follows a big 2019 trend of commenting on class and social dynamics between the rich and the poor. I think that’s part of why it’s done incredibly well at the box office (especially for a Korean language film), the fact that people can relate in a huge way, regardless of which country your from. Parasite is one of the most entertaining movie viewing experiences I’ve had this year and I’d recommend everyone check it out.

If you were to ask me what the funnest movie-going experience I had in 2019 was, I’d have to pick Rian Johnson’s ‘Knives Out’. Hot off making one of the best Star Wars movies ever made (don’t @ me) Johnson decided to make a passion project in the vein of classic Agatha Christie style murder mysteries, and the results are a total blast. Filled with clever twists and turns, weaponizing the structure of murder-mysteries against the audiences expectations, it stays one step ahead of you the entire time.

Aside from the clever mystery of it all, it’s the actors performances and chemistry that really sell this thing. Jamie Lee Curtis and Toni Collette are expectedly great per usual, and Daniel Craig is having the time of his life as Mississippi private-eye Benoit Blanc, but the heart of the movie is relative newcomer Ana de Armas. She brings an emotional weight and anchor to the movie that always keeps you emotionally invested amidst the terrible, money hungry backstabbing by the other heightened characters. I hope everyone sees this movie and Johnson is able to give us another Benoit Blanc adventure somewhere down the line, I’ll be there opening day.

Nobody makes an upbeat, feel-good movie like Ari Aster does! After last years light and breezy ‘Hereditary’ (which I liked a lot but didn’t totally love) he’s back with a completely riveting and emotionally draining (not to mention horrific) masterpiece. What I connected to most in Midsommar is the journey of Dani, played incredibly by Florence Pugh. The way the film portrays the relationship between her and her dog shit boyfriend played by the (usually) charming Jack Reynor keeps you invested in every twist, perfectly paced out over the movies admittedly long runtime.

I won’t get into spoiler territory, but where this movie goes in the end is what makes this a fully 5-star movie for me. After putting you through hell, like Aster loves to do with bells on, Midsommar ends in a euphoric, psychedelic orgy of music and violence that I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Midsommar rules so hard and I can’t wait for whatever twisted thing Aster cooks up next.

One of my increasingly favorite brands of movies is a finely crafted, primo slice of dad-movie cinema, and James Mangold has made one with Ford v Ferrari. The story chronicles the partnership of ex-racer and designer Carroll Shelby and racer Ken Miles as they work to make a Ford that can compete in the 24 hour race of Le Mans. Bale and Damon are a blast to watch bounce off each other and the race sequences are pretty damn thrilling, combining (what I expect is) a solid amount of great VFX with practical racing to great effect.

I also didn’t expect it to have as much to say about the struggle to create something special by passionate people and not committees while also inside the very machine that churns out products on an assembly line. Just a random note, this original movie was just put out by 20th Century Fox, now owned by Disney but that’s completely unrelated and I’m not sure why I’d even bring that up??? Anyway, I love this movie and dads, moms and everybody else should check it out.

If you saw my list last year, then it must appear like I’m some diehard Mr. Rogers fan. I don’t really have many memories watching his show as a child, but what the documentary ‘Won’t You be my Neighbor’ and this film by Marielle Heller have in common is a shared fascination of his immense empathy and character. It’s only right that America’s dad Tom Hanks should play him, and I was surprised at the end that I was able to get over his stardom and accept him as Rogers. He’s not doing a direct impersonation, and I think it’s all the better for it, instead opting for matching his soft tone and laid back movements.

On a pure emotional level, this movie was a freight train. It didn’t help that the movie covers a lot of father stuff, from losing your own to becoming one yourself (2 big boxes on the Brent bingo card). Heller’s direction is clever in its weaponizing of meta/post-modern techniques, such as one incredible fourth wall break in a diner scene. It literally breaks down the barrier between Mr. Rogers, we the audience, and the films intent to make us feel something.

I cry a lot at movies, that much is well known, but it’s rare that a movie makes me weep, and this one did. Even thinking about scenes right now, days later, my eyes are welling up with tears thinking about the messages of the movie. Mr. Rogers and his lessons of empathy and emotional understanding have rarely been as vital and important as they are right now in our world.

Robert Eggers first film ‘The Witch’ from 2015 is one of my favorite movies of this decade, possibly of all time, so my hype for his black and white, period piece two-hander ‘The Lighthouse’ was through the roof. Even with sky-high expectations, it still blew me away. With dialogue reminiscent of The Witch in its specific authenticity to its era, to the two lead actors giving all-time great performances, It was one of the most entertaining film viewing experiences I had this year.

There’s something about both of Egger’s movies that I really keyed into watching this one: his fascination with shame and the liberation from it. Where Witch was from the female perspective, Lighthouse literally has two farting, drunk men in a giant phallic symbol fighting for dominance. It’s less a horror film than his first, but still utterly engrossing, demented and specific to his singular vision. I can’t wait to see 20 more movies from this guy.

This is another big movie of 2019, like The Irishman, where you can see the director looking inward, at what his films mean and represent. It initially caught me so off guard that I really didn’t know how to feel about it, but after seeing it again, it’s one of my favorites of the year, and probably Tarantino’s filmography overall. More akin to something like Boogie Nights or Dazed and Confused, letting us live with and follow a small group of characters, it mostly doesn’t feel like a Tarantino movie (until the inevitable and shocking explosion of violence in the third act, of course).

‘Hollywood’ is the most sincere and loving movie Tarantino has made, interested in giving us a send off to an era of Hollywood and artists that have been lost or forgotten (Some more tragically than others). In the end, the movie functions similarly to ‘Inglorious Basterds’ in it’s rewriting of history to give us catharsis. “If only things could have worked out this way.” Luckily in movies, removed from the restrictions of reality, they can. And once upon a time in Hollywood, they did.

Uncut Gems probably tripled my blood pressure by the time the credits rolled. A slice-of-life story about a gambler/dealer in New York’s diamond district, the movie follows Howard Ratner, played by Adam Sandler in easily the best performance of his career. Ratner is basically addicted to living at the edge of a cliff, being chased by violent debt collectors, juggling a home life and a relationship with an employee, and fully relying on risky sports bets to stay afloat. It makes for a consistently tense and unique viewing experience, expertly directed by the Safdie brothers.

Something that might not work for everyone but that I personally loved, is the chaotic way in which the movie is shot. What feels like loosely directed scenes, with characters talking over each other and multiple conversations happening at once, adds an authenticity and reality lacking from most other movies. It’s more adjacent to Linklater (thanks to Adam for the comparison) or Scorsese’s earlier films (also fitting, that he’s a producer on this). Following Howard Ratner as his life descends into chaotic hell was one of the best times I’ve had watching a movie this year.

HONORABLE MENTIONS

AVENGERS ENDGAME

DOLEMITE IS MY NAME

BOOKSMART

JOHN WICK CHAPTER 3

THE FAREWELL

AD ASTRA

[words-writ-in-starlight]

If you would like to unleash your Feelings about Suibian on the world, I would be 100000000% here for it!

So it’s like this.

You are a sword--or maybe you’re not a sword, maybe you’re a cultivator trying your best to find any trace of the love of your life, maybe you’re a child sect leader holding out ruthless hope for your brother, maybe you’re sitting and looking at the sword you’ve cherished and trying to steady yourself in the knowledge that you’ll never be able to really use it again.  Regardless, for the intent of your attempts to do any of those things, you are a sword.

You are a sword, and that means that you were made for a cultivator’s hand.  Some swords are passed down, old blades, legacies handed from one bloody hand to another, learning to love new lifelines in new palms, but not you.  You were made for one person, and you know, from the first moment that your name writes itself onto your blade, that he is strong, and brave, and brilliant.  You will have all the time in the world to be in this cultivator’s hands, he will gain immortality and you will be at his side and he will laugh every time someone talks around your name and you will sing for joy every time he draws you from your sheath.

You are a sword, and you love your cultivator.  You are a sword, and swords are proud, swords are masterworks and they are arrogant, swords are steel and they are immortal and unaging and unbending in their strength.  You are a sword, and you are the finest of swords, and your cultivator is the finest of wielders, and together you can do anything.  

You are a sword, and your cultivator is the most brilliant mind of his day.  Your cultivator is strong and good and clever, he laughs like forge fire and you fly together and it is wonderful.  

You are so proud of him.

You are his sword, and you are proud of him when he wins sparring matches against his brother.  When he stops a bright clean blade in the moonlight.  When he suggests answers that have never been dreamed of, and when he risks himself without thinking for others, and when he walks with his head high and unafraid into danger.  Everyone in the world looks at your cultivator and sees what you know, with the surety and unshaken confidence of a sword.

You are a sword, and you love your cultivator more than you love war-song or flight or blood on your blade.  You love him more than being a sword.

You even love him when he gives you away.  Your cultivator is good and noble and honorable, and he would do anything to protect people, as a cultivator should, and when he hands you away, puts you in the grip of a stranger and doesn’t fight, you trust him.  You love him.  You are a sword, and he is your wielder, and you will make your way back to his hands and all will be well again.

You wait.  You are a sword.  You are good at waiting.  You wait for your cultivator to come back and take you into his hands and draw you to sing and fly and fight together again.  His power hums through you, a delicate cord of connection, and you know he is alive, and as long as he is alive, he will come back.  This is the truth of the world, as sure as steel, as sure as fire, as sure as--

You are a sword, made for one cultivator’s hands, bound to his golden core since your steel was cooled for the last time.  And then the link breaks--twists--screams--

You are a sword.  You have read no texts on cultivation techniques, you have no knowledge of medicine, and in all your immortality and surety and arrogance, you do not know what to do with this loss-that-isn’t, and so you--you do nothing with it, you pull all that you are close into your blade, because if your cultivator is alive on the other end of that pain, he will return for you, and if he is not—

You are a sword.  You are his sword, named for his laugh and wielded for his courage.  Not for you, a new hand and a new lifeline.  If he is dead, then you will never be drawn again.

A strange hand touches your hilt and you--you know it, you feel the blazing golden strength of your cultivator, but this is not him, the self, the soul, is different, and—and this, this must be the source of the agony, but he would never have sacrificed this for anything but the best reasons, and—and you should be loyal, should be obedient, should welcome these hands, but you do not want this, and--and you are not forced to make that choice.  The strange hand does not close on your hilt, does not pull, does not test its luck.  You give no sign of change.

You are a sword.  You love your cultivator.  You wait for him.  His hands close around your sheath again, but while this is the right self, the familiar grip, they are empty of strength, powerless.  Only shadows live here.

But you love him.  Even when he draws you once, as if to prove something, and then leaves you aside for days and weeks and months at a time.  Even when he holds a foreign thing, wind and darkness, as close and careful as once he held you.  Even when he leaves you again, even when you’re taken up by strangers again, even when the last ruined scrap of the old bond snaps and you know he is dead.

You are a sword.  You have the luxury of not knowing time.  You are still and dormant and sealed, and you mean to stay that way until—until forever, probably.

And then a hand closes around your hilt and the hand is strange, not the familiar palm, and the wispy gasp of power is not the blazing golden forge-fire that you know, but this is him, this is his hand, and you sing as you are drawn for the first time in so, so long.

You are a sword, and this, this is the most brilliant cultivator of his day, and he will wield you again, just like he once did.  Not for long.  That tattered scrap of strength is not enough to hold you, and you will leave him weak and drained, but you do not care.  He is alive and you are drawn in violence, in protection, in righteous wrath, just like always, and that is enough.

It will be enough even if he gives you away again, even if he leaves you again, even if he never draws you again, to have had this for one more moment.

[a-world-in-grey]

Jumping off my previous post about Galahdian colors associated with the various Astrals - I’ve got headcanons about Sola and Galahdian art. And Galahdian art. And Sola and art in general.

.

-Sola’s first introduction to fine art is her mother. Aulea teaches Sola to weave tapestries, and Sola’s first creation is a simple yellow sun on a black background.

-Sola’s second creation is more complex, a scene of the night sky, with moon and clouds and stars, meant to be a gift for her new baby brother. It never makes it to the loom. Sola sets the project aside when Aulea falls ill and abandons it - and her loom - completely following Aulea’s death.

-Despite refusing to enter Aulea’s workroom - still maintained on Regis’ orders in hope his daughter will one day continue her brief but well-loved hobby - Sola never loses her love of art. She has an entire shelf dedicated to old sketchbooks, of people and places captured in sweeping lines of pencil. Unlike her tapestries, Sola is much more private regarding her sketches. The few sketches anyone ever sees however bear a remarkable likeness to the cartoons used to make tapestries.

-(Even when she takes up colored pencils, Sola’s drawings look so much like potential tapestries that Regis cannot help but hope. His daughter is always far more interested in the tapestries decorating the Hall of Arts than the numerous sculptures and paintings.)

-But Regis knows better than to push his daughter. If Sola ever takes up the loom, it must be her idea. It doesn’t stop him from encouraging Sola to pursue a degree in art, after she finishes her high school education. Even if Sola protests that it’s not a ‘useful’ degree, but Regis is firm when he tells her that she should study what she loves. Noctis chiming in with his agreement seals the deal.

-And Sola loves it. Sure, it’s distant learning or online courses while she’s deployed with the rest of Fourth Company, but contrary to popular belief deployment is not actually all that exciting. ‘Hurry up and wait’ is an accurate statement and most of Sola’s time is spent on routine but mundane tasks. It’s not actually that difficult to keep up with her first-year course work in the field, even over the year spent at the frontline hotspots.

-Then Sola gets adopted into the Furia Clan, and is introduced to Galahdian Culture, including the color code she had no idea existed before Tredd taught her. And suddenly, going into her second year of college, Sola finds herself actually seeing Galahdian art and all the breathtaking nuances and symbolisms she never had an inkling of before. She is an Awe.

-The first semester of her second year is also when Sola has her history of art class. It’s the first of several classes that piss her off.

-Look, Insomnians are elitist. Especially in the academic circles. Especially in art. Sola’s art history class covers Niflheim, Tenebrae, Accordo, and Lucis, but doesn’t mention Galahd beyond a couple pages in her textbook. And even that only glances over the types of art Galahd ‘was known to produce,’ as though it’s a primitive and ancient but extinct culture. When Sola asks about it in class, her professor dismisses the notion that Galahdian art is as ‘refined’ or ‘cultured’ as the other cultures being studied.

-Sola is offended. And suddenly, intimately aware of being the only Galahdian in her class. In any of her classes.

-And well, Sola has always run on Spite.

-By this point, Sola’s moved in with Crowe down in Little Galahd, and Sola spends hours with the various Clans. With the Lazarus, the Furia, the Canere, the Tibiae, the Ornata, learning from the Elders and the masters everything she possibly can about Galahdian art. The Tales, the Songs, the meanings. She gets her first Galadhian tattoo - a delicate pattern of black dragon scales beneath one eye.

-When she’s not in Little Galahd, Sola’s at the Citadel, in Aulea’s old workroom. Regis very nearly cries the first time a servant tells him of Sola entering the room, and he arrives to find Sola at Aulea’s old loom, sorting through the skeins of colored thread, so focused on her task that she entirely misses Regis gawking in the doorway.

-It’s sheer Spite that leads Sola to gain her undergraduate degree early. It’s that same Spite that leads Sola to build her senior portfolio with nothing but Galahdian art. Paintings, drawings, prints, ceramics, jewelry, etc, all of it is Galahdian. Her professors are scandalized - how dare the Princess scorn the ‘more refined’ art styles for such a ‘primitive’ culture - especially because Sola’s artwork is no less skilled than her classmates so they can’t legitimately dock her grade.

-Sola is Smug.

-Sola is even more Smug when she starts finishing her various tapestries. Because she doesn’t tell anyone that she’s the one making them. Two show up in Glaive HQ, one of Galahd and one of Little Galahd, hanging on the walls with no clue as to who put them there. A third tapestry shows up a year after that in the Hall of Portraits as Sola’s Official Portrait, and a year after that the fourth one shows up publically in the Hall of Arts, a massive tapestry depicting the War of the Astrals, done in the most unconventional color choices the public has ever seen, but a beautiful masterwork nonetheless.

-It’s at that point the Galahdians clue into the fact that the mystery tapestry weaver is also Galahdian, because the tapestry depicts the Galahdian Tale rather than the mainlander Cosmogony, with the Galahdian color associations included.

-Somehow everyone misses twenty-three year old Sola getting her fingers tattooed with the tattoos of a master weaver. Rather, no one manages to put two and two together, but Sola attributes that to how the Galahdians are in a daze at seeing such a large and beautiful piece of Galahdian art so prominently displayed in the Hall of Arts. Half the Lazarus Clan actually cry.

-(The only person to know that the tapestries were made by Sola is Regis, because he still has Sola’s first tapestry hung in his office, and he knows Sola’s maker’s mark. But Sola hasn’t said anything, so he’s not going to spoil her fun.)

-(It’s certainly not because he’s also highly amused. Shhh.)

-Sola greatly enjoys the sheer outrage when Libertus’ portrait and their wedding portrait join Sola’s in the Hall of Portraits two years after their wedding and everyone learns that Sola is the weaver. And even then that fact only comes out because one of the nobles sneers about the royal family’s lack of taste regarding recent art commissions.

-(Regis does try to protect Sola’s anonymity, pointing out that the weaver was a student of his wife, which does shut up most of the nobles because the late queen was a master of her craft and only an idiot would say otherwise. It’s when one particularly stubborn noble insists that no immigrant could match the skill of an Insomnian native that Sola speaks up, icily informing the asshole that she wove the tapestries and of course she’s not as good as her mother, she only earned her Mastery a couple years back. Of course, given the skill the of the Lazarus master-weavers, Sola is certain that her mother would have begged to learn from them, because those are unparalleled works of art.)

-The Kingsglaive collectively screech at Sola. They’ve been trying to figure out where those tapestries came from for years, and not once did Sola say anything!

-Sola just laughs.

[honeymoonjin]

day 14

This chapter was such a cathartic experience for me that I wrote book report for it. I have little else to offer at your altar of magic aside from my undying gratitude for your continued hard work and utter awe of your literary prowess. Please enjoy my attempt at articulating the emotions you have managed to evoke in me with this chapter. Thank you once again! 💜 Jan

Set to Self Destruct: An analysis of Sora’s Day 14 of “The Gentlemen”

Every genre brings with it a set of expectations that shapes the kinds of stories it can tell and the themes it can explore. “The Gentlemen” is entirely shot from one specific location, with its participants prohibited from leaving the premises of the villa (with the allowance only for Y/N and the fan favorite winner of that week to leave for a one night date). This restriction creates a scenario where 1) at first the occupants fall into an unspoken, almost idyllic community and 2) inevitably the conflicts that arise as a consequence of a Utopian society. With the added pressures of a competition, an environment that fosters moments of high emotional tension, physical and emotional intimacy, and 8 very different personalities, it feels as if the show was doomed for dissonance right from the start. It should be no surprise that the rather straightforward, raunchy reality show devolves so quickly into a “bottle episode” filled to the brim with an emotionally charged battle of whose tongue is the sharpest. On the surface, “The Gentlemen” is a story about a single female protagonist judging the sexual abilities of seven random men but this premise and the setting with which the story plays out on, serves to explore the deeper ideas of one’s role in the balance of social harmony verses the human tendency towards self destruction. 

The setting of a story can be a powerful tool in expressing a character’s journey. “Bottle episodes” have often been used for dramatic effect in visual storytelling, with the limited setting and cast allowing for a slower pace and deeper exploration of character traits and motives. Having the entirety of “The Gentlemen” be one long drawn out “bottle episode” allows for the audience to experience a slow-burn like intensity of those personalities. It takes the fundamental process of how a group stuck in a certain location together for an extended period of time inadvertently falls into certain social constructs in order to reach an equilibrium of cohesion. The roles which each occupant of the villa naturally fell into set a precedent for many of the events that followed on the show, most obvious being Y/N as the “queen bee” (the one who holds the most power in the group), Seokjin as the designated “counselor” (the one who is expected to help his fellow competitors when an emotional issue arises), and Yoongi as the “mediator” (the one who is the voice of reason and rationale when tensions run high). And yet it is revealed that there is a price for that harmony, for even roles that are not as explicit begin to weigh heavy as the days wane on. The cohesion of these roles were meant to serve as cogs that fit together to uphold a sense of teamwork in an otherwise tension filled living quarters. But people are not cogs and emotions are not gears to be compartmentalized into neat roles to serve the higher purpose of the show. And as occupants spend more time with one another, natural biases, feelings of jealousy, possessiveness, envy, and pride start to surface under the umbrella of selfish acts, we begin to see that fine balance corrode the fragile peace. 

The road to self destruction has begun in earnest.   

It all comes to a head at the 2 week mark of the show’s timeline. At this point, tensions have been running high: from revelation of Namjoon’s and Seokjin’s romantic feelings for Y/N, to Jimin and Hoseok’s long running rivalry, to Y/N, Jimin, and Taehyung creating a polyamorous relationship in secret, to Jungkook feeling like the odd man out. The pressures of the show were eventually bound to break someone’s resolve and we see that personified in Jungkook in this episode. After speaking with Seokjin about his warring feelings towards certain members of the group and his desires to act on his frustrations regarding the restrictive parameters of the show, Jungkook was able to unload some of the pent up tension he had been carrying around for the last few days. The audience is then lulled into a false sense of security that the equilibrium of the group has been restored when in actuality, it was a red herring that something drastic was about to unfold. At first glance, the guidance that Seokjin offers Jungkook feels like a band-aid on a bleeding artery when in actuality it was more akin to Seokjin inadvertently stepping on a landmine he believes he has already defused. And his misstep triggers the entire villa to fall victim to the explosion. 

In the climatic scene of the episode, Jungkook’s pent up emotions rears its ugly head in the form of harsh words, tactless criticism, irreparably broken trust, and even fists thrown. His actions turn from verbal assaults to physical ones and the damage seems to fissure out towards the entire group. The destruction is absolute; no one is left unscathed. Why is this scene so effective? Its power is not from the dramatic way Jungkook punches Jimin for calling him out on his childish behavior or the out of character way Hoseok tries to break up the fight only to be elbowed in the face by Jimin nor is it in the heartbreaking way those that are left behind in the villa are tasked with the self imposed responsibility to pick up the literal pieces of their tenuous friendship. It is in the fact that the audience understands the self destructive actions of the characters and perhaps to some degree relate to it on a very human level. We understand that Seokjin wanted to talk through the problems with the group because he didn’t want to shoulder all of the burden himself anymore. We understand that Hoseok acts the way he does because he uses it as a defense mechanism to protect himself. We understand why Sejin did not step in earlier when he was asked to by Yoongi and why Yoongi is bitter about it as a direct result of Sejin’s choice to abstain from deescalating the fight before it got out of control. We understand that Jimin and Jungkook clashed with each other so viscerally because they see themselves in each other and it’s a jagged pill to swallow when presented with a mirror of all of the ugly sides of ourselves we think we do such a great job of hiding. Perhaps exaggerated for a more dramatic effect, but at the core of these interactions, we see the flaws that we carry as human beings and are forced to face the unpleasant feelings that it elicits in each of us. We understand because we can empathize with their struggles. 

How does a community attempt to repair itself when its very foundation is practically razed to the ground? Perhaps there is an argument to be made about a complete dismantling of a previous establishment. The audience can view this inevitable clash as a “controlled burn”. In terms of forest management, a “controlled burn” is a fire set intentionally for purposes of farming, prairie restoration or greenhouse gas abatement. These “controlled burning” is conducted during the cooler months to reduce fuel buildup and decrease the likelihood of serious hotter fires. In the same way fires are a part of a forest’s life cycle, the clash that occurred on day 14 might serve as a way for the characters to start fresh, with hopes of emotional maturity and foresight for rebuilding relationships moving forward in the competition. 

The damage done during day 14 of “The Gentlemen” may arguably be irreversible, perhaps even amplified by the uncertain nature of the show, but challenges were inevitable with a setting like this one. And yet, there are seeds of hope scattered among the debris. In John Yorke’s “Into the Woods: a five act journey into story” he writes “…story matches psychological theory: characters are taken on a journey to acknowledge and assimilate the traumas in their past… By confronting and coming to terms with the cause of their traumas they can finally move on.” Day 14 revealed a lot of stances, opinions, and confessions that were previously kept secret due to the need to preserve the harmonious nature of the greater good, “the community”. But human nature does not allow for peace to reign for long; it yearns balance. Thus dissonance created discourse. Yet from strife there is revelation. From the ashes of fiery emotions, there is a chance at peace anew: either reestablish order or embrace the chaos. Yet most likely it’ll come down to a melding of the two in order to find the balance a community craves whilst also giving into the character’s more baser human desire for self ruin. 

-------

jan i literally can’t stop crying thank you so much. there’s no way for me to put into words the feeling of someone caring so much about the story and even about one particular chapter that they’ve written such an articulate and profound ESSAY on it like,,,, i have no idea what i’ve done to deserve this, because writing this story is just this little passion project that i’m fostering with my brainstorming group and with the readers. it feels like a collaborative effort and so i never really saw it as anything more than just the fun gimmick of an interactive fic in a crazy situation. 

you see things in my story that even i don’t see, make it sound beautiful when i worried it was awkward, and i can’t thank you enough for that. and when you brought up Into the Woods i LOST it, i adore that book and hearing someone quote a masterwork like that when referring to my fanfiction? it’s so absurd but so special all at once. 

i’ve never really considered becoming an actual author because the pressure of money and income relying on it seems scary to me (even commissions stress me out) so i’m eternally grateful to you for always making me feel like this is something professional. getting a glimpse into that life by you writing an analysis on d14 is just.... i really can’t describe how special it is. 

every week i aim to make each chapter better than the last, and we have a very different landscape in the house on day 15 after our controlled (perhaps not so controlled) burn. i’ll patiently await your thoughts then, but i just want to say that you inspire me to work harder each week ;;-;

[bungoland-blogging]

PyroRaider’s Five Favorites

1: Subtle Calamity

My most used bow to this date.  It has to be first.  It has an explosive head mod so I had it masterworked as soon as possible.  Don’t remember for sure, but I think it was the first thing I got masterworked.  I grew an attachment to this thing.  And with this sunsetting regulation about to make it useless, I swear I’ll at least put it on display somewhere.  If anything, at least you all can see and remember it with me here.  Best bow.

No Turning Back was a great bow as well.  The one I had also had the explosive head mod, so it was practically the same bow as Subtle Calamity.  But No Turning Back had one flaw.  It was kinetic.  Subtle Calamity was the winner for me due to its void elemental damage.  And hey, double the bounties.

Wish-ender would have been first if the line of them didn’t suddenly go bad.  They used to be a special quality of weapon.  Well, they aren’t now.

2: Celestial Nighthawk

If you’re a hunter or even a bystander warlock/titan with a brain, you know the power of this thing.  Combined with Sharpshooter, this neat looking (and best looking) exotic helmet instantly kills bosses or at least does a good chunk of damage on the REAL tough ones.  If you hit the head that is.  It takes a certain skill.

That skill being point and shoot.

Ah, the satisfaction of blasting a boss in the face as soon as it appears . . . watching it fall and burn . . .  That feeling?  That’s a great feeling.  Love it.

3: Memory of Cayde Cloak

This would have been at the top . . . if it actually did anything.  The only reason it’s third is because it’s a cloak and . . . the second best one.

The first being . . . . . .

Anyway, I first picked this one up after . . . well, you know.  And since then, I’ve come across five more like it.  I really hate to dismantle them or sell them.  Definitely not dumping them in the trash.  So . . . it looks like there’s a collection in my vault now.  I wear this one everywhere, only occasionally going back to the Tangled Web cloak which is the first one I took a liking to before things went south . . . forever.

4: ST0MP-EE5

I use these almost every time I’m NOT using Celestial Nighthawk.  A must-have for hunters.  Outrun any warlock/titan and take the kills first.  These things make long jumps possible.  You know . . . those jumps that titans and warlocks effortlessly float across while you can’t seem to make it after fifty tries?  Yeah, those jumps.  Take a pair of these next time.  Oh, and bring a sword.

I also happen to like how these look, so they’re in one of my favorite stylish armor sets.  Look, I know my favorite set is a combination of random pieces from a million other sets, but you have to admit it looks pretty nice.

5: Falling Guillotine

This sword . . . whew!  (Yes, it’s a sword.)  This sword is one of the best on the market right now.  Not only does it have a unique, ridiculous design that I adore, it’s easily the strongest sword I’ve ever handled.  Heavy hitter, and I do mean heavy.  You can also twirl it around for even more damage.

Aside from how good it is and the fact that I love this sword, it does have some downsides.  But those downsides are more due to . . . uh . . . the user than the actual sword.  Being a sword, it’s got a specific qualification for good use.  Close range combat.

Okay, okay.  You might not think that’s a big deal, but here’s the issue.  I’m a hunter.  Even with every mod slot full of resilience, I’m easily killed.  Especially if I have to run up to the enemy’s ankles in order to do some decent damage.  Now, it’s doable, don’t get me wrong.  But you have to keep things in mind as a hunter.  If you want to use this sweet sword out there, keep a close eye on that boss.  Because if it stomps the ground or blasts you with one of those taken phalanx shields . . . you’re gonna be flying head first into the closest wall at breakneck speed . . . literally.

So just keep your eyes peeled and be prepared to do what hunters are best at . . . running.  I find the best way to use this sword is to dash in, spin it around, then run and repeat.

[razieltwelve]

The Lesson (RWBY AU Snippet)

“Tell us a story, Old One!” the children cried.

The old woman smiled at the children and eased herself into a chair. “What story would you like to hear?”

“Tell us a story about the gods,” one of the children said. 

The old woman’s smile widened. “A story about the gods? Well, there are many such stories.” She paused and then tapped her cane upon the ground. “But which one to choose?” Her eyes gleamed. “Many of you are almost old enough to begin your training… yes, I know exactly the story to tell.”

X     X     X

Long ago, children, in the days before the Fall when the gods still walked the mortal world, there was a goddess named Pyrrha. Fair was Pyrrha, even amongst the gods, and kindhearted too. But she was no goddess of healing or the hearth. No. She was a goddess of righteous battle, and few were the gods who could withstand her when she took up her sword and shield.

Her sword was named Milo, and it was said to take on many forms. At times it was a sword of fire that struck in all directions. At other times it was a spear that thundered down from the heavens as a bolt of lightning. They say it was forged by the greatest of the gods of smithing, a masterwork that would never be equalled. It was said that no foe could endure it and no shield could turn its blows aside, so long as it was wielded for a just cause.

Her shield was named Akouo, and the legends say that no weapon forged by gods or men could pierce it, for it was wrought of the firmament the gods put around Creation to hold the Abyss at bay. So long as Pyrrha held Akouo, no harm could come to her, and many were the weapons both mortal and divine that broke upon the noble shield.

In those long ago days, Pyrrha would often walk the mortal world. She was also a goddess of heroes, and she sought out those who wished to help others to pass on what skill and wisdom she could. One day, she met a mortal man who wished to be a hero more than anything in the world.

Yet the mortal man was not skilled in feats of arms, nor was he blessed by divine blood or favour. Even so, he did his best, and his determination moved her. Pyrrha revealed herself and offered to teach him, and the mortal man gladly accepted. His had a good heart, and she saw the fine deeds that he might do if only he were stronger.

For several years, Pyrrha trained him, and the mortal man grew mighty under her tutelage. Venturing out once more, he swiftly made a name for himself and became a hero of renown. He saved many lives and slew many monsters, and everywhere he went, he was hailed and feted as a great hero.

Yet the mortal man never forgot his humble origins, nor the aid he had received. Always did he pay homage to Pyrrha, and he did not grow proud or arrogant. And when others came to him, seeking his aid to grow stronger that they might follow in his footsteps, he did as Pyrrha had done.

If they were proud and haughty and wished only for strength to rule others, then he would send them away. But if their hearts were good and they wished to help others, then he would train them as Pyrrha had taught him. In this way did the hero’s fame increase still further.

We know him now as Jaune the Great, but before Pyrrha trained him, he was often called Jaune the Fool. Let it be a reminder, children, never to judge too quickly. A fool today may be a hero tomorrow if opportunity and circumstance permit.

As his fame grew, many women sought out Jaune. Kings offered their daughters to him, and the daughters of wealthy merchants fought for his attention. Yet his heart belonged to only one: the goddess, Pyrrha.

To his joy, the goddess returned his love, and for a time, Pyrrha lingered in the mortal world, living with Jaune as husband and wife. They were blessed with several children, and each was a demigod, gifted with powers far beyond those of mortal men and women. Following in their father’s footsteps, they became heroes, legends that saved countless lives and brought peace and prosperity wherever they went.

And for a time, all was well.

When Jaune eventually passed, as all mortals must, Pyrrha returned to the heavens. In time, one of her descendants married a princess and became a king. Although her blood had thinned, some vestige of her power remained. Even generations later, her descendants possessed strength of arms greatly surpassing that of mere mortals.

The first king of her bloodline was a good king, as was the second and the third. But the fourth was a fool, and the fifth was a madman. Jaune had not been born powerful, so he remembered well the plight of the powerless and those without strength or riches to aid them. He taught his children well, and they taught their children well, but their lessons faded with time.

The kings of Pyrrha’s blood became warmongers and tyrants. They used their great strength and charisma to rally armies that swept over the land, crushing all before them. A kingdom became an empire built upon a foundation of blood and bone, and when Pyrrha looked down upon the mortal world, she could scarcely recognise what had become of her descendants.

Despairing, she sought out Death, for it was said that Death’s eyes saw clearly and allowed no lie or illusion to deceive them.

“Tell me,” Pyrrha begged Death. “Are they truly as evil as they appear? How could Jaune and I have given rise to such tyrants?”

And Death replied, “I will go amongst them in disguise, and I will judge them.”

“And if they are found wanting?”

“They are the children of gods, albeit many generations removed. The mortal world was not made to bend to the will of those of divine blood. I will do what I must.”

And Pyrrha grieved, for she knew what that mean, but she did not seek to stop Death. She had seen for herself the horror her descendants wrought, and her righteous heart could not bear to see such cruelty unchallenged.

So Death went to the seat of power of the empire, a splendid city awash with marble, gold, and silk. She went in the guise of an old crone, and she watched as Pyrrha’s descendants put their enemies to death and slew all who dared question them. At last, she came to the palace of the emperor, and she made her way to the great hall where the emperor feasted with his fellows and celebrated his victories.

He had captives from his newly conquered lands brought before him in chains and cruelly taunted them as his kin laughed and indulged themselves in wine, food, and mayhem. At last, Death had seen enough.

“What is this?” she cried, still in her guise. “Have you forgotten the blood that flows through your veins?”

And the emperor snarled. “You dare speak to me, old crone?”

“The blood of Pyrrha, Goddess of Righteous Battle, flows through your veins. What would she think if she saw you and your kin now?”

The emperor got to his feet, and his eyes were cold. “Strike her down,” he ordered his guards. “This is a feast. I will not have it sullied by an old fool.”

And then Death threw off her guise and appeared before them with the splendour of a god of high standing. They fell back in fear and alarm, and Death spoke with a voice like thunder.

“You have been judged, and you have been found wanting. I am Death, mortal, and I can see into the souls of men. The gods were not meant to lay with mortals, and the strength you wield is not your own but a shadow belonging to that of your bloodline’s mother. I will strike you down, you and all your kin that I find unworthy. If you are noble, then you have nought to fear. But if you are wicked, then you will die where you stand.”

And so it was.

The emperor cried out for mercy, but Death had none to give. He died where he stood, as did all his kin… save a single family.

And Death grieved for Pyrrha, for the two were friends.

“Only one family out of so many?” Death shook her head in disbelief. “How could it come to this?” And so she sought out that family, and she told them what she had done, and she charged the father and mother to remember. “Your blood, thin as it is, carries great power. Never forget that. Remember too how your ancestor, Jaune the Great conducted himself. You can be heroes, or you can be monsters. I would have you be heroes, as would Pyrrha. But if you should forget what happened here… then I will come again to deliver my judgement.”

And the father and mother promised to remember, and they fled the empire with their children, vowing always to serve the people as heroes.

X     X     X

One of the children pouted. “I don’t like that story, Old One.”

The old woman cackled. “Silly boy! It is no mere story! It is our story!” She looked around, at the children whose hair was either a vibrant red or a radiant gold. “The blood of heroes and tyrants flows through your veins! Never forget it! Death came once for our family, and she may yet come again if we forget the oaths we swore and the lessons that she taught.”

“Truly?” the boy asked.

The old woman’s lips curled and she pointed to the centre of the garden. Two statues stood there, one of Jaune the Great and the other of Pyrrha. Yet not far from them, watchful and stern, was a statue of a tall, cloaked figure. It was Death. “Why do you think we have that statue? It is to help us remember.” She grinned. “We can be heroes, children, or we can be monsters. You are young, but you will soon learn the ways of battle. Be heroes, children. Be heroes.”

X     X     X

Author’s Notes

This is just something I’ve had rattling around in my head for a while. It has more of a mythological tone to it than many of the more recent snippets involving the gods, but it seemed suitable.

You can find me on fanfiction.net, AO3, and Amazon. If zombies, humour, and action sounds interesting, check out my newest story on Amazon. It’s called Two Necromancers, a Dwarf Kingdom, and a Sky City. It’s the fourth part of The Unconventional Heroes series, and if you like my sense of humour, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.