#but most of these are sheer conjecture

[wonder-worker]

A central element of the myth of [Eleanor of Aquitaine] is that of her exceptionalism. Historians and Eleanor biographers have tended to take literally Richard of Devizes’s conventional panegyric of her as ‘an incomparable woman’ [and] a woman out of her time. […] Amazement at Eleanor’s power and independence is born from a presentism that assumes generally that the Middle Ages were a backward age, and specifically that medieval women were all downtrodden and marginalized. Eleanor’s career can, from such a perspective, only be explained by assuming that she was an exception who rose by sheer force of personality above the restrictions placed upon twelfth-century women.

-Michael R. Evans, Inventing Eleanor: The Medieval and Post-Medieval Image of Eleanor of Aquitaine

"...The idea of Eleanor’s exceptionalism rests on an assumption that women of her age were powerless. On the contrary, in Western Europe before the twelfth century there were ‘no really effective barriers to the capacity of women to exercise power; they appear as military leaders, judges, castellans, controllers of property’. […] In an important article published in 1992, Jane Martindale sought to locate Eleanor in context, stripping away much of the conjecture that had grown up around her, and returning to primary sources, including her charters. Martindale also demonstrated how Eleanor was not out of the ordinary for a twelfth-century queen either in the extent of her power or in the criticisms levelled against her.

If we look at Eleanor’s predecessors as Anglo-Norman queens of England, we find many examples of women wielding political power. Matilda of Flanders (wife of William the Conqueror) acted as regent in Normandy during his frequent absences in England following the Conquest, and [the first wife of Henry I, Matilda of Scotland, played some role in governing England during her husband's absences], while during the civil war of Stephen’s reign Matilda of Boulogne led the fight for a time on behalf of her royal husband, who had been captured by the forces of the empress. And if we wish to seek a rebel woman, we need look no further than Juliana, illegitimate daughter of Henry I, who attempted to assassinate him with a crossbow, or Adèle of Champagne, the third wife of Louis VII, who ‘[a]t the moment when Henry II held Eleanor of Aquitaine in jail for her revolt … led a revolt with her brothers against her son, Philip II'.

Eleanor is, therefore, less the exception than the rule – albeit an extreme example of that rule. This can be illustrated by comparing her with a twelfth century woman who has attracted less literary and historical attention. Adela of Blois died in 1137, the year of Eleanor’s marriage to Louis VII. […] The chronicle and charter evidence reveals Adela to have ‘legitimately exercised the powers of comital lordship’ in the domains of Blois-Champagne, both in consort with her husband and alone during his absence on crusade and after his death. […] There was, however, nothing atypical about the nature of Adela’s power. In the words of her biographer Kimberley LoPrete, ‘while the extent of Adela’s powers and the political impact of her actions were exceptional for a woman of her day (and indeed for most men), the sources of her powers and the activities she engaged in were not fundamentally different from those of other women of lordly rank’. These words could equally apply to Eleanor; the extent of her power, as heiress to the richest lordship in France, wife of two kings and mother of two or three more, was remarkable, but the nature of her power was not exceptional. Other noble or royal women governed, arranged marriages and alliances, and were patrons of the church. Eleanor represents one end of a continuum, not an isolated outlier."

[himebushou]

When you contrast Kazuki and Rei's motivations against their actions, there's a bit of a gap.

Following Yuzuko's death and the ensuing guilt that Kazuki felt, one would assume that the natural thing to do would be for Kazuki to leave his line of work. Instead, Kazuki appears to do the opposite — he emotionally closes himself off for a long period of time to avoid becoming invested in people, believing that he is incapable of protecting others. He focuses on his work rather than turning away from being a hitman.

Rei, meanwhile, made an active decision to leave the Suwa family home, and by extension, the organisation. For Rei to have concluded that this was the best thing for him to do, he must have recognised that something about his life wasn't quite right. He is, after some sort of negotiation, allowed to depart — but instead of being able to explore whatever it was that led him to realise that he needed to go, Rei also focuses on his work.

The pair maintain a sort of languid existence until they meet.

Kazuki and Rei saved each other. Kazuki was once again able to care for someone and commit to caring for someone; I think the key difference between Rei and other people (in Kazuki's head, at least) is that Kazuki knows Rei is very, very difficult to kill, which gives Kazuki some peace of mind. Rei doesn't need Kazuki to protect him, as such, since Rei is perfectly capable of protecting himself. Rei's strength and aptitude enable Kazuki to relax.

Similarly, Rei is rescued by Kazuki's kindness. I'm sure he had been shown kindness before, but it's doubtful that Suwa Shigeki, one of the most influential people in Rei's life, ever showed him affection. Therefore, when Kazuki arrives, armed with rubber gloves and a vacuum cleaner, deep down, Rei is staggered by the sheer depths of Kazuki's compassion. Kazuki's kindness is not grandiose. It is simple. Rei left the Suwa house but could not take his recovery further — then Kazuki appeared and gave Rei a physical environment that he could perhaps begin to recover in, one that deeply contrasted with the austerity of Rei's family home.

In essence, Kazuki and Rei gave each other security.

There's a lot of emotional closeness. In Episode 3, when Kazuki breezily brings up his childhood, Rei responds, "You don't usually talk like this." The 'usually' highlights that the topic has come up before. In Episode 8, when Miri asks what happened between Rei and her 'grandfather', Kazuki is privy to a lot of details about the family dynamic. He discusses matters which he's unlikely to know about through sheer conjecture. As such, I believe that Rei must have opened up to Kazuki, at least once.

Miri is the catalyst. She is another reason to move on, be different. To change. Kazuki has the opportunity to finally be a father. Rei, the merciless killer, can protect.

It's a good thing that they bumbled through those earlier years, asking questions and not finding answers. Ultimately, it resulted in the trio finding each other.

[residentdormouse]

And continuing my nonsense....

Guess I'm writing for Baldur's Gate 3 now too. Just a short one shot. Got inspired by a Galemance prompt, and decided, 'why the hell not'.

So if you feel inclined, check it out (AO3 linked below) and let me know what you think.

'From Waterdeep'

Rating: T / Words: 2,516

Summary: In which Gale receives a surprise gift and Hayden (OC Tav) unlocks a later dialog.

Tags: Gale x OFC, Named Tav, Not even close to having a Beta, mostly Gale POV - so Tav features/abilities/etc aren't a large factor at all.

“And here I was thinking you were supposed to be the smart one amongst our merry little band of miscreants. Shame. Turns out you’re just as dull as the goblin blades littering this gods forsaken patch of nowhere.“ With a snap, Gale turned to face the smug looking vampire that had at some point managed to find a place at his side. The combination of the jab with his deliberately pronounced smirk brought his blood to a boil, but he pushed it down as best he could. Falling into the blatant attempt at goading could only serve the instigator in question, but to what purpose was pure conjecture. Simply for the sheer enjoyment of it was not ruled out. Still, the comment ate at him. Intent or not, the slander could not stand. At least he was able to compose himself enough to come at him with a level head. And a bite of his own, of course.  “I’ll have you know, I have countless hours poured into various studies at Blackstaff that you wouldn't even dream about delving into. The sheer amount of time put in on illusions alone is more than even I would care to admit. So while, I'm sure you could say I have quite a few other less favorable qualities, dull would most certainly not be one of them.” “And yet you still can’t see what’s right in front of you. Mastery levels of observation for sure; I am ever so envious.”

Continued on A03...

[gutterspeak]

10, 15, 42, and F for Luthais?

hi ash!! tysm for the ask!!!! :]

10. What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them?

anything to do with closing the worldwound and living a normal life with Daeran afterwards tbh 😬

TECHNICALLY he didn't know with 100% certainty how things would shake out, but in his mind there was only one path it could all take - especially act 5 onwards (and due to his failed roll on going legend)

telling Daeran he'd only conjectured about there being a rift in threshold wasn't entirely dishonest, but let's be real. he was banking on it being there and knew what it would mean for himself if he went back and stopped Areelu from opening the worldwound. deep down he knew he was basically lying to Daeran and still lied about it up until the very end! it haunted him, sure, but he bent over backwards to justify it to himself and besides, the truth was much worse. it was bad enough that he had to live with knowing their time was finite, why would he want to inflict that sort of pain on Daeran too?

add in a generous splash of selfishness since he didn't want to push Daeran into breaking things off or give him a chance to talk him out of it and we get the saddest wet napkin of a guy that knowingly chose his own undoing because it never could have been any other way. and also he just stays silly <3

15. How do they speak? Is what they say usually thought of on the spot, or do they rehearse it in their mind first?

there's definitely times where his mouth is quicker than his brain but those are VERY few and far between. it's second nature to him to pause and speak carefully due to his upbringing, even when he's angry or upset. it takes a lot for that mask to slip!

generally, he speaks very gently and evenly. I've tentatively decided that his voice claim is James Callis as Alucard (netflix castlevania) since how he speaks in that role is exactly how I imagine Luthais to. soft-spoken, measured, but still snappy when he wants to be... although the accent would be one he's using to mask how he naturally speaks, since his true accent is very Chelaxian and specifically from the area around Kintargo as I like to imagine that there's a regional difference because of where it sits geographically

42. How badly do they want to reach their end goal? 

I feel like the sheer amount of horrific transformation and ego death he subjects himself to really speaks for itself!!! and that's not even touching upon literally writing himself out of existence...

this quote from animorphs also feels relevant:

"People don't understand the word ruthless. They think it means "mean." It's not about being mean. It's about seeing the bright, clear line that leads from A to B. The line that goes from motive to means. Beginning to end. It's about seeing that bright, clear line and not caring about anything but the beautiful fact that you can see the solution. Not caring about anything else but the perfection of it." ― Katherine Applegate, The Reunion

F) What do you feel when you think of your OC (pride, excitement, frustration, etc)?

I want to hug him and give him a big kiss. and then I want to put him in the garbage disposal

[spacingstars]

26 and/or 27 for the salty asks

26. Most shippable character?

Rex, hands down it's Rex. I'm obviously, most intensely, invested in just Anakin/Rex, but, I don't know, something about Rex's personality makes him very shippable. xD

27. Least shippable character?

Obi-wan.

Okay, that's me being a contrarian little ass for fun because of how often he gets shipped with every character under the sun.

The more serious answer though is that I find most characters to be "least shippable." I don't tend to gravitate towards shipping by and large when I join a fandom. For me to genuinely, earnestly ship something, I have to be heavily invested in both characters, their relationship, and the development of that relationship into something more than just their canonical friendship/dynamics. I don't go looking for things to ship, I'm not the type to mix and match different characters and pairings to see what flavors I like most. I usually just end up stewing in canonical analysis for so long and one day it just clicks in my head and I get whacked over the head with a high intensity of brainrot for that specific ship.

(This is how I was with Anakin/Rex, I adored both Anakin and Rex's characters, coupled with the friendship they were portrayed with, and I just became more and more intensely fixated on it. The straw that broke the camel's back was reading the TCW novels where a bunch of conjectures I'd come up with from watching TCW had been vindicated. Also there's really no going back on a ship when reading one of the characters winking at the other character causes your brain to combust from the sheer level of serotonin just experienced.)

Probably not the most exciting answer, but yeah, I find vast majority of characters to be "least shippable" until they hit a number of very specific buttons in my brain to even be considered shippable in just one ship, let alone multiple.

I am not a multishipper by and large; hence, why Rex being so shippable to me is kind of an anomaly. xD

Though, in essence, per my own standards, the only two characters I find "shippable" are Anakin and Rex, and any other character I do not find shippable (at least at the present moment,) so... technically, my initial contrarian answer of Obi-wan can still apply. Though, not for any typical reasons (usually the reason being a dislike for that character) most people might consider a character "least shippable."

Salty Ask Game

[navree]

Do you think they will turn Aegon into a depraved clone of Joffery? Let's be real they give him the most cartoonish scenes for a reason . But really i find it weird how anyone would read the book then be thinking yeah Aegon ii was the original joffery. I mean if I'm going to compare Aegon to any character of the main series, i will say it's theon greyjoy and Tyrion who are the most similar characters to him , maybe Robert too? Since Robert has revolted against Aerys because Aerys wanted his head and ned's as well also Robert never wanted to be a king? That similar to Aegon kinda

Also if they turned him into joffery2 this will be the most boring, predictable route for his character. But i guess Showrunners these days are not that creative to create a nuance and grey story , so the easiest way is turn it into Joffery0.2 vs Daenerys0.2

I don't have the most faith that they'll give Aegon his due, but unlike most I do actually avoid a lot of the doomcasting I tend to see about season 2 because a) we know absolutely nothing about season 2 given that I think at most it's still in early pre-production b) they're going to have more space next season. The consequence of the show having done so many time jumps is that we got a very limited amount of time with Aegon (he's got like one focal scene in episode 6 and he's very much a background character in episode 7 except when he goes along with Aemond's lie, and then two episodes, both of which he's more of a side character in until his coronation), so they really couldn't give us a lot with him beyond some incredibly bare bones characterization. That means we need to know that he's got substance abuse problems, he's a mess of a person, and he gets all wet and pathetic the second someone shows him a scrap of love. Do I think that was a good decision? No, I think it was dumb, but that's the corner they drew themselves into. But that's not gonna be the case for season 2.

We're pretty much gonna be dumb with big time jumps I think, so that means we're going to have a full ten episodes to get to know Aegon, and given that the writers have shown an openness to listen to TGC and follow his insights on the character, as well as keep in things that he's improvised to improve on him, they're probably going to have more leniency towards showing different facets of his character. And unless everyone comes down with a big case of stupid-itis (and while I have issues with these writers, they're not dumb), Blood and Cheese and its aftermath is likely going to get a whole episode to itself, which alone is going to give us a lot of pretty layered Aegon content. And I don't think they'll lean too heavily on the Joffrey stuff either, because while there's been jokes about it, when you look at the writing that doesn't seem to be where it's going.

The Joffrey comparisons are trite and annoying form a fandom perspective, but I think that the writers are likely going to avoid it just from sheer luck based on the fact that Joffrey and Aegon, even show Aegon, are very different people. Aegon, as portrayed to us, is a drunken lech who avoids responsibilities and also has so many issues surrounding love and self worth. Meanwhile, Joffrey doesn't have any of those. Joffrey doesn't avoid responsibility unless he gets bored, he doesn't have nearly any of the self worth issues that Aegon does (Aegon doesn't think anybody loves or cares for him and appears to have a deep rooted self hatred, which isn't conjecture that's basically me quoting TGC, Joffrey thinks he's the best thing since sliced bread), and most importantly, Joffrey is heavily coded as being genuinely psychologically disturbed. And I'm not talking in a "lol Aegon's got some issues in his head guys" kind of a way, Joffrey is clearly written to have some sort of personality disorder. It's more explicit in the book where he does shit like torture animals and is more sexual in his brutalization of Sansa, which in our modern world are clear red flags for kids who've got some kind of antisocial personality disorder (idk how valid people consider the homicidal triad in today's psychiatry but torturing/killing animals is one third of it), but even in the show universe Joffrey's clearly meant to be fucked in the head. Aegon doesn't have that, so anything beyond a cursory "eh I mean they're both kings that some people don't like" literally cannot be done without making the entire show whack. Joffrey has genuine severe mental problems (likely meant to be a result of incest) that would get him under psychiatric observation if he lived in our world, Aegon needs a stint in rehab and a therapist and also isn't being written to exhibit any sociopathic tendencies. Sorry to Burlington Bar.

(And also Alicent and Cersei raised their children very differently, especially book Cersei who is completely blind to the kind of person Joffrey was, but let's be real we're not expecting anybody who's pro-Blacks to understand nuance when it comes to Alicent, and also the Alicent/Cersei parallels are so surface level it's bordering on annoying)

The issue with Aegon I'm anticipating the most isn't necessarily bad development, it's under development. My most pessimistic view is that they're going to keep treating Aegon as more of a side character than he should be, while keeping main focus on Rhaenyra and Alicent and Daemon and Aemond, while characters who should be mains, like Corlys and Rhaenys and Aegon, are going to be getting less screentime and development than they need, especially for such major players. Do I think that's what's going to happen 100%? No, I don't know what's going to happen 100%, and I'm choosing to give the writers the benefit of the doubt due to what I've seen so far and the fact that there's a lot more I like about season 1 than I dislike. So they might go more along the route of someone like Tyrion or Theon or Robert (even tho Theon definitely wasn't a good guy in season 2 and also Robert was an ass who deserved to get gored by that boar), especially given that Ryan(?) said he was anticipating people switching sides and viewing things differently in season 2 and also the writers' clear vendetta against Daemon and poor Matt Smith.

Also they can't really do Rhaenyra as Daenerys because Rhaenyra and Daenerys are two verrrrrrrry different characters in many different ways, and I do say that as a positive towards Dany and a slight on Rhaenyra (I'd go into that more but this ain't about them this is about my sweet Eggo)

[dustedmagazine]

Listening Post: Les Rallizes Dénudés

It’s difficult to paint an accurate picture of the history of Les Rallizes Dénudés, as an aura of mystery and an inordinate amount of conjecture surround the band. This we do know: Les Rallizes Dénudés sprung from the fertile music scene in late 1960s Japan, in striking opposition to the Group Sounds and folk-rock music that was popular in their country at the time. The original line-up of the band formed in 1967 at Doshisha University in Kyoto, comprising guitarist and vocalist Takashi Mizutani, guitarist Takeshi Nakamura, bassist Moriaki Wakabayashi, and drummer Takashi Katoh. They initially dubbed themselves Hadaka No Rallizes but, according to legend, after Mizutani befriended the radical theater ensemble Gendai Gekijo they became Les Rallizes Dénudés in accordance with the fake French slang that the troupe had invented. 

Throughout the band’s three-decades-long existence, they cut a striking figure. Fronted by the long-haired, sunglasses-and-leather wearing Mizutani, Les Rallizes Dénudés took sensory overload to a new level. The band’s live shows were punishingly loud and replete with extreme visual elements. They had a repertoire of just over a dozen songs, but the myriad bootleg recordings that appeared in the band’s wake indicate that Mizutani and company never played a tune the same way twice. Their music seemed deceptively simple, with bass-and-drum vamps that stretched to infinity overtop of which Mizutani unfurled scorching clouds of guitar noise and vocals sung in his native Japanese. 

After original bassist Wakabayashi was involved in the hijacking of a plane in 1970, the already enigmatic Mizutani became downright elusive. Outside of their iconoclastic leader, Les Rallizes Dénudés’ membership rotated frequently. Official recordings didn’t appear until 1991, at which time the band issued a trio of CDs compiled from various studio and live recordings from across the first decade of their existence. These quickly disappeared, as the legend of Les Rallizes Dénudés had grown considerably by this time, likely indirectly due to acts like High Rise and Fushitsusha that followed in their wake. 

Mizutani passed away in 2019, and shortly thereafter an organization dubbed The Last One Musique appeared, complete with a new website devoted to the band. Earlier in 2022, the Temporal Drift label began issuing Les Rallizes Dénudés material, notably The Oz Tapes and the Oz Days Live compilation, supported by The Last One Musique. In November, the label plans to reissue those first three official releases – ’67-’69 Studio et Live, MIZUTANI / Les Rallizes Dénudés, and ’77 Live – completely remastered and with new liner notes that will hopefully dissolve some of the fog-like mystique surrounding the band. 

We here at Dusted have varying levels of affinity for Les Rallizes Dénudés, and felt that through group discussion, we’d be able to approach the music most adroitly. Given the sheer volume of material involved (The Oz Tapes is a double LP, ’77 Live is a triple LP, and the Oz Days Live compilation is a triple CD), we chose to focus on the official releases. 

I don’t know about you guys, but that ’77 Live release is what I typically associate with the Les Rallizes Dénudés “sound”. Apparently that Heavier Than a Death in the Family bootleg includes some of this material. 

Intro by Bryon Hayes

Ian Mathers: So, while I'd certainly heard of them (albeit thinking they were French for a bit when all I knew was the name), my first real encounter with Les Rallizes Dénudés was only a few months ago, hearing the Heavier Than a Death in the Family version of "Night of the Assassins" and going “What is THAT?” I hadn't gotten around to investigating much further than that, though, so this Listening Post is both very convenient for me, personally, and also when I started playing '67-'69 Studio et Live and "Les Bulles de Savon / Soap Bubbles" began I was very surprised.  Like you, Bryon, '77 LIVE is more what I expected, albeit on far more circumstantial grounds. And while, once I adjusted to the gentler, arguably more dated material on '67-'69 and MIZUTANI / Les Rallizes Dénudés none of it is particularly unpleasant or hard to deal with, it does suffer for me in comparison to '77 LIVE which on first listen is one of my favorite things I've heard all year, maybe longer. The 95-minute length and sheer abrasiveness of its noise means it's not going to be a casual play around my apartment, but I can honestly say I was riveted for every minute the couple of times I've been able to fit it in so far. The length of each track and of the album as a whole is part of what I think is so distinctive and incredible about it.

So if these three official/out of print releases have been around at least to some degree since the early 1990s, is the softer/folkier(?) sound of much of the studio stuff on there a big part of what people like about Les Rallizes Dénudés? I feel like once I heard more than the name I mainly heard people referring to the noisier stuff. And why did it take until this listen to realize that the bassline on what '77 LIVE calls "夜、暗殺者の夜 / The Night, Assassin’s Night" makes me think of that "I Will Follow Him" song from Sister Act? 

Mason Jones: I've heard a number of people refer to Rallizes as "Japan's answer to the Velvet Underground," which rings true in part because of the bands formed in their wake. While they were never well-known, perhaps "notorious" is a better description. Their influence leaked out over years, and their shadowy presence and noisy psychedelic swirl can be traced to many independent bands. I doubt that Keiji Haino would regard them as much of an inspiration for Fushitsusha, but there's at least a visual aesthetic that's even more visible in Kousokuya and Kaneko Jutoku's work and lurks behind many other bands related to the PSF label such as Shizuka and High Rise. Some of Japan's psychedelic underground readily admit Rallizes' inspiration, such as LSD March, Up-Tight, and Overhang Party.

Where the Boredoms inspired an entire Kansai scene of anything-goes indie anarchy, Les Rallizes Denudes infiltrated a smaller but no less impactful network of smoke-drenched psychedelic players. The heavier, noisier aspect of Rallizes is better-known outside Japan, but from the deep, slow strums of Suishou no Fune to the quieter aspects of Majutsu no Niwa and LSD March, the softer side is definitely there as well. That said, I've certainly always been more attracted to their more crazed, no-holds-barred work like that on '77 LIVE and bootlegs like Blind Baby Has Its Mothers Eyes. The 1980 Live and Soundboard collection (10 CDRs!) and Double Heads boots are also among the better ones, but in truth over the years it's been nearly impossible to untangle the recordings spread across dozens and dozens of poorly assembled bootleg releases. Seeing properly mastered and collected releases coming out now is very, very welcome.

Ian Mathers: Which brings up one of the biggest questions I have about all this: how does one “properly” master something like '77 LIVE? I think it sounds fantastic, so I clearly agree with the choices made, but I wonder what's involved and what's different about working with source material like that. 

Mason Jones: It's hard to say. In this case, it's possible that they have the original tapes, whereas the versions I've heard before are probably second generation or worse; very possibly duped from an old LP or cassette! However, I'm listening right now and comparing the old Le 12 Mars 1977 à Tachikawa bootleg I have, which is the same as '77 LIVE — same track lengths and all. The older bootleg feels slightly thinner and hissier, but interestingly it doesn't sound as much worse as I recalled. That one has a long history of unofficial re-releases, as shown on its Discogs page. The old bootleg I have of Mizutani is certainly improved on by the new reissue, with a great deal more clarity. I don't seem to have any previous releases that correspond to the '67 - '69 Studio et Live reissue, which is an intriguing collection of ragtag recordings. 

The OZ Tapes by Les Rallizes Dénudés

Ethan Covey: It’s funny you mention mastering as there was a minor Twitter flare up a few days back when someone posted a screenshot comparing audio files from the old CD release of ’77 Live with the new edition. It looked as if the dynamic range on the new release was crunched/maxed out/whatever the correct terminology is, versus a more forgiving mix on the CD. And there was the accompanying grumbling that modern mastering — especially on a release like this — is all about volume at the expense of subtlety. I haven’t listened to the new ’77 Live yet but have to say the mastering on The OZ Tapes sounded fantastic compared with previous versions of that material. I look forward to listening to the LP (if it ever arrives), and digging into these “new” ones. 

Mason Jones: Yeah, I can see that. Listening to my old CD copy versus the new one, while I haven't compared the files specifically there's certainly more modern compression on the new release. That's fairly typical these days. To my ears, it doesn't seem excessive, but it'll take more listening to let it sink in for sure. I do have to chuckle a bit about the idea of "subtlety" dealing with blown-out live recordings like these. As you say, though, I'm waiting for my LP copies to arrive, which will be a better test than mp3s. 

Bryon Hayes: I have a question for Mason and those of you who've been following Les Rallizes Dénudés for some time and have access to recordings from across their existence: these three releases document a band that appears to have experienced a sizeable shift in sound in its first decade of existence, from the almost garage-y tunes of '67-'69 Studio et Live and the softer acoustic sounds of MIZUTANI to the overdriven feedback onslaught that is the '77 Live set.  Does anyone know if this was a subtle transition that occurred slowly throughout the decade, or was there a Big Bang moment, with a clear delineation between those two sides of the band? 

Mason Jones: That's an interesting question, Bryon. I really don't have a solid answer but can make some guesses. The sequence you list is accurate, and these three albums essentially document three phases of the band: the first lineup from '67 to '69. The acoustic work on Mizutani was him sort of on his own (with some others playing with him) during the period when there wasn't a full band. Then in 1970 he moved to Tokyo and started with a new lineup. Takeshi Nakamura, who started the band with Mizutani, was quoted as saying "The live shows were really high volume from the very beginning" so the shift from garage-y as you describe it to the more out-there tracks might have just happened naturally due to the almost complete change in band members. But who knows, perhaps some of it's simply the selection of tracks we're hearing!

Ian Mathers: I am sympathetic to "loudness war" type concerns, generally, but I have to admit the notion that the stuff here that I really like would not be brickwalled seems a little funny. Interesting to know that aside from Mizutani himself there was a pretty complete change of personnel; I still kind of wonder, given the more standard/quality production on those earlier records, how much the production, not just the playing, on '77 Live was a deliberate aesthetic choice. Do we know if it's more a case of them playing high-volume shows with recording equipment that just wasn't up to the task, in unexpectedly glorious ways, or is there any indication they were leaning into that part of their sound (whether that's using equipment a step down from what they could, or playing in certain ways, or the recording process, or mixing, or...)? Any answer isn't going to make me like that sound less, to be clear - I have no stake in this being some variety of outsider or accidental art. I do wonder if when they first heard the tapes they went "great!" or "oh no..." though.   

Mason Jones: Yeah, it's hard to say whether the sound was intentional or not. In the case of the live recording, it's worth keeping in mind that in Japan it's unusual for bands to have their own equipment aside from the instruments and effects -- the live houses have amps and drums that the bands use. Since so few people drive, it's uncommon to be able to bring your own stuff. That means the amps they were using would have been the house amps, although '77 Live was recorded at Tachikawa Social Education Hall; who knows if they had a regular backline or rented equipment for the show. In any case, who knows how they felt about the tapes when they first heard them.

The overblown sound, though, was almost certainly the primary influence for Nanjo Asahito's recording and mastering approach for the first High Rise albums and later work that he did. Those recordings were infamous for the brick wall limiting, pushing everything into the red. I don't know for certain but given Nanjo's appreciation for Rallizes I'd be shocked if the sound of '77 Live wasn't the initial inspiration for that approach. 

Bryon Hayes: According to the information I've scrounged online, not only was the band notoriously loud, but they were also accompanied by a frenzied lightshow, beginning with their earliest performances. Apparently Mizutani coined the term "total sensory assault" to describe the experience and it is claimed that was the goal from the start. Of course, given the amount of speculation and conjecture that surrounds the band, this could be a red herring. In some respects, I hope that as Temporal Drift release more material, the mystery will slowly unravel, but I also kind of enjoy the mystique.

[rionas-path]

Chapter 11

The Price

CV. The Scheming Witch discharged the mass of flow which had been tamed By Ríona’s shield and quickly griped the reigns of her host. In a jerk, she twitched each muscle in her body, and with utmost Precision brought her feet beneath her torso trained, Preparing a savage strike. With ferocious poise she jumped up Elegantly, each move calculated and leaving no room for let-up. Wasting no breaths on inadequate form, her eyes now inflamed And adorned in purpurate blaze, flashing in the lowly light untamed.

CVI. “A grudge you sought to settle and a debt you shall have repaid!” The goddess roared, causing trembling tremors throughout the keep, Before charging at her nemesis. With a great and sudden leap She met his forestalling knife as he prepared a flow’s grenade. She swiftly pulled out Ríona’s spear-staff from its bony sheathe, Glanced his hand and cast aside the dagger from underneath. Promptly, she snatched his free hand in which flow was being swayed And burned it to a crisp: by a touch of pure embers dismayed.

CVII. Alas, the spirits changed again, and the Tsar was left helpless Before the sheer might of the goddess. His old and battered Body could not withstand the youth of his foe. Woe meets great, haggard Scholars of their crafts with the sword of progress ever reckless! Today no different would fate remain. With ease, she grabbed a hold Of his neck and torso, lifting him up so he could his fate behold. Sharply, she slammed him unto the cobbled floor with dire success And lo, he was now at the mercy of her flawless finesse.

CVIII. Pleading as if to buy some time: “O, Aurianne, I beg thee! Show us mercy! I am a madman in old soldier’s wear, At mercy of the whims of my guest, whom forlorn fate shall not spare As we perish to languor. Show honour in thine heart lordly But once in thy life, I beg!” The goddess mistook the host for his guest And, therefore, chose to indulge him in his pleadings expressed. The air she filled with her maniacal laughter of sinister glee Before answering the Tsar’s pitiful and pathetic plea.

CIX. “How quaint and oh-so reminding! Thy warlike ways hath always been Stuck in the past, likewise thy methods crude and imprecise! Thou canst not match the speed of Ríona’s youth with any device From the Tsar’s accrued tricks from the fray. Thou hast tried to careen My way one time too many, Balthazar! She’d seek her lore; Lore thine host would have kindly given! Regrettably, I abhor Such a notion! I cannot let it be by daylight seen.” She finished her tirade with a foul cackle and a grin.

CX. Her palm became adorned in purpurate flames as she slowly Began to reach towards the Tsar’s neck. Piercing pain that shot Throughout his body, brought his resolute mind back from the rot, If only for a moment. He inquired desperately: “And what do you intend to manufacture in this juncture? Cover up all my search and study, all my conjecture? Burn it? Destroy it from our very living memory? Bring upon it all the foreboding fury of thy flow holy?”

CXI. This managed to halt her yet again, the ultimate weakness Of her ever scheming, methodical and meandering mind; The pleasure of toying with her soon-to-be loose end twined: “Burn it, sayest thee? Crude, though a most effective process. Perhaps, I could use some of it as bait? A vicious lure, Like a carrot at the end of a stick for my girl immature? Perhaps turn it into snow, or water or air? Coalesce It with the very flow? What difference does that profess?”

CXII. “For I have won, and thou hast lost!” In her musings, she failed To notice the Tsar reaching into his pocket, retrieving A fistful of an odd, powdered substance. Her mind weaving Her devious plans, inattentive to her foe’s plans veiled. He scoffed: “Thou art good, goddess, alas, thou art testing the price In thy arrogance!” Swiftly he acted upon sharing his advice, Bringing his palm before his mouth and blowing. This act assailed The goddess’ face with the powdered dust, which she forthwith inhaled.

CXIII. Caught by surprise, she launched into a ruthless coughing fit Which filled her very eyes with fiery rage. Her anger burst out In bouts of curses, as she grabbed the dagger lying about On the floor and began to stab at his chest. She had commit To a butchery abhorrent, as blood gushed and spilled athwart The room in speckled sprays. No living being could ever thwart The onslaught, yet as soon as the powder was ingested, it Began its eerie work, and she knew to fate she had to submit.

CXIV. In a manner of heartbeats, a languor – a weariness embraced The spirit of Aurianne. As she quickly realized How it worked, and at the thought became utterly paralyzed. All her plans up to this point could be manoeuvred and interlaced With the growing power of her host, including the clouding Of her sharp mind, however, this will cause her ambition’s shrouding. To such a scheme, she had not believed she’d fall. So disgraced Yet again, finding her talents and plans all go to waste.

CXV. No longer than a few moments later, Ríona regained Her cognizance to this dreaded scene. In horror, she observed The man who laid in her bloody arms; her hand still on the curved Dagger which protruded upward from the Tsar’s chest bloodstained. Miraculously, though his breathing was faint, he lived still For this brief moment. When his gaze her innocent eyes did fill, He met them with a melancholic smirk that was unashamed, Reached up to her face and brushed away the tears unfeigned.

CXVI. “Shh… shh… ‘Tis alright, my child. Both of our destinies foretold Of our paths. Mine too long and too old to be still accordant With the Tribe Mothers. Thine of utter concern and important: To thee, to the Outerworldly and to the Innerworldly fold. I give to thee my gift of lore.” He reached in his pocket And brought out his black leather-bound grimoire and a locket: I give thee, my powder of mists, like powers you already hold Through your sheer ingenuity, howbeit, stronger thousandfold!”

CXVII. “Use it sparingly, with caution, and with respect; and not Follow in my steps. Read the book, memorise it, destroy it For holy eyes must never feast their wicked eyes upon it! Never abuse it or thou shalt fall into thy dest’ny’s wrought Without recourse!” With these final words he finally perished, And the air suddenly became lighter, as two souls cherished Left the Outerworld, with another yielding to the slumber’s plot. Now Ríona was utterly alone and by silence besot.

[natromanxoff]

(x)

A CURSORY glance at the British rock scene would lead even the most cautious of observers to conclude that Queen are undoubtedly one of the hottest bands in the nation.

Their single "Killer Queen" has reached number one, their album "Sheer Heart Attack" has crashed into the top twenty and their Nationwide tour has been a sell out.

In addition lead singer Freddie Mercury is taking on, almost visibly the stature of a rock giant, perhaps to be rated in the same category as a Jagger or a Stewart.

All this with such an apparent lack of effort has led to some harsh criticism of Queen in the past. But they have paid their dues as much any band.

The roots of Queen lie in a band alled Smile, a small-time outfit which played a lot of pubs and small gigs in various parts of the country. The lead guitarist with that band was Brian May and the drummer Roger Taylor.

Smile broke up after, as Roger says, "We just felt we were knocking our heads against a brick wall." They had simply become demoralised with all the hassles involved in simply trying to keep a band together and go out to play.

But then along came Freddie Mercury, full of ideas and enthusiasm as May recalls. Mercury had known Smile for a long time since he too was playing in a variety of small bands — “none of them worth bothering to mention" — in the same area.

"We used to borrow each other's equipment and we always used to be at each other's gigs," says Freddie Mercury felt that there was a lot of potential going to waste when Smile split so he propounded his then extravagant ideas on how to run a band and Brian and Roger listened.

They then found they needed a bass player and it took six months of auditioning before they finally decided on John Deacon. "They didn't tell me I'd got the job until about two days later," recalls John.

There followed a long period of practising, something approaching 18 months according to Mercury, and then Queen's unique method of getting established.

They decided against the usual up-and-down-the-motorways slog and tried something different. Brian says: "We used to invite friends to little concerts we organised and lay on free orange juice and popcorn. We used a cine projector for a spot light, one time.”

Then came small out of town gigs and inevitably, an album "Queen" and a single "Keep Yourself Alive." Queen were off and running to greater and greater heights of acclaim. Perhaps it is this seemingly effortless success which caused so much resentment of Queen in the early days. But effortless? The band see it a very different way.

Mercury says: "We've had to work damn hard to get into the position we are now. And we're still working to improve on that. The stage lights received a lot of attention before we started on this tour. We spent two weeks rehearsing just the lights, deciding on positioning, colour and so on.

Suggestions that Queen are just a lead singer as the star with three guys as a backing band brings a sharp response from all four members. "I do all of the leaping about," says Mercury, "but that's what singers should do now. Queen work together as a unit. The sound comes from all of us."

Finally it is interesting to give a little thought to what might have happened if Brian May had not been put out of action for so long after contracting hepatitis.

May fell ill during Queen's first tour of the States, as support band to Mott the Hoople, who are, incidentally, much admired by Queen. They had to pull out of the tour and delay work on "Sheer Heart Attack" while Brian recovered, suffered a relapse and recovered again.

Had this not occurred maybe Queen would have broken big long before now both here and in the States. Conjecture of this sort is not entered into, however, by the band.

They are both ambitious and hungry to develop, and certainly do plan to make an assault on the States.

But, when they do, it will be done in the same methodical manner as everything they have attempted in the past. As May says: "It's no use trying to go faster than you can. Everything should be allowed to develop naturally.”

[wr1t3w1tm3]

Descendent

PotC 5/Modern/Will out of Water AU.

Characters: Will Turner, Calypso, Original Female Character

SFW. Like, completely. Just some curses.

Authors note: I broke a couple rules I think, but I don't care, this is my AU.

Words: 4,737

As the centuries melt together, Captain William Turner of the Flying Dutchman finds himself further inland and farther downstream than he could’ve ever imagined. A multitude of maritime disasters fling him from one corner of the world to the other. The Dutchman serves through wars, accidents, and genocides. As the 18th century spills over, the load only increases. Of course, one would expect that as more men's souls were brought into the world, he would be required to guide an equal portion more from it. Except the sea and all her tributaries have never been truly tame. It seems just as men grow complacent with the waters; he is forced to compensate for their malignity. 

The strain nearly ends him. While Elizabeth had been alive, it hadn't been pleasant. But back then, he had a rock, a lighthouse to guide him and remind him what might happen if he forsook such a sacred duty. Even when she passed - to sudden for her to make arrangements to join his crew - he’d had Henry, their son. Henry married a young astronomer named Carina, the daughter of the captain who wed the Captain and the King. Henry had waited, watching dutifully and bringing his children. Then once, he supposes around his 12th land fall, he arrives to find the lodgings of his relations ransacked and in a shoddy state of disrepair, unlived in for some time. There is nothing to indicate where they went. All that he can conjecture from the men he brings aboard and what he knows of recent history is perhaps, he prays perhaps, they faced an uprising and fled. Though whether that be the fledgling America, the southern colonies or bloody England he’s sure he’ll never know. 

It almost breaks him, but the images of Jones, his cruelty and the cool steel of the sword that hangs from his hip is just enough to keep him on course. 

It is then he begins finding himself in freshwater. Sometimes up river. It happens most often on the Thames in England, the Saint Lawrence in the northern colonies, the Amazon to the south and the American Mississippi. The 19th century bleeds into the 20th, and soon he has a new death chamber with which to contend: the aeroplane. 

In that century alone he sails through wars, plane crashes, mass suicides in the East and submarines in the West. Mortal men seem to have contented themselves with finding every manner of deadly metal tube and loading themselves into it for travel. He has never seen the oceans so red with blood. Some nights, in the diming lights and the suns wavering rays, the sea seems to dye itself purple. The quantity nearly pushes him over once again, but all of a sudden, in what he thinks is the last decades of that century, the occurrences requiring his presence drop drastically, though the sheer number of souls he ferries from each local increases exponentially. Now he more often than naught finds himself sailing through a valley of broken stragglers, immigrants and refugees fleeing from the latest conflict at the hands of angry men. 

Fewer and fewer sailors pass at sea. Fewer and fewer join his crew, and he is slowly beginning to lose his battle with his duties. It becomes a matter not of if, but rather when he will. Until one particular morning, on which he awakes in the Dutchman’s captain’s quarters, and all is quiet. It is his first clue as to something amiss, but he is grateful for the calm this once. It is hardly ever calm aboard the Dutchman.

He takes to the deck, finding the wheel to determine a heading. It seems already determined for him this day, as the Dutchman has surfaced up a river. In fact, he squints to make out the dots in the distance, he’s far up a river, near what seems to be an inhabited city. 

That’s not something he sees everyday. It’s his third strike. He scans the deck, the bow, the crows nest. Theres nary a soul aboard except his own. 

“William Turna’”. He near scowls, but turns to his guest. She is not near how he remembers her last. While her clothes are similar, a mix of tropical prints, naturally woven bits and a fur of some kind: and her countenance has not changed, her form most certainly has. It is not flesh and bone that stands before him, but rather water in the form of this woman from many lifetimes ago. 

“Calypso,” he says, his voice gruff from disuse. An urge arises to bow, he ignores it. “What is the nature of this… visit?”

Her voice warbles with the waters flow. “T’ere’s been an unfo’seen development in ‘da ways of t’is wo’ld Captain Turna’.” She steps forward, and he slides back. The wheel is in his back. “Da te’ms of yous agreemen’ ‘board da Dutchman are changin’.”

Will’s stomach drops. “What has changed?” 

He wants to beg, ask what he’s done. Surely, there hasn’t been anything? He’s faithfully fulfilled his duties over all these centuries. And had he not, the sea would’ve already claimed him. 

A cool wind arises, pushing his hair across the nape of his neck. A spray is forced from Calypso’s countenance, only to disappear as soon as it’s caught his eye. “T’ings are changin’ in da wo’ld of da gods, William Turna’. You mo’tals was not built to bear no divine load.” 

Anticipation rises in his chest. Had he a heart, he’s sure it would’ve begun to race. It must be racin’, in that blasted metal box he’s since lost track of. Calypso continues, enigmatic and cool “Fa now, the Dutchman’s ta’ remain docked ‘ere. Ya crew’s off ta fiddla’s green or da locka’, judgement dependin’. You, William Turna’, will be allowed ta shore from dawn’s fi’st ligh’ to dusks final gleam. Only in the da’k must ya remain ‘board dis vessel. Every moment da light touches is yours, not jus da one day.”

He’s… he’s stunned. And thrilled! Suddenly he’s been given the opportunity of his lifetime, to visit land more often than once a decade! Of course, the first blasted thing out of his mouth is “And what of the souls I’m supposed to lead? What should become of them?”

“Anoda’ ferry man’ll serve in ya stead.” Calypso’s voice is stern. Perhaps not angry but reaching that cusp none the less. They pause a moment, and he listens. To the birdsongs in the woods against the rivers shore, a faint sound of chugging that must be some new-fangled thing he’s heard of yet never seen. The water of the river rushes along, but the water makin’ up Calypso’s countenance only rustles, barely moving. 

“But what should I do? I know no living souls…” what of my heart?

Calypso’s voice rises. She cuts him off.. “Yous not been brought ‘ere fur no reason, William Turna’! One of yur’ heirs is close, and to dem you might go! Tea conditions of yous ‘ternal life remain, you’ll not want for food nor drink nor sleep though they be available to ya’!”

The water of Calypso has grown cloudy, swirling as he’s no doubt raised her ire. Not a swell idea, lad he scolds himself. The form before him flows apart, seeming ‘bout to return to its source. “How will I know that this reprieve has ended?!”

Of course he had to ask. This time, she practically screams “Yous will know when ya know, Turna!” and with a sudden splash, she’s gone. Water slaps against it’s source below his deck, and when he turns to face his port there is a gang plank, extended to the shoreline. 

Something in him jumps, though surely not his heart. Clad in warm weather wear, Will hastens to his cabin to change into something more suitable. His boots clump against the wooden beams as he finds a shirt and a coat, as it was rather cool that morning. He sets his sword at his hip, and with care to tie the knot of his bandana tightly, he looks himself over once in the mirror - maroon does look quite nice on him, as Elizabeth had pointed out so many centuries ago - and to the gang plank he’s off. 

It’s an odd thing, really. The gang plank had mostly been for his men, to return to shore when the need arose. He’d only used it a few times, when the ropes would not suffice to board a doomed vessel or for the brief day he’d spent on some criminal island a few decades after loosing track of Henry. He’d rarely left the Dutchman since then. As such, he’d never seen anything such as he had now. He slunk down the gang plank, careful of a few raised bars, and set his boots upon dry land for the first time in at least a century. 

Even with his more recent escapades into freshwater, Will has never had the luxury of observing the rivers surroundings with much scrutiny. Here, one shore lines the river with a dense forest. The trees are tall though scraggly, their leaves aflame in orange, red, and yellow. A green few are still visible, and the grass beneath his boots remains green as well. On the opposite shore - off his port - is a flat expanse near far as the eye can see, covered in drying fields of some crop he cannot identify. And just as the horizon fades, huge hills, near mountains, jut up from nowhere, dense with much the same foliage as on the shore he walks. 

There are birds that he hears on occasion, but it seems his foot falls have scared most of the wildlife from ear shot. He thinks to himself that it’s not my fault there’s so many twigs to snap along this trail. He follows it up from the shore, up a steep hill and to a narrow, more traveled path that winds towards a clearing. 

This clearing turns out to be some sort of graveyard, over which watches a large stone cross. Will stops at the edge of the clearing, a moment of silence for those who’re interned there. It’s an odd thing to see now, after so long at sea where there are no graveyards. And if he remembers correctly, there are rarely graveyards this close to the shore. However, as he glances behind and notices the drop off, both the grave yards placement and also the fence at the edge of the little cliff make much more sense. 

A light gray path winds true past the small graveyard and towards the back of some grand building. Will follows the path, and finds his footsteps fall heavier, as the path feels not unlike the cobble roads they’d had in Port Royal all those centuries ago. Then again, they did not look much the same. And times have changed, he reminds himself. Surely most things have changed. 

When he turns the sharp corner with the path, he takes pause under the yellowing branches of a weeping willow, in awe of the great church that stands tall on the bluff. It was assuredly much taller than the Dutchman’s tallest mast, not accounting for the several much taller spires that broached from its roof. He stands in awe for some unknown amount of time, before a sound he can only describe as crunching draws his attention further down the path, to where it winds between this grand church and some run down and weathered hut, its boards grayed with age. Between the two, though much farther back, rises a large building, it’s walls inset with windows four high, made of a red material Will thinks is brick, and some of the same yellowish stone that the church must also be made of. Beyond the path is a large pool of a black material, which is occupied by a few strange looking carriages, mostly of white and red. Cars, he reminds himself. He’d seen a few of them along the ocean floor in the last century. 

There along this black mass is a small hill, which runs straight into a larger hill, on which there seems to be a trodden path. He can just make out around this hill and between what appears to be a fenced sports court is another, longer building. As he moves towards the path, he spots more buildings, most of them the same red brick and yellowed stone, connected by these same gray paths. 

As he crests the first hill, he finds it to be some sort of dike, built perhaps when there was more water in the area. Atop the second hill he finds another gated complex, with a wall of red, silver, and gray seats overlooking a green, lined field surrounded by a red path. He goes further up the hill, towards another flat, black section lined with yellow. This one seems to be connected to a few gray paths that run to several of the other building’s he’s noticed, crisscrossing a green, leaf littered campus that appears rather vacant.

He steps into the black lot, where a few more cars have been left. Something like humming drifts towards him, coming closer until around the corner of the long building appears a sandy gold car. 

Will is taken aback by how quiet it is. Even the Dutchman, in tip top shape, had creaked and groaned with the wind in her sails, and the floor often moaned when paced. This thing is much, much smaller, and as it grows closer it grows only a bit louder. It truly is a marvel what man has come up with in his absence. 

The car begins to slow, then comes to a stop just a few feet before him. The driver - who he can now positively identify as a young woman - looks… bewildered. Spectacles frame her eyes, and her hair is a deep brown, nearly black. Something clinks and the car hums again, this time moving backwards as it’s captain twists to watch over her shoulder. 

Will is dumbstruck. Her eyes… he swears they were Elizabeth’s, the very same. Perhaps… he doesn’t want to get his hopes high… but perhaps she is the descendent Calypso had spoken of. 

He steps into the grass to his port, striding through the dew towards the girl and her car. It makes a sound like a horn as she leaves it. Will picks up his pace. The girl is halfway to the building, walking along another gray path when he calls to her. 

“Miss! Wait!” 

She looks to him, her face pale, and she pauses. Will begins to slow, noticing how her feet shift, and he tries to catch her eyes but they are half closed in fear. Her fist clenches around something purple and triangular, and she sprints down the path. 

“Wait! Please!” He calls after her, and he's off in pursuit. His sword clatters against his thigh. Something on her jingles, and it grows a little louder as he gains ground. 

Unfortunately for him, this girl knows the place. She sprints straight through an enclave in the building. Then across the green, past what appears to be two courts made of sand, spanned by a net about twice as tall as himself. He dodges around the edge as she did, but she isn’t looking back. She’s hurrying forward, breathing hard. He’s breathing hard. He hasn’t had to run for anything really since… it must’ve been at least a few decades. As they run, they cut across several more gray paths, and for a second the crunch of grass gives way to loud, dull foot falls before they fly over grass once more. Only once they’ve started down another smaller hill does he realize how far she’s brought him. He’s been running for at least a couple of minutes, and looming before them is a building, with five sets of windows running up its height, separated from them by some black road made of the same material as the lot he had started after her in. 

He stomps across the hard surface, and jumps over the yellow raised edge onto another gray path. The girl has reached what appears to be a door, and holds something black with yellow spots against the wall next to it. It emits a sharp squeal and clicks, and the girl throws the door open. 

She glances at him, her face seizes when she realizes he’s followed her all this way and isn’t stopping and she sprints inside. 

“Wait!” Will is forced to slow and grab the door as it’s nearly closed. Once inside he hears someone thunder up a set of stairs across the room. He launches himself up, taking them two at a time. They’re solid wood and turn once, 180 degrees. He uses the handy railing to keep himself from slamming into the stone wall. At the top are two doors, one on his starboard which leads outside and one into a hallway at his port. He chooses the port one, forcing himself past a young blonde woman who barely reaches his shoulders. 

The girl slips behind a sort of pillar, and he sprints towards it. There, however, he is greeted with a loud slam as a solid wood door is slammed in his face, nearly impacting it. 

He gets his arms up in time to keep his face from taking any damage. The girl inside screams, and he suddenly realizes why she might’ve run. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He steps back, heaving in the musky, humid air. 

“Leave right the fuck now or I’m calling the cops!” 

He doesn’t know what the cops are, but that surely can’t be good. “No! Please! Just let me explain!”

“I’m calling them!” She practically sings her shout. 

“Please! Wait!” He slams his fist into the door, and a muffled ‘Jesus’ slips under the door. He seethes, shouting: “My name is William Turner! I believe - though somewhat distantly - we are related!” 

“Yeah right, bitch ass!” The door rattles a bit as she continues, “I’m lookin’ at’cha, and you ain’t look nothin’ like nun’a my relatives.” 

“Please, I promise I can explain! Just… come out! Look me in the eye. You’ll see it, I know.” 

“Fuck that, you’re packin’ heat man! Even I ain’t that stupid!” 

She must be related, judging solely from her abilities to curse worse than even the saltiest sailors Will had known in all his centuries. He glances at the handle, which hangs limp over a keyhole. A lock. A lock he can pick. 

From his hair, Will withdraws a thin, silver pin. The tension against his skull lessens when he does, and he inserts the pin into the lock, making quick work of it. The door swings into the room and he burst in. The girl screams. Will swings around, slams the door, then swings back to her. She’s frozen against a thin sliver of a wall separating two open doors, each of which leads into another room. 

She starts towards the farther of the two, only to stop as Will’s sword slides from its scabbard. He practically has it in her back. Her hands are half raised, level about with her shoulders, which she hunches in.

Her voice wavers. “Don’t… don’t kill me, please.” 

Will snorts, pulling the sword away from her back. “And why would I do such a thing?” 

She doesn’t even pause, “Because you’re a maniac cosplaying as a pirate and running around with a sword and telling people you’re related to them when you aren’t.” 

He stops, and for the first time since he’s lain eyes on her, Will takes a proper look at just what she’s been wearing. Trousers, gray trousers with miniscule vertical lines running the length of them. Her shoes are black and appear to be made of something between leather and cloth. They are laced with dirty white laces and set upon dirty white soles. Her top is a gray sweater, perhaps the only item of clothing he can recognize from memory. Comparing that to his own garb… and he begins to realize another reason she might have chosen to run from him when he first approached. 

“I…” he swallows, sliding his sword back into its scabbard. “I wish to apologize for my… rashness.” 

The girl doesn’t move, nor does she speak, so Will takes a step closer and continues. “However, if you would allow me merely a moment to explain our relation…” 

She groans. “Dude! We are not related!”

He flails for something, anything. “But you have her eyes!”

“Whose eyes!?!”

“Elizabeth’s.” He says softly. 

The girl turns to him, brows furrowed, and her lips pulled into a half frown. “Who the hell is Elizabeth?” 

Will shuts his eyes, the memories flooding back. He’s plenty of them from their late childhood and adolescence, even their early adulthood, but from there they grow in increments of ten, and she is rarely the same in each successive image. But her eyes… the same brown that shifted hazel in the sun and near muddy in the dark. The girl has her eyes. 

“My… my wife.” 

The girl cocks a brow, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest. “Dude, you can’t be any older than I am. There’s no way we’re related, even if it’s through your wife or whoever.” 

A thread of panic swims across the scar in his chest. The scar where his heart should be, that was carved out when he became the captain…

That’s it! “I… I haven’t a heart.” 

The girl looks disgusted. “And that’s relevant to this conversation how?” 

Will swallows. It’s a crazy, bull-headed plan, but it could work. “I… I have no heart.” He repeats, a smile beginning to creep across his lips. “If I had no heart, I wouldn’t be standing before you, correct?”

“Right…?” She shrugs. “I mean, you look a little young for a pacemaker, but okay.”

Will has no idea what she’s talking about, so he continues, “And what if I told you that it had been carved out when I stabbed the heart of the previous captain of my ship, which is anchored in the river just over this bluff? That bound by its curse I was immortal, and had been sailing the seas, guiding lost souls to the Locker and Fiddler’s Green since the eve of my wedding?” Her lips curl into a snarl, “And that same heart lies in another chest, which I have not been able to find in the two centuries since it’s loss.”

“I’d say you’re fuckin’ crazy, yur talkin’ crazy, an’ I’m callin’ the cops.” She straightens, backing towards the open door just behind her.

“Listen to my heart!” The girl stops, cowering. He’d allowed his desperation to overtake him, dammit, but he needed her to believe him. “And if you don’t find one within my breast, then you will know that I am telling the truth.” She cocks a brow again, and Will realizes he must concede something on the off-chance Calypso has returned his cursed heart to his chest (though thus far all evidence has pointed to the contrary). “And if you should find it’s beat, you may call these cops.” 

“Fine,” she steps into the room and shuts the door. A burst of air pushes past him, rusting his hair. Will returns the pin he’d used to pick the lock to his bandana, and the girl emerges as he brings his hands to his side. She comes bearing a box, which she sets on a sort of tabletop Will had not noticed, nestled ‘tween two walls. It is blue and surrounds a water basin over which some sort of spout sits. The girl lifts the top from the box, and setting it aside, draws out a long cord, with two prongs on one end and a single, circular something on the other. 

“What is that?” he asks. The girl sets it around her neck and steps towards him. 

“A stethoscope. To listen to your heart.” Will now cocks a brow. “What, I'm prenursing, I'm gonna need it eventually.” She takes it from her neck, sticking the two prongs into her ears, and slides the wider of the two circular sides down her shirt. She frowns, pulls it out, turns it so that the shorter side faces her, and tries again. After a moment, her face unscrunches, and she steps towards Will. “Open your shirt.” 

Will opens his coat, revealing his shirt, of which the ties are undone. His scar is partially visible, and the girl cocks her brow again. If all she’s going to do is a cock a brow at anything that even remotely piques her interest, she is going to be very hard to read. “You cool if I touch you?” 

“Yes, of course,” Will mutters, taken aback. He glances around the room, then back to her. Carefully, she sets the smaller circular head against his chest, right along his scar, near the bottom of his sternum. 

Her eyes go wide, and her mouth pops open a bit. She pulls the thing back and flips it once again. “Come on,” she sets it against his chest, but her eyes grow only wider. “No. That’s impossible.” 

Will smirks, setting his hands on his hips. “There is no heartbeat, is there?” 

“Mother fucker...” She taps the part of the thing she’d held against his chest, and instantly her face curls in pain. She pulls the prongs from her ear and sets it back on the counter. “You… you have to have a heartbeat; you’d be dead otherwise.” 

“But I don’t, do I?” Will lets it sink in, and the girl’s eyebrows furrow. “Q.E.D, what I’ve just told you must be true.” 

“Thats scientifically impossible.” She mutters. 

Will groans through a smile. “You sound like Carina.” 

“Who’s Carina?” 

Will takes a breath. The simplest way to describe Carina? What would that be? “She is… my son’s wife. Another very distant relative of yours.” 

“This makes even less sense,” she leans against the other wall, though she’s careful to keep her legs from touching what appears to be a white waste basket below her. “I must’ve crashed on the highway or some shit.” 

“If you would allow me to explain, I believe I could begin to clear things up.” Will offers a hand to shake. “Do we have an accord?”

The girl starts to offer her hand, but stops, eyeing his hip. “Leave the sword here, and we talk in a public place. Then we have a deal.” 

“Agreed.” Will shakes her hand, and as soon as it’s free begins removing his weapons belt. “Now, where should we continue this conversation, miss…” 

“Mary Jones. There’s a coffee shop on campus that’s open today, and I’ve got dining dollars to burn.” 

“Then I’ll follow you, Ms. Jones.” 

“First, give me the sword,” she opens her hands rather expectantly. Will surrenders the scabbard, the girl grabs her stethoscope box, and enters the room she’d retrieved it from. “I can’t have a knife with a blade longer than three inches in here, so this is definitely gonna get me fined, and I’m too broke to afford it.” She sets the stethoscope box on a desk then climbs to the top of two bunk beds as she continues “Second, if my roommates find this, I’m fucked.”

She slides it beneath a mass of blankets and coats fit for the Queen of England, then crawling across the bed, drops to the window ledge on the outer wall, and jumps from that to the ground with a loud thump. 

The bunk bed jimmies just a bit. Mary squeezes past Will, calling over her shoulder “Come on, you were the one who wanted to talk,” she stops in the doorway, hand resting on the knob “and loose the bandanna.”

“Well, I rather like it.”

“Loose it, or no talkie”.

Will concedes, untying the cloth which holds back his hair. It tumbles to his shoulders, and he slips the folded cloth and his silver hair pin into the breast pocket of his coat. “Better?”

“Yeees,” Mary opens the door. “After you.”

“No, after you.”

A slight smile piques her lips “Gallant. Don't see that much anymore.”

She still insists he exit before her, though she thanks him for the hospitality as they walk.

[battlekilt]

Hi there!

So I just read the second chapter of your fic: Aay'han—Mournful celebration: How ARC Troopers saved the galaxy

And I have some questions!

What are the reasons you like this specific ship? How did you start shipping it? (Story time? 🥹)

Which moment inspired you for this ship from canon? Are there any, and if so, which one is your favorite?

Oh boy, the question every shipper dreads and loves to get: Explain to someone how I came to ship this ship, and why I love it.

There is a bit of a backstory, and though I will gloss over some details it summarizes as this: I had a friend at the time who explained to me things they liked about another ship, and I began to ruminate on how there could be commonalities between that ship and if Rex was with Obi-Wan. Then my brain went into new things I felt Obi-Wan/Rex could bring to the table. Though, admittedly, what did I know? I didn't read anything with that ship.

It began to draw on my ideas of exploring how the two characters are held up as the pinnacles of their respective "character class"—Jedi and Clone Trooper respectively, and yet the two have so much potential for strife in their backgrounds.

Admittedly, some of this is all the product of conjecture and headcanon built to fill in gaps, so that will have to be taken into mind.

I'm a big proponent of "Rex is a natural blonde, and because he is a Gen 1 Clone, that caused him Problems(TM) when he was young." Like, I am VERY invested in this headcanon.

It is the idea that these two men, who are well-respected by their peers and outsiders, both surpass their expectations, yet are also aware that they may have barely skirted past failure. The Legends Lore behind Obi-Wan almost aging out of the Order feels as close to a parallel for Rex possibly struggling to be recognized for his accomplishments because of prejudice based on his errant mismatch with the base Fett-clone Genetic Template.

Both men see themselves as what they have been seen in the past: flawed potentials, who persevered through sheer determination and will. For Obi-Wan, it was his ginger-stubbornness. For Rex, it was his Fett-titude.

One of my favorite aspects of Rex as a character is how universally respected he is by vod'e of all ranks and classes, and by natborns—in "No Prisoners," Rex is one of the few Clones that warms natborns up to him because of his humor.

Humor—that's another thing I feel they share, but they also used to hide their hidden struggles and pain behind. The idea that Rex endured his own brand of misery as a child/Cadet, and somehow he became the "funny Clone," in comparison to Mr. Perfect Clone Vanilla Cody, who is seen as quiet and dire by most, just strikes me as a delicious irony that many people with past pain show. Humor is a great way to warm people up to you, to deflect from being targeted with unwanted attention. Obi-Wan uses his humor to disarm and deflect, just as Rex does.

There is also the appeal that Rex, a moderately ranked officer who is the recipient of far more duty, prestige, and respect than his simple rank of 'Captain' should bestow on him, being placed in a position to observe a High Jedi General with fresh eyes.

Based on Legends, Cody takes great pride in being a near perfect product of the Fett template. He has little patience with Clones who show signs of disloyalty; Commander Wolffe is the one who steps in to try and help some wayward vod'e achieve their redemption because Commander Cody doesn't care to bother. Cody is the gifted child who never burnt out, never faltered, always succeeded to meet expectations. He also works closely with Kenobi, and obviously holds him in high esteem—the proper respect and regard a Clone Commander should give. (Though, I do also characterize Cody's dynamic with Obi-Wan to be multifaceted and complicated, which includes a lot of Cody grumblings about his General's shortcomings.)

By comparison, Rex would not only have had his struggles, but he is seen to be around Obi-Wan in periods that would be more different than what Cody may see so often: when Obi-Wan is around Anakin. Anakin and Obi-Wan bring out a lot of dynamism from each other. Despite Obi-Wan's constant attempts to appear to be the perfect Jedi to others, especially Anakin, he also shows that wild-child the best when he is around him. I read that as a chance for Rex to see some perspectives of General Kenobi that others might miss.

Rex is an incredibly intuitive and perceptive character, and I characterize him as more likely to be able to watch others. I just imagine them getting to know each other, learning each other's story—they are the high and the low, the light and the heavy, and they balance each other for it. Rex is more comfortable with honesty than we see Cody is, even though Rex is still shy in that proper way the Clones have.

Early on, I was struck with the image of Rex coming out of nowhere and just... almost calling Obi-Wan out for Obi-Wan's chronic, "I am going to be the perfect Jedi until everyone is convinced it is true, and now I've fooled others into thinking it is... and now I don't know how to stop pretending that's the case."

That Rex is amused by how Obi-Wan embodies the idea and concept the Clones may have had about the Jedi, at least on the surface. But truthfully, Obi-Wan does surpass it—but not by being perfect, but by being flawed, and fighting to overcome that. It is the notion of Rex smirking crookedly at this High Jedi General and saying that what is really impressive about Kenobi isn't the myth of his perfection, but his defiance of his flaws. Though, Rex is also saddened that Obi-Wan wears his mask of a polished Jedi so much, the man has seemed to have forgotten how to take it off, and is afraid of what he'll see in the mirror in return.

Of course, I am intrigued by Obi-Wan being a mechanism of exploring not just Rex's past or the history of the Clones, but their culture. It doesn't take much for me to see Obi-Wan absolutely shocked, enthralled, and genuinely invested in learning so much about these men. That he is eager to be granted any access to dig a little deeper into them, appreciate who they are as men and people. Rex is a genuinely warm character, who I see being more willing to open that up to someone else, whereas I see Cody as more likely to feel it is improper to unload the secrets of the Clones onto a Jedi General.

I am generally disinterested in most Jedi/Clone ships, and even rather leery of most Clone/Natborn ships because I am uneasy with how the non-Clone quickly overshadows the Clones, their struggles, their stories, their identities and culture. Time and time again, the moment I see the natborn character overshadow the Clone in the relationship, I'm forced to go click the back button.

Clone culture is so much more interesting to me than anything else in Star Wars, so much so that I've only begun to explore Jedi Culture solely from the concept of the Jedi and Clones being a balance of each other—one is ancient and the other is short-lived; one uncomfortable with war and the other was made for it; one is multicultural and draws from a long heritage and the other has had to make their own in the absence of progenitor's cultural heritage, after they were rejected by the people of that same culture. The idea that the Jedi and the Clones are two massive groups that are practically soulmates to each other, or one massive dyad, is an idea that just inspires a lot in me. As much as I love the sheer tragedy of their relationship, I also love to explore the capacity for closeness between them. I love the friendship of the Jedi and the Clones, and I still barely trust any Jedi to not overshadow the Clones as the focus of any discussion or conversation.

Obi-Wan is one of the few natborns I feel, with confidence, I can easily conceive of a character who would be respectful and driven to prioritize earning an opportunity to access the "inner secrets of the Clones," over himself.

For me, I simply don't know the other Jedi characters just as well, nor do I easily get interested in other characters enough to become so invested in them; I'm a One True Character person, and Rex is my character. Remove Rex from the equation, and I struggle to maintain interest; he is my hyperfocus, my blorbo, my soldier boy...

Now, as for my favorite moments in the show between them, there is actually a lot. Norcumii documents several hidden nuggets in this post by them.

Throughout the show, when Rex and Obi-Wan are within proximity, even if Cody or Anakin are there, those who elect to be close to each other. It feels like something Cody just accepts.

I also love how on Salucemi, Obi-Wan's very bad and terrible day in pursuit of Grievous just gets worse when he gets word that Rex has been shot. There is something feral how his frustration leaks through.

In Rebels, it breaks my heart how Rex is so confident that if Obi-Wan was alive, that General Kenobi would be there helping him. Personally, selfishly, I love to imagine that maybe Obi-Wan would have wanted to put himself back out there more if he knew that there was any chance that someone like Rex was alive.

The two characters have some strong moments in the show, and in Legends. It starts off with Rex seeing the dour, somber, serious General Kenobi and making a vow that he'll get a laugh out of the man someday, so Obi-Wan and Rex just working together so fluidly.

However, by in large, it is Kadavo that is a single-canon moment that really captures my imagination about them. One of my favorite fics, though incomplete, is Repression, by esama.

The way the two characters work together just makes my heart soar. To have Rex be a witness to one of Obi-Wan's most heartbreaking moments in the show, when Obi-Wan is helpless to help others, which is against everything in the man's nature, and it be Rex who gets to possibly be a comfort... ugh, yes. Of course, as we find out at the end of the episode, we learn that Obi-Wan chose to accept his helplessness, showed the pain it caused, and then with great confidence he slipped off the shackles. The way he smirks at Rex and asks if he is ready, and Rex's reply of, "It's about time!"—delicious! The way the two fought side by side, and the way Rex comes to be the one to make the killing blow, so Obi-Wan doesn't have to—and that devious, quite un-Jedi-like smirk on Obi-Wan's face when he once again knows he can count on Rex to come through.

Add in the idea of Cody being a grumbly "Not my Vod'ika" older brother who kicks up a fuss about them, stomps his foot, mutters remarks about their age difference (which in, is conveniently purely chronological at this point—Obi-Wan is in his mid-thirties, and Rex isn't even a teenager)... In one hand, Cody has a shotgun meant to remind Obi-Wan that Cody still has Mandalorian blood and instincts in him. In the other hand? A shovel. However, if someone comes up and tries to tear Rex and Obi-Wan's happiness asunder, Cody will only complains louder about those two behind their back, while he whacks the threat to their relationship over the head and drag their dead body away. The idea that he doesn't trust anyone else with either of them but the other. On paper, Cody seems to be the most disapproving, but in practicality, he is their biggest supporter because he puts those two di'kute before him. Honestly, Cody is a BIG reason why I ship Obi-Wan and Rex because it just provides so many opportunities and means to show Cody's character.

An extra bonus? For the AUs where the two can have children together, Benji (and later, Annika) is good enough a sell for me. Just a little half-Clone running around with strawberry-blonde hair, bold freckles against his skin, and far too many high-ranking Clones wrapped around his little fingers... Sighhhh. The thought of Cody holding that child for the first time and informing Rex that he, his Vod'ika, has just been dethroned as Cody's biggest inspiration to burn the whole galaxy down for this small person. Benji's wits and smarts are from both his parents, and Cody is truly in love in that special way good Uncles are—their world and identity has been rewritten for this little person, who they just met, who they can't wait to get to know, and have rewritten their entire concept of loyalty and priorities for.

There are so many AU ideas that run in my head, but I should cut this ask short.

Overall, it is a lot of things, some of it explicit or hidden in the folds of canon or legends, and other parts is just personal headcanon and fanon running amok. It is my favorite Jedi blorbo and my favorite Clone boy.

ObiRex is an entirely underrated ship, IMHO, that has a lot of potential that gets easily overshadows, and I appreciate any and all opportunities to see it be given half a chance.

PS. None of this is to shame other ships, especially not Cody*wan. It is simply my preferred Jedi/Clone ship for both characters, well, my only ship I ship for Obi-Wan at all.

[zealouscanonindeer]

The Pipe Problem

Dr John Watson:

And what course of action are we employ further?” I questioned.

Holmes had filled me in with the details of the day, I felt nervous at her sudden disappearance. 

“I shall think upon the matter, hopefully we shall have more clarity by tomorrow morning.”

I knew Holmes would not sleep a wink that night. Attaining his usual position, heavy smoking and intense meditation, he would slip into solitude as the hours wore on. Even he admitted, his findings were meagre and could not make for much but I had enough belief in his abilities for both of us. 

The next morning as I made my way to breakfast, I witnessed Holmes neatly dressed, busily writing something. He was in much better spirits that yesterday. It seemed his penance had yielded a beneficial clue.

“Aha, morning Watson. Which one would you say more suited?” he thrust two letters at me. Before reading them, I put forth my queries.

“Well, it is clear enough that she was writing a letter to me, the words my dear Holmes, sherlock, apologies and understand could culminate in that respect. Maybe she wished to inform me of her absence but though better of it.”

“The sherlock need not be in your letter, she could have mentioned you to a third party”

“Good Watson, very good. That is true enough. Now for the wrong and deliberate, they hint at a mistake or ill intentions and they’re deliberateness. Understand also is too loose to be clubbed into one category. The father could show her describing her father’s recent travel. The appreciate I cannot place.”

“It seems easy enough. She appreciates you understanding her absence.”

“But that’s the thing. Both the words are too far apart, with understand on what one could make the second line of the letter while appreciate does not appears until the very end of the page.it could serve a similar purpose, nonetheless.”

“What of the letter she supposedly received from you?’

“The most acceptable conjecture would be thus. She received a letter, one that was to deceive her but she realised the hoax and wished to unfurl the person behind this. She did as per the letter, making her escape in the night. Her attempts of the letters are more difficult to explain for she would undoubtedly inform me. She must have used her father’s departure as an excuse to mask her own.”

“How about she was being watched and her attempts of contact denied”

“That does not explain the sheer amount of discarded paper. If she was being watched, only a single letter would be burned. No more likely she struggled with her next course of action, often vacillating between outcomes.”

“Who would know of the lady’s presence in my life and its importance to send her a letter on my behalf, knowing she would certainly act.”

He closed his eyes, eyebrows ruffling in agitation, his forehead wrinkling as he thought deeply. After a few moments, he got up making his way to the coat rack, pulling on his overcoat and securing his muffler around his long neck.

“Watson, if it pleases you, I shall be grateful of your company. ”

“Don’t you wish for me to read these prototypes first?”

“If our endeavours are successful, we shall some original documentations. Now come along Watson, the game is truly afoot.”

We made our way to Mrs crofts establishment, Holmes intently studying the times columns. He, as per his custom maintained silence.

We were let in by a small parlour maid with an alarmed expression over her thin countenance. Holmes nodded at her and silently made his way up the stairs into the third room to the left. His nimble fingers, handling a smallish hatpin worked away at the lock until it gave open.

No sooner were we in than he had once again turned into a creature of frenzy and unduplicable energy, his hands working on every crevice and his trained eye unable to miss even a slight detail. However, his search yielded nothing concrete.

Next, he tore open the closet, dresser drawers and every other surface was rendered open but to avail. He then, with visible displeasure conceded,

“Oh, Watson, I suppose everyone has their limits as I have been painfully made aware of mine. I wonder what I have missed…. I must have…. surely…. By Jove! There it is!”

He lurched at the morning dress placed on the settee and dug into its deep pockets and his whimsical smile returned once more.

“Not yet Watson not just yet.”

He procured a curious little piece of paper, a crisscrossed one, the columns filled with unusual numbers. 

“What is this then Holmes?”

“Beats me, another night in tobacco ash shall be needed. Come now, we must swiftly take leave before Mrs croft is made aware of our presence.

With immaculate detail, the room was left as found and two gentlemen slipped noiselessly out of the women chambers. 

[wubwubnparmaham]

hello! i just want to ask, out of all the fandoms that you are in, what made you write the love endless series with larry? was it purely by chance of did louis/harry speak out to u as the perfect alexander and hadrian? thank u in advance ^^

This is a really good question that's tough to answer. First off, i'd always played around with an idea of writing a vampire story someday because I fucking love vampires, who doesn't, but larry was the origin fandom that i really found any kind of footing in—the one i felt strong enough about to attempt writing for the first time. the fandom gave me most of my inspiration and brought me to being the kind of writer i am nowadays, with like, actual OC book books i'm writing and shit, so i have to credit this fandom for basically....aw dude, so much. without studying my own language as hard as i did to be able to write well, i might not have made it into honors classes at university, which wouldn't have pushed me to graduate top of my class. it sounds silly, but journeying into writing due to finding this fandom and this amazing crew of fellow writers (seriously, we and the harry potter fandom have some of the best fic writers i've ever seen in my life), led me to where I am today and informed much of the life I live these days. This wasn't even your question, but it's worth mentioning. I am in a lot of fandoms, but I was here first. This is like my home, and even though I've metaphorically moved out of this home, that doesn't change what it means. Harry and Louis will always be Hadrian and Alexander, and there's a lot of reasons for that. For one, without conjecturing what the truth may or may not be, it always felt TO ME that they were the exemplified dual epitomes of yearning, two souls lost in a sea of "what if"s, and I knew I wanted to represent this feeling I got with the cold stretch of death, ergo, my vampire book fantasy was able to come to life and I was able to fix all that was wrong where real life can't be fixed, and I only did it because of the salience of the depth—the sheer intangible gravity—of the yearning heartbreak I felt when looking at these two English dudes i don't even know.

I hope I answered your question lol.

[goshdangronpa]

Makoto naegi

For the ask thing? Here ya go! And please bear in mind that it's been a long while since I've experienced Trigger Happy Havoc, which I only encountered by watching a walkthrough that didn't do any of the free time events.

Favorite thing about them: He's not the smartest - both Byakuya and Junko probably has hive beat in terms of sheer intellect, and Kyoko could almost certainly solve the cases on her own. Even so, he's no idiot, and he succeeds by combining careful reason with a level of kindness and faith in his fellow human that none of those three can match. His decision to trust that Kyoko is lying for a reason is what ultimately exposes the mastermind and saves the survivors' lives. It's all too easy for mystery genre protagonists to set aside emotion for cold, hard logic - that's the impression I get from Kyoko (whom I like a lot, to be clear). Makoto won't play that way, and that's awesome.

Least favorite thing about them: playing Ultra Despair Girls taught me that a character can be a total normie and somehow make that a hilarious and fun personality to follow. Makoto can't even match his sister in that regard. Not that he needs to be quite like that, though. Saying my least fave thing about any DR character will still end in their favor.

Favorite quote: it's the most obvious pick, but as someone who'd never even heard of the games before watching THH's playthrough, I can't emphasize enough how much of a kick I got from him interrupting his classmates' lies and conjectures with the blunt and plainly rude "NO! THAT'S WRONG!" So friggin' funny. Makoto is nice, but he does not tolerate bullshit!

BroTP: Is it unusual to be a fan of Yasuhiro? I, for one, would enjoy a straight man/funny man duo between this overconfident yet easily spooked moron and his level-headed yet polite friend who pulls him out of jams.

OTP: I once followed a wonderful Tumblrite who was the world's foremost expert on Chihiro Fujisaki. He shipped her with Makoto and invented such a wonderful narrative for them, along with plenty of sweet art, that I was converted. They're so cute.

NoTP: I don't think much about ships, not enough to reject many with any intensity. Let me think ... every nice guy has their limits, and I can only imagine that Makoto would draw the line at the notion of dating Toko. She's a fantastic character in UDG, but such an unrepetantly irritating piece of work in THH. I like to think that he's skeptical, to say the least, of her ability to be a good partner toward Komaru when he first hears about them.

Random headcanon: this isn't the hairstyle he actually wants, he just can't figure out how to tell the barber what he wants done.

Unpopular opinion: what are the popular ones, anyway? Uhhh how about this. Blank-slate audience avatar characters get a lot of flack among writers and critics because they're usually just so functional (give the audience someone to relate to and follow) and boring (outshone by more colorful castmates). Makoto stands out in a franchise defined by titanic personalities just by taking everyone as they are, having the smarts to solve complex murder mysteries, and being a chill and friendly guy. He proves the value of the archetype and shows that characters of this stock can distinguish themselves.

Song I associate with them: https://youtu.be/AFfmNQbcucw (I had to resist putting Mark Morrison's "Return of the Mack")

Favorite picture of them: so good that I actually drew it myself

[mtsilvermute]

((OOC Changelog + Updates 9/29:

Changelog:

I updated my tag list (which is part of the "OOC" page here) to add "dash commentary tag," "headcanon tag," and "IC."

I retroactively tagged some posts using the above tags.

I added a section to the above OOC page detailing that I primarily post in journal entries and prioritize first-person perspective over third-person commentary. That's just been the M.O. of this blog from the start, tbh, but I can absolutely understand how it might be initially jarring to read, so I wanted to acknowledge my goals publicly.

I adjusted Red's IC age! He's 24 now. Yay! (If it wasn't apparent, 9/28/1998 is the release date of Pokemon Red/Blue in the United States, so I've been using that as a benchmark for Red's age - even though he's canonically ten in said games.)

To-do:

Make a roster page. There's a lot of information regarding Red's roster that I'm showcasing in my journal entries, most notably each Pokémon's personalities and temperaments. However, the sheer volume of text in those entries (not a humble brag, just an acknowledgment of how I can get carried away, haha) makes retroactively accessing that information a bit difficult. That's somewhat by design: I want to create an immersive experience in which you get your knowledge of Red's world straight from the Trainer's mouth. But immediacy is a blessing in its own right, and I'm hoping to consolidate my ideas in a more accessible manner as soon as I'm able.

Implement more open starters into my posting routines. Open starters are fundamentally difficult given Red's isolation, but since the birthday festivities, I've been brainstorming potential "office hour"-esque times that could facilitate literal and figurative drop-ins. These ideas are works in progress, but they might be fun to execute!

Finish Jasmine's starter omg I promise it's in the works 😭

As an aside, I've been following more blogs - namely people I see frequently on my dash - and I've noticed a distinct lack of follow-backs in recent days. I try to make my presence known by unintrusively liking posts (particularly promotional posts) here and there, but I don't know what follow-back request etiquette looks like around here and I don't want to initiate contact with someone who doesn't wish to interact with me. (I've just been kind of assuming that following back IS the way of signalling interest, and if you don't receive one, that's a conscious decision on the other roleplayer's part.)

If anyone reading this post has thoughts on what might be implicitly or explicitly keeping others from following back, I'd appreciate feedback: I've been overthinking everything from my response length to the possibility that other roleplayers don't want to interact with another Red when there might be one already in their camp, but these are entirely conjectures and generally unproveable. Thoughts from those more experienced in this subculture than I would be super helpful; thank you in advance!

Anyway, this has been a post! Have a Snorlax for your time. Journal entry coming your way soon!