#difference between express entry and non express entry

[lebizcanada20]

[captainmalewriter]

XY

This story is a part of Occam's writing prompt challenge. I highly recommend y'all check out #occam2000 to read the other amazing entries by the other talented writers!!

LATEST REPORT ON RECENTLY DISCOVERED METAMORPHOSIS GENE 

Few things in this world are as beautifully intricate as human reproduction. However, it is not a perfect system. Any number of things could go wrong during the conception and/or birth of a human being, one of which includes genetic mutations. The chances of gene mutation are never zero. While modern-day doctors and scientists continue to fight the good fight of keeping harmful genetic disorders at bay, there is one particularly potent mutation a tiny percentage of the human population carries.

How long this mutation has existed within our gene pool is currently unknown. What is known is that although this malignant gene usually remains dormant within the human body, it can potentially rearrange an individual’s genetic composition and expression when active. Unfortunately, this information was only recently discovered after it had already wreaked havoc in [redacted]. The mutation has been dubbed the Metamorphosis (MM) gene. The MM gene is linked to the Y chromosome in humans. Fortunately, a male’s X chromosome usually functions as a suppressor, thereby keeping the malignant gene dormant in afflicted individuals. However, it is still possible for the MM gene to rekindle if certain conditions are met.

First, an afflicted male must lack the appropriate allele(s) for their X chromosome to properly function as a suppressor against the MM gene. Second, the individual’s body must be in a state of heightened activity due to intense physical exertion. Lastly, on a neurological level, the individual must experience high levels of dopamine, oxytocin, and norepinephrine (or, in simpler terms— love). Should all these conditions be met, the door opens for the MM gene to potentially awaken within the subject. 

As you may have already surmised, statistical probability works in our favor against the MM gene. Unfortunately, however, there remains a chance, regardless of how slight, that the proper conditions will align for this chaotic mutation to awaken and wreak havoc on both the carrier male as well as any surrounding, non-carrier parties. This was the case with one individual in the town of [redacted]. 

Numerous questions about how the MM gene operates and spreads among non-carriers despite being classified as a genetic disorder inundate microbiologists with, unfortunately, little to no answers at the time of this report. Further research into the matter remains a high priority. 

END REPORT 

***

It was supposed to be an ordinary day like any other when Geovanni R. Diaz stepped into the gym that afternoon. He drank his pre-workout in the front lobby while waiting for his friend/gym partner Evan Washington to arrive. The two men had met at the beginning of summer when they both started hitting the gym on the same day. They bonded over making fools of themselves as they misused several exercise machines. They became close friends and regular gym buddies since then. 

Some 20 minutes had passed, and Evan was still nowhere in sight. Geo finished the last few sips of his pre-workout and decided to start without him. It was common for Evan to flake out, especially as of late. While Geo initially shared Evan's casual approach to the gym, he eventually decided he wasn’t satisfied with doing the bare minimum. He took on an intense 60-day workout regime to really challenge himself. Evan supported his friend’s endeavor, but the differences in their goals eventually showed themselves when Evan regularly skipped days while Geo kept at it. He didn’t take it personally; he had grown used to it, although he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss having someone to joke around with between sets. Regardless, Geo claimed a chest fly machine, powered up his headphones, and then proceeded to get to work. 

“Hey papi, mind if I work in with you?” 

Geo heard a familiar voice behind him as he finished his warm-up set. He smiled as he turned and saw Evan leaning against the machine. 

“Hey, handsome, I thought you weren’t coming today.” Geo stood up and embraced his close friend. 

“Wasn’t planning on it if I’m being totally honest, but then I decided maybe I’ve been skipping too many days and forced myself out of bed to come here. Did you just start?”

“Yeah man! It’s chest and shoulder day today so I figured I’d start with my favorite machine,” Geo looked at Evan with a grin. “Care to join me?” 

Evan only laughed in response. They both already knew the answer, but they enjoyed asking anyway as a joke. With that, they proceeded to go through Geo’s workout plan together. Naturally, Evan couldn’t keep up with Geo anymore and had to lower the weight after every set, but that didn’t stop them from enjoying their time together. By the end of the workout, they were both tired and sweaty in the locker room after hitting the weights hard.

“I have no idea how you manage to stay on track with this whole fitness challenge thing…” Evan huffed as he caught his breath. “I’d probably give up after the first day. You look good though! Your hard work is paying off and it really shows!”

“You think so?” Geo said as he wiped the sweat off his brow. “It’s hard to tell sometimes. I look in the mirror and I feel good, but then I stare at myself too long and I start worrying if I’m just lying to myself.”

“That’s just body dysmorphia talking, you look great!”

“Aw thank you Evan, you’re too kind.”

“Of course! Anytime you need reassurance, I’ll always be here.” 

Evan flashed Geo a broad smile, and he smiled back. A few minutes passed before Evan started talking again. 

“Hey, are you free tonight? I was thinking of making my world famous lasagna tonight, and I'd love to have you over for dinner.”

Geo stopped drying himself after he heard Evan say that. He turned slowly to Evan and saw him with a shy smile. The same smile formed on his face as he began to answer.

“I would love to have dinner with you, Evan. Of course I’ll come over tonight.”

Evan practically exploded with excitement. He ran to Geo for a hug, almost knocking him over due to the impact. Geo wrapped his arms around Evan and held him in a tight embrace. Their hugs always put Geo in a good mood. He was more than overjoyed to discover that Evan shared his feelings. He knew this hug would quickly become one of his top favorite memories. It was a tender moment between two men falling in love, which made it all the more noticeable when loud indigestion ended their sweet moment abruptly. Geo pulled away and held his stomach as he kneeled over in pain.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Evan asked. 

“Ugh… I’m fine. I think I just need a bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

Geo ran off while Evan stayed behind in the locker room. Evan finished packing up their things while he waited. Ten minutes passed, then twenty, then thirty. Growing worried, Evan walked to the bathroom stalls to check on his beloved friend. He heard heavy, labored breathing coming from the only closed stall. 

“Hey, is everything okay?” 

Evan knocked on the stall door and found that it was unlocked. He pushed it open slightly. His jaw dropped to the floor when he found Geo naked and drenched in sweat on the tile floor. His eyes were clenched closed, and his face was distorted due to unbearable abdominal pain. Evan ran to his side. 

“What’s going on!? What’s wrong?” Evan asked with apparent urgency in his voice. Geo could barely get words out as he was too busy hyperventilating. 

“So… Hot…”

Evan held a hand against Geo’s forehead and almost immediately recoiled from how hot it was. Geo was running an extremely high fever, unlike anything he had ever seen! Evan’s eyes darted around the bathroom as he desperately sought solutions but couldn’t think of anything due to his panic. He was desperate. He knew he needed to act fast before—

“Ohhhh it hurts!!”

Geo’s sudden shriek stopped Evan’s negative line of thinking. At that moment, time seemed to slow down to a crawl. Evan’s gaze shot back to Geo. His eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw what was happening to his soon-to-be boyfriend. Unbeknownst to both of them, Geo was a carrier for the Metamorphosis gene, and all the right conditions were met for it to awaken. The gene was hard at work rearranging Geo’s DNA, and he began transforming right before their very eyes! 

It began with his body hair. Like the other men from the paternal side of his family, Geo had never been able to grow much body hair, if any. However, he did have the genes needed for ample body hair, and thanks to the MM gene, it was finally able to express itself. Thick, black hair began sprouting out of his legs in spurts. With each hair follicle that grew in, Geo’s legs grew just a little bit thicker than before, causing Geo to moan obscenely loud as a result. The accelerated hair growth traveled up his legs and into his crotch area where his pubic hair grew in at an alarming rate until he had a jungle of bushy pubes covering his groin. His hairy balls hung lower than before after growing in size and his cock grew an inch thicker in width. Within a few minutes his entire lower half was transformed. His legs became as strong as tree trunks, and with a new, well-endowed package to boot— all covered in a thick layer of hair too! 

The transformation wave continued to ripple throughout the rest of his body. Geo twisted and writhed on the floor as the rest of his body underwent rapid changes. A prominent happy trail formed on his lower abdomen, connecting his belly button and pubic region with a line of long, messy hair. His pecs grew more plump as hair ran up his ab line and onto the center of his chest where it spiraled outward until it formed little rings of hair around his nipples. His chest and abdominal areas were only covered with a slight dusting of body hair compared to his legs. The stubble on his face grew until a thick, connected beard replaced the short goatee Geo once sported. 

His armpits were hit the hardest by the transformation. His pit hair grew and grew until it curled from its long length, leaving Geo with obscenely hairy underarms. Combined with the heavy sweat of an intense workout, Geo’s hairy pit smell began to fill the room. Evan recoiled from how unexpectedly strong Geo’s musky body odor had become, though he couldn’t resist helping himself to a couple of sniffs after he got a whiff of his powerful musk. 

The MM gene had thoroughly scrambled Geo’s DNA sequences, leaving him as a completely unrecognizable, alternate version of himself! 

“WHEW!! God I feel sooo much better now… Hey what’s wrong, babe? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

“G… Geo? Is that you?” Evan stood in shock from disbelief. If he hadn’t witnessed it for himself, Evan would’ve never believed that the hairy, smelly jock lying in front of him, staring at him with a lustful smirk, was the same man he had just invited over for dinner. 

“Of course it is, mi hermosito, who else would I be?” Geo winked as he threw his arms up, leaving his hairy underarms exposed. “By the way, I saw you sniffing the air earlier… How about you come and have a whiff right from the source?” 

Evan chuckled nervously, but Geo wasn’t joking. His laughter died down as he realized just how dead-serious Geo was.

“No… You’re not seriously—” 

“Oh but I am,” Geo interrupted. “Just a little taste won’t hurt anyone. Call it a preview for what’s to come later tonight.”

“But right here? In the public bathrooms?”

“Why not? It’s not like anyone else is around right now. We’ll just have to keep our voices down if someone comes in. So, what do you say? I know you want to…”

Geo got up from the ground and approached Evan. He stood close enough that his scent naturally filled Evan’s nose without him needing to sniff. Evan’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as his friend’s intoxicating musk left him in a state of deep arousal. Of course, Evan had some reservations about hooking up with Geo after he had just randomly transformed right in front of him, but between how close Geo’s pits already were to his face and the fact that it still seemed to be the same man he had come to know and love on the inside, Evan couldn’t bring himself to reject the offer. Before he could think about it properly, he was already leaning in without even realizing it. 

Once Evan started, he couldn’t stop. He buried his face deep into Geo’s sweaty, rank underarms. Geo’s coarse black hair tickled Evan’s nostrils as he nuzzled against the crevices of his pits. Muffled groans filled with pleasure escaped Evan’s mouth as he indulged in the manly, sweaty scent, each sniff leaving him more satisfied than the last. Soon enough, both Geo and Evan grew rock hard from all the sensual physical touch. The tents in their gym shorts poked and rubbed against each other as they continued pressing their bodies together. For Geo, the thought of getting worshiped in a public place like a gym bathroom was the hottest thing ever while Evan was just happy he got to service a hairy, sweaty gym rat. 

Evan briefly lifted his head out of Geo’s armpit for air. At that moment, Geo held his face and planted a firm kiss on his lips. Their tongues wrestled inside of Evan’s mouth as they locked lips. Once they had their fill of making out after a while, Geo began pushing Evan down onto his knees, to which Evan happily obliged. Geo’s cock stood at full mast, nearly poking one of Evan’s eyes out as he got into position. Evan was in awe as he held the heavy piece of uncut brown meat in his hands. He was drooling just from the sight of it! Not able to restrain himself anymore, Evan dove right in and guided the leaking tip into his mouth.

Arghh… Mmmmm…

Geo let out guttural moans as his friend went down on him. The sound of a man’s deep moans encouraged Evan to service him as best as he physically could. It was almost like he forgot he needed to breathe as he slurped Geo’s entire length up and down with his tongue until it hit the back of his throat. Geo squirmed and grunted obscenely loud as Evan wrapped his cock with his warm, moist mouth. He only lasted a few minutes until he couldn’t hold in his load anymore. Geo held Evan’s head down, his nose pressing against his unruly bush, and let out a loud groan from deep within his lungs as his load came rushing out. Evan whimpered with pleasure as he swallowed Geo’s heavy load, the salty taste of cum filling up his mouth. Once it was done, they both pulled away with a satisfied ahhh!

“Alright, get up. Your turn.”

Geo helped Evan up to his feet, then got down on his knees himself. Evan didn’t deny Geo’s advances, but he also didn’t help him get into position either. He had a blank expression as Geo proceeded to go down on him. Even as he swirled and sucked on his sensitive head, Evan didn’t react or say anything aside from an occasional soft moan. All he could focus on was a prominent cut on the inside of his cheek that he could feel with his tongue. Was that always there? Evan wasn’t sure, but regardless, it was already too late. The damage was done. He had contracted the MM gene from Geo. 

Evan winced as he began to notice a pain growing in the pit of his stomach. It started as a slight ache, but it quickly became unbearable. Evan hunched over, letting a low groan as he held his hands against his side where it hurt the most. It felt like he was being stabbed from the inside out! The next thing he knew, his muscles rapidly stretched and constricted as the gene started rearranging his DNA. 

Because Evan was a non-carrier and his immune system was not already accustomed to suppressing the malignant virus, the MM gene was able to activate without delay and transformed him much faster than Geo. He threw his head back and quietly moaned as the transformation happened. Geo was too busy giving him head to even notice. He just thought he was doing a good job. 

The MM gene was hard at work bringing out Evan’s hidden genetic traits. Although he was only 12.5% Black from his mother’s side, that was more than enough for the virus to play around with. Various points around his skinny body began to inflate with muscle mass. His thin frame and scrawny chicken legs filled in with much-needed mass, giving him sturdy legs with sharp ab lines and impressive cannons for arms. His biceps swelled to the size of melons as his body flexed under the tension of rapid transformation. Evan himself was surprised with how heavy his new body was becoming.

His facial structure shifted and morphed. His nose widened while his jawline became stronger and sharper. A bushy goatee beard grew in where he once could only grow peach fuzz. The once wholly flat-chested Evan Washington now sported two massive slabs of meat resting on his torso. His pecs were firm, strong, and hung low from their own weight. Coupled with bright pink nips, it wouldn’t be a stretch to say he now possessed a perfect chest. Although his pale skin tone stayed the same, the MM gene brought his Black features out to the forefront, giving the once undeniably White young man a more visibly biracial appearance by the end of his transformation.

While Evan underwent a total identity change, Geo kept blowing him all the while. Although he did notice a sudden change in Evan’s girth and overall size, the taste of a nice, sweaty cock kept him focused on the task at hand. Geo simply took a breath through his nose and opened his mouth up even wider to keep deepthroating him. Evan’s body was still sensitive from having undergone rapid growth, which only made the pleasure of having his dick sucked sloppily increase tenfold. The veins in his thighs and cock twitched and throbbed as he climaxed and pumped out his thick load straight down Geo’s throat. Geo swallowed, sighed with deep satisfaction, and got up from the ground. 

“Mmm! You know, yours tastes kinda tangy!” Geo gathered and licked up the few stray drops dripping from Evan’s tip. 

Meanwhile, Evan was trembling, struggling to breathe after all the physical stimulation. Only after Geo finished cleaning up the spunky mess did he realize that the Evan standing before him no longer looked like the Evan he once knew.  

“What the— Who are you!! Where’d Evan go?” Geo yelled. Evan turned to look at him, and Geo saw his pupils dilating unnaturally rapidly. “Dude, what’s wrong with your eyes!?”

Evan said nothing in response. The MM gene fried his mind with a heavy concentration of hormones, leaving him in a state of severe brain fog. Evan stumbled forward to the nearby mirror. His cock was still semi-erect. The sight of his own dick was enough to make Evan drool as he admired and flexed his arm muscles. Geo tried calling his attention but to no avail. Evan was unresponsive to his shouts. He had one thing and one thing only on his horny mind. 

“More…” Evan muttered.

“More what?” Geo replied. Evan snapped his line of sight back at Geo. His dazed eyes wandered to Geo’s exposed junk, then narrowed as they met his eyes. He let out a low growl as his eyes suddenly had an intense look that caused Geo to take a few steps back. It was the same look a hungry lion gave a gazelle out in the wild. Geo swallowed his breath. He became acutely aware of the situation he was in.

“Dick! I want more dick!!”

Evan puckered his lips and lunged towards Geo, though Geo managed to sidestep him in time.

“Get away from me! Look man, you might be hot as hell but I’m not interested! I’m a taken man!!” 

Geo quickly gathered his discarded clothes and hightailed it out of the bathroom. Naturally, being in the hyper state that he was, Evan wasn’t going to give up until he got what he craved. He stumbled out of the bathroom stall ass naked, where he was about to run into the perfect target.  

“Man! Today is just not my day,” a bodybuilder mumbled as he walked into the locker room. Dylan was a muscle gay, and he came to the gym solely to go cruising that day. 

However, despite his efforts, he struck out. He was getting sexually frustrated, which made him incredibly willing to hook up with some random stranger in the bathroom. 

Dylan was as equally surprised as he was impressed when Evan stepped out of the stall with his cock out. The smell of sweat and cum hit his nose, arousing him. Dylan loved what he saw and decided to make his move on the muscle-bound hunk.

“Hey there, stud! Need a hand there?” Dylan whistled at Evan, catching his attention.

Evan turned to him. He was still visibly sweaty and was breathing heavily. Dylan wasn’t sure what to make of him, but Evan didn’t give him a chance to reconsider. 

Evan charged at him, planting his lips against his upon impact. Dylan was caught off guard but had no problem matching Evan’s energy. He kissed him back as their frisky hands began feeling up each other’s bodies. Although Dylan loved making out, Evan’s kissing style was quickly turning out to be way too rough for his tastes. Evan forced his tongue in, had an obscene amount of saliva, and even bit down on his bottom lip with enough force to draw blood.

“OWW! What the fuck man!?”

Dylan pushed Evan away and held his bleeding lip. He was glad that there wasn't a lot of blood, but was still rightfully pissed off. As ravenous as he was due to the MM gene, Evan was oblivious to what he had done. Instead, his attention shifted to another guy wearing only a towel near the showers. He ran off in that direction and left Dylan in the dust. 

“Prick…” 

With that, Dylan decided to just give up and get a quick workout in. He took out a rice bar and ate it as he returned to the main area. He did his stretches, picked up a couple of barbells, and claimed an open bench. But just as he was about to start his first set, a powerful hunger overcame him. He grabbed at his stomach and kneeled over in pain as the MM gene took effect.

All of Dylan’s hard-earned muscles melted away within a matter of minutes. He rapidly gained pounds upon pounds of body fat. What were once washboard abs complimented by chiseled biceps were replaced by flabby arms and a protruding, hairy gut. His pecs lost their firmness and began to sag as they became nothing but a pair of man boobs. All the while, the same overwhelming lust Evan had began growing within Dylan too.

A handful of nearby good samaritans came to Dylan’s aid after he collapsed. While they all tried to help Dylan, most stayed back after witnessing his sudden transformation firsthand. Nobody knew what was happening behind the scenes, leading to anxious rumors and worried whispers floating around the gym. While most people were too cautious to get near Dylan, one brave man decided to step forward and help Dylan. Unfortunately, as he tried to help Dylan get up to his feet, Dylan accidentally scratched him on the back. The young man recoiled and dropped Dylan to the ground as a result.

As other people began to help Dylan, the injured man stepped off to the side to tend to his wound. He felt unusually warm as he finished putting on a bandage. He didn’t think much of it and ignored it but soon found himself sweating bullets as he rejoined the group. It got to the point that he needed to take a seat to try to cool off, but it was no use. He soon joined Dylan on the floor, writhing in pain due to contracting the MM gene.

At this point, everyone in the gym had gathered around the two men. The crowd stood back as they bore witness to yet another transformation. They watched in bewilderment as the short man rapidly grew in height. He groaned and gasped in anguish as his limbs stretched out. His torso grew and widened until he had the body of a tall bear. He pawed at the growing tent in his sweats as he thrashed around the floor, massaging his manhood as hormones continued pumping throughout his body. Within minutes, the infected man had gone from a stout 5’4 to a big, burly 6’4.

Although the afflicted man already had a healthy spattering of trimmed body hair, the MM gene forced his hair to grow to what was genetically possible. His body hair grew out beyond what Geo experienced. From his chest and belly to his legs and arms, every hair follicle grew longer and thicker, leaving him a pelt of curly body hair. His facial hair, in particular, grew out the most. His mustache grew longer and longer until it practically covered his mouth! His beard became bushy and unruly with coarse black hair as it reached his chest. All the while, the hair on the top of his head fell out one by one until he had a shiny bald head. He became an unrecognizable version of himself thanks to the MM gene. Once his transformation was over, he sat up and let out a bellowing belch that echoed throughout the gym. 

“Mrmph… Feels sooooo good…”

The crowd of witnesses backed away from the two transformed men. The two men turned to the crowd and smiled. A cold, ominous air filled the atmosphere. A few intuitive individuals saw the writing on the wall and left before shit hit the fan while the majority stayed behind, anxious and confused at what was going on. A few moments filled with tense silence passed, only for it to be broken when Evan came charging in from the men’s locker room and locked lips with the closest man. Almost as if on signal, Dylan and the burly bear joined Evan’s rampage and lashed out, too.

Pandemonium broke out as everyone made a mad dash for the exit. It was like a zombie attack as Evan and the other transformed men attacked every healthy man they could get their hands on. The unfortunate victims contracted the MM gene. Once infected, they, too, succumbed to genetic rearrangements. Some grew insanely muscular, and others became incredibly overweight. Hair was grown and lost; skin colors changed, and every physical feature rearranged until they were completely unrecognizable. All those transformed men wanted nothing more than to kiss, fuck, and spread their seed to as many people as possible until their hyped-up urges were satiated. 

“Shit’s getting crazy out here…” Geo whispered to himself. He poked his head out of the locker room and saw the chaos he unwittingly caused. He wanted nothing to do with the madness and ran out of the gym as fast as he could, though the infected men paid him no attention as he was already one of them. Police were beginning to arrive on the scene as Geo drove away with only one thought: his dinner date with his best friend and crush, Evan. 

Though unfortunately for him, the Evan he knew and loved was long gone. It would only be a matter of time before Geo forgot all about Evan, and his body gradually returned to its original state after the MM gene returned to a state of dormacy.

At least, until the next time Geo or some other carrier falls in love.

***

PUBLIC STATEMENT ISSUED BY THE SHERIFF’S OFFICE

Good evening.

As you may have already heard, a horrific incident has occurred at one of our local gyms. Dozens of men went on a rampage. It took several hours and almost all of our manpower, but our police department has successfully arrested all of the sexually rabid men and have placed them in custody. 

Security camera footage shows that all of these men were physically transformed before attacking. After an initial investigation, medical experts suspect that a rare genetic disorder called the Metamorphosis gene is responsible. Unfortunately, while there were no casualties, some of our own brave policemen were affected by the viral outbreak and were transformed themselves.

Two big questions remain tonight: how did a genetic disorder manage to spread like a virus, and how did these men contract this previously unheard of disorder? The arrested men were questioned about the events that led to this mass riot. None have been able to provide any concrete information. None of them seem to recognize their former identities, citing amnesia and severe migraines as the cause. 

Patient 0 has yet to be found. An active investigation continues as research efforts for a potential cure to the Metamorphosis gene’s effects continue. 

END OF STATEMENT

[syneilesis]

[fic] Impossible Fictions

Impossible Fictions

Love and Deepspace | Sylus (Qin Che) x Main-Character!Reader | T | 1.7k words | ao3 link

Five snapshots of memories that never happened.

Content tags: Major character death, angst, non-linear narrative, hurt no comfort, canon AU, canon compliant, spoilers for Sylus's myths story

A/N: Uh, my entry to the game's Where Drakeshadows Fall Fan Art Contest. This one is ... I'm not even sure if this fic passes muster lol. Oh well.

Read Sylus's story. Screamed, cried, threw up. Wrote this fic as a catharsis. I'm sorry. Except I swear this isn't complete angst! There's a happy ending in there somewhere! Please give this one a chance! Lol

[one]

On a calm winter night, snowfall glimpsed between slits of velvet curtains, the orchestral crescendo of a violin concerto flowing from the speakers and into the dimly lit room, you gently take the glass of wine away from Sylus's hand and tip his chin so he can meet your joyous face. His expression morphs into a challenge, but underneath it – curiosity. His eyebrow lifts as your hands trace the bones of his cheeks and then cradle him.

“Sylus,” you say, and you kiss him in the wintry air, crystalline, long and tender and apologetic, and Sylus kisses you back.

“Sylus,” you say, and his right eye burns with knowing, with hunger.

“Sylus,” you say. “Sylus, I finally remember.”

[two]

The moment the greatsword plunges into his chest, the image of you flashes across his mind – a wispy, delicate thing. A flowerstalk with limbs. He can easily snap you in half with his claws.

He doesn't know your name, but he knows your role in his wretched fate. It's almost a pity – to find out that you are his Archnemesis, with your abject stare, horror clinging to your features, hands drenched in blood.

Your bloodied hands.

Your bloody, delicate hands.

In the midst of fury and pain, Sylus feels an inconsolable desire to possess, claws raging to grasp at your pretty neck, push you down the molten ground, and devour you.

To possess you, after all, is to possess his fate. And what could be the most desirable thing for a beast that feasts on desires?

[three]

There's a room at the end of the hallway that you've been exploring in Sylus's base – a spacious, empty room that you've guessed to be for storage. At the far end of it, silhouetted by the nightlights streaming through the windows, is a grand piano, marble-white, thinly coated in dust, but nonetheless pristine and holding signs of the occasional maintenance.

Nothing else is stored in this room, except for the piano. You wonder if Sylus, with his penchant for collecting music, plans on expanding his inventory – this time it's for musical instruments.

Your footsteps reverberate in the room, clicking and clacking on the tiled floor as you approach the piano. Something about its solitary quietude draws you in, like a dazed but curious artist arrested by a beautiful sight.

Having arranged yourself on the bench, you place your fingers on the keys. You weren't taught to play the piano during your childhood; you mostly spent time frolicking around the neighborhood with Caleb and dragging him to help Grandma with chores. But your hands move as if they've been playing for a long time.

The notes come to life one by one, strained, tentative at first, melody unidentifiable until the tempo settles, and you remember Sylus playing it that one time at a chapel, you eventually joining him as an addition to the harmony. At the time, you had been bewildered by how you could play the piece, and how Sylus looked at you and a shadow of wistfulness flickered across his expression. It tugged at your chest, a memory that didn't exist stubbornly making itself known.

The music sounds a little different when played with a grand piano, stripped of its pomp, its ceremonial circumstance. The barebones underneath invites a more vulnerable emotion, one that's a little sadder, more a secret sorrow.

At the height of its melody, your hands stop, like a puppet cut of its strings, and the music ceases, faint echoes of its notes still ringing throughout the room. It's as far as you can go, a piece abruptly ending, without its resolution.

Along with the lingering notes: your tears.

“Hm?”

One hand sweeps across your cheek and comes away wet, and you pause, surprised, heart suddenly dark and heavy, its beats too strong to ignore.

You must have been more affected by the music than you thought. How odd.

Diving into this strange feeling, you play the piece again.

At the other side of the door, without your knowledge, Sylus stands, eyes shut, listening, the outline of his body still as barren lands.

[four]

This moonlit night, as you gaze at the star-speckled sky, you hear Sylus's measured steps from inside the cavern. They get louder and louder, until a couple of wingflaps relay his arrival next to you, the sound of his movements indicating that he has sat down, just inches away from your side.

Something gleams at your periphery, and you finally turn to see his open palm, a ring at the center of it.

Tonight, it seems, this is his gift. Sleek and thin, gold plating the entire band, with inlaid rubies as red as his eyes. Complicated engravings decorate around the gems.

Under the lunar glow it glistens like a dream. You long to touch it, feel your index finger slide over its shape.

“Where did you get this?” you whisper.

He shifts, but his hand doesn't. Your eyes do not leave the ring.

“Why does that matter?” he says, and his voice sounds inquisitive, somehow.

“Is this part of your treasure? I've never seen it, but I guess it's too small for me to find it easily.”

Sylus hums, and pushes his hand towards you.

The heat of his body lingers on the jewelry. You play with it between your fingers, mesmerized.

“It's beautiful,” you say. “You know, in some cultures far away, they say that a ring symbolizes union and commitment. A couple would wear matching rings on their annulary as an everlasting promise to each other.”

It's a knowledge that you've encountered outside the Sanctuary in one of your rare moments of rebelliousness, sneaking out to explore the town. Once, you entered a bookstore, and the smell of old paper assaulted your nose. Nevertheless, you devoured as many books as you could, before time went up and you had to go back to that cold, white room, with your black dragon as the only company, the only comfort.

Sylus says nothing, and when you lift your head the moonlight is molten silver on his visage. It makes his narrowed gaze all the more stark, his rubescent eyes full of things you have no courage to decipher.

Then his lips quirk, and then part, and then: “A ring as a promise, huh.”

And then: slowly, carefully, he takes the ring from you and studies it as if he's laid his eyes on it for the first time.

From where you sit the sharpness that defines his profile is blunted: angles corrode into curves, smoothened by the honey-thick silver illumination that's almost cloying. But from it he's haloed beneath a galaxied sky, and within you, a thought – He's beautiful, oh, how he's beautiful.

A finger taps your left hand, and Sylus smirks briefly.

“Let me.”

And you do. His clawed hand wraps around yours, gentle, and raises it between you. His body moves closer, head bowed, and his tail surrounds you both, like a barrier against the outside world. And inside: just you and him and the golden ring that he's sliding onto your finger. The look on his face is achingly tender, and you swallow all the words down your throat and focus on your hand instead. The ring fits perfectly, like an oath.

“I suspect this is the part where you promise something,” he says – whispers – and the words embed themselves warmly on your skin.

“A commitment is a promise,” you begin, stumbling over each word in hesitation. “But, for us, it can be a curse, one that will follow us to our last breath.” A deep exhale. “I don't know where I'm going with this. Don't put me on the spot.”

That elicits a chuckle from him. Sylus tilts his head just a fraction, and you glimpse a fond smile cracking his expression.

“A curse befits us better,” he agrees, a sardonic lilt to his mouth. “Vengeful, and will chase us beyond our last breath. It is stronger than a promise. It's perfect – I like it.”

The hand on yours tightens, its own promise, its own curse.

“We don't truly need a physical object to remind us of our bond, but ...”

He gets up, and for a painfully fleeting moment Sylus looks more human than a fiend, all tenderness and mortality, brittle but burning.

When he turns around, he is a fiend again.

“I'll forge a matching one for me. Until then, come up with a better speech.”

[five]

There is no beauty in evil. In the mural of The Fiend-Slaying God, the dragon is depicted as a wicked, wretched thing. Wrathful, ugly in its savagery. Only the good is beautiful, triumphant. The villains always lose. It is a rule that has become an unequivocal fact.

Amidst the field of withering daturas, Sylus gasps in your arms, eyes already unfocused. Impending death catalyzes into crystals the color of soot. On his body they seem like charcoal bones escaping from beneath his flesh.

To a normal human, he may look monstrous, ugly, a beast in decay.

To a normal human, this is the triumph of good over evil. Of beauty over the grotesque.

And yet –

And yet.

To you, he is still the most beautiful creature you have ever laid your eyes on.

He is fading right before you, wisps of crumbling matter taken by the winds like ashes. Your arms tighten their embrace of him, refusing to let him go, as if this could reverse everything, as if this could prevent him from succumbing to oblivion.

“Sylus,” you whisper. “Sylus.”

He doesn’t hear, and you bow your head, forehead touching his, your unceasing tears falling over his cheeks. You call his name over and over. It is a futile effort.

But then, you feel it: fingers, leather-rough, ghosting down your face, and you lift your head to find Sylus gazing at you, eyes miraculously clear and lucid, the edges of his mouth twitching upwards.

For a heart-stopping moment, you taste a sliver of hope.

“Sylus!” you cry out, your hand grabbing his, fingers entwining. You press your wet cheeks against his hand, shutting your eyes and fervently praying. “Don’t die, please.”

He doesn’t answer, and you look at him again and bite back a sob.

He’s still smiling when the remaining parts of him disappear. And as the last of himself becomes nothing, he opens his mouth and tells you –

“I love you.”

Sylus takes with him all sound and color and beauty.

In the withered field of what was once daturas, you put your head in your hands and cry.

[yomiurinikei]

RYUTARO MAKI!!

okay so i think the reason why asks vanish is bc tumblr won’t load them for me past a certain #. what i get for having unanswered asks ig….

-fucking Sucks at fps games. really good at defense/strategy which he tries to play off as even better and cooler, but. he’s not winning this social battle. lmao get pwned

•^i think kiyoka once teased him and tried to offer to “show him how it’s done”… just to get her ass beat too. it’s calibrated weird!!!

•that said tho i think his soccer interest started getting Serious when his parents bought him FIFA as a preteen. as of the tragedy starting he’d been Deep into football for nearly two years

•knew the Most of Anyone he knew, about Any team. was most fascinated by players and their personal histories, ie when they started playing, etc.

•i think the maki family moved abt a year prior to the tragedy, ryutaro was doing Well socially but he didn’t have a history with any of his friends at the time

•first went ! abt mitch because he’s from a town near where the makis originally lived

•that isn’t all to ryutaros love of mitch though, he genuinely just. Likes him. he’s a Great player. i’m not getting flashbacks to 6.5 intro where we have to hear ryutaro yap. my eye is Not twitching. don’t look at me

•non despair au, has Nooo clue what he wants to do as an adult. i think he spends a while in internship/entry level Hell because he’s so flighty w where he is, what he’s doing, etc. just takes the first job he gets hired at that Works

•did you guys know there’s a difference between an allergy and an oral allergic sensitivity? it’s easier to exposure therapy away an oas…

•ryutaro had issues with a Bunch of fruits, so he exposure therapy’d himself into being able to have them. 

•it was seriously a Lot. he eats fruit salad more often than most because he’s paranoid about redeveloping his sensitivities 

•likes a Lot of different types of music, but like ->

•is So embarrassed abt some of it that half of what he listens to, he listens to via youtube dot com, on a private browser. 

•was sort of clingy to kiyoka as a kid? which she was ^^;; about because she wanted to go play with Her friends. ryutaro got teased for this a bit when he started school

•in general, tended to kinda teeter on the line between liked and disliked? was often in the Background of a friend group. kid who got invited to birthday parties unless the space was limited

•does Really bad living on his own. in canon this is because it was him and his parents post tragedy, not knowing for Sure what happened to kiyoka, for so long. 

•it was scary being somewhere by himself, he hates to admit it but he struggled a lot not being able to walk down the hall to check on his parents in the night. stayed w them for a while after they went to be closer to the foundation post 6.5

•started to live by himself after they expressed wanting to move back to their old home. didn’t want to tie them down… got his own place w/o really discussing it w them

•didn’t talk abt Any of this with Anyone, but did ask minako for help finding an apartment, and i think she talked w his parents casually, as fellow class 79 parents

•…she found a place for him in the same community as she lives in. they never discussed it, and ryutaro doesn’t even know Confidently if it was smthn intentional on her part… but it’s easily the thing she’s done for him that means the Most

•likes the dark in Theory but gets stressed easily. in general, just doesn’t like being alone? he’d like to wander around at night more but doesn’t have anyone to walk with

•tried to work out more post 6.5, both to keep up with the rest of the foundation, and because of how Stressed he was for midori during 6.5. i think he’s p good abt consistency, and his mental health doesn’t explode, but it’s just not Fun for him. not a hobby. he is proud of his progress tho

•also a big fan of dogs, but they’re less of a novelty to him than they are to midori. likes bigger breeds. 

•Geeeenuinely thought kiyokas invite to hpa was a prank. laughed @ her to himself then got stressed for a minute when it was clear she was Really “falling for it”. out of everyone in the family, he was the one who got the most light headed when they confirmed authenticity. 

[valtionrautatiet-official]

An introduction to VR passenger carriages, part 1: the blue carriages

In our next series of introducing our rolling stock, we will be looking at passenger carriages. I was actually thinking of doing multiple units next, but @hapotonradio requested I do the blue carriages and a lot of people seemed to like the idea so here we go.

A Dr13-hauled train consisting of blue carriages arriving in Turku Harbour, 1995. Falk1, Wikimedia Commons

I can already hear foreigners (and non-rail enthusiast Finns too) going "what the hell are the blue carriages?" Well, the blue carriages were/are the first Finnish steel-bodied passenger carriages, with over 600 units (depending a bit on what you count as being actual blue carriages) of different types built between 1961 and 1986. Today, almost all of them have been retired. Which is a shame, because they were sexy.

The first 15 blue carriages were built by the West German Maschinenfabrik Esslingen, who also designed them, in 1961. This original batch were equipped with different types of boggies, from which the Minden-Deutz boggie was chosen for the eventual mass-produced series built in-house by the VR Pasila workshop starting from 1964 (Valmet also built a small number of carriages).

A combined 1st and 2nd class carriage as built, 1964. At this point they still had steel covering the underbody from the sides. These hems were later removed to better display the arousing technical bits. Olavi Karasjoki, Suomen rautatiemuseo.

President Kekkonen (the bald dude) visiting the above carriage. Olavi Karasjoki, Suomen rautatiemuseo.

The initial batch consisted of ten 2. class carriages (littera Eit), four combined 1. and 2. class coaches (lit. CEit) and one 1. class coach (lit. Cit). As you can maybe figure out, the -t at the end stood for teräs, steel, to distinguish from the old wood-bodied coaches. In addition to the regular first- and second-class coaches, the blue carriages' base design was adopted for restaurant cars (litteras Rbkt, Rt, Rkt and Rk), combined condutor's and luggage cars (lits. Fot, Efit and Efiti), sleepers (CEmt), aggregate cars to use on non-electrified tracks (Eifet), carriages with children's playrooms (ELht), postal carriages (Pot), military transport (Ems), prisoner transport (Nom), special carriages for the president and cabinet (A), and even a one-off disco carriage. The latter in particular fucked severely. All those sweaty bodies having it on inside a train...

Some sources also list the Eil-class local traffic coaches as blue carriages, but since they had some structural differences and were originally painted red rather than blue, I'm going to cover them in a separate entry.

Interior of a 2nd class carriage. My photo

Over the quarter of a century the blue carriages were in production, numerous improvements were made to the original design; most notably, the original top service speed of 120 km/h was increased first to 140 km/h and then to 160 km/h in some units.

By the time the last blue carriages were delivered in 1986, their star was already waning. In 1988, the first new Intercity carriages (in a white and red IC delivery) were delivered, and Intercity trains replaced the blue-carriaged special express (erikoispikajuna) trains as the flagship product. With the arrival of the Intercity carriages, and the double-decker carriages from 1998 onwards, the blue carriages were phased out.

Blue carriages at the Turku depot, an Eifet aggregate car repainted in the Intercity livery in the 1990s and CEmt sleepers (both carriages visible behind the Eifet; the sleepers have asymmetric window arrangements). My photo

Today, the only blue carriages still in use in the iconic original livery as sleepers in night trains to Lapland, and prison transport carriages. Some restaurant cars, aggregate cars and conductor's carriages still exist, but they have been repainted in the newer liveries. Several blue carriages have also been preserved by different instances and they're relatively commonly seen in heritage/museum trains these days.

[wanderingstreetcat]

the more i reconnect with my desires, the more i realize i crave artistry

a reflection of art, connection, k*nk, and vulnerability what started with reconnecting with er*tic art, has grown into a garden of community and flowing stream of creative inspiration, philosophy, and connection. its odd, to enter this deeply emotional and artistic version of myself. i dont really understand this, but im excited to begin this journey together

this past weekend i met up with a friend I met at a kink climber group. a stranger at 11am and a person i adored by 11pm. i want to build that connection and create art with our bodies i tried practicing vulnerability before, but it was with the wrong person at the wrong time in both of our lives. i realize now that this person s*xualized me and that's all he desired from me. and that's fine, i no longer hold resentment against him. i can't deny the unreasonable attraction i have for him. but my intimacy and vulnerability was rejected and i panged. i rejected being vulnerable as a result although i met this past person in a vanilla setting, they wanted no connection outside of my body and his. when i met this new person, my former stranger, at a non-vanilla context (but in the same exact environment as former person - the gym), there was a stark difference inside me. i never subscribed to ideas of energy or arura but want to consider it now. there was something occultic about my desire for their connection. not ill, or obsessive, but a curious interest. without even realizing or trying that hard, i sought to connect with them. I asserted myself to speak to them, sit next to them after dinner when the rest of our group slowly flowed out of the diner, and was the first to suggest keeping up with each other. i didnt realize until they mentioned it to me: I sought them out. I nearly insisted they send me songs. I suggested hanging out, I even offered to travel the 2 hours from Brooklyn to Staten Island so I can go to them, instead of asking them to come to me.

I sought, I found, I connected. i more than expected to have the conversation come up, kink and desire. but at the end it never came up at all. i realized then im desirable outside of my body, my feminine face, my promiscuity. i didn't realize until hours of conversation later, after i mentioned hating being vulnerable, craving it, rejecting it; "i feel like you've been vulnerable this whole time. i've been vulnerable with you, we're pretty similar, i figured we would be" ..something like that at least. it helped me reflect the type of art i want to make. performance art and photography, the weird alien stuff i dont really want to talk about out loud. the intersections of feeling inhumane, out of place, confused desire, emigrating between people, being constantly sexualized, objectified, and infantilized by others - yet never allowed to be a child in the first place. never an agent of my own desires. i'm in the middle of writing a journal entry about our day, how i felt, my takeaways from our experience together. i'll likely scan it and post it on here eventually, but this entry is ending up a lot longer than i anticipated - going on 3 pages now. i dont know how much longer it'll go for. this experience was so rigorous, like a crash course in trust, vulnerability, and new expressions of affection -- seeking i only started typing this now because my hand started cramping while writing. i'll finish that entry soon, and write a welcome letter to my journal. i finally started writing in my new journal that i should've transitioned to a month ago. i feel like i discovered a new part of myself, and new beginnings belong in new journals

i am learning to love you. im learning to understand you. i will take care of you now. i forgive you for not taking care of yourself before. you deserve a shameless existence

[zedecksiew]

BLOGGIES 2023 REVIEW WINNERS

Week four of BLOGGIES month has ended. Soon there will be a four-way free-for-all, where GOLD winners in each of the four category brackets will vie for BEST BLOG POST OF 2023!!!

But first: your winners of the REVIEW category, their medals, and acceptance speeches!

(I asked these designer-critics for some thoughts about their winning entries, and where they think we in TTRPGs are going.)

+++

BRONZE BLOGGIE FOR REVIEW POST:

🥉MICROBLOG: CHILDREN’S BOOKS AND TABLETOP GAMES🥉 from FAIL FORWARD

Sandro:

Firstly I'd like to thank anyone who thought it was a good idea to give me an award of any kind. It's humbling and bewildering and y'all are the best. This was a just-for-funsies lunch time blog post that almost didn't happen. It was inspired by carefully listening to folks much wiser than me talk about what makes them tick. (Often times I think people's aspirations can tell us a lot about what their origins and inspirations might be) Yet here we are, an award winning post! Let this be a testament that it's always better to put yourself out there because you never know what people will resonate with! I'd like dedicate this award to children big and small, in and out of homes of all shapes and sizes. The suffering so many kids endure is heartbreaking, so if you take anything from this little speech let it be this: Be kind to the next generation. What we pass down to the young readers of today shapes the writers of tomorrow. No pressure ~

+++

SILVER BLOGGIE FOR REVIEW POST:

🥈Plagiarism in Unconquered (2022)🥈 from Traverse Fantasy

Marcia:

I am so happy that Ènziramire’s excellent critique of The Mwangi Expanse won first place for reviews this year, for three reasons. First, because he is a wonderful friend and I am so excited to celebrate his successes. Second, because his critique is such an insightful application of historical materialist and anti-colonial theory to the realm of tabletop game literature, above all the rest deserving first place. Third, I’m upset that my “review” was nominated and voted for to such a degree over other bloggers’ more deserving work as well as over my own actual reviews and critiques. Being nominated for a long-form call-out post, and it being treated as a significant accomplishment on my part, feels gross. Someone had to write it, but all it had to be was over and done with. It did not, and should not, need to be celebrated. I’m very glad that an actual review, especially one so cohesive and incisive, won in the end. Congratulations, Ènziramire!! As for the content of the post itself, here's my final word on it: if you're going to commercialize your work, commercialize YOUR work. My constant emphasis on the distinction between copyright infringement and plagiarism is more than pedantic: it's the difference between disrespecting intellectual property (about which, who cares!) versus privatizing the work of others. Going forward, sure, we should work towards a better culture of creative attribution, but we should also work towards non-commercial interactions with our hobby. Pseudo-Paul says, "The love of money is the root of all evil", and it's difficult not to see the constant grind of commercial publishing and social engagement as responsible for this incident. Isn't an ideal creative culture not just an attributive one, but a free and accessible one disentangled from the demands of capital (even if expressed through our particular needs)? We should attribute generously, but we should also share freely as well. From each according to their ability, to each according to their need!

+++

(In lieu of a medal, Gold winners will get a linocut print; here’s a design inspired by Ènziramire's post & Christina Sharpe's In The Wake: On Blackness and Being---a dragon and her wake. )

GOLD BLOGGIE FOR REVIEW POST:

🥇An Empty Africa - PF2E's The Mwangi Expanse and the strange career of Black Atlanticism🥇 from A Most Majestic Fly Whisk

Ènziramire:

"An Empty Africa" was, if you’ll forgive the joke, written in a spirit of homecoming. Pathfinder was my first tabletop RPG and the frustrations with bourgeois Afrodiasporic creative spaces expressed in the post are the same exact ones that compelled me to make a blog in the first place. The post’s reception in those same Black spaces has been varied but the most important conversations about it that I’ve participated in have been characterized by a kind of low level nervousness. What does trans-Atlantic intimacy and community look like if many of the ‘natural’ connections between Black folks we take for granted are actually expressions of Afrodiasporic supremacy? Is the desire to feel wounds together (with the Middle Passage as the ur-wound) inherently imperial? There's nothing wrong with a bit of healthy concern, but a perspective on diaspora that includes and inscribes Africa as a constitutive locus (as opposed to a static source for diasporic self-invention) is one that opens up passages. It’s trendy to say that the politics of Afrodiasporic relation, real capital-P Pan-Africanism, ‘dies’ in the 20th century bc a solidarity of shared suffering is somehow false or limited. Fuck that. Solidarity between people going through it is just one basis for affiliation, but it’s a basis that continues to demonstrate its power and relevance. South Africa and Palestine, average Chadians rescuing Darfuris targeted by genocidal militias in Sudan, Rwandan activists risking prison or worse to protest their government’s role in the bloodletting in the Kivus, mutual support networks linking queer Ugandans and Namibians together, and so much more. My father, himself a stubborn old pan-Africanist from Somalia's "born-free" generation, is fond of saying that the experiences with racial capitalism which make immigrant Africans Black are blessings if you read them backward; mourning together gives you new kinfolk. My advice for people with similar fears: don’t let liberal constructions of identity constrain your love. The part of you that wants to be caught up in the emotional worlds of cultural Others—what Glissant might call the entangled co-creation of selves, “unities whose interdependent variances jointly piece together the interactive totality”—is something to be cherished and scholars of Black music have noted that serious play allows us to explore forms of diasporic belonging that respond to difference with joy instead of masking it behind strategic essentialism. Africa should be more than an object of retrospective rediscovery, yes, but genuine familiarity is the most potent weapon we have to combat that tendency. Anyone insisting that this work, learning to reflect each other more honestly, must be restricted to (nebulously defined) 'people of African descent' for it to matter is an idiot or a huckster. We’ll fuck up, but that's family, yeah? Thanks for reading, y'all.

+++

Thank you, TTRPG family!

(Special thanks to Martin / Sharkbomb for his assistance tidying up the medal graphics.)

[writingquestionsanswered]

I am writing in third person limited and swapping between 3 different characters at the start. My problem is when two of the characters team up and share most of the scenes together. How do I decide which POV to choose?

I don't want to abandom either POV, because I like writing the thoughts of both of them, and because there are still some scenes where they are seperate, but I also don't want to switch between the two when they're together. Any suggestions?

Thank you so much!

Stuck Choosing Between POVs in a Scene

Unless you're writing in third-person omniscient (where all POVs are available at once), you definitely don't want to switch between two POVs in one scene. In third-person limited/close, the narrator is limited to one character POV at a time and can only switch to a new POV character after a scene break or in a new chapter. Otherwise, you fall into what's known as "head hopping" which tends to confuse the reader and give them a bit of literary whiplash.

That said, when you have two POV characters with valuable perspectives in a scene, you really only have two choices:

1 - Choose Between Them - Choosing one POV over the other in a scene isn't "abandoning" the other POV. That character will still be part of the scene, and there are many other ways you can explore their thoughts and feelings even if they're not the POV character in the scene. For example, you use body language (posture, facial expressions, and gestures) to hint to the reader how the non-POV character is feeling. If the POV character knows them well enough, they may use these cues to mentally interpret what the other character might be thinking or feeling. You can also have the other character tell the POV character what they're thinking and feeling. You can also have the POV character overhear them express those thoughts and feelings to another character, have that other character share what this character told them, or have the POV character discover this information in some way--like by reading it in a journal entry they weren't meant to see.

2 - Split the Scene in Half and Give Each POV Part of the Scene - As long as you use a scene break to separate the two POV sections, you can use POV #1 for the first half of the scene, and POV #2 for the second half. This way, they're still in the same place/moment/activity/situation, but we see the first half of it in one POV and the second half in the other. That way, you get a chance to explore both POVs as far as what they think and feel about what's going on. You aren't going to rehash the action--it will still play out from beginning to end of the scene--but it gives you an opportunity to explore the second POV character's thoughts after already having explored the first. Then, you can use some of the suggestions in item #1 above to help with anything else you want to convey about the first POV character.

Happy writing!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[urryofthemount]

Book Review: The Three Damosels by Vera Chapman

As a collection…

The Three Damosels is a collection of three interconnected short stories. All three center romance, with differing secondary plots. The relationships (romantic and not) are interesting and varied, and I guarantee that non-romantic relationships are as central to protagonist development as their partners.

Chapman’s prose varies greatly, with some truly stand-out sections of imagery and dialogue spread between smooth but unremarkable work. The structure is well-planned and executed, minus a struggle to grow and maintain tension in the last portion of the book. Several times there is a failure to center the protagonists which is to the detriment of their book. The books do not contain an overarching theme. Vivian, Lynett, and Ursulet are all very different women with different perspectives on their lives and situations, and Chapman takes the opportunity to explore that variety.

To create her world Chapman pays special attention the ceremony of Arthurian nobility. The weddings, the knightly vigils, and the Temptation, a common milestone in Arthurian legend. Interestingly, Chapman seems to avoid exploring the violent aspect of knighthood-Gawain the Younger never truly duels a man, Lynett is spirited away from battles-until the final story. After the lengths The Green Knight and The King’s Damosel go to avoid their point of view character engaging in violent battle, it is odd that it takes up the majority of King Arthur’s Daughter.

As an entry in the Arthurian canon, The Three Damosels provide new and interesting explorations of per-existing characters (Chapman’s Lynett will stick with me for a long time yet), and a gaggle of new characters to support them. At the same time she emphasizes some of the more dramatized villainous traits more common in later literature, such as Mordred’s incestuous desires.

VERDICT: highs and lows

The Green Knight…

… details Vivian, Lady Bertilak’s, coming of age, against the competing power of Morgan who attempts to both keep her childlike and obedient while using her new sexual existence to further her own goals.

Chapman’s Morgan Le Fay is only missing a mustache to twirl menacingly to complete her vaudevillian act—and I mean this as a compliment, and an acknowledgment of genre. To take this story too seriously would do a disservice to the role. Morgan’s character occupies the top of a hierarchical role in the castle, she seems to talk at Vivian and Lord Bertilak rather than with them, and this only seems to change when she tries to convince Vivian to seduce Gawain; when she tries to make Vivian an extension of her will. Vivian’s inability to resist Morgan, and her subsequent refusal to let that be the end of her growth is a wonderful exploration into the first forays of an adults decision making, especially coming from a home which didn’t prepare her for her own adulthood. Gawain the Younger’s concurrent sexual fears and his blind trust in authority contrast Vivian’s journey into her own autonomy, making him a good foil for her.

If you are familiar with Arthurian legend there are some strange choices, especially regarding the Bertilaks (though this was the express goal of the story) and Merlin, though they do not overly change the source material.

The King’s Damosel…

… attempts to be a story about recovery, but fails. It is unfortunate that Lynett’s arc is not concluded by her. It is a resolution which absolves Bagdemagus, it does not pay any attention to Lynett’s desires and choices. In fact, Lynett’s introspection is jarringly absent in this moment, despite its presence in the rest of the text.

There is a successful through line, emphasized by Gaheris’s refusal to speak to Lynett at their wedding, Sir Perceval’s fear of women (especially his comment about her ability to see the grail), and Bagdemagus’s final entreaty, that men and women are doomed to hurt each other over and over for so long as they insist on considering them separate beings. It is easy to read an anti-bioessentialist message into the story, and I believe that doing so strengthens the story. (Though it contradicts itself with its description of the worship of the White Lady).

Lynett’s fears of her own skill and desirability are shown to be just that: fears. They are inconsequential to her worth. Though again, by curing Lucius, Chapman undercuts her own theme of recovery. Or perhaps it strengthens Lynett’s story at the price of a disabled man.

The King’s Damosel continues Lynett’s story from where it ends in medieval literature in a way I haven’t seen before. Her appointment as the King’s Damosel provides new opportunities for explorations of power and gender in the legend.

King Arthur’s Daughter…

… the most common genre in Arthurian retellings: a fight for the throne, and Chapman seemed to have a hard time balancing the romance with an external conflict. Ursulet, Arthur and Guinevere’s daughter, has almost no desires of her own, other than the nebulous “be safe”, which she is not able to explore in much detail. I got the image that Ursulet was a leaf in the wind rather than the protagonist of her own tale, there is not one moment where she seems to actively desire or spurn the crown. It is only something that happened to happen to her.

The romance between Ambris and Ursulet is rushed and underdeveloped. Leaning heavily on the genre awareness that the male and female leads will of course end of together, regardless of any chemistry. The progression from “girl I know” to “beloved” seemed to take only six pages, and Ursulet’s own desire for Ambris is not explicit until later. None of their actions or dialogue imparts love or romance.

Lynett’s relationship with both Ambris and Lynett is interesting, as is the way she is the driving force for all of the major plot events. She seemed a more active agent in this story than either of our perspective characters, to the point where I wished she was the protagonist instead; if only so we could watch a character try to do something without being prompted.

Morgan’s subsumption into the figure of the devil, combined with a line about the Jewish people, voices antisemitism. And on the last line Chapman strays into eugenicist propaganda, implying that all of Britain will one day descend from Arthur, and the rest of the world will serve them for it.

This story features more new characters than any other, with the only major historical characters being Morgan, Lynett, and Mordred. As stated, Morgan and Mordred’s villainous traits are dramatized, and Lynett’s agency and position remains a unique addition.

Final Thoughts

RATING: 3/5

While I did ultimately enjoy reading, the experience of reading the book gave me whiplash even from paragraph to paragraph. There is enough quality variation between the three that I can’t recommend them as a collection. If King Arthur’s Daughter was removed, I would more confidently rate this a 4/5.

[cosmicrescendo]

so sanrio has like a couple MG franchises and one of them is like reallllllly long (7 seasons). so I decided to watch the fourth season. let's talk about about Jewelpet Kira Deco (2012).

I did like this show, but.....

I have this word I use whenever I describe a particular metaseries/franchise entry that ticks the required boxes to be considered a proper entry of X......but without new commentary or perspective. It generally comes off as very relaxed because it has Nothing To Prove, No Establishment of Its Own Unique Identity, it's just here to give you More X and then clock out. For shows of that type I end up liking, I describe these shows as "Mellow".

Kira Deco is that mellow entry for Jewelpet. It is Definitely More Jewelpet, and there are arguably a lot of unique things about it (the human kids are 4 boys and 1 girl sentai team which leads to plots that could only happen because of that, there's no romance between the human girl and another character, opts for a cozy village setting than a school, Jewelland as a Expansive Diverse Land or Earth, has the return of Jewelpet antagonists since '09) and I think these aspects set it up to be a exciting entry! But.....the execution......leaves things to be desired.

Let's talk about The Themes first. Jewelpet is about growing and pursuing your dreams, as a General Theme all entries seem to touch upon. Kira Deco has an emphasis on "decora", or essentially accessorizing, and like, it's implied to help bring out people's inner shine but like. They don't really *do* much of anything with that concept in KD at all. Which is a shame, I love how a lot of similar shows use the concept of fashion and acceroziing as a way to navigate self-expression and identity. And also like, Pink's role in the team is to bring out the inner shine of others, so like, LOL? Which brings me to my next point.

I do like the KiraDeco5. but......I feel like the fact that we didn't get many if at all episodes where the episode is focused on the dynamics of two human kids outside of the very obvious Midori and Retsu Is Really Noticable, and Bizzare. I do like KD does bring back partnerships a little by having the kids live with different pets (since theyre so big compared to the pets and Jeweltown archeiture can only handle them being all in one place in very limited spots) and even some episode where its a human + non-partner Jewelpet, but I definitely feel like the bulk of the episodes are mostly Jewelpet-focused with the KD5 as support cast. And unlike Sunshine where the supporting human cast at least have interesting wrinkles in their characters beyond their template archetype .....I feel like the KD5 didn't really get that, unfortunately(theyre just Sentai Red, Fat and Easygoing Yellow, Playboy Blue, Kid who wants to be Seen as Mature Green, and The Girl(tm) Pink) .

I did criticize Tinkle to be too human-oriented that it left the Jewelpet content left to be desired, I suppose Kira Deco actually has the inverse problem, so Jewelpet-oriented it leaves human content to be desired. I do think 09 has a good balance, and Sunshine completely side steps this problem (mostly) by its absurdity yet geniune approach.

The show starts hitting its stride in terms of its own type of humor after a few rocky episodes (you'll notice that the show does pluck a few Sunshine bits/characterizations early on as if to keep the ball rolling), and I do think there are a lot of fun episodes in here. But it definitely is Just More Jewelpet rather than feeling like a fresh spin.

But in terms of things I like I can definitely gush about............I really like our villian team for this show. (Save for Opal, but I really love haughty ojou-sama types) It seems like they finally figured out they dont have to depict Jewelpets as overtly mean or cruel to make them antagonists so they're a lot of fun. Kohaku and Tour as villians was a lot of fun and I'm kind of sad they weren't introduced a little earlier into the show to play around with that concept more.

Look man. I know I said I hated the Waniyama/Waniko bit in Sunshine, but like. I kinda love Coal/Koriumi-sensei. Like Coal is your typical henchmen who's easily humiliated and kinda sulky. But it's Not Lost on me that the time the gang exposes Coal to All That Is Good In The World, it's firstly by giving Coal a more feminine haircut, which Coal seems Really Into. Koriumi-sensei is a disguise that Coal personally chose, we see her going out as Koriumi even when she's not directly trying to spy on the gang, buying and admiring dresses for herself in "her private time", and overall a lot more confident and more in tune with her sexuality (not elaborating) when she is Koriumi. And in the MMO episode, Coal specifically decides to present a ideal self in game as a small, feminine, and frilly girl. (which is a interesting contrast to Koriumi's usual mature sexiness, but I'll mull on that later someday).

Koriumi-sensei is well-liked by her students to the point that they come for her for advice, Io has a longstanding crush on her, when she disappears the whole class searches for her for a long time! (And when she is revealed to be Coal, Io's only qualm is what name he should call her now). Like obviously It's Not Perfect (even if she's liked within canon, the audience is supposed to find some humor in the concept of a overtly Sexy Jewelpet) but like. Is this not what I wanted to see (fashion and "decorating" yourself to explore one's self-expression and becoming a happier person, letting your shine out) more overtly in show's themes? Yes. Coal is the Jewelpet of Endurance and Preservation because you gotta endure your shitty job and preserve through the bad relationship with your father so that you can eventually Transition.

Time for the good and the bad things that I haven't already mentioned yup yup:

Good Things:

No romance between Pink and another member of the KD5

Some of these kids can fight so they use it for really fun sequences other Jewelpet media probably couldnt do

Ruby/Retsu's relationship is stupidly funny

I think the partnerships in this show feel A Lot Different than the typical Jewelpet partnerships

I fucking love Opal in this. I'm very predictable

Very bizzare but fun characterizations for some of the Jewelpets (Nephrite as an assassin is fucking crazy in the best way)

Eh Things:

The "main plot" and the main villian honestly feels like a total Afterthought to get to the shenanigans' in a quite graceless way. I think it could've been easy to have the antagonists just be school-bully level nuisances if you weren't really into it, no?

Really wish "upset that she was continually rejected by boys for being plain and rebounded to decora to pick herself up" wasn't The core character bit/trait for Pink? I see the intent with the character but its really annoying when every 3rd joke w Pink is "no bf lol" especially when KD isn't even interested in romance to justify it

Wish BlueKnight also had a better or at least a Secondary bit to his name......

[softness-and-shattering]

Hey shoutout to masculine people

To butches of all sexes and genders

To people who have explored femininity (willingly or not) and androgyny and said actually, no thank you.

To people who've been born to or discovered their own masculinity

To the people for whom it felt like coming home, like breathing easy, like warmth and safety.

To the gender conforming and gender non-confirming masc queers, to those who are both and neither and in different relationships of all kinds with their gender and expression and conformity

To those who are still working it out

To everyone whos felt unwelcome or coerced to be more feminine as condition of entry to their own community

To anyone whos been treated like a bad feminist, like the grossest vilest human, like a betrayer of "the right side" for who they are, not anything theyve said or done

To the butches and the bros and the guys and the men binary and non-binary, to the transmascs, and the mascs, to anyone and everyone who relates that I havent specifically named

Youre you, and thats the most wonderful thing. The more yourself you can become, the more self -neutrality and -compassion you can grow into, the better for everyone and everything. Your unique vibrant self does NOT need to be feminine. It can be, if it is, but it doesnt have to be. Your gender is between you and yourself and you dont have to prove anything to anyone.

Everyone whos demanded you be what you are not is plain wrong. You should only be who you are and who you want to be. You should be safe. You should be comfortable.

Friends, stay masculine :)

[lebizcanada20]

https://lebizcanada.com/blogs/top-strategies-for-maximizing-your-chances-in-category-based-draws-in-express-entry-system/

[folliesandfolderols]

Writing prompts day 119-122

From this prompt list. If you’ve read this far, I’m not sure you need any explanation, but the short version is I hadn’t written any fiction since 2019, I set a goal to write at least 150 words/day in 2024, and this list was my way to restart. Also I abruptly decided on day 2 I would write an entire Tim/Damian story connecting all the prompts, because I am Good at Judging My Limits. /sarcasm Anyway, I finished the rough draft a while ago and am now unlocking the old entries as I edit.

Read from the beginning here, or on ao3 here.

Also, perennial warning that, like a magpie, I collect shiny bits and pieces of canon I like and utilize them in my own messy AUs. So, Mr. Camera bears more of a resemblance to his Golden Age self than to his more recent iteration, because that's way more hilarious than the embodiment of living in a surveillance state that he'd be now.

Day 118 here

***

45. “Fuck, just touch me already! Just— just do something!” “Not so fast. We’ve still got the whole night/day ahead of us.” (slightly modified for characterization purposes)

***

Damian was standing in the middle of the living room, maskless but still in costume, when Tim came in through one of the secret entrances. He crossed his arms and glared at Tim, chin lifted high. Tim would have been willing to bet he could calculate exactly how pissed off Damian was at any given moment by determining the elevation-of-chin to level-of-fury ratio. Something to consider for future arguments.

“Hi.” Tim stripped off his gloves and threw them on a side table. “Good work tonight.” Internally, he sneered at himself. Wow, well done.

Damian apparently shared his low opinion of that particular conversational gambit. “I found your phone and tested its functionality while I waited for your return. It's fully operational, which begs the question of why you chose not to use it to have any sort of non-case-related conversation with me this week.”

Tim bit his lip. "I don't have a good reason. I'm sorry." Nausea roiled in his stomach.

Damian spread his hands in an incredulous, graceful gesture that screamed Talia. "Then tell me the bad reasons, Drake. Be honest without being at the point of death, for once in your life."

That flipped the switch. Nausea faded before the comforting heat of anger. He ripped his mask off, ignoring the sting of the adhesive giving way. "Hey. Just because I don't throw every little bit of negative emotion I experience into your face doesn't mean I'm not being honest, Damian. It just means that maybe I'm mature enough that I handle my shit internally instead of burdening everyone around me while I process it."

"That is not maturity." Damian stepped forward, using his height to tower over Tim. "It is hiding. Which makes it cowardice."

Tim clenched his fists at his side. Before they'd started sleeping together, he would have shoved Damian back, out of his space. Now, though, that sort of behavior would carry a different sort of connotation. 

He ground out between his teeth, "I'm not a fucking coward. Back off."

Damian waved away his objection, but he did turn away slightly to give him more room. "No one is calling you a coward. You're one of the most courageous men I know. That's why I don't understand this behavior. Why conceal your true thoughts from me unless you know I will object to them? And if you know that I will do so, why delay the inevitable?"

Despite the clear effort he put into sounding aloof, Damian's furrowed eyebrows gave away his confusion and hurt. Tim paused, a new idea occurring to him.

"Wait. Damian. Humor me for a second. What's happening right now from your point of view? If I tell you everything I'm thinking and feeling about you at this exact moment, what does that mean to you?"

Damian's face smoothed out into a complete lack of expression. "That I don't have to look for and decipher hidden messages. What else?"

Ah, fuck. Tim dragged his hand down his face and crossed the living room to plop down on his couch.

"Will you please come sit down?" he asked after a long moment of Damian staring at him, unmoving. Damian settled down on the cushion farthest from him and stared at him in cool expectation.

"Okay," Tim said, leaning his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands. He tried to keep going, but the words got stuck in his throat, so he swallowed them down and tried again, this time looking at Damian. "All right."

Damian leaned back and crossed his legs, the image of studied disinterest. "If you're breaking up with me, spit it out so I can go home and get some sleep."

Tim jolted upright, sheer terror turning every muscle in his body to ice. "What? No!"

Damian's shoulders slumped the slightest bit. Some of the defiance faded from his eyes. "That isn't what you're trying to say."

"No, that's the opposite of what I want!" Tim wrung his fingers, shaking with an abrupt excess of adrenaline. "Can I��" Unable to explain what he needed, he swung around to straddle Damian's lap and buried his face in his neck. All the body armor made it less than comfortable, but it was worth it for feeling Damian's pulse against his cheek.

After a second, Damian's hands came to rest on Tim's waist, a tentative weight that still felt like reassurance. Tim sighed and burrowed closer.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I can't look at you and talk at the same time."

"All right."

They sat with nothing but the sound of their breathing between them for a few more seconds, then Tim found the words he needed. "I don't like to argue. It feels like I've lost control and I'm telling the other person my private business."

Damian nodded against his head. "The private business is . . . what? Your thoughts? Your emotions?"

Tim laughed weakly into his skin. "Yes. Both. It feels dangerous." More tension drained from the big body beneath his with every word he spoke.

Damian sighed and kissed his temple. "And since when has danger prevented you from taking any course of action you felt was necessary?"

"Since I was with Bernard."

"Ah." Damian fell silent for a long moment. "You think you should have admitted your secret identity to him."

Tim shrugged. "I'm honestly not sure. I knew he knew, but I thought, if anything happened to him, having plausible deniability would protect him."

Damian leaned his head against Tim's. "I'm assuming you don't want our relationship to end the way yours and Bernard's did." At Tim's headshake of denial, he continued, "In that case, I'll tell you that I see honesty as the safest course of action."

Tim finally felt capable of sitting up enough to meet his gaze. “I'm not disagreeing. But I also think you're forgetting that there are things you don't tell me, either.” Damian’s hands tightened on his body before they loosened with deliberate care. “I know we both can remember times you've said stuff I asked you about was none of my business.”

“. . . That is true,” Damian admitted with clear reluctance.

Tim’s thoughts, now given a focal point, became less scary. This was just detective work. He could do that. And he knew Damian well enough now to have working theories. “Is the reason you want me to tell you because you don't want to be taken by surprise by the consequences of something I refused to say?”

Damian’s breath paused for a second, the only clue Tim had that he was close to the target. “Why do you ask?”

Maybe putting it in martial terms was the quickest route to understanding here. Sparring partner, Long-Ago Damian’s voice echoed in memory. “I'm trying to figure out what I can cede that doesn't leave me feeling like I've completely exposed my position.” Unable to keep his hands to himself anymore, he reached to stroke through Damian’s hair.

Damian sank deeper into the couch cushion behind him as Tim petted him. “I see.” He kissed the inside of Tim’s wrist. “Then, yes. That is correct.”

“Okay.” Tim considered the problem. “If I tell you that I really like being with you, and I'm happy with you, and I don't want to stop or change what we’re doing, does that help? All of those things are true.”

Now that he wasn't geared up for a fight, Damian’s exhaustion came through loud and clear, eyes blinking more and more slowly as he relaxed under Tim’s hands. “Mostly. Though I would argue—” He suppressed a yawn. “Argue that I do want to change what we're doing if it means we go an entire week without spending the night together. That's too long.”

“Yeah, that's fair.” Tim kissed his forehead. “I got stuck in my head this week. I'm sorry. You didn't do anything to earn that.”

He scooted backwards to stand, then offered his hand to Damian. “Let's get out of these gross costumes and into the shower. I feel disgusting.”

Damian allowed him to pull him to his feet, but didn't start moving toward the bathroom yet. “Drake.” Tim looked up at him in inquiry and spotted a faint smile gracing the corners of his eyes. “I also am happy.”

A near-painful wave of love buffeted Tim at the declaration and left him swaying on his feet, saturated with longing. He fought to keep his voice normal but it trembled the slightest bit. “I'm glad. You should maybe tell that to Dick. I’m pretty sure he's afraid we're going to kill each other in our sleep.”

Damian began leading him in the right direction. “Tt. Does he not know us at all? We would never be so careless. If we murder each other we’ll each give our opponent the courtesy of a fair fight.”

Tim grinned, shuffling in his wake. “Something to look forward to.”

***

Tim had told Damian the truth. But, as the days wore on and things became more normal again (as normal as Gotham could produce, anyway), he realized he'd been lying to someone else: himself. There was no way he would be able to keep his feelings hidden now that he'd realized they existed.

Every time he saw Damian, the words perched on the tip of his tongue, ready to fly to their object: I love you. Sitting opposite him at a restaurant at a business lunch, running a flash drive to his office on some spurious excuse, backing him up in a fight, it didn't matter. Love, he was discovering, demanded to be spoken.

The problem was, he didn't want to expose himself that way. Not when he had no idea how Damian felt about him and no real way to find out, short of interviewing the few people who knew they were together.

Well. He could have asked Damian. But that was obviously out of the question. What if Damian felt pressured to say something he wasn't ready to talk about?

(What if Damian didn’t have anything to say in response?)

He settled for being as close to Damian as he dared, as often as he could. The words couldn't be spoken if he were too busy using his mouth for other things.

Which was how he ended up on a rooftop at 2 AM, stretched over Damian's prone form, kissing him like he needed the contact to survive.

"This—mmf—isn't what I thought you meant when you said you wanted to try a new throw," Damian managed to say, before Tim shut him up by kissing him harder.

"Why aren't you touching me?" Tim demanded against his lips a second later.

"We're out in the open," Damian reminded him, a tiny smirk brightening what little of his face showed. “You’re distracting me from surveillance of a probable robbery.”

Tim pretended to consider that, then nipped at Damian's chin. "Doesn't matter. Just—touch me already. Just—just do something." Quick, before I say something I can't take back.

"Not so fast. We’ve still got the whole night ahead of us." The rapid rise and fall of Damian's chest belied his reproving tone. Tim made a disappointed noise, and Damian's smile became more pronounced. "You're so impatient."

“Maybe I’m on borrowed time,” Tim said without thinking about it, his constant worries shoving their way out of his mouth heedless as lemmings.

Damian tilted his head in inquiry. His body went hard with tension beneath Tim’s, muscles preparing to take on whatever threat Tim faced. “How so?”

Tim opened his mouth to reply, and the whole world went white. When his domino faded the flash to acceptable levels, he crouched, ready for action four feet away from his original position. Damian had leaped onto a nearby ledge and held a tonfa in each hand.

"Haha!" crowed the man who had joined them on the rooftop through his camera-shaped helmet. "What a picture-perfect moment! Shrike and Red Robin, caught in the act!"

Tim rolled his eyes so high he was sure he sprained a muscle. "Mr. Camera, what the hell are you doing here?"

"I can't allow you two to ruin the opening act of the thrilling sequel to my original heist film!" Mr. Camera straightened his bow tie with a jaunty flourish. "The audience deserves to delight in my costumed capers."

"The audience deserves to have their valuables undisturbed," Damian said, and pounced.

Tim leaned on his bo staff, watching the show, as Mr. Camera tried his best to fight back with his strobe flash and even tried a bit of hypnosis. Damian ignored all of it and took him out with an efficient series of hits to his knees, back, and head. Mr. Camera lay on the roof with his lens cracked within a couple of minutes.

"Anticlimactic," Tim commented, tossing over a zip tie.

"I won't complain, since it leaves me with more time for other things," Damian replied. Tim couldn't see his expression with his hood covering three-quarters of his face, but he was pretty sure he knew exactly what other things Damian had in mind.

days 123-126 here

[gorgdiary]

BLOG ENTRY #4

LIQUID EYESHADOW VS MATTE EYESHADOW

Hello, Gorg!

Are you a kind of person who finds it difficult to choose between Liquid Eyeshadow or Matte Eyeshadow? I’m here to assist you in making decision.

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Eyeshadow can empower girls by enhancing their natural features and allowing them to express their creativity through makeup. It provides a canvas for self-expression, enabling them to experiment with different colors, textures, and techniques to match their mood or occasion. Beyond aesthetics, applying eyeshadow can boost confidence, serving as a form of self-care and personal grooming. It also cultivates skills in makeup application and coordination, fostering a sense of mastery and artistry. Ultimately, eyeshadow serves as a tool for self-expression and empowerment, encouraging girls to embrace their individuality and feel confident in their appearance.

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NYX matte eyeshadows are highly recommended for their exceptional quality and versatility in makeup artistry. Known for their richly pigmented formula, they offer intense color payoff that allows for both subtle and dramatic eye looks. The velvety texture blends smoothly and evenly on the eyelids, providing a seamless application experience. NYX matte eyeshadows are renowned for their long-lasting wear, staying vibrant without creasing or fading throughout the day. Available in a wide array of shades, from essential neutrals to vibrant hues, NYX ensures there's a matte eyeshadow suitable for every skin tone and makeup style, making it a favorite among beauty enthusiasts.

[didanawisgi]

Abstract

Therapeutic applications of synthetic mRNA were proposed more than 30 years ago, and are currently the basis of one of the vaccine platforms used at a massive scale as part of the public health strategy to get COVID-19 under control. To date, there are no published studies on the biodistribution, cellular uptake, endosomal escape, translation rates, functional half-life and inactivation kinetics of synthetic mRNA, rates and duration of vaccine-induced antigen expression in different cell types. Furthermore, despite the assumption that there is no possibility of genomic integration of therapeutic synthetic mRNA, only one recent study has examined interactions between vaccine mRNA and the genome of transfected cells, and reported that an endogenous retrotransposon, LINE-1 is unsilenced following mRNA entry to the cell, leading to reverse transcription of full length vaccine mRNA sequences, and nuclear entry. This finding should be a major safety concern, given the possibility of synthetic mRNA-driven epigenetic and genomic modifications arising. We propose that in susceptible individuals, cytosolic clearance of nucleotide modified synthetic (nms-mRNAs) is impeded. Sustained presence of nms-mRNA in the cytoplasm deregulates and activates endogenous transposable elements (TEs), causing some of the mRNA copies to be reverse transcribed. The cytosolic accumulation of the nms-mRNA and the reverse transcribed cDNA molecules activates RNA and DNA sensory pathways. Their concurrent activation initiates a synchronized innate response against non-self nucleic acids, prompting type-I interferon and pro-inflammatory cytokine production which, if unregulated, leads to autoinflammatory and autoimmune conditions, while activated TEs increase the risk of insertional mutagenesis of the reverse transcribed molecules, which can disrupt coding regions, enhance the risk of mutations in tumour suppressor genes, and lead to sustained DNA damage. Susceptible individuals would then expectedly have an increased risk of DNA damage, chronic autoinflammation, autoimmunity and cancer. In light of the current mass administration of nms-mRNA vaccines, it is essential and urgent to fully understand the intracellular cascades initiated by cellular uptake of synthetic mRNA and the consequences of these molecular events.

[timeloooop]

this is a common theme found in a lot of lutece-fics but id love to see your take on the twins talking about and comparing the differences between their lives pre-particle and pre-columbia!! (you write them with such nuance and understanding and subtle eeriness it rlly hammers home the way they feel like . fae-like almost)

Last week, Robert existed.

This week, Robert still exists, but not in his world. Existence is less a question of evidence and more a non-compulsory attendance record. Robert remembers jumping through the tear: the unstable perimeter was a soft blue (blue, no doubt, because it is the smallest color; it spreads so easily and thinly, like butter) and buzzing from static electricity (a theory: two realties too similar will repel each other just as two negatively charged electrons do) that lifted the fine hairs exposed on Robert's neck and the backside of his hands. He also remembers seeing himself jump. He remembers first existing in this reality seven days ago, and he remembers existing in this reality thirty-one years ago, age four, ginger hair pooling past each shoulder (both longer than he ever remembers and as long as he remembers) and over a green striped shirtwaist with thin pleats (he both does and does not remember wearing as a child).

Robert's memories, it seems, are recessive. When entering another reality, the primary inhabiter's memories are dominant and chiefly expressed. All at once, upon entry, Robert inherited Rosalind's memories. A super majority of which are the same; most of his life is her life. Such unity provides stability. It is the smaller, intricate details that thin and scatter from him—like butter, like blue.

Immediately after Robert's arrival to Rosalind's reality, The Lutece Device short-circuited. Tears have been weaker and erratic, their strength and longevity far depleted.

In the shared Lutece laboratory, Rosalind slowly runs a rubber-gloved hand along a pair of thick fibre optic cables that are connected to the field conductor stationed in the middle of the room. Any fissures, no matter how minuscule, would be highly detrimental to the output levels. Luckily, they're easy enough to detect, if present at all: fissures in the cables, when touched, feel like tiny shocks beneath the skin even while wearing protective gloves.

Robert stands below the corresponding collider dome affixed to one of the two main metal pillars. His arm is raised above his head to reach the collider's conductive surface. In his hand, he holds a modified oscilloscope that translates the electricity levels emitting from the dome into decipherable green wave lines. He reaches for a dial just left of the collider to recalibrate the output, but it's absent. There is no dial. He rubs his hand around the flat slab of metal, groping for that which is not there. Blood trickles from his nose. The dial is on the right. He remembers the dial is on the right. A familiar yet foreign pulsating pain swells deep behind his eyes. Something clatters to the floor. He looks, Rosalind looks. The oscilloscope. The hand that was holding it is pinching the bridge of his nose.

Rosalind is near Robert in three quick strides. Her speed towards him physically imitates the sensation of falling backwards. Or, an alternative hypothesis: he is falling backwards. His head is light. Everything considerately and considerably softens in sound just as all noise feels shrill and distant. Splotches of black begin to enter his vision. He should sit down. Fortunately: his body may well already be rapidly approaching such a destination. Unfortunately: the impact will hurt. Fortunately/Unfortunately: he likely won't be conscious for it. Rosalind grabs the end of Robert's tie and pulls—hard—altering his fall trajectory to the opposing direction (i.e. towards her) and averting a collision with the metal pillar.

Twenty-two seconds later—Rosalind times it—Robert comes to. His lips feel wet. His chin, too. He's low. They're on the floor. He's cradled in Rosalind's arms.

«What did you think?» «Right.» «Right.» «Right is right.» «Yes...» «Left is left.» «And up is up and down is down. Now nothing is left: what did you think?» «Nothing is left.» «Yes.» «No.» He must think this correctly: «There is no dial on the left.» «I see.» Rosalind plucks a white handkerchief from a hidden pocket in the lining of her suit jacket and wipes the blood from Robert's face. That is a new habit of hers. She didn't have a handkerchief with her during his previous fit and had to leave his side to locate one. Robert finds this amendment equally touching and maddening. How often is she worrying about him? To divert her attention to him, with a mind like hers—like theirs—is like siphoning all the heat of the sun to hatch a single chick. He would like her to worry less. His eyes crinkle-twinkle:

«B positive.» «I’m trying.» «No, my blood is B positive, should the bleeding cease to stop and I require a transfusion.» Rosalind rolls her eyes. Robert smiles. «What de trop detail. You know we share the same blood type.» «Precisely so: we share everything. Including the same sense of humor.» Rosalind hides away a smile, poised and composed, in much the way a lady is meant to carefully fold and store her undergarments—as though the smile itself is, to her, far too defamatory or revealing. «Lean forward.» She hooks the side of her index finger beneath Robert's round chin and the pad of her thumb presses into the small dip of skin below his lower lip. The fit of her thumb in the delicate dip of his chin feels identical to her own chin. She finds this familiarity not likable or unlikable, simply likely (a cursory note: the skin of his face is smooth, as smooth as hers; might Robert's hormone levels prevent him from growing a beard? they've been together for a week and she's never seen him shave or any evidence of shaving (no hair trimmings clinging to the shallow basin of the bathroom sink, no razor resting alongside her perfectly parallel hair fasteners)). She tilts his head down.

«It is commendable your sense of humor still remains intact given your current state. But it is your other, more physical senses I worry for.» «I see, I hear. Yes, I smell blood. Yes, I taste it. An alarming state, but I propose the opposite would be far worse.» «Seeing and hearing blood?» «No, I mean, not smelling or tasting the traces of blood present on and in my person.» «Hm.»

Despite their similarities, there is still an entire lifetime of Robert's that Rosalind is not privy to. Not in the way he is to hers. For her, it's guesswork or interrogations. She's envious. She's curious. «Do we differ?» A perfect flash of overlap surfaces in Robert's mind. Of his world and of hers, different and alike; his nose does not bleed. «At university, they would not admit you due to your perceived gender. You told them there was a mistake in your application. You were, in fact, Robert Lutece, not Rosalind. For four years, you dressed like me.» She smiles. «I wore a lot of ill-fitting trousers.» «You had to be me. Let me be you for a time.»