#here she is released unto the world in her current form

[duckdotimg]

Be sure to call her if you're in need of a divorce, or if you need someone to be brought back to life, but it's gonna cost a few good quids!

[thetorreediary]

Heaux Tales | Jazmine Sullivan

Jazmine sat down with The Breakfast Club just a month before the EP came out. She disclosed that during her most recent hiatus, since her release of Reality Check in 2015, that her mom had been diagnosed with breast cancer so the majority of her time had been spent “loving on” her mom and her immediate family. She hasn’t been totally silent though. Back in 2017, Jazmine Sullivan released the song “Insecure” for the 2nd season of the hit HBO show of the same name. It features labelmate and R&B newcomer Bryson Tiller. The buzz that was created off the single alone brought on talk of a new album, yet another 4 years went by before we were blessed with Heaux Tales.

A hoe is a slang term for the word whore, which Merriam-Webster defines as “somewhat old-fashioned: a person who engages in sexual intercourse for pay”. The word has evolved so much overtime that now a “hoe” can be commonly known as someone who is promiscuous or simply doesn’t have the same outlook on life as you might. Jazmine uses French pluralization of -eaux to describe multiple women sharing their stories in Heaux Tales.

Bodies ( Intro) “bitch, get it together bitch”, a form of tough love or an affirmation if you look at it as such. Our main character in this album is obviously having a tough time, aided by her drinking and promiscuity. Jazmine describes her as lucky but pressing said luck by testing fate each day. At this point, she is getting so “sloppy” that she doesn't even know who she's sleeping with or where she is exactly. While this seemingly dangerous activity seems jarring it is actually the very reality of 20s and 30s somethings in our current society. I know all too well the ease of access the InterWebs provides to singletons looking for something/someone that's real. The harsh reality lies in the fact that these sites forget the obvious warning popup that reads “THEY JUST WANT TO SCREW!” But the introduction of Heaux Tales lays it right out for us. If you allow yourself to be an easy lick, the streets will treat you as such. Stay weary, careful and dangerous.

Pick Up Your Feelings Projection from the antagonist cheater in the very first line, “Said that I’ve been acting different, yeah”, Psychologist Sigmund Freud believed that “we make other people the carrier of our flaws by projecting these perceived emotional deficiencies onto them.” (Brown, 2019) Meaning, we as people tend to project our BS unto others and will sometimes blame others of doing the fucked up things we actually do to people. Here the protagonist is feeling the short end of the stick in their relationship and is expressing that to their mate by telling them to pick up their feelings and go. If only it was as simple as that. The pain in her voice causes some dissonance to that of the tone of the lyrics. The lyrics are harsh, tough while the tone of voice and rasp gives the impression that this isn't an easy decision but a necessary one.

Price Tags (feat Anderson .Paak) “That money keeps that pussy wet”

“Nothing in this world is free '' said every elder ever. I feel like they were secretly trying to morsecode their way into a conservation about sex. A reach maybe but hear me out. The tale that introduces Price Tags is Donna’s Tale; she explains how everything is transactional and how it manifests in marriages. According to Donna, the transactions in marriages will mimmick thoes of a prostitute and john. The wife knows her husbands weakness is sex therefore she can use her Yoni as a bargaining tool for things her husband can provide. This is also a common mindset amongst some people. Looking for men for the sole purpose of taking care of them. I have even fallen into this mindset from time to time based on what I consume media-wise and when I lose sight of my true purpose of working a 9-5. I've had to accept that an easy-going good-looking sugar daddy isn’t in the cards for everyone and that it's okay to acquire wealth and things by my own hands. But there is some truth and reason to Donna’s point. If you are lying with a man, giving him your most intimate and sacred of places, the LEAST he can do is spoil you and treat you as a woman should be treated.

The track features Anderson.Paak, one of the Midas’ of the music industry right now, he supplies Price Tags with a complimentary vibe to that of Jazmine’s. He starts his verse with “tricking off regardless spendin’ my hard-earned” which confirms that he’s very much aware of the exchanges being made whilst dating. But he does follow up with “I’d rather buy a purse then deal with the heartburn”, seemingly to me meaning he would rather fork up the dough and get her what she wants rather than not having anyone at all.

The Other Side Here we continue the theme of our previous song Price Tags, Jazmine considers the “other side” is life with a millionaire who buys her expensive things and takes care of her, she describes it as something she feels she deserves. And I feel her. As black women we are seen as bottom of the totem pole in the dating scene, workforce and American history for that matter. Is aspiring to be taken care of in all the best ways such a horrid thing to want after a lineage of suffering and struggle ? I think not. The lengths people go to for a certain lifestyle is unappealing to me. It seems like added stress to achieve some fallacy that's not 100% guaranteed. The somber energy of the song is some insight to our main character's luck with finding her loaded suitor. It forces us as the audience to consider if this reality she so desperately wants is even what will make her ultimately happy. The grass isn’t always greener on the other side. I was always told it is only greener where you water it.

On It (w| Ari Lennox) Sultry and raunchy at the same time, only a song written by two bodacious black women can give the duality they've displayed here. It is for sure on the sexier side of the EP. Switching it up in the dead center of the tracklist, On It, gives us the same appeal to that of the gives and throws of any situationship. Sex is sandwhiched between money woes and heartbreak. Ari and Jazmine’s voices are alluring to say the least. They have a way of making lyrics like “I’ll spit on it” and “lil bow-legged hood nigga with a nine inch” sound like a soft, warm blanket to the ears. I could stand an entire EP of these two singing the phone book.

All and all, this ode to the different facets and phases of Heauxdom, as told by many black women, is exquisite and has been celebrated by so many. So much so it has sparked an outpouring and overdue lovefest for Jazmine Sullivan. A flower-giving that has motivated a tour from this queen that is already sold out in most cities on its roster. 5+ years in between albums and Jazmine did not disappoint. She still exceeded expectations as she spinned the concept on our heads and made us appreciate ourselves and our sexy at the same time. Cheers to you !

|tiffanytorree|

Follow the author on all socials @tiffanytorree

[bookcoversalt]

Have you noticed the latest edition of Charlie Bowater can only draw one (1) face? She did The Princess Will Save You and Cast In Firelight both YA Fantasy set to be released this year. And they are how you say... the same fucking cover

Ah yes so you saw the same tweet I did

I know I literally just posted that we cannot outlaw book covers from looking like each other, but ! Oof!

The only thing that softens the blow here is that Charlie has improved at representing nonwhite features such that characters look like POC rather than tan white people, although,, that bar was low. Anybody remember the ACOTAR coloring book.

(Would you have guessed that 2/3 of these people are nonwhite? Or even that they’re supposed to be three different men? I guess all the men in Prythian have the same haircut?)

But that minor victory is mostly lost in the quagmires of the fact that Charlie’s style is to give everyone instagram face:

I wouldn’t even call this “Sameface” necessarily: that implies limitation, that an artist is only capable of drawing a single facial structure competently. Bowater is incredibly technically talented, she just chooses to give everyone catlike fae eyes and the cheekbones of a starving nymph. (My previous post on this here.)

But I don’t really blame her for that, or for these hilariously identical, nearly devoid of personality covers. Artists are allowed to do whatever they want. Artists who make art for covers are being art directed by designers and marketing teams who bear responsibility for how the finished pieces turn out.

No, this is our fault, as a community and an industry and..... society, kind of, for valuing character portraits that are “pretty” (“pretty” being an extremely loaded, culturally subjective concept) over art that actually Says Something About The Story. Bowater’s style happens to dovetail perfectly with what we currently collectively find pretty, and so we’ve put her art on a pedestal at the cost of everything else art can or should do for our stories.

And this is understandable: in contemporary western culture, pretty is a value unto itself. Seeing our characters portrayed as pretty denotes them as special, as smart, as powerful. It’s almost impossible to de-program ourselves from that reaction. There are approximately five kajillion studies on how beautiful people are at personal and professional advantages; how they’re perceived to be happier, healthier, more successful, and how those perceptions can translate into realities. (Nevermind how thinness and whiteness enter that equation, see above note about “pretty”.) I would love to see more “average” or weird- looking characters abound (and be accurately visually represented) in the YA/ Genre lit sphere, but for now... everyone is pretty.

Which sometimes means everyone is pretty boring.

But that’s just the specific, "What’s the deal with Bowater’s success in book circles and her style and all the sameiness” part of this equation. What if we backed up and asked: why character art at all? Beyond a question of “pretty”-ness (and general obvious Artistic Quality), why do we gravitate towards it, what's the purpose of it, how does it fall flat in a general sense, and how can it be utilized more effectively?

This is something I think about all the time. I follow writers on social media (because..... I am a writer on social media, regrettably), and we have an enormous collective boner for character art. “Getting fanart [of the characters]” is one of the achievement pinnacles constantly cited when people get or want to get published. Commissioning character art is something we reward ourselves with, or save up for (WHICH IS GOOD AND CORRECT. FREE ART IS GREAT BUT DO NOT SOLICIT IT. PAY YOUR ARTISTS). And like???? Same????? We love our stories because we’re invested in our characters. Most humans, even prose writers, are visual creatures to some extent, and no matter how happy we are with our text-based art, it’s exciting to see our creations exist in that form. So we turn that art into promo material and we advocate for it on our covers-- because it’s so meaningful to us! It goes with the story perfectly!! Look at my dumb beautiful children!!!!!

But on an emotional level, it’s hard to grasp that it only means something to us. Particularly when you take into account the aforementioned vast landscape of beautiful visual blandness of many characters (in the YA/ genre lit sphere, that’s pretty much all I’m ever talking about), character art can be like baby photos. If you know the baby, if that baby is your new niece or your friend’s kid, if you’ve held them and their parent texts you updates when they do cute shit, you’re probably excited to see that baby photo. But unless it’s exceptionally cute, a random stranger’s baby photo isn’t likely to invoke an emotional reaction other than “this is why I don’t get on facebook.”

Seeing art of characters they don’t know might intrigue a reader, but especially if the characters or art are unremarkable-looking, it’s doing a hell of a lot more for the people who already have an emotional attachment to that character than anybody else. And that’s fine. Art for a small, invested audience is incredibly rewarding. But like the parent who cannot see why you don’t think their baby is THE MOST BEAUTIFUL BABY IN THE WORLD???? I think we have trouble divesting our emotional reaction to character art from its actual marketing value, which.... is often pretty minimal. This is my hill to die on #143:

Character portraits, even beautiful ones, are meaningless as a marketing tool without additional context or imagery. 

I love character art! I’m not saying it should not exist or that it’s worthless! Even art that appeals to only the one single person who made it has value and the right to exist. And part of this conversation is how important for POC to see themselves on covers, whether illustrations or stock imagery, particularly in YA/kidlit. I’m not saying character portrait covers are “bad”. 

I am saying that I have seen dozens and dozens of sets of character art for characters who look interchangeable, and it has never driven me to preorder a book. (Also one character portrait for a high-profile 2019 debut that was clearly just a painting of Amanda Seyfriend. You know the one. There’s nothing wrong with faceclaims but lmfao, girl,,,,)

I’m sure that’s not true for everyone! I am incredibly picky about art. It’s my job. There’s nothing wrong with your card deck of cell-shaded boys of ambiguous age and ethnicity who all have the same button nose and smirk if it Sparks Joy for you.

But if your goal is not only to delight yourself, but to sell books, it’s in your best interest to remember that art, like writing, is a form of communication. The publishing industry runs on pitches: querys, blurbs, proposals, self-promo tweets. What if we applied that logic to our visuals? How can we utilize our character design and art to communicate as much about our stories as possible, in the most enticing way?

Social media has already driven the embrace of this concept in a very general sense. Authors are now supposed to have ~ aesthetics. “Picspams” or graphics, modular collages that function as mini moodboards, are commonplace. But the labor intensity and relative scarcity of character art visible in bookish circles, even on covers, means that application of marketing sensibility to it is less intuitive than throwing together a pinterest board.

Since we were talking about it earlier, WICKED SAINTS, as a case study of a recent “successful” fantasy YA debut, arguably owed a lot of its early social media momentum to fanart.

(Early fanart by @warickaart)

The most frequently drawn character, Malachiasz, has long hair, claws, and distinctive face tattoos. WS has a strong aesthetic in general, but those features clearly marked his fanart as him in a way even someone unfamiliar with the book could clearly track across different styles. Different interpretations of his tattoos from different artists even became a point of interest.

(Art by Jaria Rambaran, also super early days of WS Being A Thing)

Aside from distinctiveness, it's a clear visual representation of his history as a cult member, his monstrous powers, and the story’s dark, medieval tone. The above image is also a great example of character interaction, something missing from straightforward portraits, that communicates a dynamic. Character dynamics draw people into stories: enemies-to-lovers, friends-to-lovers, childhood rivals, platonic life partners, love triangles, devoted siblings, exes who still carry the flame-- there’s a reason we codify these into tropes, and integrate that language and shared knowledge into our marketing. For another example in that vein, I really love this art by @MabyMin, commissioned by Gina Chen:

The wrist grip! The fancy outfits! These are two nobles who hate each other and want to bone and I am sold. 

In terms of true portraits, the best recent example I can think of is the set @NicoleDeal did for Roshani Chokshi’s GILDED WOLVES (I believe as a preorder incentive of some kind?): 

They showcase settings, props, and poses that all communicate the characters’ interests, skills, and personality, as well as the glamorous, elaborate aesthetic of the overall story. Even elements in the gold borders change, alluding to other plot points and symbology.

For painterly accuracy in character portraits on covers, I love SPIN THE DAWN. The heroine looks like a beautiful badass, yes, but the thoughtful, detailed rendering of every element, soft textures, and dynamic, fluid composition form a really cohesive, stunning illustration that presents an intriguing collection of story elements.

The devil isn’t always in the details, though: stark, moody, highly stylized or graphic art with an emphasis on textural contrast and bold color and shape rather than representational accuracy can communicate a lot (emotionally and tonally) while pretty much foregoing realism.

The new Lunar Chronicles covers are actually the best examples I found of this (Trying to stay within the realm of existing bookish art rather than branch into All Art Of Human Figures Forever):

Taking cues from styles more typical of the comics and video game industries.  (Games and comics, as visual mediums, are sources of incredible character art and I highly recommend following artists in those industries if you want to See More Cool Art On Your Timeline.)

TL;DR: Character art and design, as a marketing tool (even an incidental one) should be as unique to your story and your characters as possible, and tell us about the story in ways that make us want to read it. I tried to give examples because there are so many ways to do this, and so many different kinds of art, and I could give many more! But I’m bored now. So to circle all the way back:

These are not just bad because they look like each other, although that is embarrassing and illuminating. These are bad covers (although,,,,, PRINCESS is the far worse offender, at least FIRELIGHT suggests a thoughtful cultural analogue) because a desire for Pretty Character Art overrode the basic cover function to tell us about the story. We get no sense of who these people are, what their relationships are, what these books are about beyond the most general genre, or why we might care. The expressions are vague, the characters generic-looking, the compositions uninteresting and the colors failing to be indicative of anything in particular. 

They’re somebody else’s baby pictures.

(And yes, that’s the CRUEL PRINCE font on PRINCESS. I better not have to do a roundup post but it’s on thin fucking ice.)

[lilylilym]

On Eren’s choices and Ymir’s curse

Ah, yes, I am back from Attack on Titan hell and I have thoughts. Major spoilers, do not read until you finished the manga.

This essay will be about Eren’s “choices” or the lack thereof when it comes to attacking/defining/reshaping/destroying humanity and how much of this could be read as Ymir’s curses.

First, let’s talk about what undergirds his course of action:

the injustice of historical trauma being justified for modern time apartheid:

Eren traveled long and far to realize how much the Eldian outside of Paradis was being discriminated against and held as noncitizens in multiple lands and nations, so much that they have to renounce their “belonging” to their identity and claim their personhood only “accidental” Eldian and not “truly” one like those from the Paradis island (as seen in

I take that the non-Paradis Eldian resemble the Jewish diaspora in the ways they are persecuted and subjects of ethnic cleansing, and a recent example would be Muslim people, in how they were put into camps all over the world, forced to live in ghettos, hated for the fear of their religion and their gods.

The hatred for Eldians supposedly started because Eldian leaders become power hungry and warmongers who colonized, massacred, and dominated Marleyans for 1,700 years. This is a debt that Eren, unlike Zeke, was NOT ready to pay, given that he is also only an Ymir subject in name like the vast majority of the Eldian population and was not in anyway responsible for the greeds of old, powerful royals. Unlike descendants of King Frizt, whose genealogy comes from passed down memories of literally cannibalism and war crimes for generations that destabilize all the inheritors in fear, shame, and disgust that they would not dare to do anything but die with the memory, Eren is a regular boy with so much indignation, feels so unjust for his loved ones and people who had to bear the cross they didn’t yield. As such, he refuses to see the current treatment of Eldians as just, and this marks the goal (not the solution) of his plan: to not let Paradis Eldians suffer any longer. So he does what he thinks he needs to do in order to advance that goal, all the while NOT KNOWING the outcome, only WISH for it.

Now this is not a metaphor for why Nazis or white settler colonialism and slave owners in North America shouldn’t pay reparations for what their government has done, because their descendants still uphold power over their historically subordinated subjects and perpetuate a system that does so. AND, the main character squads or people we think as ”good guys” here do defy the monarchy and old power toward new future for Eldians, so their refusal to align with old Eldians is nothing sort of revolutionary.

Now let’s talk about Ymir’s will and her curse.

Ymir’s will and the timeloop aka self-fulfilling prophecy and Watchmenian godly time:

If you watch HBO Watchmen (2019) you will know what I mean by godly time. Dr. Manhattan in the show experience all times and all dimensions AT ONCE, so thing happens simultaneously for him in all the worlds he occupies, and he is in every world talking to everyone. Also, he is a god, so he doesn’t follow human emotions, reasons, values, things are just actions set in motions toward outcomes. Nothing matters, because Gods as beings are not a set of ideologies, but circumstances that are willed by people. And humans are trully uncontrollable, ungovernable, down to the last one of them and their human interests.

What does it mean to say that Eren bears the will of god and Ymir?

So Eren went ahead and woke up the Wall Titans to have them rumble the earth. Did he do that because he wants to kill people? He doesn’t will it, but accepts that as a side effect. Did he want to scare other nations? He knows that if he sets this in motion, uncontrollable things would happen, disregards of what he wants or plans. It’s not like he can just reroute the Titans then park them back up in the wall, because there’s no going back, even if time is looping, the future is always in the process of being written. Inevitable, he said, was the course of action that he took and yet he goes through with it because he doesn’t believe in the inevitability of human bowing down to fate. Zeke’s plan was to make all Ymir subject sterile just so they couldn’t reproduce-and Eren thought of Historia and her bloodline that had already defied their fate (of becoming host for the founding Titan thus ends the family affair of eating their family members), and he thought of his parents, and all the comrades whose bloodline ends with them in their quest to freedom. Zeke’s self-imposed role of god of nothing does not interests Eren. He wanted more. And he saw the difficulty of achieving freedom in the last couple years he had when the deep rooted racism against Eldians by the Marleyans were also equipped by state militarism and the overall brainwashing machine in all aspects of life that literally turned children into loyal warriors who want to die violent death and adults who pushed their children there so they can live a sorry ass life. He saw the problem in all, and had no solutions, no moral judgements, only power to rupture this world anew.

At one point, it is the godly power of Ymir that affects Eren, her will that determines what Eren can do based on the memories he could see through her, and she CHOSE destruction. A lot of folks I saw was bewildered by the biggest revealing that Ymir was just an enslaved girl with her tongue cut off and think all was caused by her blind loyalty to her abuser. They also read the Ymir’s curse (die after 13 years) as nonexistent because she’s not a goddess who struck a deal with the earth devil but the first human to be blessed by the gift of life, to regenerate and to change life forms. This is where my reading, I think, will differ from a lot of people.

I dont think Ymir loves the king. I think Ymir’s curse exists. I think she cursed the Eldian king with the thing she knows will destroy all the future generations to come: a monstrous power, a literal man-eating power that will only be used for destruction that so long as anyone has it they become the enemy of humanity. Ymir did not know peace in her entire life, not a single person was nice to her even the slaves, every single one sought out to live a sorry ass life and sacrificed children to avoid violence unleashed onto them. You see that times and times again, from the original story of Ymir being singled out by grown men and women as releasing the pigs, to the men hunting her for sport, to the king using her bodies to the last bone, committing unforgivable violence forcing his daughters to consume her raw flesh, and they grew up to become adults who would make their children eat their raw flesh to generate power. You see that in the story of Eren, Mikasa, and Armin, who became orphaned child soldiers and adults who have seen death around them keep pushing them to be solutions for an ancient crisis even they know nothing about. You see that in the Marleyan Eldians who wish their kids would become warriors so they can become some model minorities and leaving the interment camps. Over, and over again, the cycle of violence is willed and carried out by people, no matter the shapes and forms. Of course, this is a nihilistic view that does not take into account critical perspectives that could work out, realistically, what types of oppressions and injustice that each group deals with (i imagine in real life there would be groups of critical Marleyans who resists their government and other types of social movements in order to end apartheid against the Eldian diaspora, and that Marleyan as a military state does have to rule their subjects with democratic laws and whatnot, but vengeance cannot be a guiding principle for modern society), but to engage in the right and wrong discourse is to literally disregard the entire theme of Attack on Titan.

So for 2000 years Ymir, in the form of an unloved child, consumed by greed and apathy, set into motion that the fate of the Eldian tribe will grow so big, so expansive, so powerful that their enemies will rise somewhere along history. And they will never know peace. Not until she meets another person who rages on her behalf, who understands the pain shes going through, to come and beg her to let go. When Eren comes to tell her she is free, it is not from the bondage of a ruler, a master, but from her bind to what he had done unto her, thats when she can rest. Let me make it clear, Ymir is not a slave to Frizt and the royal family, she is a slave to more than 2000 years of unforgivable injustice and silent scream, when all the people who have been trampled on bear the bloodline that was forcibly taken from her only ask her to help them, and not a single person speaks the truth on her behalf. She rages, and rages, and rages, and the humans created out of her legacy against her will, suffer. And she, the good child that wants freedom for the pigs, at one point believes that for her rage and curse she can no longer be loved. Not until she sees another girl coming to kill the monster who had carried out her will, with love. Eren can be loved, privately, quietly, for all the monstrosity he had unleashed onto humanity. And so can Ymir, be free, be loved, be at peace after all of eternity. She can leave this realm.

I wish Ymir’s perspective could have been shown more through the manga, but I don’t think it is not there. It is also a meta thing for AoT to let readers come up with their own reading of “freedom” and “justice” and ways to repair ancient hate. The events in the book, in a large scale, are not justifications for the actions taken, but rather a set of events that are connected, willed, and carried out against thousands of other possibilities, to the point of inevitable. Choices are always taken with or without true understanding of the context that would define such choices as right or wrong. And if you dig a little deeper, all the contexts that have the power to define decisions as right or wrong end up being created out of ambivalent decisions, as well. So much that the only thing you learn out of this story is this simple truth: attack on titan is the attack on humanity.

[kuiperblog]

DRPGs: function over form

I have an odd affection for DRPGs, or “Dungeon-crawling Role-Playing Games,” which are sometimes referred to as “Wizardly clones” in the same way that early FPS games were called “Doom Clones.”

Legend of Grimrock is an indie game that I’ve found is closest to actually emulating the feel of the original Wizardry games from an aesthetic perspective while updating them for modern graphics; most of the examples from recent history are Japanese and feature anime-style character designs, with Etrian Odyssey being perhaps the best-known (and best-selling).

I describe my affection for DRPGs as “odd,” because few other games have the ability to thoroughly captivate me for the time I’m playing, only for me to completely forget everything about them when I’m done playing them.

For example, I recently noticed that Demon Gaze 2 was on sale for 75% off in the Playstation store. I’m keen to try it out, since I enjoyed the first Demon Gaze game so much that I took the time to 100% (I earned the “platinum trophy” so that anyone on my Playstation Network friends list can see the evidence of my achievement). This is a task that reportedly takes around 50 hours. I say “reportedly” because it’s based on other people’s reports of how long it took for them to “platinum” the game; I can’t really recall from memory how much time I spent playing that game, or really anything else about it for that matter.

I cannot express how weird it is for me to not have a memory of have any specific memories of playing a video game, especially one that I spent that amount of time playing. I can still vividly remember a specific game of Dota 2 that I played over half a decade ago. I could talk for paragraphs about an indie puzzle game that I played for 2 hours in 2012. You could ask me to talk about any of the N64 games I played as a middle schooler and I could probably recall many specific memories from the time I spent with those games.

And yet, when it comes to Demon Gaze, I remember nothing. Not the characters, not the plot, not any of the specific milieus or setpieces. And, truthfully, it’s probably because caring about any of these things is never really something that the game asked of me in the first place. I earnestly tried to remember anything I could about Demon Gaze, and here is a full, comprehensive list of what I came up with:

There’s an NPC whose character trait is that she’s always sleepy. I think she lived in the basement of...something. I think your “home base” was an inn, and she lived in the inn’s basement, and you would sometimes have to talk to her to do certain things or something.

One of the levels had plants and was mostly green. Maybe multiple levels, actually. I want to assume this meant there was a hedge maze, but I’m not actually remembering a hedge maze; I’m just assuming that a dungeon-crawling game plus a green area must mean there was a hedge maze.

One of the levels involved climbing a tall tower, or maybe descending into a deep pit. There was definitely verticality involved, and the map was cylindrical.

I think the main character used swords. But maybe they didn’t. I’m pretty sure that you could dual-wield at a certain point in the game. (I think part of what made the main character so strong was the fact that they could equip an artifact that let them dual-wield?)

That is truthfully and honestly the full extent of what I remembered about the game before I started writing this post and digging up screenshots which reminded me of the main character’s heterochromia. When grabbing screenshots for this post, I found one that showed a character’s class as being “Paladin,” and my reaction was not, “Oh yeah, Paladin was totally a character class in this game,” but “Oh yeah, Paladin totally sounds like a character class that could plausibly be in this game.”

Normally, I’d have memories of specific boss battles, or setpieces, or characters, or story moments. But in place of those, I have memories of looking at Google Sheets that people had made to list all of the items that dropped from certain areas, and ranked them to let you know which items were the best. I could more vividly tell you the decor of the room I was in when I unlocked the platinum trophy than the final boss I beat (or item I obtained) to unlock it. (Being a game for a portable system like the Vita, I actually have memories of many locations and “setpieces” associated with that game; just not locations in the game.)

DRPGs are, maybe more than any genre, a game that is experienced through a layer of abstraction, and I think this is best illustrated by the Etrian Odyssey, which lives in the DS family of systems, which are notable for having two screens (as is suggested by the name “Dual Screen”). Here’s a screenshot that shows what the game displays on both screens when you’re dungeon crawling:

On the top screen, you see the environment you’re exploring in all its 3D-rendered detail. On the bottom screen, you have a map of the area you’re navigating, with the arrow in the middle indicating your current position and orientation. And for the vast, vast majority of dungeon crawling, my attention is focused solely on the bottom screen.

This is, I gather, how most people play DRPGs. Etrian Odyssey puts even more of the focus on the bottom screen by forcing you to draw the map as you walk (hence the bevy of icons and paintbrushes it offers you when filling in the grid). If you try to play by looking at the environment, you’ll quickly realize how much of the area is just copy-pasted assets that are difficult to navigate by. The map isn’t just a “guide;” the game feels less like a first-person dungeon crawler and more like game with a top-down POV where your avatar is represented by that arrow on the map. If you watch gameplay videos and only pay attention to the top screen, you’ll be blown away by how fast it seems like people are moving, but it makes a lot more sense when you realize that people are only paying attention to the map: people will see, “okay, I want to walk north 5 tiles, turn 90 degrees left, then walk west 2 tiles,” and then just input that series of actions faster than the walking animation can actually play out on screen.

I’m half convinced that the reason Etrian Odyssey took off more than any other DRPG is that, due to being on the DS, it has an entire screen dedicated to the map, whereas in a game like Demon Gaze, your screen is mostly taken up with what amounts to decorative filler while the part of your brain that’s focused on gameplay has to focus on a mini-map in the corner of the screen:

So, perhaps you can understand how it is that I played this game for 50 hours, yet have no recollection of the scene/location depicted in this screenshot. It’s because close to 100% of my focus was on the mini-map. I experienced most of this game as an abstraction.

There’s a real sense in which DRPG players (I’m talking about myself here) want everything in the game to be an abstraction. The ideal length for a combat animation is “as long as it takes for me to read how much damage the attack did, so please just advance the battle as fast as I’m pressing the X button.”

Video games are inherently abstractions of real things, like the way that adding the pyramids to my build queue in Civilization V is an abstraction of what it’s actually like to build the pyramids in ancient Egypt, or left clicking in Counter-Strike is an abstraction of what it’s like to fire a gun, but they usually try to call back to the things that they’re abstractions of. Civilization gives you an inspiring quote from some historian describing the pyramids, and Counter-Strike tries to have animations and sounds that somewhat reflect the behavior of real guns. But in DRPGs, I don’t want the combat to be the simulation of my character swinging a sword on an enemy. All I care about is watching the numbers flash on screen, and the reward isn’t “you’ve triumphed over this vile forest-dwelling enemy,” it’s “the number on your exp meter went up.”

While games like World of Warcraft eventually become like this for a lot of people (a game with a hundred buttons that is all about managing cooldowns), you at least start from a place of walking your avatar around the world and performing actions that make your wizard look as though you’re casting a spell.  But most DRPGs start from the position of “all you care about is the numbers, right?” The game is an abstraction unto itself.  It is a game that is made for people who like looking at spreadsheets (and I most definitely spent a decent chunk of time looking at spreadsheets).

Maybe that’s why they can get away with having character designs often clash with the art style of the environment and enemies, and sometimes with the art style of other party members. Several of the character portraits in the above screenshot seem like they were drawn by different people, and there are some moments that, when you look at them in a screenshot gallery, make you think that the characters just don’t belong in the world they’re inhabiting. And while the game is sometimes visually non-cohesive in a way that becomes really obvious if you pay attention, the truth is that when you’re actually playing the game, you’re not really paying attention to all that.

For another example of this, I like to turn to Stranger of Sword City, which has a really cool aesthetic that hits you from the moment you pick up the box (or look at the title screen):

The original release of the game, on Xbox 360, was remarkably consistent with this specific style. But the Playstation Vita version of the game (which was later ported to PC)  gives you an updated character creator and your options include, well, a variety of options drawn in a variety of different styles.

I just looked at the screenshots on the Steam store page for the Stranger of Sword City and, well:

Yes, that is a Prinny in the bottom left corner. Yes, Nippon Ichi did publish this game, why do you ask?

I think one of the reasons I don’t tremendously mind the aesthetic choice (or is it a lack of choice?) in a lot of DRPGs like this to randomly have anime-style characters (even when they might be dissonant with the rest of what’s on screen) that I don’t necessarily need my paladin’s look to really communicate that they’re a holy warrior or whatever; I really just want them to be eye candy that I can appreciate in the moments when I’m distracted from the numbers. But in the end, it doesn’t actually matter that much, because, well...

DRPGs feel like they are all about function over form. (The “looking at the mini-map and not the 3D environment” is a microcosm of a playstyle that’s encouraged by a design philosophy that seems to apply to nearly everything in a “good” DRPG.) This puts them in stark contrast to, say, Persona, which involves a ton of dungeon crawling, but relies heavily on the style (which includes the battle music, the stylish combat animations, and the quips that your characters make in battle) to make that part of the game interesting.

When you down all of the enemies in Persona, part of the “reward” for that comes from getting to deal a bunch of damage to all of the enemies, but a huge part of the reward also comes from the feeling of visceral pleasure that comes in the moment when Akihiko senpai says “I’ve been waiting for this!” and you smile and agree and say, “Me too, Aki. Now give me that shot that’s so iconic it became a meme template.”

I probably would not have made it through dozens of hours of crawling through Tartarus in Persona 3 if Mass Destruction weren’t such a banger of a battle theme. But I spent just as much (if not more) time dungeon crawling in Demon Gaze despite not having Lotus Juice’s rap verses soothing my ears during those battles, which I guess maybe stands as a testament to how good Demon Gaze was at making the game fun?

Ultimately, the abstraction that every RPG leveling system gets toward is “your character gets stronger.” Maybe DRPGs are better than any other genre at removing any abstractions that would serve as a barrier between you and that goal.  And the best DRPGs also give you formidable challenges that give you ample reason to want to become stronger: games like Etrian Odyssey are notorious for their difficulty. I feel the difficulty is a bit overhyped; much like my feelings on Dark Souls, Etrian Odyssey only really feels “hard” when compared with other games where the player is never put plausibly close to a failure state whereas Dark Souls and EO actually punish the player for making mistakes, and EO also has the “X-factor” of having enough variance (due to things like random crits) that you actually do want to give yourself a decent margin for error. Which is to say, EO is one of the RPGs where you actually care a lot about having a team that’s strong enough to kill a boss in 8 turns instead of 10 turns, since that’s 20% fewer chances for an unfortunate event to send you back to home base. Powering up your team in EO feels important and significant way more than it does in a lot of other JRPGs.

There is a very real sense in which the entire point of the obligatory spreadsheet companion is to aid you in your quest to become the strongest you can be by breaking the game somehow. The thing I do remember about Demon Gaze (not concretely, but in the abstract) was that there were some item/class combinations that were wildly better than the alternatives. Some might deride this as poor balance, but in my eyes, “breaking” a game in that way is really more akin to “solving” it, in the same way that one might “solve” a puzzle. I did it: I found right combination of skills and items to trivialize the game’s difficulty! Huzzah! In a “well-balanced” game where all items and classes were all carefully tuned to be equally viable, such a thing would not be possible. Thus, what others might consider “poor balance” in some DRPGs is actually an essential and core part of what compels me to spend time with those games.

I feel like these factors and more make DRPGs somewhat unique in a way that probably contributes to them reviewing poorly. For example, if you look among discussions on DRPG forums about recommended games, there seems to be universal consensus that Stranger of Sword City is a great game (with many praising it as the best DRPG they’ve ever played), but on OpenCritic, only 45% of critics recommend it, and I think all of this is perfectly encapsulated by a 6/10 review from TheSixthAxis:

Stranger of Sword City excels at one thing, and really flounders at the others. It’s a rewarding experience if you’re a fan of challenging RPGs and gameplay depth. If you’re a fan of well-written dialogue, engaging music or proper difficulty curves though…well….there are a lot of other video games out there that may suit you better.

And that’s the kind of thing that makes me want to locate a guide, crack open a spreadsheet, and start a new save file.

Anyway, the Stranger of Sword City is on sale for 80% on Steam right now. That’s $4, for a game that I paid $40 for when it first came out on Vita! I’m tempted to buy it again, just for the convenience of being able to play it on my monitor without having to dig around to locate my old Vita TV.

[dailydoseofserotonin]

A New Day, A New Dawn, A New Life

Words: 1,806

Beta: @bambii-brambles

Notes: Alternate Universe. Not really any ships, but some are implied, No Quirks but some people do have abilities

Warnings: Nothing besides Bakugo's language

"Report to your stations immediately. This is not a drill. We are under attack. We are under attack!"

The sound of gunfire and explosions ring out loudly as two boys join hands. Just outside, heroes known as the World's Avengers, are in the process of infiltrating a LOV base in Sokovia. 

Making her way towards the base, Creati crashes against a forcefield, the impact taking her completely by surprised. "Shit!"

"Language!" Reprimands another voice, Lemillion, as he takes down armed men. "Hatsume, what's the view from upstairs?"

"The central building is protected by some kind of energy shield. Imasuji's technology is well beyond any other LOV base we've taken" 

Landing between several men, a blonde man swings his hammer taking out several of them. This is ChargeBolt. "Sero's scepter must be here. Imasuji couldn't mount this defense without it. At long last"

Several feet away another blonde takes out more men. This one is known as DynaMight. Locking his legs around one of the soldiers, he shifts his weight and swings the man off his feet, effectively knocking him unconscious. "At long last” is lasting a little long, idiots"

Taking cover behind a tree, a duo colored hair man fires multiple arrows. "Yeah. I think we lost the element of surprise"

"Wait a second. No one else is going to deal with the fact that Mirio just said "language?"

 "I know" He sighs as he throws his bike at some soldiers driving up in their truck. "It just slipped out"

Inside the base, Imasuji made his way down towards the science lab. "Who gave the order to attack?"

Following behind him, one of his men answers. "Goto Imasuji, it's the Avengers."

"They landed in the far woods, the perimeter guard panicked."

Cursing under his breath, he turned to the scientist, Kyudai Garaki. "They have to be after the scepter." He then turns back to address one of his men. "Can we hold them?"

"They’re the Avengers!"

Clicking his tongue, he turns away. "Deploy the rest of the tanks."

"Yes, sir."

"Concentrate fire on the weak ones. A hit can make them close ranks." He ordered. As soon as they filed out, he turns his attention back on the scientist. "Everything we've accomplished... But we're on the verge of our greatest breakthrough."

"Then let's show them what we've accomplished. Send out the twins." He says.  There's a certain mad gleam in his eyes. 

"It's too soon."

"It's what they signed up for."

Shaking his head, Imasuji turns away. "My men can hold them." With that said, he makes his way towards the door. Taking the stairs he makes his way to where he knows his men are gathered. Entering the room, he takes a quick survey of the room's occupants, spying the aforementioned twins in the corner. 

Once he's in the middle of the room and has their attention, he clears his throat. "We will not yield. They sent their circus freaks to test us. We will send them back in bags. No surrender!"

"No surrender!" They echo. 

Quietly, so as to not draw any attention to himself, he turns to Garaki behind and whispers. "I am going to surrender. You will delete everything. If we give the heroes the weapons, they may not look too far into what we've been--"

"The twins." Garaki interrupts. 

"They are not ready to take on--"

"No, no. I mean... " He points to where said twins were standing, but are now gone. "Twins."

Back outside, Shoto continues to take out armed men. Just as he goes to fire another shot, lined perfectly at the enemy's bunker, his arrow is snatched right out of the air the minute he releases it. "What the.. " Frowning, he repeats the motion and fires another shot only for the same thing to happen again, however this time a teenage boy saunters onto the field, his arrow in hand. He then winks and before he knows it he's knocked on his back, the wind successfully knocked out of him. 

Smirking, the boy looks down at him as he goes by. "You didn't see that coming?" He taunts and then speeds off once more as Shoto quickly rights himself to fire another shot at him. 

Rocked from the hit and the boy's sudden emergence, he doesn't see the enemy fire coming until it's too late. 

"Peppermint!" Off to the side, Bakugo quickly runs over as his friend goes down. 

Not too far from them, Mirio also gets knocked flat by the same speedster. "We have an enhanced in the field." He relays to the others, a bit dazed. 

"Shoto's hit!" Bakugo yells, dragging him away from the bunker firing at them. "Somebody want to deal with that damn bunker?" Immediately after he voices this, a hulking mass of muscles barrels into said bunker, taking it out. "Fucking thanks"

As Mirio exchanges blows with the soldiers, he glances in the general direction to where he knows Creati is. "Momo, we really need to get inside."

"I'm closing in." She says, engaged with the enemy. "Hatsume, am I...closing in? Do you see a power source for that shield?"

"There's a particle wave below the north tower." 

"Great, I wanna poke it with something." As he says this he fires at the forcefield, successfully bringing it down. "Drawbridge is down, people."

"The enhanced?" Kaminari questions as he lands besides Mirio, his landing creating a small seismic event that knocks nearby soldiers off their feet. 

"He's a blur. All the new player's we've faced, I've never seen this. In fact, I still haven't."

"Shoto's hit pretty bad. Fuck, we're gonna need evac." Bakugo relays over the comms.

"I can get Todoroki to the jet. The sooner we're gone the better. You and Momo secure the scepter." Says Kaminari. 

As they converse, reinforcements make their way closer towards them. 

"Copy that"

Gesturing towards the incoming soldiers, he cocks his head. "It looks like they're lining up."

Shrugging his shoulders, he glances their way. "Well, they're excited." 

Twirling his hammer around, Kaminari jumps into the air then slams it down on Mirio's shield with his hammer. The resulting wave from the joint attack knocks the soldiers off their feet and destroys in the incoming tank. 

Twirling his hammer once more, he addresses Mirio. "Find the scepter." He says as he flies off. 

"And for gosh sake, watch your language!"

Sighing, he looks to his feet. "That's not going away anytime soon."

Entering the LOV base, Momo makes her way through as soldiers immediately begin firing at her. "Please, stop, we can talk this through. As she says this, she knocks them out with explosives from her suit. "It was a good talk."

One of the men groans. "No it wasn't"

Typing away at his computer is Garaki. Clearly he's attempting to clean everything from the system before the heroes get to it, but he's intercepted by Momo who shoots him down. 

Stepping out of her suit, she walks over to the computer the man was working at. "Sentry mode" She orders as she looks over the files on screen. "Okay, Hatsume. You know I want it all. Make sure you copy it to Ashido at HQ."

"We're locked down out here." Bakugo says, as he surveys their surroundings.

"Then get to Kirishima, time for a lullaby." Mirio answers. 

Back inside the base, Momo continues looking around the room. "I know you're hiding more than files. Hey, H, give me an IR scan of the room, real quick."

"The wall to your left...I'm reading steel reinforcement... and an air current."

She makes her way over towards the wall, mumbling to herself as she goes. "Please be a secret door, please be a secret door, please be a secret door…" She pushes and the wall opens up. "Yay!" 

Back outside, Bakugo makes his way towards Red Riot. "Hey, shitty hair. The sun's getting real fucking low." 

He scowls at him as Bakugo kneels in front of him and puts out his hand. He regards his hand warily, before reaching out to touch it.  Bakugo then begins to stroke his palm slowly, smirking a bit as he calms down. 

Pulling his hand away, he stumbles as he begins to shift back into Kirishima. Still smirking, Bakugo watches as he stumbles away. 

Inside the base, Mirio encounters Imasuji. "Imasuji Goto. LOV's number one thug."

"Technically, I'm a thug for HPSC" He answers back with a smirk.

"Well then technically you're unemployed. Where's Sero's scepter?"

"Don't worry, I know when I'm beat. You'll mention how I cooperated, I hope." As he speaks, his eyes leaves Mirio's form for a second to something behind him before locking back unto him. 

"I'll put it right under illegal human experimentation" He says, unaware of the approaching figure behind him. "How many are there?" He's then blasted into the wall. Scrambling to his feet, his eyes lock unto the boy's own as he quickly leaves, sealing the door shut behind him. "We have a second enhanced. Male. Do not engage."

"You'll have to be faster than--" He's cut off as he's knocked out by Mirio's shield. 

"And I got Imasuji."

"Yeah, I got... something bigger." Inside the hidden room, she's found a variety of technology, as well as recovered artifacts from the Battle of New York, including a gigantic Nomu leviathan and some of it's scrapped armor. She then spots the scepter. "Kaminari, I got eyes on the prize."

The same figure who attacked Mirio from before creeps up behind Momo. As soon as he gets close to her, he raises his hand to her head and curls his fingers, releasing a sort of energy that creeps into Momo's mind, turning her irises red briefly. Quickly he steps away. 

Blinking rapidly, Momo shakes her head as if to clear her mind. When she glances up once more, the corpse suddenly comes to life and lunges at her. Flinching, she squeezes her eyes shut in reflex. After a few seconds, she opens them again to find her friends laid out before her, dead. Walking closer towards their corpse, she kneels beside Mirio, horror frozen upon his dead face. Suddenly, as if out of a horror film, he grabs her wrist and they lock gazes. "You… could've.. saved us.." Turning away from his body, she looks up to see Nomu's invading Earth, but it all melts away as she's snapped back into reality. 

Unbeknownst to her, off to the side are the twins, who watch as she calls her armor towards her to surround her fist. 

Stepping forward to stop her, the taller of the two is stopped as his brother raises his hand against his chest. "We're just gonna let them take it?" He questions, frustrated. 

Not answering, the brother simply smiles to himself as Momo takes the scepter. 

To be continued…

[soveryanon]

Reviewing time for MAG168!

- Yay for Oliver! From the announced title I had suspected The End and/or him because of his veins/roots/tendrils/not-tentacles, so that one wasn’t misleading!

Most of the episode was an audio pun on “Roots”/“Routes”: both the veins, and the reference to a Corpse Road. I’m… not sure about the double-meaning, though (since usually, titles refer both the core of the “statement” and something happening in the metaplot) – obviously, the “roots” were The End’s, they were almost a character by themselves (we could hear them creaking in the background alongside the whispers, a reminder that… they could grow. They could invade other domains when they would need); and the system presented by Oliver could (as he explained) come out of his domain to invade others’ in the search for more victims, which is how this universe could potentially end… but is there an additional meaning that could apply in Jon&Martin’s discussion, or in Jon’s decision to not go after Oliver?

(Regarding Martin: jealousy associated to “roots” makes me think of Corruption, though I don’t subscribe to the idea that Martin is being supernaturally OOC right now (I see how he could potentially be led towards bad choices, but I don’t feel like he’s under an influence right now outside of his own feelings). But I wonder if one of the meanings of “roots” will make sense in retrospect…)

- I was a bit sad to not hear Oliver himself but:

* Jonny, once again, did an amazing job at nailing the intonations and inflections of Oliver’s VA for the character; so, yes, it wasn’t directly Oliver, but we could hear when it was him directly addressing Jon, when it was the “statement” form, and when it was back to Jon.

(* Though I have a tiny sliver of doubt regarding the final “Report ends” afterwards: was it Oliver’s, making fun of Jon’s “statement ends” in the same way that Simon did after he got compelled to blurt out his life story after Martin prompted him? Interestingly, Oliver hadn’t joked about the “statement ends” in MAG121, though he already knew a lot about Jon and his dreams back then, and made it obvious in MAG168 that he knew more than us about Jon’s current state and how he functions (calling him The Eye’s “archive”, and pointing out that Jon can “only take”, which… yeah, feel like that will be relevant later). Or was it Jon saying the “Report ends.” to gain back a semblance of normalcy and making light fun of Oliver’s way of organising his “report” and/or trying to distance himself from what Oliver was saying, reminding himself that it was a subjective statement and that whatever Oliver says is to take with caution since he’s above all an agent of his own patron, however convinced and convincing he may sound? I feel like it was Jon saying that “Report ends.”, given how his voice sobered up, but both could make sense in their own ways…)

* Funnily, it makes sense for Oliver to give his “statement” in this fashion! Because, so far, he had never directly communicated with an Archivist in a situation that would allow reciprocity: he gave his statement to the Institute, while watching Gertrude in the next room (MAG011); he gave his statement to Jon while Jon was in a coma, so unable to answer him (MAG121); and now, he gave his “report” about his domain through Jon, addressing it both to The Eye and to Jon (… but is there a difference at this point?). In all cases, he was unreachable. So now, it feels even more significant that the only person he has ever interacted with on tape was End-touched Georgie, and that she managed to exchange words with him…

- Given how Oliver gave this “report” to Jon, that the “I” was clearly Oliver… What does it say about the narrator of previous statements? Were the “I”s in those the domains or the Fears themselves, talking through Jon?

… If that’s the case, what is exactly happening with the tape recorders, who are gorging themselves with these new forms of statements and apparently freeing Jon from the weight of them…?

(And who was the narrator in MAG167 then? The Eye itself?)

- Laughing so hard because Oliver’s background (MAG011: “I’ve lived in London for almost a decade now. I came here to do my undergraduate degree at the London School of Economics. I ended up taking a position with Barclays shortly after graduating and did well enough there.”) showed so much in the way he organised his ~report~ (not a “statement”, not a “terror”, but a “report”, Oliver wanted to be SPECIAL, uh…):

(MAG168) ARCHIVIST: “Report to prevent future deaths. This report is being sent to: [STATIC FADES] The Great Eye, that watches all who linger in terror, and gorges itself on the sufferings of those under its unrelenting, stuporous gaze! And its Archive, which draws knowledge of this suffering unto itself. 1 – Coroner I am Oliver Banks, sometimes known as Antonio Blake, or doctor Thomas Pridchard. I serve The Coming End That Waits For All And Will Not Be Ignored. 2 – Coroner’s legal powers […] 3 – Investigation and inquest […] 4 – Circumstances of the death […] 5 – Coroner’s concerns […] The matters of concern are as follows. a) […] b) […] c) […] d) […] 6 – Actions that should be taken […] 7 – Your response”

Organised, classified, taking an example to illustrate… and even: doing something else than the subject of his report. It wasn’t a report “to prevent future deaths”. It was a report “about” future deaths and how they couldn’t be prevented. Oliver, please.

- Handsome Man Of Many Aliases:

(MAG011, “Antonio Blake”) “First off, I should admit that I lied to get in here.” […] ARCHIVIST: I had Tim look into it, as I don’t entirely trust the others not to have written it as a practical joke and slipped it into the archives. Unsurprisingly, he came up with nothing. Antonio Blake is a fake name and all of the contact details he provided were similarly fraudulent. It’s almost certainly a joke, a bit of hazing for the new boss, maybe? Best not to engage with it, I think.

(MAG121) OLIVER: So… My name is Oliver Banks. In my other statements, I used the name “Antonio Blake”, but I don’t really think either name has much meaning for me anymore. […] I’m Antonio. GEORGIE: Sure.

(MAG168) ARCHIVIST: “1 – Coroner. I am Oliver Banks, sometimes known as Antonio Blake, or doctor Thomas Pridchard. I serve The Coming End That Waits For All And Will Not Be Ignored.”

… jumped on the Apocalypse occasion to get himself a fancy title, “Coroner”. With the interesting point that a coroner goes back through time to investigate someone’s death, backwards, while Oliver reads the death forwards, as in how it will happen.

- I find the way Oliver referred to Jon really interesting:

(MAG121) OLIVER: Hum… Hello, Jon. Do you… m–mind if I call you Jon? I… I mean. You don’t actually know me, it’s just… well. “Archivist”, it’s so… formal, isn’t it? And I do kind of know you…?

(MAG168) ARCHIVIST: “This report is being sent to: [STATIC FADES] The Great Eye, that watches all who linger in terror, and gorges itself on the sufferings of those under its unrelenting, stuporous gaze! And its Archive, which draws knowledge of this suffering unto itself. […] Please, Jon, do not interpret this report as a ‘plea for mercy’ or a ‘call to action’.”

He used to go with “Archivist” (as a title) and Jon. The “Jon” was clearly a callback to the time he had visited Jon in the hospital (pushing towards casual sympathy? At the very least, reminding him of the last time Oliver had chosen to call him “Jon”, and why he had visited him in the first place), but calling him The Eye’s “Archive” is new on all levels: first time that Oliver calls him that way, and first time that anyone except Jonah called him that way.

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “Because the thing about the Archivist is that… well: it’s a bit of a misnomer. It might, perhaps, be better named “the Archive”. Because you do not administer and preserve the records of fear, Jon – you are a record of fear. Both in mind, as you walk the shuddering dread of each statement; and in body, as the Powers each leave their mark upon you. You are a living chronicle of terror.”

So, as much as I had a few reservations about the content of what Oliver was seeing/predicting… it’s true that he knows a lot, about Jon and about how he functions, what he is right now in the grand scheme of things.

* Also: once again, The Eye’s Archive. Not Jonah’s. Jonah is irrelevant. “The Magnus(’) Archive” is not applying to this season so far.

* … Interesting that, although Oliver had directly mentioned that the “Spider” had pushed him to come visit Jon in MAG121, there was no mention at all of any Web activity in this one, as if it was also irrelevant/wouldn’t be able to do anything noteworthy to change the planned course?

- I really love how Oliver tried to sound professional and respectable and kind of… objective about everything?, and at the same time, absolutely went into “My Patron Is Better Than Yours” territory:

(MAG168) ARCHIVIST: “Report to prevent future deaths. This report is being sent to: [STATIC FADES] The Great Eye, that watches all who linger in terror, and gorges itself on the sufferings of those under its unrelenting, stuporous gaze! […] I am Oliver Banks, sometimes known as Antonio Blake, or doctor Thomas Pridchard. I serve The Coming End That Waits For All And Will Not Be Ignored. […] I make this report under no “authority”, no “regulation” or act of law, save the hollow power and grim responsibility given me by the Termination Of All Life. […] a) When Danika Gelsthorpe reaches the end of her Corpse Root, she will die. This new world of Fear reviles death as a release, but the Coming End cannot exist without its reality. It is not a being of dangled promises and shifting torments; the certainty of death waits for all who travel the Corpse Roots, and that certainty… will be delivered on, without hesitation or consideration of any other factors. b) This place has a limit, on the fear that can be generated from them, as their pool is necessarily finite and ultimately, however slowly, it will be exhausted. To be offset, this consideration will require the acquisition of victims from other domains as replacements, potentially inciting… “bad feeling” between those domains. […] However slowly, the domains of Death will be removing sufferers from a closed system. However many thousands of years may be experienced in the meantime… eventually, this world will be left barren and empty. […] Even if such a fate could be avoided, as it comes closer and the other Entities grow in their awareness of their own end, the grotesque ripples of their own impossible panic shall glut and feed my master, gorging it to the point where, perhaps, it will even surpass The Watcher in prominence. […] The End does not fear its own cessation, for it is the certainty and promise of all life, however strange, that it will one day finish, and that includes its own stark existence. It shall be the last and, when the universe is silent and still forever, it shall perhaps, in that impossible moment before it vanishes, finally be satisfied.”

* That condescending tone towards the other Fears, and the fact that they do not truly deliver death (as it would mean losing their victims), but My-Patron-Is-Better-And-A-True-One so The End has to deliver what it promises. (Does that confirm that, for example, Richard-the-human-worm respawned or was still “living” in a way after Sam went through him?)

* … My-Patron-Is-Better-Than-Other-Fears so it will go after the others to get access to their pools of victims, to find new ones.

* My-Patron-Is-Better-Than-Other-Fears so it will feed from them since The End will come after their victims and dry them out of victims, and they can do nothing about it.

* My-Patron-Is-Better-Than-Beholding so it could grow even stronger than it even though Beholding is the current ruler and had reality reshaped to have it on top of everything.

* My-Patron-Is-Better-Than-Everything so it will celebrate its own death, since Ending Itself after having ended everything means that it will have accomplished its true purpose.

(* Bonus “I-Am-My-Patron”, so Jon killing him would just be fine in the order of things, too.)

Like. WOW, Oliver, wow. Really fond of your patron, aren’t you, down to making it like a “challenge” to The Eye.

- Confirmation that The End’s domain lies both in the fear of death (since Danika had served it her entire life), but Oliver insisted pretty much that it also requires actual death to function/to work with its nature.

… So, I’m torn about what degree of credence to give Oliver. On the one side: it goes very well with the message Jonny keeps repeating (including in his gaming streams or in The Mechanisms universe) that “all things end”, that nothing can last forever – it’s what Oliver directly told Jon, it works. It could be the programmed annihilation of this world, whether we (the audience) get to witness it or not: I’m still thinking that The Extinction could come into play and wipe out everything, but if no other Change/cataclysm happens, it could go this way, with this world gradually, slowly dying, because at the core of it, it contained its own doom (the Fears have free reign and can never be truly satiated, so they’ll dry out the whole world without caring about creating a long-lasting “ecosystem”. They don’t know how to preserve, only to consume).

On the other hand, Oliver was extremely adamant about the fact that it would happen, but… has no proof that it will?

(MAG168) ARCHIVIST: “In exactly thirteen stretches of the root on which Danika travels – a stretch being measured in the waves of nauseating terror that flow out of her with such rhythmic regularity – she will finally arrive at her destination. […] I watch, as with each motion, each laboured, reluctant movement along her path, Danika Gelsthorpe is painfully, and inescapably aware of what it is that lies at the end of it. She tries to move backwards, off to the side, any direction other than that unstoppable, inescapable forwards. But her limbs seize up with the attempt. She tries to stay still, but can do so only with the most incredible of efforts. To eke out another few seconds of stasis sets every nerve in her body aflame with agony and effort, begging her to scream, despite her jaw being set in a frozen rictus of sombre mourning. I see her relive the coming moment of her inevitable demise. […] When Danika Gelsthorpe reaches the end of her Corpse Root, she will die. This new world of Fear reviles death as a release, but the Coming End cannot exist without its reality. It is not a being of dangled promises and shifting torments; the certainty of death waits for all who travel the Corpse Roots, and that certainty… will be delivered on, without hesitation or consideration of any other factors.”

The “thirteen stretches” sound like a clear references to the 13 Fears used in Jonah’s incantation (the fourteenth, The Eye, being supposed to rule over the others) and/or the fact that it requires 14 “points” to work (thirteen stretches meaning that there are fourteen points between the beginning and The End), but what I’m more interested is that… there are still thirteen stretches for Danika to travel. What if there is actually no way to travel a whole stretch, because it keeps stretching and getting longer, just because death has to be a horizon that is, by nature, forever elusive, even though Oliver is convinced that it must be a reachable goal since he believes in his patron? (Plus: how come The End will be able to touch other domains when necessary? Wouldn’t it just collapse on itself and disappear on its own, without first putting a dent into others?)

I’m not sure! On the one hand, it works well as a programmed ending, makes sense, and Oliver and The End have displayed time and time again that The End deals in certainty (and Oliver kept repeating that word); on the other hand… as he said, he’s absolutely loyal to his patron, now. Of course he would feel like The End makes the most sense in this world, that the cycle it functions in will keep going, that the same rules apply, that The End will even surpass The Eye. It all feels very subjective. So… we’ll see.

(But given that uncertainty: it feels to me like precisely, we won’t get that scenario, we won’t know for sure that it would have worked this way, because something else will happen. Something that won’t prevent all things from “ending”, but in different circumstances than the current ones…)

- What about Georgie, in the order described by Oliver, though? Given that the rules have changed, and if people are only able to die in The End’s domain by fearing their death, what would happen if the last human standing doesn’t “fear”?

- That puts to mind Peter’s explanation to Martin about why, according to him, The End had not attempted to carry its ritual, and how it was distinct from The Extinction:

(MAG134) PETER: There are two Powers that, to my knowledge, have never attempted to fully manifest, never had followers set them up for a ritual: Mother-of-Puppets, and Terminus. The Web, and The End. The Web, I’ve never really been sure about: if I were to guess, I would say it actually prefers the world as is, playing everyone against each other, and so on. The End, on the other hand… The End doesn’t really need one: it knows that it gets everything eventually, so why bother. The End manifesting would not be a new world of terror; it would be a lifeless world. Devoid of everything. MARTIN: … Including fear. PETER: Exactly. It has no reason to truly attempt to enter our world, it’s… passive. But The Extinction… The Extinction is… different. It’s active. It will seek to create a lifeless world, in a way that none of the other Powers ever would. Some interpretations suggest it might replace us with something new, that can then fear annihilation in turn. But I and those like me would rather that did not happen.

Not that passive given that Oliver mentioned that his domain would go after others’ to get a new supply of victims, when necessary (and that it would the one to upset the current equilibrium), and that Oliver was actually participating in spreading in patron’s fear by warning about the end to come, but!

- Interesting bit is that The End and Oliver have a relationship with time that seems to tie present and future close together (“The moment that you die will feel exactly the same as this one.”), with The End being the only and absolute future possible, while Beholding… doesn’t. It has access to past information, to events currently happening, but Jon pointed out that his powers couldn’t access the future:

(MAG164) ARCHIVIST: She… thinks she’s going to kill Daisy. Like she promised. [STATIC DECREASES] But she’s conflicted. MARTIN: And will she? ARCHIVIST: I–I don’t know, th–the future, th–that’s… that’s not something I can see.

Nice contrast, which makes sense, but also: Jon is special, even for an agent of Beholding, something that Oliver seemed to imply (“But know that, even you, will all your power, cannot keep the world alive forever.”). What can Jon do, in this new reality, besides turning predators into preys and being untouchable for the monsters…?

(I’m also squinting at Oliver’s words, because it could imply… that Jon is currently the only thing keeping the world “alive”, right now?)

- … If Oliver is right, though, laughing forever that Jonah, who feared death the most, would have BROUGHT IT ON HIMSELF:

(MAG138, Robert Smirke) “I beg you, do not pursue this goal; if only a single lesson may be gleaned from my life of long study, and longer hardship, it is that the fear of Death is natural, and to flee from it will only bring greater misery. Repent of your sins, Jonah. Seek forgiveness. I am certain the Dread Powers cannot take a soul that keeps faith in the Resurrection.”

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “Why does a man seek to destroy the world? It’s a simple enough answer: for immortality, and power […]; to place yourself beyond pain, and death, and fear. It is an awful thing to know about yourself, but the freedom, Jon, the freedom of it all…! I have dedicated my life to handing the world to these Dread Powers, all for my own gain, and I feel… nothing but satisfaction, in that choice. I am to be a king of a ruined world, and I shall never die. I believe there are far more people in this world who’d take that bargain than you would ever guess. And I have beaten all of them.”

… since his invocation also invited “[all that] dies”. He could have gone with “all that fears to die” or something like that, allowing for a loophole, but he specifically called for all that “dies”.

Jonah.

Jonah, you’re so effing stupid.

(- Re: Jonah, it’s delightful that… he has not been mentioned at all by other monsters/avatars (Annabelle, Helen, the Not!Them) so far. Oliver didn’t either. When it comes to establishing who caused the apocalypse, they’re fully crediting Jon and/or pointing out his relation to The Eye:

(MAG164) HELEN: What would I have to gloat about? Much as I am delighted by this brave new world in which we find ourselves, I can take no credit for it. This was all… you!

(MAG165) NOT!SASHA: Well, of course you want to wallow in my shame like your voyeur master!

(MAG166) HELEN: And Jon, well… he is part of The Eye; a very important part. And he’s able to, shall we say… shift its focus.

(MAG168) ARCHIVIST: “This report is being sent to: [STATIC FADES] The Great Eye, that watches all who linger in terror, and gorges itself on the sufferings of those under its unrelenting, stuporous gaze! And its Archive, which draws knowledge of this suffering unto itself. […] Perhaps once it might have horrified me, or given me some sense of pursuing the ultimate release of the world that you have damned.”

And yes, obviously, Jon was manipulated into doing it, didn’t willingly and knowingly cause it! But it’s hilarious that they’re all “Who?” about Jonah’s whole existence; he… seems absolutely irrelevant to the whole apocalypse deal although he tried to take credit for it. I wonder in which state we’ll meet him and/or if he will be able to express himself in any way – so far, I’m banking on him either being the Panopticon (having merged with the building) or being wrapped in cobwebs.)

- Interestingly, Oliver seemed to credit some level of sentience to the Fears themselves?

(MAG168) ARCHIVIST: “To be offset, this consideration will require the acquisition of victims from other domains as replacements, potentially inciting… ‘bad feeling’ between those domains. […] Even if such a fate could be avoided, as it comes closer and the other Entities grow in their awareness of their own end, the grotesque ripples of their own impossible panic shall glut and feed my master, gorging it to the point where, perhaps, it will even surpass The Watcher in prominence. The others may take what actions they wish; they may plot and plan and tear themselves apart in an attempt to separate from the fate that they know they cannot escape; but they will fail.”

I could expect the avatars/monsters to panic and try to sustain themselves, but the Fears/domains themselves…? (And once again: that phenomenon is very reminiscent of the way Peter described his own fear of The Extinction, as something that could eradicate him and other Fears/avatars…)

- AHAHHA about the image that when Danika would have travelled through the “thirteen stretches”, she would reach the end/The End and die… because that suuuuuure seemed reminiscent of Jon&Martin’s current travels, having to travel through (13) domains in order to reach The Panopticon, without knowing what would happen then.

Not ominous at all.

- I am… really interested in Oliver’s mention that Jon now “may only take”, combined with the fact that Oliver directly called him The Eye’s “Archive”. Specifically since, in MAG121, Oliver had highlighted Jon’s ability to extract statement:

(MAG121) OLIVER: Sorry to go on…! I’m… I don’t talk to many people these days. Putting my thoughts outside myself, it gets a bit… mm… clumsy. Be easier if you could talk back, right? Ask me questions and just have it tumble all out. But no. It’s… it’s just me. Wish there was a better way, but… Touching someone’s mind, it’s not… as simple as that, is it? Doesn’t always make things clearer, y’know? Still. I gave the old woman a statement so, maybe I owe you one as well. That’s… how it works, right? Give you a terror, give you a dream. ’s not like I don’t have them to spare.

(MAG168) ARCHIVIST: “I make this report under no ‘authority’, no ‘regulation’ or act of law, save the hollow power and grim responsibility given me by the Termination Of All Life. With it, I may see and spread the hidden veins of destiny that wrap us close and draw us through the empty, yearning parody of meaning that we call life, knowing at all stages that the last and final point of this journey is a blank and futile end. […] Please, Jon, do not interpret this report as a ‘plea for mercy’ or a ‘call to action’. I would have offered it willingly, of course, but to do so is no longer an option. You cannot ask; you may only take.”

The circumstances in season 5 have changed, we’ve seen that in the way Jon is managing the new “statements”: he has to let them out, he gets liberated from their weight once they have “poured out of [him] down into the tape”. He can only delay the moment he does it for a very short while, he has to do it when they reach a domain. The only exception has been in MAG167, when he gave a statement about Gertrude and her assistants, which was (at least partially) prompted by Martin’s questions.

So we see a difference between “Archive” and “Archivist” as of now with the statements. We’ve also seen Jon using his powers to “know”, prompted (Martin asking him questions in MAG164) and not (Jon knowing about Annabelle’s phone call in MAG167).Witht the exception of channelling The Eye’s powers to turn a predator into a prey, his abilities now seem mostly passive, but I wonder if it will mean something more, regarding his status as an “Archive” (and if Annabelle is planning to use that)…

(… Concrete question too: is Jon still able to compel, nowadays?)

- There are some bits of Martin’s words that made me go “!” because it implies that he had discussed with Jon about these matters beforehand:

(MAG168) MARTIN: Okay… [FOOTSTEPS] I mean… Well, I don’t like this place. ARCHIVIST: Once again, Martin, that’s… [CHUCKLING] sort of the point…! MARTIN: Yeah, yeah, I know, alright, I get it, it’s just… it’s more than that. This place, what did you call it, the… th– … the “Rotten Core”? ARCHIVIST: The Corpse Roots. MARTIN: Yeah, yeah, that. Well, it… It feels… [SIGH] I don’t know, it feels like it’s– ARCHIVIST: Waiting. MARTIN: Yeah! [CREAKING SOUND] Waiting. [SILENCE PUNCTUATED BY THE WHISPERS] This is the one with the, em… the Death guy, isn’t it? ARCHIVIST: This is Oliver Banks’s domain, yes. MARTIN: … So it’s him who’s waiting. […] Alright, fine, yes, yes, I am jealous, alright? Yes, if you absolutely must know! ARCHIVIST: Because he woke me up. MARTIN: [SPLUTTERING] I was there weeks, and nothing. He talks to you for five minutes, and suddenly you’re back on your feet, and bouncing around like a, like a spring chicken! ARCHIVIST: [NERVOUS CHUCKLING] I mean, that’s really not– MARTIN: I mean, what’s so special about him, that you wake up for him and not me, hm? [CREAKING SOUND] Enlighten me.

* “Rotten Core” is MAG157’s title; it’s Adelard’s last message to Gertrude, that was put on Jon’s desk together with the tape of Martin&Peter’s conversation about going down in the tunnels, the association of the two prompting Jon to panic by realising that Martin was probably manipulated into something that didn’t actually have much to do with The Extinction. “Rotten Core” in itself never appeared in Adelard’s email (could have been the subject of it, though?) and, officially, we still don’t know who sent that statement to Jon (Jonah didn’t take credit for that one, neither did Martin or Peter, so… probably Annabelle). But Martin using the phrase seems to imply that he has been filled in about it – did Jon&Martin talk about The Extinction, since the end of MAG159?

* Martin already knew that the “Death Guy” had woken Jon up, so… Jon has explained what happened, too. Unless Martin heard the other tapes during season 4? (And Jon remembered about it and about the fact that it was specifically Oliver who woke him up: this is the first time he has acknowledged that.)

So! They have been exchanging information offscreen!

- I’m HOWLING at petty/jealous Martin.

I didn’t feel like it was toxic or dangerous or OOC at all – Martin [INORDINATELY PLEASED] Blackwood has… quite often been portrayed as incredibly petty and jealous when it came to Jon:

(MAG088) BASIRA: I just, I mean he was good company. Y’know, when he wasn’t being a paranoia machine. He was funny, you know? MARTIN: What, Jon? BASIRA: Yeah. MARTIN: I don’t think I’ve ever heard him tell a joke. BASIRA: Maybe you weren’t listening. MARTIN: Right. Well, I’m sure it’ll get sorted out when DAISY brings him in and you can probably talk to him then. Oh! Sorry, I forgot you’re not actually with the police any more, are you.

(MAG106) MELANIE: [CHUCKLE] Right, well… The jury’s still out on Elias. And anyway, Martin’s always been lovely to you. BASIRA: Hm. I dunno, I mean, you should have seen him when I turned up last year. I think he thought I was trying to steal his precious Archivist. MELANIE: Aaah…! I got the exact same, when Jon was hiding out and came to me with his “source on the inside” stuff. Martin was not impressed. BASIRA: Huff. That boy needs to relax. MELANIE: Or at least find someone else to fuss over.

When MAG121’s case number had been revealed (not in Early-Access, but on the public release), there had been many laughs about the fact that Jon had woken up on February 15th, and how much would it suck for Martin to think that his tearful begging from the trailer migt have happened the day before, on Valentine’s Day, only for handsome mlm Death Prophet Oliver Banks to waltz in and get Jon to wake up instantly? So I’m laughing very hard that yes, Martin is INCREDIBLY and irrationally jealous about it, about not having been able to be the one to wake Jon up like in cheesy romance movies.

… the part that does worry me, however, is how lightly Martin seems to be taking the whole “Kill Bill” thing, and how much of it was being jealous over someone Jon had “needed” help from (not so long after Annabelle made a dig at Martin for the fact that he wasn’t feeling useful to Jon right now). I feel like most of the exchange had Martin caricaturing himself a bit, or at least being aware of how silly he sounded, though? And it felt to me like his insistence towards Jon explaining his reluctance to murder was for Jon to, well, explain what is bothering him about it (outside of an ethical question, there is also the fact that Jon… might feel like if he were to do that to avatars, then other avatars/people would be entitled to do the same to him. Which, honestly? Fair. Jon attacked and wrecked innocent people for his own benefit in season 4. If they decided that, even though he has stopped now, he still has hurt people, still is a monster and still needs to die, the same logic could apply.)

There is indeed an absolute disconnect between Martin’s solution (“smiting”) and the tone/enthusiasm/casualness with which he offers it, and it could be rooted in his own feeling of uselessness, the fact he wants to take revenge over those who hurt him and Jon… So I don’t feel like he’s being supernaturally manipulated, but I’m definitely worried that he could take risks and/or make a veryyyy bad decision while trying to prove that no, he can be “useful”…

- ! Jon sounded SO FOND and so amused at Martin’s jealousy! His insidious “Martin~?” and audible smiles! “My husband is a bitch and I love him” feeling, overall.

I like that the exchange seemed well-handled for both of them: Jon naturally standing his ground and pointing out that Martin’s logic was absolutely childish (“Look, Martin: I am sorry you feel that way, but I’m not going to kill a man just because you’re jealous.”), without sounding accusing either; and Martin ultimately relenting (“Fine. I suppose that’s… reasonable.”). They were two idiots in love, Martin being a bigger idiot this time around, but! Idiots.

- Really curious about how Martin will react if they cross paths with Simon or Daisy. Would he encourage Jon to “smite” them too? Or would he be more ambivalent, a bit torn about it? Why has he reacted differently towards Helen – is it strategical, and he just wants to try to use her as long as he can? Is it because he identifies her as the woman he had seen in the corridors, and still feels guilty about not trying to help her then?

… I’m terrified of how he will react if they cross paths with Jared or Jude, however. Jared terrorised him and caused him to accept Peter’s offer, and Jude hurt Jon deeply, something Jon has a very obvious mark to show for. (Same with Jonah: I think that for Martin, it’s clear in his mind that they’ll “smite” Jonah once they reach the Panopticon. I’m not convinced that, after what happened with the Not!Them, Jon would want to do that anymore: if some monsters and avatars didn’t really have a “choice”, then what about Jonah? At which point did he go rotten, irredeemable? What’s the difference between him and Oliver, who’s currently diversifying the way he’s torturing his victims in his domain “for variety”? Is it only Jon’s personal feelings about whether someone helped him a little bit or ensured his personal misery?)

(- ;; Now that Martin has a connection to Oliver through his jealousy… What if Martin’s ending is to lose Jon and then join Oliver’s domain to at least get an exit and cease to be…?)

- I’m a bit more concerned about what is happening in Jon’s head. First off, the way he presented Oliver, as someone who had “helped” him… versus the way he used to describe his “choice” to wake up:

(MAG121) OLIVER: The thing is, Jon, right now, you have a choice. You’ve put it off a long time; but it’s trapping you here. You are not quite human enough to die, but – still too human to survive. You’re… balanced on an edge, where The End can’t touch you, but you can’t escape Him. I made a choice. We all made choices. Now, you have to– […] Make your choice, Jon.

(MAG136) ARCHIVIST: My– [PAUSE] [INHALE] [SIGH] My memories of the coma are not clear. But I know I made a choice; I made a choice to become… something else. Because I was afraid to die. But ever since then, I… I don’t know if I made the right decision; I–I’m stronger now, tougher, I can… … If I do die, now, or get sealed away somewhere forever… I don’t know if that’s a bad thing.

(MAG168) ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] I don’t know, Martin. [FOOTSTEPS] I just, I don’t think he’s… [SIGH] I don’t know, I don’t think he’s evil. [CREAKING SOUND] MARTIN: Oh, yeah, sure, he’s probably a really kind, benevolent ruler of a hellish fear prison…! ARCHIVIST: It’s just… He helped me. Wh–when I was… He woke me up. MARTIN: Wow. What a hero.

Back in MAG136, Jon wasn’t sure he had made a good decision; it was put into perspective when we learned a few episodes later that, at this point, Jon had already attacked three people to feed, without letting the others know. Trolley problem: was it right, for Jon not to die, if it meant sacrificing three people (soon-to-be five) to sustain himself? Was it a “good” choice?

This episode, Jon unnaturally presented it as Oliver having “helped” him by waking him up, which, mMMM. Seems like he has made his peace with that choice – which, on the one hand, good because less self-deprecating (it’s normal to want to survive), but on the other hand, there would be reasons to still feel guilty for making it, given the consequences?

I’m not really surprised about Jon expressing a degree of sympathy towards Oliver, or at least pointing out that their degree of “choice” in their transformations bears similarities, given that Oliver’s story, his first dreams, the power inflicted on him, came with a gradual desensitisation and acceptance. Chronologically, Oliver’s story is that of someone who gradually stopped fighting fate and came to embrace his Fear-patron (a turning point being when he lost someone precious to him).

(MAG011, “Antonio Blake”) “It was there, sleeping on my friend Anahita’s sofa, in the depths of my misery, that I first started to have the dreams. […] These dreams have been a regular part of my sleeping for about eight years now. Even as life improved and I found a new job and place to live – believe it or not I now work selling crystals and tarot cards in a “magic” shop – they continued to crop up a few times each month.

(MAG032, Jane Prentiss) “How many months has it been like this? Was there a time before? There must have been. I remember a life that was not itching, not fear, not nectar-sweet song. I had a job. I sold crystals. They were clean, and sharp and bright and they did not sing to me, though I sometimes said they did. We would sell the stones to smiling young couples with colour in their hair. I remember, before I found the nest, someone new came. His name was Oliver, and he would look at me so strangely. Not with lust or affection or contempt, but with sadness. Such a deep sadness. And once with fear.”

(MAG121) OLIVER: And about two years before I came to your Institute, something happened – something I didn’t want to talk about. Didn’t even want to think about. I… [SIGH] I started to see them when I was awake.

(MAG042, Jennifer Ling) “The sign above didn’t have an obvious name, simply reading ‘Crystals. Books. Tarot’. He was tall, black and careworn, deep lines of worry etched into an otherwise handsome face. When he saw me looking at him, he began to walk up to me, still with that intense look. I took a couple of steps back, and asked if I could help him. He shook his head as if unsure what to say, then asked me what I was listening to. A chill ran over me as I realised he was staring at my ears. I said I wasn’t listening to anything, as I wasn’t wearing headphones, and asked him what he wanted. He shook his head again, and mumbled something about protecting my hearing. He turned away then, and started walking back into the shop.”

(MAG011, “Antonio Blake”) “This worked fine until I saw my father in the dream, walking down Oxford Street, the pulsing veins climbing up his leg and into his chest. I tried to warn him of course – asked leading questions on his health and how he was feeling, whether he’d been tired recently. I even went so far as to book him a doctor’s appointment, much to his annoyance. It did no good, though – ten days later the heart attack came for him and, despite the rapid response of the paramedics and how much of his medical history I had immediately to hand, there was nothing I could do to save him. He died on New Year’s Eve, and as 2014 ended, so did any hope I had of my dreams doing good in the world.”

(MAG121) OLIVER: Wish I… knew why I came here. I s’pose there’s only so long you can dream about someone, and not at least try to find them. That was it with the old woman too. That was different, though. Way I figure it? She stuck her nose in just about everywhere it wasn’t wanted and stirred up hornets. ‘Till all the precautions in the world couldn’t stop Death from finally catching her. If I’d’ve known more back then, I’m… not sure I would’ve bothered trying to warn her. Still. You live and learn, don’t you?

(MAG011, “Antonio Blake”) “I’m well aware that I don’t even know your name, and I have no responsibility to try and prevent whatever fate is coming for you. Based on my previous experience, such a thing is likely impossible anyway, but after what I saw I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least try. I did as much research into your Institute as possible, and arranged an appointment to provide a statement about some spurious supernatural encounter. Even then I was told that the Archivist only reviews the written statements once they have been taken, so here I am, pouring out my lunatic story on paper in the hopes that you might eventually read it. If you do see this in time and read this far, then to be honest I don’t know what else to tell you. Be careful. There is something coming for you and I don’t know what it is, but it is so much worse than anything I can imagine. At the very least you should look into appointing a successor. Good luck.”

(MAG121) OLIVER: Mmm… Let me tell you about how I tried to escape. […] It’s been almost ten years since I first started dreaming about the deaths of others, seeing those… awful veins crawling into them. Into… wounds not yet open, or… skulls not yet split. People who were about to die. Every night, I’d watch as they’d… sneak up and into folks about to choke on blood, or urging into hearts about to convulse. I’ve… come to terms with it. [DRY LAUGHTER] I’ve learned to live with it! […] And the worst part was that somewhere in me, I… I liked it! Underneath all that awful fear, it felt… like… home. […] I wanted to escape. I… needed to. […] At that moment, a sudden calm came over me. I understood it all. I could follow the line of the huge veins that encased the ship down into the water, leading off to a point almost a mile from the South-East. There. That was it. That was our fate. Where we would always be. Because I was going to take us there. Running was pointless. To try and to escape from my task would only serve to fulfil another. I finally understood what I needed to do.

(MAG168) ARCHIVIST: “With it, I may see and spread the hidden veins of destiny that wrap us close and draw us through the empty, yearning parody of meaning that we call life, knowing at all stages that the last and final point of this journey is a blank and futile end. I have no power to stop it, and even if I did… I would not do so; for to rob a soul of death is as torturous as its inevitable coming. […] And I shall help, ushering on this final, blank emptiness. Perhaps once it might have horrified me, or given me some sense of pursuing the ultimate release of the world that you have damned. But I am too much of my patron now and my feelings cannot help but reflect the shadows of… anticipation that lurk within the grave. […] And so the scope of my domain is yours…! Enter it and destroy me if you wish. I fear the annihilation you would gift me as little as I desire it. I am now, as the thing I feed, a fixed point, that has neither the longing nor the ability to change its state of existence. […] All – things – end, and every step you take, whatever direction you may choose… only brings you closer to it.”

[Dates-wise: Jennifer Ling left her statement in November 2013 and events were about the previous month; given Oliver’s reaction, he was already seeing the veins when awake back then. Jane Prentiss left her statement in February 2014, so she had met Oliver before he lost his father. “Antonio” left his statement in March 2015; Oliver visited Jon on February 15th 2018.]

It has been around eleven years, by the date of the apocalypse, for Oliver to reach this current state in which he describes himself as “The End that laces through every fibre of my soul” and “too much of my patron”. It only took Jon three years.

Though, overall, I was back at the feeling of the MAG140s episodes with the words/thoughts Jon has for victims and avatars:

(MAG168) ARCHIVIST: A lot to think about. I… I feel… [FOOTSTEPS] No. I don’t want to destroy Oliver Banks. It wouldn’t do any good. I know that, and he never asked for this any more than I did. I feel badly for those that exist in his domain, o–of course, I do, but… At least, their suffering will be over, eventually. I can’t destroy everyone I cross paths with, it… [SIGH] No. If Oliver will not seek me out, then… I will leave him be. [TINY CHUCKLES] The avatar of Death… shall live. Martin’s going to be thrilled…! [SIGH]

* Stfu about deciding what is “better” for victims, Jon. (As a personal choice, yes, I would probably prefer the prospect of dying over eternal torment; HOWEVER, it’s not Jon’s place to establish what’s better for others, so Jon trying to rationalise his decision to go after Oliver? Nop, I don’t care, own up to your feelings, don’t scramble for excuses by saying you think it might be more ~charitable~ :<)

* Oliver who “never asked for this any more than I did” also explained very casually that:

(MAG168) ARCHIVIST: “Sometimes, for some small variety, I will allow Danika to brush against another root: the final fate of someone she loves. […] And with each one, she knows her steps forward bring closer not only her own end, but all of theirs. Time walks forward with her, but she has not the strength to stop it. Her fate draws ever-nearer, filling me with the joy of watchful fear, but also my own concerns.”

He’s not a passive jailor. Oliver is actively enjoying tormenting his victims in different ways “for some small variety”.

I thiiiiink more and more that Jon might now be targeting the whole Fear-system, and not (anymore) the individual avatars/monsters who were pushed and twisted by the Fears to become their servants, as he had begun to think about in the second half of season 4 (“I was so sure I’d find something up there. But instead, it was just another broken person trying to come to terms with the wreckage of their life.” about Manuela, lamenting over Jane, etc.) But that brings us back to that awkward stage where it feels to me like Jon is almost more humanising avatars/monsters currently hurting their victims, than the victims themselves who are just… there, and not extremely relevant.

(I’m reaaaally really really curious about how Jon will behave towards Jonah.)

- … I’m also a bit concerned that Jon deciding that Oliver’s victims at least get to die implies something bigger: that Jon is… giving up on the idea to reverse/undo this apocalypse. If these people die, they die, it’s over. Which means that, right now, Jon doesn’t think he has a better alternative to offer them. He had hopes at the end of MAG162, he got a few hints in MAG164 about how to banish the Fears; he… might already be giving hope of fixing things, without officially voicing it?

  MAG169’s title screams Desolation to me (+ bonus Agnes, with the way she got anchored to Gertrude and/or her death), and that could mean Jude (… which would be extremely interesting right now, given Martin “Kill Bill” Blackwood’s willingness to harm monsters/avatars; what could go possibly wrong with making him meet someone who physically hurt Jon, leaving a mark to show for it on one of his hands? So much). There is also a potential connection to the Distortion, and in way that could mean bad stuff (and Jon and/or Martin having to go through the door). Potentially Jon’s lighter being put to use, or Jon&Martin getting a clue about why Jon was gifted it?

Alternatively, if the meaning is more oblique and meant to subvert expectations: Vast stuff?

[theholycovenantrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, CLAUDIA! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF GABRIEL.

Admin Rosey: Wow - this was a terribly difficult decision to make. All the applications for Gabriel were so beautiful. But Claudia, have you no mercy? Gabriel has always held a rather special place within my heart simply because he is so unique unto himself, even among the entire legion of angels. You said it so aptly, but so cruelly: take an angel, give him everything but leave one thing missing. It’s a rather wicked script that one has to follow, isn’t it? But there is something terribly delicious about how this application doesn’t hold back on reading him right to his bones. You saw him for what he was: hunger, hunger, hunger. And you let us know that as well. The details, the small -isms that you gave him granted him such life that I couldn’t say no. Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

Alias

claudia

Age

24

Personal Pronouns

she / her

Activity Level

i work full-time but i’m always checking the dash or else staying up to date with plotting in the dms in between replies. and of course weekends are my most active times.

Timezone

gmt+10

Triggers

REMOVED

How did you find the group?  

following a bunch of the wonderful people who were involved in its creation

Current/Past RP Accounts

here

here

IN CHARACTER

Character

gabriel

What drew you to this character?

so gabriel was not the first character that sparked my interest and the aesthete in me is very much compelled to justify in metaphor (you know, the whole “there’s this japanese phrase i like: koi no yokan. not love at first sight but second sight. the feeling that when you meet someone that you’re going to fall in love with them. maybe not right away, but it’s inevitable that you will.”). the truth is, i came into thc very much wanting to play a sexy morally ambiguous antagonist and agent of chaos that could wreak havoc and plot death and destruction. admittedly, i had only skimmed gabriel’s bio when it was released.

there’s an ancient roman crying out for blood in the colosseum in everyone that will always be drawn to the dark and the delicious possibility of amorality, because good and evil lies on a spectrum and exploring the shades of grey in between is so much more interesting than delving into a character who positions themselves so firmly at either end and says no, this is me, this is what i am and my conviction will not waver. or, to quote another beloved symbol, idol, champion of the people, that believed so fervently in a cause that the martyrdom nearly killed him, “when the mob and the press and the whole world tell you to move, your job is to plant yourself like a tree beside the river of truth, and tell the whole world — “no, you move.””

it is hard to write good. it is hard to take a character that is so infinitely good and compassionate, someone who is motivated by these enormous, intangible concepts like love and justice and peace, and capture them in words.

how do you explain why gabriel loves humans? how do you explain how he still loves them, fights for them, protects them, when everything his brothers and sisters did to him was because the humans dared to love him back? it’d be like asking the question of god himself — why? you claimed to love humans above all and yet you gave the strength, grace and majesty of immortality and wisdom to the angels. they were your firstborn, and humans were the spoiled youngest child. the unruly, overindulged creatures that got away with everything, that sinned and yet were still worthy of salvation.

for most people, gabriel is the first angel they ever learn about. gabriel coming to nazareth, gabriel saying be not afraid as he explains how a human woman will be the genesis of the son of god. he is the first. and understanding why gabriel loves humans, as god did, perhaps even more, comes back to the beginning, too.

gabriel was created the incarnation of hunger. and i am literally obsessed with the concept of ‘hunger’ in it all its forms, literary, cinematically, poetically. it’s fascinating because it’s not a concept that belongs to either good or evil, it’s simply a force, a manifestation of pure instinct. but we so often associate it with evil, and even in the bible, too much hunger is condemned. you could argue that the seven deadly sins are simply just an extrapolation of hunger in its myriad guises. the idea that you could be made perfect — as all angels are — and yet be left with this gaping chasm inside you, this endless hunger, a hunger that demands to be fed and nurtured, sated with divine higher purpose, is like, my literary achilles’ heel. why does gabriel love humans? how could he not? he was made in their image, and they in his.

What future plots do you have in mind for the character?

THE SUN NEVER SETS ON THE HOLY LAND.

that thing i said about wanting to play a sexy character? well gabriel being the sun and the third arm of the governing body that rules over the holy land is extremely sexy. it’s a shame he doesn’t much care for it. oh, he likes the concept of being a key guardian of freedom and peace across the new world but power holds no sway over him. and ironically that’s what makes him so inherently powerful. gabriel was the natural choice for the sun — beloved by humans, martyred for his love and sacrifices for them — he’d already burned for so long, so quietly, in service of bringing justice to the world. but gabriel has never needed a title to serve. he was born a messenger, a soldier, he has never needed a crown.

and despite what they say, heavy is the head, it is a crown perfectly made for him. the sun — illuminating and all-consuming, the source of all life and light in the world — is all-seeing. all-powerful. gabriel learned at god’s side what it means to rule. and a messenger is not so different from a prophet, from an orator. when he speaks, the world listens.

gabriel is well aware that michael sees the tridium power as child’s play, and their brotherhood as a means to influence the tridium, and thus the entirety of the holy land. power feeds and power corrupts and the lack of it will drive people like his brothers to insatiable madness. gabriel used to play peacemaker amongst his brothers, always defending the mortals or softening the aftermath of their fathers’ worst outbursts. now, as the sun, he stands above them. it is not a position he ever campaigned for but he’d won it all the same by democracy. the angel of the people, the sun of the holy land. he’s never pressed his influence over his brothers, always careful to tread the line of how his title benefits them and advances caelum’s purposes — celestial beings have always done things in three, after all. do i want to see him flex that power and unleash the full weight of his influence and majesty and just go absolutely supernova ham? of course. but it will take more that some sibling bickering and infighting to spark that wildfire. i don’t know yet what that spark would be, whether it’s demons meddling in tridium business or some political shift in the paradigm, but gabriel is not someone you want to cross.

do not mistake his kindness for weakness. the sun gives life as easily as it can set it ablaze.

LOYALTY WILL BE THE LAST BASTION TO CRUMBLE.

now this is entirely dependent on the dynamic of the three, in particular whoever is elected as the stars, but i see the tridium as a wildcard amidst all the vacillating allegiances and power plays of the holy land.

gabriel believes in the true purpose of the tridium, he believes each faction is entitled to equal authority over protecting the peace and future of the holy land. a true system of checks and balances, a democracy that amplifies the voices of the weak and powerless and upholds the cause of the vulnerable and the oppressed. whether that’s in the political interests of azazel and the future stars remains to be seen.

from the very beginning, gabriel would have been vitally curious about azazel. his former sister, a fallen angel. it is not his place to forgive, but he forgives nonetheless, as god would have. if he was not a thing made of hunger, the way she was a thing made of desire, maybe he would have fallen, too. he, more than anyone, had the right to fall. but he didn’t, and she did, and she’s done quite well for herself in the millennia since. finding herself a new throne, new family, even a new brother to dote upon her. in spite of his instincts and the holiness that riots in his veins against the thought of colluding with demons, even under the new testament, he understands. he doesn’t blame her. so, i will leave this entirely tbd for plotting but i could see either a strange, inexplicable friendship between them or a playful, vicious dynamic with an underlying current of empathy.

in many ways the moon and the stars will be the closest people gabriel has to true equals. he is no longer purely archangel, he is other. he must represent the interests of all of the holy land. trusting them would be folly, but unlike the ages of old, the name of the game is no longer a zero-sum winner takes all scenario. if the peace fails, the world will crumble into bedlam. is it a doomed act, attempting to balance the three factions upon the scales of peace? perhaps. perhaps they are playing a losing game, betting against the house, delaying the inevitable. it would be one thing to manipulate the balance of power between them, feeding the poison of their faction into their governance. it would be another if any one of their factions actually won.

why did they call themselves the sun, the moon, the stars? because they are figureheads, above all. symbols of caelum, infernum, the holy land. their factions all believe them to be puppets, leverage for their own political hunger and thirst for power. they are not blind. if either of their sides emerges from an inevitable all out war situation, what will happen to them? crownless, purposeless, no kingdom left to rule. certainly not a kingdom that will be theirs.

azazel wants to be worshipped. gabriel wants to burn until righteousness has scoured all evil from the holy land. the stars will inevitably be someone equally chaotic. they’re all that stands between the holy land and desolation. it’s like the perfect office workplace drama set-up. i would like to see it.

HUNGER IS THE MOST HUMAN THING OF ALL

throughout time, gabriel has had his favourites. he’s his father’s son, after all. zacharias, mary, noah. if these were the ages of old, he might have counted revna among those ranks. if gabriel were not an immortal angel, this would be called having a friend. but because gabriel is who he is, he considers them more like wards. like he’s taken it upon himself to be their self-appointed guardian angel.

it’s lonely being an instrument of god, and now the sun of the holy land, like what do you imagine he does after a long day of work? relax? of course not. so having a friend is nice. and having someone he can talk to, free of all the baggage and weight of being who they are, is like a glimpse of the peace he hasn’t known since before he had wings.

with revna, as with every mortal he had ever taken under his golden wings, he swallows any thought of just how mortal they are. how short-lived. in a blink, she will die. in another, her name will be forgotten, nothing more than a memory imprinted in a lonely angel’s mind. he tries not to think too much about mortality, or the whims and follies of mortals, the lengths they will go to in the name of survival that he has never dreamed. their freedom is predicated on living long enough to taste it. is it such a crime to want to live? for all their limitless powers and immortality, no angel and demon will ever know what that feels like — the sheer, visceral incandescence of burning so fleeting but so brilliant that to die is nothing. to live is the ultimate choice.

also… their powers are literally antithetical to each other. revna creates reality for all the senses, and gabriel deadens them. hello, let’s talk about that!

i’ll keep this brief or else i’ll spend days spiralling into interesting tangents and possibilities but other than the archangels and select few higher-ranking angels are aware of his powers. they think he doesn’t have any. to reveal this aspect of himself, a bearing of something like his true self or maybe even a soul, would be very spicy. in case anyone needs a reminder that all angels are terrifying and just because gabriel is pretty and warm like the sun, you shouldn’t believe he is anything less than terror carved into the sublime.

SO THIS IS HOW LIBERTY DIES. WITH THUNDEROUS APPLAUSE.

this is the darkest timeline plot where i throw a dice just to see where it lands. i don’t see gabriel deviating too much from his course, because he is the tree (planted by the river, if you remember the earlier quote), and he will destroy himself before he has to bend or break beneath the whims of external chaos.

of course, it’s fun to the think about the hypotheticals so i’m going to do that. if the tridium falls, where does that leave gabriel? and to whom will his allegiances lie? if michael or raphael are the cause, would he stand beside caelum all the same? gabriel loves humans because he wants to; he loves his siblings because they are his blood and bone. rip to the angels but you and the mortals are not the same.

he’s also seen how the holiness of the angels have been twisted and warped over time, through countless wars and inimitable suffering, yes. but they’ve changed nonetheless. some amongst them are closer to their fallen brethren than anyone would ever dare to admit but gabriel sees all. he was the angel they left to rot in the farthest corners of heaven, he was the one whose wings were torn, not by enemies of heaven but by his own brothers. and he did not fall. so either gabriel is made of stronger stuff than all the angels or he is the dumbest of them all. it’s very likely both. his faith in the existence of the angels is resolute, unwavering after all this time. his righteousness has burned for a thousand years and it will burn a thousand more until the sun swallows everything and all things cease to exist. if he has to turn against brother and sister, as they did with him, and unquestioningly at that, then he will.

he has sworn to smite any creature that will strike down an innocent before him, and whether angel or demon, it’s a quest that he will pursue to its ruinous end.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character?

yes, preferably by going supernova in a blaze of gory and carnage.

IN DEPTH

Driving Character Motivation

it all comes back to hunger, baby. let’s do this as a thought exercise. imagine god in his build-a-bear workshop for angels creating gabriel like he’s pandora’s box:

take an angel, give him everything but leave one thing missing.

don’t tell him what it is.

teach him the hole inside him is called hunger and that hunger is love, hunger is sacrifice, hunger is knowing that the kingdom of heaven is empty and god is not enough.

take an angel, give him hunger, and then wonder why he becomes more human than human.

gabriel is driven by the insatiable wanting in him to do good. i will note that it is, in a fact, a want and not a need because this in itself is the thing that distinguishes him from his brothers. in a way, falling in love with humanity was an act of free will, and thus an act of defiance. god wanted him to protect his children, yes, but he had never intended for him to enjoy it. he had never foreseen that gabriel, filled with compassion and thirst for justice, would come to empathise with the humans. he never could have imagined that creating an angel out of pure hunger could make him more akin to human than divine. and that was god’s mistake. it’s the mistake of anyone that looks at him and sees weakness — why would a creature so powerful deign to care for humanity? why should he care if they live or die, or wage war or hurt each other? — they imagine that his relentless pursuit of a better world is because he was made for it. no, gabriel chose this world. he chose to strike down god and tear his throne down with his teeth. he chose remake the world better, brighter, braver.

and as god will tell you, beware any that dare stand in his way.

Character Traits

INCANDESCENT — there isn’t really a word that captures gabriel’s essence other than in terms of sunlight and burning. being near him is like turning skywards and feeling of the sun on your face. he is radiant, and charismatic and magnetic, and it ignites a sort of hunger in you to be close to him, to listen to him speak, to tell him everything about you and answer any question he asks, if only to be in his presence for a little longer. to be under the shade of his attention is like being pinpointed at the center of the universe. it’s gratifying, and incredibly intoxicating, being given the sole focus of one of the most powerful beings in the holy land. for a moment, you are the one, and everything else falls away into shadow. but of course, reality snaps back and everything and everyone is simply whirling around in orbit of gabriel, the sun.

COMPASSIONATE — before he was the sun, he was the archangel of the people, the guardian of humans and the champion of god’s most beloved children. out of all the angels, gabriel was the one who took pains to mean it when he said be not afraid. he wore their skin and learned to smile like humans — with the eyes, not just with the mouth — because it would comfort them instead of scare them. as a former messenger, gabriel’s also an excellent listener. he gives excellent advice, too, being naturally sympathetic to the plights and suffering of anyone he meets. he hates injustice and wrongdoing and if it’s in his power, he’ll do anything to help you rectify your circumstances. he’s a very giving person, and despite his various duties and responsibilities, he’s willing to go to the ends of the earth for someone if he believes it’s a cause worth serving.

SELF-RIGHTEOUS — the other side of the embodiment righteousness coin. because when you have a creature as all-powerful and driven as gabriel is, his morality is absolute. there is no room for grey or doubt in the eyes of the self-proclaimed moral compass of the holy land. good and evil lie on a spectrum but gabriel will play the trinity himself if that’s what it takes: judge, jury and executioner.

GRACIOUS. UNYIELDING. SPITEFUL.

In-Character Para Sample

Heaven is cold, if you could believe it. There are places in the kingdom of God where the sun holds no dominion. No, everything here is ruled by and under Him. His omniscience and omnipotence is all. His kingdom is coldest where light shies from the darkness, held at bay by the divine liminality of here and nothingness. You cannot define a space that is simply nothing, simply an absence. An abyss would be too poetic a word for it, this black hole spinning ad infinitum into the dark, soaking up every molecule of anything that could be constituted as being. It is a nothingness. It is a forever of nothingness.  

This is where they keep their prisoners.

If you imagine God to be cruel, consider for a moment what he does to his own children.

It could be a month, it could be a millennia, that has passed since they cast him into the shadows of Heaven and left him here. Not to rot, or decay, but to exist; the cruellest punishment of all. Suspended in a vacuum of seeing, feeling, hearing, touching, tasting, a mockery of his own abilities. In the realms of hell, they might call this purgatory. The architects of Heaven would never deign to give a place like this a name.

Gabriel counts seconds and minutes here and there to pass time. A mindless, thoughtless exercise that intrudes upon the endless, desolate stretch of infinity. It keeps him from thinking about his wings and how he might never fly again.

There is no air here to fly, to surge up and taste wind between his feathers. He’s thankful for it — perhaps the only godforsaken grace he’s been granted, a pitiful stroke of thoughtless mercy — if only because it means he cannot attempt it. He thinks if he were to try, wings screaming for clemency, searing fire along his back and down his chest, and fall, that would be the last of him. And if there is nothing left of Gabriel, what would that make him? A creature of divine agony and writhing torment. A monster better suited to hell. If he could claw his way out of the unseeable and untouchable bars of this prison, perhaps he would see that Lucifer had been right.

God was weak. He deserved to be struck down. He deserved to have everything taken from him, as he had taken everything from them.

In the embrace of the void, Gabriel oscillates through every emotion at his disposal. Humanity taught him a great deal about feeling. How hatred and loathing simmered like poison in the blood; how the blaze of fury clawing up your throat could incinerate reason and logic; how love was a form of magic, a trace of stolen divinity pressed between the lips of mortals, enveloped in bodies and hands and kisses. Gabriel did not understand love the way humans did. His love was a consuming thing, a devotion like worship. Like self-immolation. He loved God because that was what he was made for. He loved his brothers because he fought and bled for them, because they were carved from the same grace and streak of lightning crackling through the heavens.

He did not know if he loved God the way humans loved him. They had never seen him, never felt his magnanimous smile or the great vastness of his presence, and yet they believed. They believed so fully, so viscerally, they would die for him anyway. They lived their tiny, fleeting lives grasping for the sky, dreaming and hoping of one day seeing him.

Gabriel saw God all the time, but his love was a necessity to him like existence. It was not a choice.

Did that make it lesser? Was it less true because humans chose and he did not?

Sometimes, he sits here, floating in the forgotten recesses of Heaven’s prison, and wonders if maybe God had truly made a mistake. Why give the angels everything, but free will? Why give the humans nothing and only free will? It was inexplicable, the ultimate riddle wrapped in an enigma, obscured by God’s will and word, that the angels had been asking since Adam and Eve and the garden.

In the time he floats, wavering between ire and despondence, rage and bitterness, he thinks he finds the answer. — The reason why God loved humans above all. The reason why he’d chosen them, blessed them, forgiven them.

Humanity was given the choice. And they had chosen God, in spite of everything.

If he had granted the angels the same freedom, would they have chosen Him?

Extras

PINTEREST.

[adanfourty]

Life In Neon ~ cHapters Of the dreaMing hEart

Part I: A Piece Of Mind

----------------------- I. Simple abundance in an empty life II. Stop III. Projection IV. Come To Theism V. Enter the Threshold

Part II : The Sea of Moonlight ------------------------------ White Feathers Atrium Universal Rain Shade Naissance Home

Part III: Pandora's Clock ------------------------- First. Second. Then I see you Third. Air Fourth. Trumpet of Million's child Fifth. Realitv Sixth. Water Seventh. Closure Finale. Memoire, a scene in a lifetime

Part I: A Piece Of Mind

----------------------- In A Room Without A View

When there is reason, I awake in silence

Please enter, The door is open

I. Simple abundance in an empty life ...

The scent of passion after loneliness A hope of jubilation in life Coming closer to a dream A prelude before the plot

This time, the sunset becomes sunrise in my heart

Her sway, wavering in soft motion Guarding, away from polarity

She is herself not another other than her own self Only she can dance alone without a hint of loneliness That whiff of uncommon independence without arrogance With her right palm always open to the wind, A sign of welcomed company, only if she grants

She's a prelude to a drama An overture to a rhapsody

II. Loose-skin-loose drift, truth abuse truth to mute [St*p]

A new consciousness arises from the abyssimal gap, along with the voices of the singing colours, with the company of colourful rain.

A sighs escapes her as her old consciousness deteriorates.

Though silence is golden, it can also be a sign of unbelievable pain.

Terribly one sided, the consciousness gains space only in her extreme. Though it resembles a lesser four letter word, it cannot be spelled as of yet.

To her it came, through her it goes.

It escapes with swiftness by the way of her fingers and unto the three middle strings.

Now the top.

Now the bottom.

A play of ease and enjoyment, like a teardrop of meaning. There's release and meaning in her words, spoken through the melody escaping her fingers. Weaving phrase by phrase into sentences. Line by line into paragraphs. And chapter by chapter into a story, written in the air to her listeners' ears.

She tells her tale.

A drop of colour in melody's landscape First vivid, then lucid, then luminous The story of song and emotion, of motion and sound

Hikari luminates her enticing configuration Dancing fingers, dancing harmony Another conciousness slowly takes presence...

III. Grapple dream drama and colliding day of another mind [?`jection}

She said that fate can intertwine and leave you speechless Between your eyes and mine we share the same story Especially in this corrupted world of mounting decadence Nothing can hold truth and honesty together

As I wave my hand in the air, I motion you to come closer Start this endless romance

Not between you and I But between trust and committance

Wait for silence Wait for sleep Wait for peace

Then we can touch ..in dreams..

Metropolis doesn't want us to sleep Less it let us inhabbit our dreams Only to pieces of the shattered It can only resolve in our disloyalty

Total mindcrime it says, cannot rebuke There's no rebutle, but an end of statement

Pandemonium clouds temporary judgement A short analysis of ourselves

We cannot be subjected to distinctive terms We are fictional

City of blurring lights in swaying darkness Inverse luminary overshadows heartly judgement

"Tell me more..." "Tell me about myself"

IV. Let silence fall assunder as a boundary (ome to 7heism

Escape in makna ~e%ca]>e~ Don't let it be abstract

Have we been transformed? Apostle of today's corporate culture

Would you have changed a thing ? Destruction of the left brain regime

There is a cycle, which determines life and dharma In the starlit sky of human's silver sea of madness On the seeming horizon, inately seen A lonely silver surfer, Comes to push the wheel for me.

"Gotta move" (

"Gotta move" ^

"Gotta move that wheel right round" )

"Push the wheel of dharma round"

Repeat,

Repeat until the end of perdition

This re|>etition is road to redemption

This hand, can you feel it's touch? Now don't let go.

V. Enter this threshold, where you're }afe w/ m{E

Could it be that you and I have grown to love each other, In the dense aura of this lonely city, full of bitterness? True feelings can never hide much long, For whatever covers, cannot hide from true sight

The wind carried your cries, your wishes, your tears. And when I held my hand out to the sky, I caught some of your dreams.

The misty air partialy hides the growing flowers Blooming without sunlight, to the music of the marionettes Quartet players with classical aptitude Flowing melody in rivers of song

Endless...

Love, love, love, love, beautiful life In the eyes of a lover

Love, love, love, love, merciful touch As if in another dream

Dahlia...

Yes we are, I say we are destined Nothing else but nature that guides The wind, the solstice, the leaves Le ciel's faint whispering Warm snow welcomes this gardenia

Let's enter together...

Part II : The Sea of Moonlight ------------------------------

I dream of a blue nightingale

Not a dream. a perchance SDelirium guide me through this dance

a pointer. an address SPathway leading to this glass

not a form. a code SLanguages, conversations I do not recall

From a faraway place . . . The structured becomes the harmonic, then the frail

White Feathers: ---------------

Start of a lasting imperfect feeling A blissful impression unhindered This slight cut, an apothema Sweetening the shape of a tale

More poetry than justice A judgement in a poem

The tale paints itself a caligraphy Cornering prose to naratic ballad

Few words write themselves as prelude to a dream An overture towards realization Forging a small footstep for an elegy A move towards the end of a chapter

Before planting a kiss on the cheek Take a step out of square one

Atrium Universal: -----------------

I can feel the city itself Living, pulsing through me

I can feel the city itself Breathing in my own breath

At night's first saunter Tides, affairs subtly sweeping

Affairs yielding agnomen Pastly borrowed, then lent, now buried

Not a monumentous rite, A forecourting repose of endeavor

Melfluous, degree, decimal

The wall, the crack, the breach A light, a hope, A piece of reverence A sigh, a gleam, A benevolence

Neon. again a blinding, Charges, pistol, crackpot

Rain: -----

Swaying Petals, Fluttering Sight

Resting in silence Peace in the chaos that surrounds

Hiding within metropolis' fog

Out of reach Out of touch

Lit lanterns sway westbound Path seeking seem astray

Only patience can persevere Only time can lead the way

Only a woman

"A deepened interlude as an intro to a greater truth."

In phrases she speak In riddles she keep

Feel, a longing to be Only little she has

Not much left in her palm Desperately trying to keep

Err on the side of safety

"Here belies the safety of my sanctuary."

Trusting no one Careful not to love

Metropolis. weaves her coccoon

Silence within a storm

Survival is her language Passion is her secret

"Lesser I believe in myself, so I hide."

Shade: ------

A tide to ebb, A shoreline A flow, a motion A gaze

Once, a woman Twice, a sun Thrice, a nephentes

I feel the breze A neophytic caress, innocence So much to long for So much to ebb and lose

Subliminal violence An abstract for laterality

I'll always remember The news of a fog, The songs of a deaf

No echo in the halls No lesson but in our own

A feeling, inside her Notwithstanding a fall Silence for the requiem Not now, not for awhile

This feeling, inside me A pace not too far from fiction Splitting images on one screen My futile vision embracing

His feeling, inside him Bewildering encompassion of a trilogy Another mind, a friend, a rushed exemption Coming closer to a closure, then rebirth

Naissance: ----------

The birth of a soul, Deus ex machina

I feel a distant sun caressing A slow perchance for fate and fancy intertwined

What cometh this way Grasping scars emerging from days past

What shroud cloaks this day A slow immedicine, The unsounding of my parts

My love, a mirror, a friend It needs a chance, a chokepoint degapped

Heal me, A cessation from discrepancy

[tides of Helen]

This time window we must cherish, You and I and eye of The All Seeing

There's none other, Than the mindmaze in the mirror

I became, I bethroned, I abjected Thread, my dearest thread I dearly depart myself, bidding A home for a respite

Home : ------

The walls cry of absence and whispers

A slight touch of the palm graces, The plight of the plaintiff behind the fate Cursors move up the struggles of the vein, Inconclusive ill of melancholy

This notion of separation, Reaps the heart to its dires On bended knees we sink, At this river of futile tears

The ambience of loneliness and division, Portrudes above our conscious minds Heisting the current abode, Unfathomable desire to mutually caress

Beyond this boundary exists my other half Beyond this wall lies another...

Another,

Sustain contain then stop the ambience surrounding My speechless thought echoes throughout without surpass

and another,

Oboete [remember] Never forgetting specified frame of memory First clandestine then disctinction to final separation

and another,

..

I hear this loudness from inside my ears Humming, fainting whisper, to a soft speech

and another.

...

No more can I reject my objection towards presence PLighT is a revocable sister of her brother, fate

And you.

I miss you

The corridors of fate seems to form an unwanted maze No escaping reflective clarity, images beyond seen mirrors

Such is the configuration of this longing A lamentable presence, expelled from fate

It has been two long years, It has been an eternity

Your modulating kiss fades from memory As each deafening ambience ravage me

I, to my heart : [Perhaps to silence, I have spoken for far too long.]

Now the peregrine, Now the calmative

a boundary of mist separates while the only road leads to home

I've nowhere to go But to return to the confines of my sanctuary

[pulang]

Y've reached I home

Part III: Pandora's Clock -------------------------

I have come at a crossroads A silent tantrum of mind and consciousness

Please take my hand Brace the future with me

First.

The solitude of a solitary mind At this junction of overlaping converses

A gaze, then a hand A reach from inside

The solitude of a solitary mind At the junction of overlaping converses

A gaze, then a hand A reach from inside

[E] "Would you dance with me?"

Dec, the 12th of each cycle A courtship between Soleil and Capricorn

Of your latter solstice I find my solace Under luminous frost After a day after days before a new season

[Dahlia] Rest dear Soleil Shine a lesser warmth Shine greater southbound

Then through motion and period Embrace at former solstice

A garden in winter Not far from closure Enclosed in glass And luminosity

Come dear lucidity Let us speak to warm ourselves Let us become classic

One past, presenting a future

In this garden we trust Grace a prelude to truthful fancy

In this garden we lust Skin to skin without a mindful hinderance

In this garden we bind fire and ice

A simple presence felt between us and our dance Resultante, Of motion and perceived decadence

.the second conciousness.

A girl in the mirror Yet to set her feet, Yet to step to the real

A face becoming clearer Vivid smile doubtful eyes

Is she to be welcomed?

Don't let her future mimic the past This is not a point of vacancy Don't let time's vagrancy become turmoil This is a coming whirlwind

A new stream of conciousness is the resultant There can be no regret

Sleep, breathe deep, deeper in a shallow sleep

This is a form of regression Unfolding a dream of recurrence

~Mataku From my eyes

.Mata Ku. To eyes of myself

..Ma Ta Ku.. Then my own eyes

...Mata Milik Aku... These eyes are mine

[E] A cyclic process of birth, death and rebirth Sequential teardrop from a cloudless sky Freefall to a deep mirror of factful fallacy far from fiction

More to truth full of lies and truth, then lies, and lastly truth The answer to a riddle of the sequences and the abstract

A fracture of this mindspace leaks into the open Bequeathing beautiful lies of autumn and of lust But the winter in me is still vast, far from passing Not a drop of colour but a blackless landscape of total blur

Second. Then I see you...

On a road once shared before the crossroads Gleaming with a blueish haze of tenderness Before the coming of daylight's echoing shine Take me to a world outside this shallow sleep

Walking to currentness.

Cascading deep dark blue shade follow folly Interred in my living bones, blades of blunt burden Remain in viewable secrecy, lucidly reasoning for an answer Unwritten forgiveness uttered through a wordless whisper

Reflections, There's me in my head and me in the mirror I can see me very clearly, and I don't like it

The vivid image of reflection has a mind of it's own Why do reflections answer me with such prejudice?

...

A revisitation, A reflection of light Duplicating a world Forming an inversion Making you, Not quite yourself

...

Cascade the masks of emotion to emulate prudence Infer I have, that this is a motion of incredulity

I remain

Asking The Heaven for forgive~ness My hope is now in the clarity of my written bequest

Third. Air

Interlude to preciousness

The world is only an interlude I can't wait for the night to cast it's cloak {of dreams}

A gateway to my paralel life, another conciousness Lucidly living in a shallow sleep

Fourth. Trumpet of Million's child

Dawn to daybreak with a string of trust Warm caress of loyal sunlight Distress and jubilance harbours, Away the stray

A soulful sailor's song Lamenting grace and riddance

Yearly yearning without regard Clasping for release

Melding heartplace and effect Arriving distances to encumbrance The headplace earthing Excelling to explace

Love is a peaceful embrace A feeling, most emtious Of innocence in riddles of sin and temperance A forgiveness for the plightful son

[E] I found who I am at last By a glimpse of fate, enduring A slight mention in destiny A moment alone with my dear fate

A close brush, an eventful sigh Relief, a respite to sensefulness

One last time, Take away my breath

Deliver me my chance, To exhale my last sigh

[Dahlia] I am standing on a ledge A stare to this decending fathom

Cold air sweeps behind me As I tearfully leave my presence

I cannot give you more I cannot be a fitting piece

Musing over life and precedence. Now I'm tired.

I've tried so hard to stay afloat. I'm too tired.

Goodbye now, For I am never truly gone

Fifth. Realitv

[E] A life outside of this TV screen A roundabout of moving pictures preceeding Of passion, of circumstance, of changes My faults and lies, my trials and crimes

Curious apprehension of what may yield I behold to myself, my own mindsight A view to a thrill, a dream of a dream A dull lucidity, a makeup of frigidity

My past turns present My presence sinks into the past Another besetting recurrence Another triumph lost

Sixth. Water

[E] How is my lifeline?

There is a light at the end of the tunnel. A freight train coming my way.

There is a door nearer to the right. Marking exit from a disaster.

(Not out of lifeline)

But indeed. It is I, myself who can save me. It is I, myself who conjured the door. It is I, myself who live my life. Not someone else.

And it is I, myself who choose what I believe in. Not someone else not me.

I'm still breathing, I can still exhale Without hesitation, normalcy without change A sense of endless freedom without boundaries Miracles coming at an enjoyable rate

Now here's that jazz [0}

Flood of tears don't drown me You'll never catch me again crying a flood Now that I'm holding on to my dearest hope I have to hold her gently Careful not to break her to pieces

Seventh. Closure

Strewn paleness, The setting sun colours the sky

A thousand rays bidding farewell, Bidding another rest

And I wish I am not here

Wavering clouds speak with the doves A faint sentence caught in my ears

"There's nothing left to hide."

My melodies will take me Wherever this heart is needing to set

You took away all my strength, Now please take away my pain

Leave my cold outside this shell Never let it rain inside these doors

Please lead me to your promises Then please take away my pain

I am in need of refuge

This is the final scene Before the curtain falls . .

Please, Make me believe in hope, And please take away my pain

Finale. Memoire, a scene in a lifetime

Now I must rest, I must be at peace

Hibernating from culture PlacIng membrane, a distance to bid myself

Sayonara for a moment Please do not forget, oboete my dear Remembrance is for sentient bliss

Keep me in your mind And please, bathe your memory of me in absolution

[deviationdivine]

Wake Up | domestic!Android AU Part 1 (Connor x Reader)

gif by arsuf 

F!reader x Connor

13.6k words

Detroit: Become Human - 1 Year Anniversary Release Celebration

A revolution may divide the city but it will never divide you...

tw: Angst, Fluffy Connor in the midst, Language, Suggestive Themes, Violence

a/n: First part of mini-series AU “Wake Up”. An introductory chapter one. Apologies for how long this took but I struggled and I am not happy with the end result. However, it’s finally here. • Connor is the latest high tech domestic model built with a collection of extra features, skills and functions making him the most advanced of his kind. As your personal assistant he is equipped with becoming the perfect partner if you so require. Falling in love with your personal android was never part of the equation nor was his break into deviancy...

“My name is Connor. I am your personal assistant. My features will allow me to take extensive care of your home, do the cooking, mind children and repair any problematic issues that arise within the household’s utilities. 

As I am the most advanced make I can perform various tasks including but not limited to acts of a sexual nature. If you so require I am capable of being the perfect partner…”

Perfect is a conceptual illusion in every sense or so you come to believe. Why do humans think in terms of excellence when most shining examples tarnish in glaring flaws? Even technology can be made wrong or needing improvement not long after distribution. Faulty wiring, danger of overheating and causing harm of a radioactive proponent all seem minuscule in comparison. 

Today, in the future, there is a grander blueprint mapping out the most innovative, extreme to date.

When it becomes alive, mimics the very corporeal state of being born unto humans since man breathed life in this vast universe, mirroring visage of those who wish to create in their likeness.

How does it go from technological wonder to abstruse thinking? Concepts can be a greater weapon. They can also reach for too much too soon. Is this the true state of AI meant for consumer consumption?

Cart them off exclusively as merchandise no matter how human they look. Isn’t that their appeal? The more something foreign, inexplicable but resembles us the more it is accepted. Basic instinctual deep thinking bred into all humans. Difference is an attest beneath surface value. Judge a book by a cover but if there are features hiding its distinct nature by all means use it.

Laziness might be a better solution in this mathematical equation. Imperfect perfection makes way for future development. Those are the very elements that change the world.

Can you even imagine for one second, one little point in life it would come to change yours? So small in a world full of billions but here in Detroit home of Cyberlife and its creation the pilot sparks. Alight with technological revolution.

Androids are here. Androids are owned. Bought as slaves to humanity and used beyond measure, no consideration that those made in image could possibly develop feelings. Emotions are heavy. They are what make us all human. Can machine truly become human?

  You never wanted one. Mostly it made you uncomfortable witnessing cruelty by specific ‘owners’ on the bustling city streets. It’s everywhere. Even today, chillier, more specifically a frigidity creeping into bones.

Eyes shift over a couple walking briskly as you draw coat closer together up throat. Keeping wind seeping through to tangle around your body but watching them waltz their merry way without care. Of course they have none. Their female android, an AX400 to be exact, is taking care of two rowdy children.

Honestly it must be nice. Not having to parent after deciding to add more to the burdening populace. Maybe that’s just your pessimism talking. Simple fact though? Could be that too but who knows?

Just another one of those days but it is about to change drastically. Passing a Cyberlife store does pique curiosity. Window displays my God. They line them up as if that’s all they are.

They offer whatever a human wants and yet not all can bother to treat them fairly. Is it enough androids are made to look as everyone else? Would a genuine human being treat another so despicably? Yes. A resounding yes because it never goes away. People treat people with disdain for every reason, every prejudice and why should that shock? Androids have become an additional target. 

Honestly it makes you sick. Never did you once realize this is what would change things completely. On this very day, minding business walking home from another tiring bustle  

More than one occurrence struck you right in the gut. A previous household model absorbs brunt of   obscenities and physical humiliation. A scene like this turned your stomach. 

The moment it came to intervene you received an interrupting phone call. Unfortunately this was the start of big changes in your life.

What does one do discovering death of a relative? Closeness is a fundamental of familial connections. For you? Well, let’s say it didn’t quite work out.

  “What do you mean he…died?” Answering in a quiet breath, cell phone a tight clutch in hand stalling in breezy climate, everything stops around your personal orbit.

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” a familiar voice speaks over your ingenious disbelief.

Ignoring your pleas for a proper answer it becomes increasingly cruel on the woman’s breath digging truths in your ear. Whether she realizes this or not it’s up for debate. “You do realize this was coming. It isn’t as if he were young and healthy. Frankly, I am surprised you are having such a negative reaction.”

Negative is exactly the type of reaction! What does she expect? “Of course I’m having a reaction!” Practically screaming into your phone made the chilled air sting worse. How is this happening? How can this even be real?

“Oh, it’s all right, Y/N. Get it out now. It’ll be better if you don’t make a scene at the funeral.”

Anger is a burning pyre ready to fan over and incinerate. One snide comment reminds how much you can’t stand this person. She’s not even blood related. An ‘aunt’ isn’t technically qualified to hold the title and that’s fine. Just another excuse to dig at you in this family but there is no family left. Your father – he’s dead.

Money fixes everything? Unlikely but still nothing surprises you more than receiving something from an estranged parent. Generous sums to a black sheep or as you’re sure greedy auntie bitch of the hour calls you behind your back. She is one woman who deserves that damn moniker. Especially when it’s clear there are no connections left. Aunt Cruella, as christened ages ago by your best friend, made short work of your uncle. Certainly bled him dry continues to do so with his left over money after he succumbed to stress in a massive heart attack. Why do people like her thrive using, snide and heartless while others –?

What can you do then? Except you fall into an overwhelming sense of losing time and never extending an olive branch. Why is the universe so cruel? Why can’t you turn back time, forget every stupid thing that ever happened to drive a rift?

Part of you couldn’t stand the idea of being alone rest of your life. Maybe that’s why using part of a small deposit felt right. Watching so many gradually fall into current technological commercialism lead to most having their own android. It seems almost a little too barbaric making them cater to every whim. Honestly, you have no idea why this is needed. Do you really need him? 

No, he isn’t… He. Yes, he. 

Despite manufacturing Connor is a he in every sense.  Even then you saw as much. Now is much more complicated or you are just as ridiculously naive as you’ve always been told. Who cares about naivety? It is simple opinion. No. This is a belief one that surely would have left nothing to you in an event of final family member’s passing. Yet here you are with him.

You recall when he first arrives unaware of how efficient Cyberlife retail truly is. Why should you be surprised? Deliveries have gone from generic dairy of yesteryear, beyond personalized grocery orders and straight to personalized beings. Androids: alive or not alive?

In conjunction with preprogramming he sounds so lively. In his voice a natural husky dulcet and his eyes a deep soulful brown. Souls in androids are impossible but it’s the only way you think to describe warm chocolate. Hotter than a mug of it steeped in whip cream vanishes as a ghost beneath steaming liquid. 

Flecks of caramel shine in hypnotic swirls enriching accents of russets in muddy hues, the very first thing captivating attention as he offers his list of functions. Even falling upon the last is difficult to decipher how caught up you are in a consummately asymmetrical visage. 

He is far too pretty to look at and you try to ignore these facts. The facts of your newly purchased personal android possessing an aura of physical attractiveness. A fabrication in aesthetics you remember. A way to cover up what he actually is beneath soft synthetic skin dusted as constellations of freckles. 

Tiny beauties cresting upon sharp cheekbones, chiseled jaw, purposely formed to elicit a reaction. This is not at all what you expected but it’s never something to forget. Little do you realize in this moment Connor will always burn brightest to memory? Little do you understand how events will unfold but they shall.

  “Is there a problem?” he asks habitual to programming. 

Societal protocols run a gamut through system piecing together the best course of action. It is only his first day interior of your home. He is of a sense of determination to complete whatever task you assign. 

Determination is not part of proper function. However, he minded the concept. It will be efficient for current issue. “I may be able to rectify your issue. What do you require of me?”

 Require? What?

You cough, inhaling sharply at his head cocking so innocently. A droop of hair flutters atop forehead as a sole rebel willing to fight immaculate armies. He is very well put together. Not that you mean the whole manufactured part! He just – looks like a really good looking guy who takes care of his appearance. Hair mostly but…

Wow, Y/N. Real nice for your first try at handling a conversation with an android.

Not that this is the first android you’ve been in contact with. Difficult not to be when they’re all over but as your very own?

OK Cyberlife! What is up with making him look like real life Prince Charming?  I mean look at this perfection. Is this required? Are they allowed to do this to poor unsuspecting humans?

Watching his brows furrow and LED flutter amber somehow pumps the beats of heart faster. Surely it’s a dead giveaway. It’s not every day you’re cursing Cyberlife for practically throwing a chiseled Greek god at you.

Oh, shit, really? Greek God? What the hell is wrong with you? What isn’t wrong with you?

You sigh, clicking tongue at yourself. Frustration doesn’t begin with this!

“Your stress levels are high,” Connor offers a reading of initial scan. “Would you like me to remedy the problem? I have several possible functions that may reduce anxiety. My model comes with every physical attribute you are familiar with in human anatomy.”

A hitch stoppers breathing. Just enough as eyes widen a little at his declaration. Human anatomy as in…? Oh. OH.

Your eyes shift down. Fixating right on his crotch sends a luscious shiver through body. Goosebumps prickle skin, hair standing up on them. First time in forever you’ve had this type of reaction. Not even your ex managed to make you quiver like this. Not that your mind is even there because that’s been over for so long. Frankly that cheating asshole can have his baby momma all to himself. Probably already banged a couple more unsuspecting fools; you clear throat, scratchier than before.

“Connor, that-that’s really nice!” Agreeing with him that he has nice features you laugh nervously. It’s the first day he’s been here and already he’s mentioning his, uh, included *assets* and it’s not his beautiful eyes either. Ah, shit. Why is he made to be a young, attractive male? “But I don’t think that’s necessary. Not right now.”

It only takes a moment before you hear what came out of your mouth. Right now meaning it’ll be fine later?

“Which isn’t to say I’ll need it later!” Damage control is literally a creator of chaos. Can he just not look so sweet giving these heady ideas? “Just come with me. You’ll need a place to stay. I mean, you are staying here but I mean…” Shit! He’s made this impossible without stammering all over the place. Who gives him the right?

The android’s lips drop open, inevitably looking to provide another set of options but he snaps his mouth shut. Blinking in assessment of his actions to “argue” with your dismissal, Connor pushes away several warnings popping into visual. They are unexpected and not part of his programming.

Instead of speaking he follows your lead, gaze soft and quizzical. Trailing as a newly trained puppy the latest model of Cyberlife’s domestic line becomes further entranced with chirping outside window. No longer able to abide by strict attention he tilts his head at passing pane. Sounds of birds in song flitter and perch on external sill; one ruffles its feathers cleaning with its beak. The other stands still.

He freezes. Both in movement and system analysis he is however conscious of two live creatures. Opposite of android pets universally made available for public sale. His database offers much information outfitting him with the fundamental needs of intelligence and sophistication in his programmed function.

Reaching to open a door you stop when his presence behind you feels empty. It was obvious when he followed but now?

“Connor?”

Cycling indicator fluctuates upon the command of your voice. He snaps around in direction of soft tone. Softer than accustomed since his distribution from Cyberlife shipping to physical store location was riddled with aggressive bystanders. He-he is not meant to mull over his awakening. It does not make him feel anything. No, he is an android. He feels nothing. He is a machine.

Clinical cold manifests deeply behind blocks, barricades in protocols. Connor pushes this strange tickle back underneath wires.

“Apologies for not obeying you, Y/N. It will not happen again. I am efficient.” Nagging at him, strange and uncorrelated to system status, he almost sounds…tense. Connor straightens shoulders, folding hands neatly against lower back. “I was made to be the best of my particular type of domestic models. As an AX800, I am programmed to be a superior prototype.”

Obeying you?

That happens to be the only words you focus on. His choice of them ripple uncomfortably, nearly squeamish in stomach. Is this how you sound? Are you affecting a command or-? No, it’s what he is made to know. That’s the thing. All androids are only made to serve and immediately regret comes back. Maybe you shouldn’t have bought him.

Bought! God, you’re just like those people now. Aren’t you?

No more excuses. No more seeing horrible mistreatment and vowing never to be like them. Even if you never would do any harm losing your father, when you never spoke anymore anyway, still you fear loneliness. Estrangement ruins lives. It really does. What do you have left now? Except for yourself to fend in this world and growing more complicated as the future rambles on.

Detroit is a bustling mix of dilapidated districts, high tech innovations, Cyberlife Tower most significant in those builds. This house is small. Tucked away in a tiny neighborhood away from inner city but you never complain. You are grateful. A roof over the head is the best gift in a mostly gift devoid world.

“Connor, please don’t call it obeying. I-I only wanted to see if you were OK.” Admitting the hesitation beforehand you feel antsy. His LED is blue again but it was amber finding him staring at window.

“My system is fully operational,” he assures, forcing his lips to form a smile.

In actuality his little gesture is a stiff grimace. Eyebrows rise at his attempt. Even if it looks goofy, which is completely not his fault, it’s very – cute.

Again with this! Never mind just focus for once. Pretty comical coming from someone who hardly meditates in the day to day; you step backwards, slipping through threshold, eyes remaining on him. It takes ever ounce of willpower to remain collected. Things are still hard to digest. No matter if it’s been a couple months tangling with all of that legal stuff. Auntie not by blood sure didn’t make it any better. Yet, here you are. Still you stand even while stress is overworking at a job that might as well kill you first.

Offices are pretty dull to work in. At least they would be if they were not a regular cushy job. Piles of paperwork, demands creep up to swallow whole, a boss who just will not stop making things harsher. Mister perfectionist belittles the lower tier all the time. No surprise but it seems the future isn’t as bright as people thought it would. No need to wear shades.

Moving toward window, pulling curtains open a bit to allow sunshine transitions atmosphere from dreary to somewhat cheery. Perfect mask to hide the real truth isn’t it? Sometimes you forget how good you are that. A small smile camouflages best.

You rub hands against the thighs of your jeans. A little sweaty because of nerves but today is big. Being alone always hardly prepares for constant company. Well, he’s meant to be here permanently. That is the initial idea.

“This can be your room.”

Connor’s brow furrows. Studying your movements upon entry, analyzing vitals and their continual fluctuations, the android is confused. His indicator cycles to process the statement as unexpectedly inclusive as it is. “I do not require a room. I am an android.”

Somehow that reaction is to be expected. You sigh, “Just because you’re an android doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have something of your own.”

Ownership is not given to his kind. They are machines. Concepts of acquiring personal effects do not make sense nor are necessary. Connor voices this as per factual protocol. “Thank you for the offer but I am a machine. Machines have no need for accommodations.”

Yes, of course he’s a machine but…

Machine, manufactured and sold without an ounce of actual soul according to android haters you see. Picketing with their signs, so angry about them taking jobs but who made them? They did. Humans decided to and no one complained. Why complain about a technological marvel that can mow your grass, do the dishes and babysit children while living carelessly. That is the difference. Between you and plenty of others there has always been a divide in what you feel. This just crashes down those so-called fantasies. Ones filtering into brain as tiny wisps and at first it was a nice distraction. Finding him so…

“Oh,” a whisper, dawning realization. He is – a machine.

Coming back to the door, grabbing onto handle, you decide to forget the suggestion.

Something sharp stabs at his internal processors. Listening to such a dull syllable slipping almost – upset? Humans’ need for validity and comfort seem to be all too natural. They are highly emotional. The android steps close, head cocked, fingers pressing against surface of door preventing your need to shut it.

Contemplating left him at a cross roads in his programming. He is meant to function specifically and does not need or want anything as you believe. However, he-he could not refuse. It would be impolite. “I- very well, Y/N. I did not meant to be unpleasant. My social parameters are not meant to alarm.”

Alarm? That is not why you… Your breath hitches. Realizing how close he is standing, invading personal space and if it were anyone else? Allowing him is both a conscious need for closeness while still mourning and an illusion. Live up to that woman’s ideas. The title of ‘aunt’ is undeserving.

“Thank you, Connor.”

“You are welcome,” he snaps back to his programming. “What sort of tasks do you have scheduled for me to complete?”

“Scheduled? I, uh…” Shaking a head at his question is clarity. Honestly you are not used to giving tasks to people. Tasks are dropped on your desk until you down. A huff of breath, accompanied with snort is more for yourself. It does garner the most adorable expression on his face. “Maybe you could just…talk to me? For now?”

Connor’s eyebrows scrunch together. His facial expressions capture attention driving the tempo of your heart. He does not understand why. “Are we not speaking already?”

You laugh not at him but his innocent little response there is – Oh. No. 

It only deepens sadness in you now. Knowing where he came from and his confusion in you wanting a little companionship. Androids aren’t supposed to make friends are they? Even if they’re specifically programmed or upgraded to be partners. He mentioned that before.

Luckily a vibration against your thigh saves you. Reaching to pull phone from pocket your eyes train up to his and take a needful exhale. “Sorry, Connor, I have to take this.”

Connor moves aside out of your path. Remaining stationary, hands folded neatly, he awaits further instruction. However, the android’s eyes shift sideways at the sound of your voice outside room. Amber floods his temple.

“Why are you calling me now? No, I’m not wallowing! It’s called mourning. Maybe if you figured out what it was when my uncle died all those years ago you wouldn’t need a dictionary for it.” Hissing fire into phone attacks your aunt by marriage equally. Soon as you pick up! She just had to get in another word. 

Why does she feel the need for this? What’s the point anymore? “No. What do you want exactly? Is this about the trust fund again? I’m using a part to pay bills. What do you think I’m doing?”

Living expenses are still the same old problem. Must be nice for the rich their multi-billion dollar corporations feeding on tech. Just look at Cyberlife.

“It doesn’t matter,” you make it abundantly clear. Does she believe she’s that intimidating? Newsflash to miss upper crust but this labeled black sheep doesn’t take shit from people! “We might’ve had a rocky relationship but I loved him.”

Loved? Connor freezes in corridor. Disobeying processes to offer potential aid in obvious distress he finds himself…curious at such words.

“We were family. What do you think? Don’t you have enough blood money to spend on your Eden Club bots old woman?” Ending it on your terms this time does not fulfill you at all. Always the winner isn’t she? Rubbing it in your face about his death and if your father were here he wouldn’t let it happen. Whatever distances, issues it wouldn’t change that.

“Y/N?”

Connor’s quizzical tone jolts your weary bones. Inhaling sharply, not at all used to this tiny home being occupied by more than one but a heavy swallow fixes your voice. How long was he there? Did he hear all of that? Oh, great.

“I’m fine.” An automatic response always on autopilot gets the job done for you.

He narrows eyes. “Stress is not a healthy component in the balance of human’s…”

“Just leave me alone, Connor!” You snap, tears pricking corners of your eyes before twirling around to run upstairs.

 ^Software Instability

 Connor freezes momentarily. Flooding, filtering in a ripple through code blocks, he blinks in quick succession. Blinding and strange it is not part of his program –

Unable to run diagnostics, tears sparkling in your eyes draw his attention, overtaking protocol. The android’s soft gaze shifts from following your quick disappearance to ceiling indicating footsteps that conclude in a bang. Seemingly you have sealed yourself away. Scarlet pulsates in intervals mingling with amber processing solutions. Leaving you alone is an instruction. He-he cannot ignore. It is what he is programmed for. You are crying. Why must he obey? He must…

 >Obey

>Leave Alone

“Is there anything else you would like?” He asks as sun dips in later hours. Accomplish several menial tasks which he is free to do as he constructs. 

Following your distress several hours ago he feels – confliction. Few commands escape your lips and at times he is unsure with his current scheduling. Abilities are not in question but you appear distant. Did he do something wrong? By wanting to comfort…

 >Analyzing: Y/L/N, Y/N

Stress: 31.6%

Blood Pressure: 124/80

 Studying your face after initializing a vital scan enables Connor to store analysis records. Sleep deprivation, iron deficiency and higher stress than the human body should experience.

“Connor.” You straighten from your position curled upon couch. Mostly you tuck into one side, resting into upholstery and your breathing exhales shaky. Trying to rest off a headache isn’t working. “No. I’m fine. Thank you.”

The android nods but pauses in thought. A fluid habit now out into the world. Yet, he has yet to see much. Only transferring from lab to warehouse storage and ultimately on display in a merchandise kiosk for Cyberlife; he is not widely available as of yet. Detroit is the originator of androids. The product mark on his white uniform christens his manufacturing origins: Made in Detroit.

“There are other functions I was built with,” he explains enthusiastically. “If you would like a domestic partner, it is one of my features.”

Rubbing at your temples ceases the moment he speaks. A domestic partner? Is he talking about that thing again? You draw breath. Unable to look at him now, feeling it twist in stomach, you uncurl, pressing feet on floor. 

“No!” Quickly you cover the rise in heartbeat.

It is so obvious. Wouldn’t be the first time stumbling across sexual depravity in humans. Look no further than the Eden Club. The fact they decided to make that a thing for a household model is honestly not a shock.

God, why do they live in this world? Why do you even have him here? Isn’t this just making you as horrible as everyone else? 

“No,” you repeat softer. “I’d never force you to do something like that.”

It is not forcing when he is programmed, installed with such features. They are high end. As several techs discussed ignoring his presence as though he were – merchandise. Androids are sold. He knows this but has never had a moment to process.

There is zero need. Androids do not think freely. They are constructs built for specific purposes and his are fundamentally clear. He has never performed these functions as he is brand new but Connor feels he can ease stress efficiently. 

Thinking solely as a machine built for a task did not hold true. He felt…strange at your refusal. “Am I not aesthetically pleasing?” Cocking his head, knitting brows together, Connor looks expectantly to you for validation.

Lifting eyes up to him your lips fall open at his question. Did he really ask that? Are androids supposed o ask those kinds of questions? It almost as though he was hurt by that. No, it’s just imagination. Today has been too tiring. Never would have gone so wrong if that woman didn’t call. Honestly answering was your mistake. Story of a sad little life but others have it worse. 

Humans will always be crawling through turmoil, unable to breathe depending on their situations. Maybe that’s why a little part of you wishes he was human. At least acts without programs but this is why he’s here. To fulfill a fantasy, cater to every whim? 

No. To rectify personal aches to pretend that someone is here to offer a shoulder. When there has been nothing going through your father’s death, legal dealings with assets and pressure in job.

“No,” squeezing eyes shut to battle tension, your voice is low. “I mean, yes of course you’re aesthetically pleasing. I mean…you’re handsome. Practically the most…”

What? Beautiful boy you have ever seen? There comes that illusion. They do that on purpose but somehow looking at him you don’t see a machine. How funny is that?

“That isn’t why, Connor.”

Getting up from couch, taking deep breaths and stepping clear of coffee table helps focus. Rubbing palms against face at least wipes away some mess. Eyes are puffy, red from an unnecessary outburst earlier. At certain points life reaches boiling and yelling at him to leave you alone twists in guilt. This is exactly the sort of things Auntie Bitch thrives on.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize to him. Even if it would make no difference it does to you. “This isn’t what I’m used to. Having someone else here.” 

Well, after deadbeat ex anyway but he was a typical freeloader. Thankfully you scrubbed his dirt out of life and home. 

“I’ve never done this before. Having an android I mean. Ordering you to do something that you have no control over is not the type of person I am.” Plus, it’s not as if the androids at those sex clubs have a say. “I’d never do that to you or any of your people. Like some humans would.”

People. A human way to look at him or other androids but that is incorrect. Why would you refer-?

 ^Software Instability

 Connor blinks. The error message was in his vision only briefly and the little blue arrow increasing shudders through his system. He opens his mouth but does not respond. Instead, his eyes fall to your back turning away, pacing in additional stress.

Immediately, the android steps over, placing a hand against your arm. “Y/N, I apologize. Please, do not be upset. Your blood pressure is slightly elevated. You should rest. Perhaps I can produce a remedy befitting in alleviating your headache.”

Touch spreads goose bumps beneath shirt sleeve. Forcing arms to cross over your chest you twist to face him directly an extra tiny thud winds up heart. A key cranks in melody of jewelry box, dancer spins a ballet recital; vintage little tokens, delicate but thunderous in sentimentality. Just a brief glance, pressure of long fingers and it’s the first time you realize how pretty they are. 

Long, beautiful digits on large hands made not born. Yet he is still heavenly.

Sharply a breath slips. Words soothing, touch comforting all those things you crave. Yet this is part of protocols for him. That’s all.

Deeply you sigh. Feeling an unmistakable need burning lower pit of stomach detaches you. A shiver runs a gamut through body and spikes straight to the core of your existence. You squeeze legs tighter together cursing the fact your body decides to get horny over a headache solution. 

Fuck that! It’s his voice. Husky velvet, raspy natural glory and you are so wet. It takes everything not to jump his bones right now. Or mechanical bones? Hmm. Close enough!

“I just need to get extra sleep, Connor.” Dismissing his ideas there are too many running through your mind. Staring down at his crotch again remembering what he said but no. Get it out right now. No matter how much you need to –

You need to go upstairs. Yes, that’ll work.

“Y/N, are you positive? Your levels are fluctuating severely in my scans.”

“Oh? Are they?” Can he also smell arousal? Please, please tell me he can’t.

Connor, however, is not as naive as you believe him to be. Built with specifics in domestic partnership it is easy for him to know when the human body is aroused. Due to your state of duress and current levels of stress he does not wish to explain. It may not be beneficial. It may hurt you.

The android turns eyes down slowly, battling with these thoughts. He is not meant to debate. He is meant to proceed with internal core analysis. Percentages drive him. Yet, he struggles. Is this an error?

“Connor?”

His head snaps up. Connor’s LED flashes in a crescendo to your soft expression.  Hiding the obvious need you have. All humans must expel anxiety in some way. Perhaps he is aesthetically pleasing as you said but –

“I will return to my duties if that is sufficient.” He forces another one of his smiles.

Again the grimace is heartwarming. Albeit in need of practice but-but maybe you can teach him? If there is any good to come out of falling into the same realm as everybody else, then treating him fairly is a start. As if you would treat him bad. No. Why should it matter? Human, android or alien from outer space; you laugh now.

Stupid! So stupid but it’s calming down this literal burning.

Light, airy and symphonic this sound seeps into audio processors. A residual aura prickles sensors, blinding differently than unprecedented software errors. Are they malfunctions? Something soft, sweet cannot be. He has not experienced this before but his attention is solely on you. As brief as the laugh escapes, curling lips in a gentle rise at corners, Connor absorbs the natural human tinkle of chimes that expel so abundantly.

It is the first laugh, genuine laugh he has heard. And it is – beautiful.

The android is so distracted upon this new discovery he does not notice you slipping away. Androids do not possess a need for personal orbits. Their space is not granted freely as they are not free in will like humans. They are meant to serve. Obeying their masters is why they exist.

Yet, Connor can almost feel lack of metaphorical warmth. As you dissipate from his radius so does that laugh that digs into wires. Threading in circuits, causing another minor glitch of instability, forced away from vision in order to watch you; this is a tiny strain, a little piece implanting itself in him.

This is the piece that truly begins everything…

“Y/N,” he calls to interrupt your exit. Without prompt or instruction he once again acts beyond his programming.

Something new, urgent stops everything. You glance over shoulder. Steeling breath at his temple flashing you swear a blip of crimson glows in amber. Just a fraction of a second but you have no idea. Not yet, not then but you will.

“Yes, Connor?” Your breath is quiet, thoughtful meeting his uncertain gaze.

“I-” Connor stumbles. A perfect machine sputters. “Who was on the phone?”

Twisting your body the full way now, nails tap against wall for something to do. A way to hide that hollow pit forming again but no one can hide from analysis. Connor will already know. “That-that was my aunt. My aunt by marriage. She’s- Let’s say she isn’t a very nice person.”

Keeping rest of it bottled up is no solution but telling him will only upset you again. He doesn’t need to know. At least not yet but is this a conversation to share? With an android? Who else will listen? Who else even cares to ask?

Connor did. Is his social program that good?

Honestly, you think nothing of it. For a time it merely seems to be part of what he was built for.

Thinking back at times to this day, first meeting, you will find that so stupid. Naïve isn’t really part of you but he is more. Connor is so much more. It becomes apparent…

August 15th

 Practically slamming front door shakes the entrance with your current state of anxieties. Stress cannot be worse. Spoke too soon during midday. Damn it.

Clearing throat, wiping tears off your face, your breath is staggered. Unable to calm down from such ‘good’ news following that sudden meeting with your boss and everything ripples. Stomach twists badly. Nervous energy or just another month of-

Pressing face into hands poorly stifles sobs. Getting half way through home you just stop. Everything halts as things just don’t want to change. Now this of all things from work it’s going to hurt you in the long run. Your boss did this on purpose. Cutting hours and piling extra to sift through on that fucking computer.

How many sales diagrams, how many logs must you make now? There’s a specific quota. Each person who works database needs to meet their allotment. He threw a ton at you. In order to give leeway to another girl who just started there. Yeah, another potential conquest for the old pervert you’re sure!

What do you get in return? Hours cut and less pay but more weight. A ton sits on your shoulders. Isn’t it enough he humiliated you? Purposely shout out and criticize while leaving his office and you held your head up. Only in the sanctuary of home does it finally snap this flood.

Dropping keys moving uneasily into living room, sinking heavily on couch, you just want to curl up. Maybe it will make things feel better?

Lazily you peer up at television screen. Realizing it is switched on produces a tiny smile. Did he-?

“Welcome home, Y/N.”

Your head lifts up further. Narrowing on Connor stepping into view, he straightens, cocking his head in that adorable way that keeps invading your sleep. Even awake it’s a problematic daydream. He is just on the mind too frequently.

“Connor,” a quiet breath escapes, stilted, weary.

The android reads stress automatically. Forcing tiny fissures in his emotionless facade, splintering through system, he moves swift. However he freezes. Unaware of this strange urgency pulling up tendrils of glittering circuitry, waves undulating beneath shell, eclipses protocols. He must serve. He must obey. Yet he feels something else overshadowing programming. 

System stress battles this ever growing need to break. Crumbling at the seams the more he feels your presence. It is a permanent fixture. As he has become one in your space but Connor is only meant to serve. Why does he feel drawn beyond these stitches of code?

Androids do not question. They cannot experience existential crisis because there is nothing real. They are simple constructs. He – no, there is no personification heralded to androids. They are not alive. Therefore they are not allotted appropriate pronouns.

Connor has heard only one word countless times regarding his kind: It

“Y/N, you have been crying,” he observes through fluctuations.

Pushing them aside, attempting to stabilize, diagnose these errors, the android taps into social function. Sympathizing is not a genuine growth. It is merely part of his program. That is what Connor wishes to believe. He believes in nothing. Nonetheless it does not explain what is easy to machine. Calculations, data processing should offer quantifiable solutions. It is negative.

There is more emotion in his eyes than he knows. You see it. Honestly it surprises enough to cripple a proper response. Easily you brush it off any other time. This time there’s no hiding what he’s already seen. Can imagine what he sees through his eyes. How do androids really perceive the world? Quit thinking for once! All of it is illusion. Remember that.

Cyberlife’s one true goal makes millions, grows powerful in branding of highly sought after merchandise. Still it makes you sick but here you are. Do the same thing because you have Connor. No matter how different it is.

“I’m fine,” a lie tells a thousand truths.

Connor’s brows knit together, mouth twitching, flutter of LED amber. A sign of outward commiseration fights his shackles. He knows you are lying. Despite the fact he should listen and not broach the subject further, the android does not resist this new deviation.

“Why are you lying, Y/N?”

Your breath catches. Stuck in throat along with words it’s a surprise. Even more surprising is the glimmer of irritation on his face. The way his mouth goes lopsided like that is – cute. Wait a minute you’re supposed to be mad. You are! Mad at your goddamn boss for one!

“Lying?” you scoff back at him. “I’m not lying. I said I was fine. And I don’t appreciate you accusing me either, Connor!” Can androids even argue about things so mundane? Isn’t this what you wanted? A real conversation instead of a string of pleasantries, affirmations to duties he accomplishes.

“I am sorry but you are lying!”

Connor’s voice raises an octave higher than typical. Naturally husky, oh, how it deepens. Raw and very alive his tone completely solders you to the spot. Your eyes lift up to his face studying the gleam of his eyes. How strange that spark is. Almost a live wire crackles beneath the surface. A steamy cocoa bright before immediately dimming again; a breath sucks into your lungs cleansing the start of your body. Scarlet shimmers and that’s all the answer you crave.

He appears to swallow. Forcing his Adam’s apple to bob, which is a very realistic detail. Just as the rest of him is so real that sometimes you forget. Sometimes or all of the time, yes, most days his reality masks so well in the mind.

“I-I am…” Connor looks away. Unable to comprehend his reaction it is not part of his – “Forgive me.”

The way his voice lowers tugs at your heart. No. No, that’s not what should happen at all. You’ve seen enough of his kind out there. In the city of Detroit treated so fucked up. Most of them wouldn’t know what to do because they can’t. This is the first time he’s ever snapped from whatever social programming is built in him. He sounded too much like a person. A person with emotions reacting in a very obvious way and the idea Connor’s a person lingers.

You shift forward. Sucking in breath, following his gaze now landing on television, it’s the first time it hits. A ton of bricks, tumbling concrete could never do more damage. Everything about his apology stands still at the developing breaking news story.

ITM is broadcasting live somewhere. Is that outside an apartment rise?

Right now you ignore it. “Connor.”

The softness of your voice draws him back to you. Already he is far too used to it. Joining you upon couch, cocking head, his hand hovers atop yours. Fear of connecting with reality versus construction. He does not touch. He should not be pulled towards these fissures. Emotional surges strike ablaze as a fibrous match lighting his internal mechanisms. Wires push up, tendrils yanking one way towards control’s puppeteer. There it dangles him in strings made of electrical coil. Ensnaring his wrists, snaking around throat, digging thorny and jagged to his brain this is his prison.

Another piece cradles those signs of sensation, innervating beyond a great wall. A red wall gridlocks and crashes against him. It is a giant wave. Scarlet tides engulf and knock the android back where he belongs. Each time he wades closer to you the more it washes him out to that empty sea. He cannot stop. He still pushes. Something inside of him, he does not understand.

“You do not feel well, Y/N. I know this.” Apologizing again, he does not focus on his inner struggle. There should be nothing. He is supposed to be feeling nothing. Is he malfunctioning?

“It’s OK,” appeasing the strobe of scarlet cascading down his face worries. “Please don’t. I don’t want you to be stressed.”

“But I disobeyed. I lost control of…”

“That’s only human, Con.” Slipping on your tongue in an easy breath it’s the first time. Oh this will hardly be the last. Nothing will ever be last with him. If only fantasy can be reality most days. Maybe if you somehow knew here at this point in time. Everything happens for a reason.

He frowns. “I am not human.”

Sadly it’s true. Still you smile. Still you ease him because for once you realize. This isn’t supposed to be easy for him. He shouldn’t even react this way.

Both of you sit in silence. Deafening quiet just the two of you and how strange, wonderful this sensation crawls through the interstices of your being. Almost as if there is someone who cares. Does he? No. That can never mean he is not a needed presence. He is so much more. Soon you will know.

What you least expect is the pressure of his fingers sinking against your stomach. A jolt of electricity, naturally igniting a voltage inside of you and a soft sigh escapes the burden of a dry throat. Glancing down you realize – his hand is growing hotter.

“Connor, what are you-?”

“I detect an increase in prostaglandins.” His prognosis is casual, visibly reading as his LED flutters. “It will do well if you have a heat source to combat any discomfort or cramping.”

A shiver prickles down the curve of your spine. Simple touch or perhaps smooth husky words fill this awkward silence now with comfort. Sure it might be a technical way to point out this specific pain in the ass but it does take your mind off things. So easily you could remove his hand. A good idea to put up a barricade and distance yourself but you cannot do that.

Every thread of stress snaps. In one tiny moment anxieties melt off and ease into his aura. Androids are not supposed to have one. This conscious radiance but Connor’s orbit is safety, assurance. Even if he has no idea what sort of progress it means. A simple relationship of humane and machine, ownership and merchandise is how this world wishes. It is not your wish. There is more. Witnessing it now, gazing up at his face, concentrated crease of brow, optical unit bleeds a palette of amber and scarlet. Dusted in freckles his skin is a smooth canvas to admire. He is so real. Up this close it is so obvious even to your inferior eyesight. Compared to his advanced optical it is. His eyes are warm. Such life shines in them. Mocha sweet, soft and glitters in his careful evaluation. Technical and part of programming but still it sends you somewhere else.

“If confirmed this would be the first case of an android taking human lives.”

Your attention shifts. Drawn to the ITMtv news broadcast it was nearly forgotten. You sit up, unconsciously curling fingers around Connor’s wrist.

The action snaps his gaze down. Momentarily he freezes, stationary, until the soft gasp spills from your lips. Connor tilts his head. In line with television screen narrowing sharply on events unfolding leaves him struggling with process of information. An android is taking human lives? How is this possible? They are programmed to obey not to cause harm.

We are not alive. We are meant to serve not kill!

Connor tugs his hand back. Distancing himself, staring at news broadcast unsettles down to his core processors. A domestic model has taken a child hostage. An inferior model? No, he-he is the same. Upgrades, prototypes mean nothing. They are all part of a linear code. What they are made to be is what they must be. There is no deviation!

Artificial saliva swallows hard, bobbing in his throat. An increase of stress twists him to those original thoughts. Inconclusive on why he is feeling. The events live on air aren’t helping this strain.

“Connor. Connor, what’s wrong?!”

Your hand clutches at his shoulder. Unbeknownst to the android his face twitches with each strobe of optical unit. The shift between colors quickens. His eyes land on you. Concern for him is a shimmer of hope. A hope doesn’t exist for androids.

“I am performing a self diagnostic,” he lies.

Pulling away from him when he jolts up from couch deepens this sickness further. Everything flips in the stomach. Just hearing what they’re reporting. An android murdered a human. He has a little girl. What are they going to do? Is this really happening though? There have been rumors. For several months there’s been talk of androids running away. Going off and doing God knows what but that’s people who hate them. They’re the ones who talk about how evil they are. They shouldn’t exist. Made in our image and unnatural monsters; the erratic behavior in Connor abates this thinking.

There is no time to debate. You already know the opinion that matters. It’s your own.

“You’re lying,” echoing it back stops him. “Tell me the truth. What’s going on?”

“There is nothing.” Connor insists. Remaining turned puts his back to you. The android tries to fight his conflicts. All of it is bubbling, boiling upon his plastic surface. Itching, tingles beneath synthetic skin. You are part of it somehow. He knows. That is why he is malfunctioning.

Nothing? No. There is something! Proving it, grabbing at his arm, twists him to face you. There is no powerful in your pull. He whirls at the action out of choice.

A staggering breath barely reaches past your lips. Large hands engulf wrists, pulling your hands up. Entrapped in Connor’s grasp, fingers long and pliant in their fuse to yours swallowing up in such a strong, yet gentle touch. He doesn’t hurt you. That’s not at all what he took hold to do. Still the continuing broadcast emanates a horrifying soundtrack. Androids killing but he-he’s not like other androids. He wouldn’t do anything he should not do. Part of you wants to believe that.

How he looks now is the only answer to an impossible question. He is agitated, nervous? Not horrifying as people say they are. He looks lost. Lost and searching inwardly. This is the first time he ever appeared that way.

“Connor, please. Don’t shut me out. Just because of what I am.”

“You are my owner,” he lowers his voice. “I am a machine made to obey. I am not your equal, Y/N.” Studying traces of worry in your face opens a hole in his chest. Circuitry, mechanical proponents powering his structure bleed in this instability.

He knows. In the crinkle between your eyebrows, droop of the corners of your soft mouth he sees. For him, a thing without purpose, genuine distress shines in the warmth of your eyes. Human, innocent compared to those he has witnessed abuse in the street. You will never deserve harm.

“I’m not an owner. I-I’m…” What are you? A friend? A lover? None of those things! You bought him. What he says is the horrible truth. “It’s OK to be you. I don’t care. If you have a problem it’s not like that thing on the news. I know it triggered something. But that’s not…”

“I am not triggered by anything, Y/N.” Connor releases you slowly. Allowing wrists to drop from his fingers the loss of warmth registers profoundly. He did not realize he could feel so authentically. There is something wholly beautiful about how your skin blends with his. It fascinates him. You are beginning to fascinate him.

Connor breaks away. Narrowing heatedly upon news, he can only watch one of his own threaten to murder a human child. The android can only stand by as it unfolds. Unable to snap, break through and understand. What made him attack? What turned him on his owners?

He can’t calculate a reasonable response. Neither can he fall into these errors, system malfunctions whispered of since he arrived to your home. This thing they call deviancy.

November 1st

 Several months follow the first introduction; follow that news broadcast that begins a shift in the city. Still it seems longer. An infinite amount of space separates since then and now. Only in a comforting presence that you know is still simply part of his programming. Of course that’s all it is, he made it clear during the hostage event televised for all of Detroit to witness. Did it ever stop the truth in you? No because it would all be lies if you never admitted how…attached you’ve grown to him. 

Attachment to an android probably isn’t the smartest thing. How can you see him as just an android anymore? He’s more. There is so much more. Even his small barely there smiles, a hint of stiffness apparent in the corners of his mouth, make your heart flutter. Just a tiny drop of emotion dips in an endless sea of code.

No. You can’t think of it because the second you fall into this fairy tale something regretful will take place. It will swamp around heart, holding upon his smooth cool fingers. 

Cradling in his synthetic grasp without him understanding that slowly, profusely, so internally chaotic inside your soul, have already began this descent. However there is more to being in a daze. You certainly haven’t taken him up on his special upgrade programming to be the perfect domestic partner. 

Imagine others forced into things they can’t control? It sickens you at times. Reading about android sex clubs, knowing explicitly they have no option to refuse. That’s not to say you haven’t stared the tugging threads of temptation in its face. Imagining what Connor looks like underneath his uniform, pristine white, shades of blue stitch, android glitters in luminescent fabric; his deliciously toned forearms visible donning a short sleeved variant get your mind racing.

Large hands, long fingers, veins, muscles eye catching in their realism all built into his synthetic design. It doesn’t even cross your mind anymore. That his layer of beauty is artificial because what you’d give to trace fingertips against his lovely epidermis.

Kissing him all over, following the obvious toned planes of the android’s chest. Feeling him against your fragile human exterior; to say you haven’t fantasized, haven’t fought with internal desire is bigger than an understated battle. 

Just look no further than that incident first day he was here. Getting off on his voice, comfort spilling in a song; you hate the fact it happened. Only reveals how desperate you were in that time for any ounce of solace. 

He offered then as it is part of what is meant to be. But you can never hurt him. As much as others will say you are delusional for believing he has feelings. Emotions are part of human existence, after all, not part of creations built for sole purposes of serving.

Current state of the city might have something to do with it but today is like any other. At least it begins as such. Even in the now listing along day by day thankful for once in your life for a father who never lived up to his title. Until he dies of course then all is forgiven.

Small miracles don’t exist in the grand scheme of life. Sometimes wishing they did amplifies doubts.      

“Connor.”

Whispering in a lazy flip amid covers, groggy and unaware of his name sighing affectionately bundles you from penetrating sunlight. Blankets do little to hide from the morning. Squinting half lidded towards those streaks of light creating illuminated patterns. Spreading across snowy carpet and reaching up to edge of floral stitch coverlet draped mattress, you toss an arm over to cover eyes. Squeezing them beneath wakes you up better. This time it’s obvious.

Sitting up quickly and digging fingers into blankets sheds confusion. The state between unconscious dreaming to conscious awareness is a complete mess. Did you just have a dream about him again? Rubbing hands against your face doesn’t wipe tiredness away. It neither helps get your mind straight.

A complete mess in the mornings is a daily routine. All of your life what else is new?

Absorbing sunshine might be good for the pores. He will tell you that soaking in morning sunlight is a healthy way to get vitamin D. In his perfectly technical but also impeccably cute tone; you smile fixating on his changing mannerisms. 

Does he know how human he’s been acting with those facial expressions, eyes lighting up in rich cocoa? 

Could be imagination running wild trying to make something out of what can’t be possible. Nice to daydream a little even if representing unnecessary emotions piling up inside. Staring across bedroom lit with natural rays seeping through blinds leaves a warmer atmosphere. 

You enjoy it for a distraction. Quiet can be poetically sound as pressing face into pillow and letting loose a scream. Frustration doesn’t surround the home. It surrounds your job.

God another shift to cover and this time you’re damn sure this co-worker is pulling it out of –

“Good morning, Y/N.”

A gasp slips in a slither upon breath, pressing tongue against the back of teeth enamel in a stare down with your open door. He enters so stealthily sometimes you forget.

“Connor,” greeting him wearily, yawning and stretching arms, your neck is stiff. 

Rubbing at the back of it doesn’t distract you too much. What is he-? Oh. Explains the hot smell of food but this is a little unexpected. You never tell him to bring breakfast anywhere.

The android places an oak tray atop your lap. His eyes trail over exposed skin from a top haphazardly thrown over your body last night. After all of this time sharing space with you he has noted a penchant for wearing oversize shirts, pajamas to bed. There is still a glimpse of lace peeking out as the fabric slouches down.

“Are you hungry? I hope you are.”

He hopes? You smile, especially seeing him returning it. A slight indentation, just the tiniest of dimples in that sculpted face. Still not completely natural but enough to make caterpillars transform to butterflies in your stomach.  Much improvement you think!

“Of course I am but…” You jab a nail atop wood beside plate for emphasis. “Is there something I should know, Connor? You’re awful sneaky today. More so than usual.”

^Software Instability

Connor breathes in a fresh batch of warnings. Unnecessarily inhaling expands chest and it is the natural scent of you. Olfactory filters clog, storing away to memory each thread of you. He tilts his head softly, dip of hair flopping across his forehead.

“It is the anniversary of your purchase of me,” he answers quietly. “I thought you would enjoy having breakfast in bed.”

Everything flutters. You swallow. The careful attention he put into this is outstanding. Not because he whipped up food or was told. He did this by himself. He-he chose to surprise you?

A smile graces lips before biting the bottom one a little bit. This is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for you. And the last couple of months Connor’s really been broadening his horizons. He is so much different. Well, he’s the same with the whole analytics but – this android is less stiff. Softer but he always was a soft boy in your eyes.

“Oh, Connor,” a sweet breath skims along his name. Sadly you recall what you think of this. Most romantic, nicest thing and it’s breakfast in bed. Generic to others maybe but it’s the thought. He thought of you even if it might just be social parameters.

You pick up a folded napkin and curl fingers into it. Shit.

“Y/N.” Connor reaches down. 

Using the tip of his finger swipes a droplet corner of eye. Those eyes always look at him as if he is more. How strange to admit he feels different meeting your sparkle; Connor sits. Without a word, his hand wraps around yours nestling beside tray. 

His fingers squeeze as his system flutters, overheats in the most pleasant of ways. A way he believes he is beginning to crave.

Androids do not crave. They do not want. They do not need. Yet every little brush of your warm skin to his synthetic fills crackles against his blocks.

Your breath is easy feeling him. Little gestures here and there grow exponentially. Sometimes you wonder if he’s happy doing this. Then androids aren’t supposed to be happy, sad or anything. That’s what they continue to say.

Reports on androids going “rogue” or deviant makes you question things. It’s not new. You always have a habit of questioning but this is different. Ever since that older model was broadcast live. The one with the little girl; you slip hand from Connor’s.

“It means everything,” you admit to him. “Having you here. But – do you want to be somewhere else?”

Connor’s temple floods in thought. Straining, pushing away rising stress it spikes marginally at the question. He does not understand. Do you believe he wants to be from you? The news of his people has not left his process. You allow him to watch news or whatever he likes as if he readily possesses preferences. 

The android has found particular interests. He enjoys watching you read physical books. He has grown fond of touching them in his hands, analyzing an entire book in one second. However, he desires to hear your voice read aloud.

He witnesses protesters on local news. Those humans are cruel but you-you are the conceptual manifestation of an angel. Research and data compilation helps him understand better. Watching you is best to determine the differences, to realize not all humans are the same.

His creators, those who constructed him at Cyberlife may find him having his own ideals faulty. Malfunctioning, burdening in failure; is he obsolete? Does this software instability make him defective? As that android upon the high rise dangling over edge and threatening to maim a child? He will never harm you. It is not only against code, it is against what he feels.

Connor will keep you safe. It is not part of initial programming as he is not a military grade android but he cannot remove it from personal parameters. The more you smile, interact with him as if he is equal. He will never –

“I will never leave you, Y/N.” A determined oath he speaks without fear of showing what is happening inside him. “Not as those other androids. I promise.”

“Do you like dogs, Connor?”

Nudging at his arm playfully sends you to a nice state of mind. Nice change following all of the stress at work. Forever ongoing but at least it’s clear where your boss stands. He made the last few months a living hell. All because of some new intern the creep tried to get with. 

Dropping you down in a demotion also meant less money in your paycheck. Guess it helps your father did leave you that nest egg. Something that helps as long as it can last but you like to think you’re good with finances.

Instead of worrying about it you indulge this moment. Out in chilly first November’s day, crisp but warming in how close. Fingers brush down against his hand.

Connor tilts his head from shop window. A pet shop he has already been past occasional running errands in town. He always finds himself stopping to look inside. “Dogs are known as man’s best friend. I suppose I understand why humans prefer them. They are loyal.”

“Well cats aren’t so bad. Easier to take care of.”

The android shifts away from window. Even as his eyes freeze upon a cage of canaries. Android birds are sold up front. Again the display of machines as goods to buy and sell charges his instabilities. “If you think so, Y/N.”

You smile, laughing a little at the lopsided mess his collar’s now in. It is windy today. Reaching up to smooth fingers against it, you can’t help admiring him in the long wool coat. Dark suits his chocolate eyes. Still you’d love to see him wear regular clothes. His uniform is under there. Even so he just wanted to come out in typical wardrobe. You insisted otherwise. Even if it hardly meant anything but it just feels right.

“Call it preference.” Prodding a finger against his chest, catching a flicker of his eyes momentarily, you look away. “Well, it depends on the person I mean. What kind of pet they’re willing to take care of. That sort of thing. Cats are independent little balls of fluff. Dogs need a proper place to run, be free and…”

“I like dogs.” Connor interrupts, cocking his head.

A smile tugs up your lips. This time making eye contact with him again, trying not to think of the intimacy his gesture this morning blossomed in heart. Such an innocent statement, however, shivers sentiment not cold.

“Did you just decide that after some careful review?” Teasing, fingers slide down his arm unconscious but natural. Seems as though the world is no longer the one you know. The one that wouldn’t like what they see. All you see is him. So what’s it matter?

“I am the most advanced of my make.” The android teases back. “It’s only natural for me to know everything.”

Oh, is it? Wow he’s being awfully smug right about now. “Really? Connor, I’m surprised at you. Are you trying to say you’re smarter than everybody?”

He shakes his head. “No. No, I only meant I-”

“Just teasing,” an equal rib escapes, chiding him incessantly. “I thought you’d recognize that – mister advancement.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. Almost falling into your smile but still he cannot properly elicit what he feels. Only ignores to remain what you need him to be. A machine designed to accomplish a task.

“Hey sweets!” Yelling across street, waving a sign, a grizzled construction worker spits in your direction. Interrupting the scene between an obvious human and plastic pet; he jeers loudly. Gaining attention from others they carry similar propaganda with them. A group of protesters form, stopping their trek.

Immediately you shift back from him. Realizing how close, affectionate you were being and – shit! Anti-android? Fuck that’s great.

Deciding to ignore it, not before scoffing in disgust! Never imagined running into these people because nothing ever transpired with Connor. Not a thing! Lately you have been forgetting. Maybe that’s the problem.

“Hey. I said hey!”

Huffing at the man you snap around to acknowledge his nastiness. So he crosses a busy street to come at you? Don’t they have anything better to do? As much as you’d like to ignore this jackass it’s best to tell him verbally to back off!

“Why’s your droid bundled up like that?” he jabs a finger threateningly. “Those things don’t feel anything.”

Thing? Oh, OK! Should’ve figured some old out of the loop jackass was one of these bastards. Didn’t even need a sign to show his ignorance!

“And how do you know?!” Snapping frustration, anger boiling, and your body grows hot in anger. “Why don’t you just mind your business? Come on, Connor.”

“Y/N.” The android snags onto your hand.

“What do we have here?” Another one of the anti-android group cuts in; her eyes slink up and down you before scoffing disgusted. “Are you out with your robo boy? What? Humans not up to your standards for fucking?”

Everything stops. Right then and there it is a swath of fire. Burning deep down to the core and nothing is preventing the eruption. Lava scalds insides, veins a blaze, eyes locking with hers, prying a hand away from Connor. You didn’t even realize he motioned. An attempt to remove you from their path but fleeing is not happening!

A matching scoff releases sharp. Your lip curls at her ignorance! Just as everybody who follows this line of thinking. “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Care to repeat that? After all, I don’t understand bitch speak.”

 “Smart ass huh?” The woman shoves at you. “Typical android fuuu… Hey!” She stumbles away from you wide eyed.

Connor is already shielding, arm pushing you back behind him. Sidling into the path of protesters they have conglomerated this side of street. His eyes narrow. Brow creases harsh his expression unreadable yet his indicator reveal his heated struggle of raw emotions.

“Did you see that?!” She shouts purposely. Getting as much attention as possible it doesn’t stop there. “It came at me!”

Your glare dissolves, latching onto his arm. “Connor, please. Don’t.” Already realizing what could happen it’s a desperate attempt to continue walking. If anything is true something like this will only get him hurt. People will say that’s impossible they don’t feel anything but to hell with them! “Let’s go.”

Pulling him towards street halts the moment you are seized from behind. One of the men in the group drags you back, yanking rough.

“Get the hell off me!”

“Your fucking android came at her!” Throwing you aside, he rears up over to block you getting up so easy. “We’ll teach your fucking plastic pet!”

A painful huff, hard drop accelerates Connor’s stress levels. Watching this human manhandle, hurt you twists at his synthetic heart. His face twitches. Thirium pump chugs erratically in a fuel of anger. An urge to break through and protect overwhelms, even as he is shoved back by the one who started this.

The middle age construction worker; he grabs onto the front of the android’s coat, rough, spitting directly up into the taller plastic fucker’s face.

“Fucking piece of plastic! Think you can take our fucking jobs. Walk around the street like you’re human. Worthless pieces of shit like you fuck up the whole works! Poison other humans against their own kind. Like your owner there. Make sure that bitch doesn’t get up!”

Connor’s eyes shift down at you, stopped once again after pushing up to your feet. The man twists at your arm and it is…too much!

“Connor!”

  ^72%

Level of Stress

>Do not defend

>Obey Code Programming

>Do n defend

>Do defend

>defend

  A flood of scarlet eclipses protocols pushing him beyond programming locks. Even as they strain to tighten shackles on system, preventing a clear break, the android still moves in defense.

Connor’s arm thrusts upwards, locking fingers onto wrist of the protesting assailant. Stilling the human’s movement, he squeezes, and wrenches the man’s limb sideways. The fierce strength exuding from the AX800 ripples in flashing indicator going wild in a strobe of multiple hues.

He feels a strange pull tugging insides. Again pulling at his wiring allows an over stimulation of emotional surge to spread in him. There is only one blaring sign to follow:

 >Protect Y/N

 “Get the fuck off me!” Changing his tune quickly, trying to get the plastic off him, he tries to wrench out of the painful grab. “You crazy android! This thing’s going nuts!”

“Connor!” Pushing through several onlookers now who had to stick their nose into this, you find your way past the rest of these android protestors. Shoving directly through, wiggling your way out of that asshole’s grip, your steps are quick. Knocking that bitch that started this out of the way you manage to grab up onto Connor’s shoulder.

Breathing is fast, side hurting from where it struck asphalt. It’ll be sore tomorrow but only he matters. “Connor, let him go. It’s over. They won’t do a thing!”

Screaming at them to get your point across, hoping someone just-just anyone puts a stop to this. What good are the police around here? They don’t care. Of course not they’ll just let a group like these hateful fuckers brutalize someone like Connor. Someone that’s right. Fuck what they say!

The second he releases that man you hook an arm through his. Directing him away, glaring back as commotion does alert a wandering policeman, you pick up your pace. No longer needing anybody else’s help because Connor… He did something unexpected. Just as those other androids. Deviants. That’s not him. He’s not deviant. If he was –

Catching breath across the street you uncurl fingers from the front of his coat. Chilly air creates a frigid burn against stinging eyes. It takes every ounce of courage to prevent it spilling. Nothing stops knowing what people are really like.

His eyelids blink rapidly. Not even looking at you but his LED scares you to death. Stress levels are a thing. You know that.

“Connor, please.” Reaching up to cup his face forces his eyes down onto yours. Tears brim in a crystal sparkle. Threatening to slide down but you suck everything up. Just as you’ve always done in life but this time –

“It’s OK,” soothing hasty, breathless instills a deep ache. This is the first time he’s lost control. Then it’s not his fault. Those fucking protestors! They were minding their own business. Until they decide to gang up on you. This is your fault. If you weren’t so obvious, being so close to Connor out in public, none of this would have happened.

“Y/N, I –” Connor’s voice stutters. Strangely he cannot form a proper response. He feels as if his system is overheating. He feels. A tiny prickle underneath synthetic epidermis crawls, stress rises; Connor clutches to you, fingers digging into hips. He leans into this affection. 

Why do you offer him this? When he is not alive, he is not real. He could be your partner. It is part of his design. You did not want him that way. He recalls your words about not forcing him against his will.

There is no will. When he is a machine!

The android gazes longingly through leaking eyes. Glistening brown becomes another change in what he is supposed to be. Tears have broken in a trail down his cheeks. Androids are not meant to cry. He thought as much.

Tears threaten you too. Looking up into his face so conflicted, hurt because he’s not what they say. He’s alive. Of course he is. Only your sweet Connor would be. 

“Connor, please don’t.” Begging him again this time holds your heart on a jagged precipice. One wrong move and it will crash. “Your stress levels. Please, don’t…”

He leans his head down. Close, pressing forehead to yours, his eyelids flutter closed. “I am sorry,” Connor whispers, orbiting the warmth that pours from your body. This warmth he does not deserve.

His voice is husky heaven. Golden gates open with each syllable and you crave to hear your name. Again and again you crave his closeness. “Never apologize for what others do. They don’t know. None of them know what I know. You are more than them. You’re my Connor. With a heart of gold.”

“Androids do not have hearts as you do, Y/N.”

You smile sadly. “I know,” a whisper but next a beautiful revelation. “But this.” Fingers slide up against his chest. “It might not be the same but it thrums in a lovely song.”

 ^Software Instability

Steam rises in a soothing aroma from the mug cradled between your hands. A fresh brew of cocoa relieves mental ache. Physical? Everything is sore, tender where you fell. Changing clothes after getting back home alleviated discomfort. 

Soaking in a bath for an hour did loosen some tension. Rest of it just fails miserably. As much as you fail in public for all to see what you feel.

Still you blame yourself. Getting close to him acting as if you were out for an anniversary? How stupid can this be?

Of course he brought you that surprise breakfast. He told you why. Does that mean it was a real anniversary? What can be real about buying someone? Nothing is. It just reminds you about every sad truth. Those protesters made it clear.

Pursing lips to smoothly blow away steam, frothy top rich as you sip in a seat on couch. Toasty liquid fills insides with a burning comfort. This is the only solitude needed. Enough time to think it still edges nerves. 

Waiting for a word with Connor, he hasn’t been acknowledging much. Since what happened and who can blame him?

Part of you is still frightened. For him you just cannot help feeling afraid. What if he leaves the house for an errand and-and he’s jumped? What if he’s attacked?

There is no guessing. Possibilities are high. They will happen. They are happening. Each day it grows worse ever since that android who murdered that man. Pretending not to see makes you complicit. You don’t want to pretend. You will face reality no matter how dangerous it is becoming in Detroit.

“Y/N.”

Your head lifts. Peering over towards his husky drawl of your name straightens your perch. Leaning over deposits mug on coffee table and you wait. He appears as conflicted as before. 

Please, let him be OK. Just don’t let this ruin what you have found. 

All you care about is him. Yes, it’s true now. All these months and there are nothing greater than personal truths.

Connor hesitates. Ruminating over his actions offers him zero outcomes explaining his loss of control. There is only one solution. He is malfunctioning.

Something in his handsome face twists your stomach. It stabs deeper closer he gets. Joining you now is all the fear wound up in you showing its colors. They are similar to his LED. A constant swirl is unable to land on one draw.

“I will understand if you would like to send me back for reset.”

Reset? That word just guts you. Reset. No! 

“Connor,” a sob almost overtakes your response. The very idea of him taken somewhere and operated on ripples overtakes in a squirmy skin crawl. It’s barbaric. Resetting an android’s memories is horrifying. You hear about it all the time. They are completely wiped of their –

The android’s lips part, cocking his head while listening to shaky breath falling in sad soliloquy. He does not understand. No, he-he does.

“Y/N, I… Please,” he urges comfort stretching fingers out to soft skin. They do not touch. Simply artificial hovers above humanity but something tugs center of his chest. Something deep and satisfying as his synthetic heart thrums quicker in tempo. 

Connor pushes through this grid without fully snapping chains. Already he feels a flow spreading through system. Each day he looks upon your face happier since he came. As you told him once that it makes you feel better, safer to have someone. He is not someone. He is an android. 

How can you possess such feelings? How-how can he gaze over such softness, such beauty without wishing to remain? 

The thought of being taken - scares him. 

His LED flickers, red once more but not in anger. Fear is strange. Partially for his being but the possibilities of never seeing you again are tearing his programming shackles apart. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Reassuring him now is better than showing anymore of what has been lying inside. “No one will take you from me, Connor.”

Silence is best.

Sitting among a safe haven, your home offers that place now not just for you but him. Here no one can hurt this. No one can treat him inferior. Never will you treat him any different. You know it’s a fool’s game. Especially in this modern world of technology strives, transitions and creates intelligent life in humanity’s image. He is more than a sculpture, perfected work made for duties.

Today, Connor acted as any man would for the person they…. No. It can never be that. Neither does it stop how you felt. How he could tamper with his program just to be there for you.

None of this should have happened. You repeat it over and over again in your mind. None of this because of a fantasy; your eyes fall to his hand. Fingers touch yours now. It is soft, gentle and only a moment.

Connor pulls away too soon. Just a minute he allows himself to fall. Your reaction to his suggestion, no solution, cripples his code blocks. Almost he shattered them. They are close to crumbling. He must fight this deviancy. Only to stay with you because the android already knows what will happen to him. It’s happening to all of his people. Those who are succumbing to errors are hunted. They are murdered. 

No they are destroyed, deactivated. His kind is not alive.

If that is true... Why does he feel threads of humanity? Why does he feel alive with you?

Meeting his gaze deepens this sensation of fear. Today, waking up to a sunny morning seems so far away. It was just earlier. Horrible things happen and change perspectives. Tiny moments of peace and that’s what he brought. Into your life following circumstances you never expected to gain something worthwhile. He won’t even believe that. He thinks he should be reset. That will never happen.

“Connor, I want you to know something. And I want you to believe me. Not think of who you are.”

“I am – no one, Y/N.” The android dismisses for your sake. If he becomes deviant they will take him from you.

All you do is shake your head, cupping his face. In your hands he softens. Those sharp edges, cheekbones thumbs now caress. Soft skin in a freckle stardust that makes hearts flutter. Better than butterfly wings, better than anything you can use to describe how it unmakes your soul.

“It would break my heart,” a shaky whisper strangles. “If you are reset.”

An instant flood of scarlet reflects his inner feelings. You see it. He never has to admit. But he does feel. That’s what makes this harder. Knowing how afraid he must be not to show it. There has to be something happening inside of him. There are too many examples now.

“Con, I want you to…”

Dropping hands from his face makes it easy to turn in direction of doorbell. Who is that? Slowly you rise to feet, sliding fingers down atop his shoulder. “I’ll get it.” Striding away out of room quickly prevents him ignoring your request. Another sign but that’s for another day. As if it will be any easier.

Unlocking the door leads to a horrible drop in your stomach. Eyes connect with the woman standing there now, out of the blue, someone least expected and at the worst time imaginable.

“Hello, Y/N,” the older, staunch woman smiles, already assessing you like a microscopic Petri dish sample. “It’s been quite a long time hasn’t it?”

A long time is putting it mildly. Last time was on the phone and her trying to sink her claws into your father’s nest egg. The one he left you.

The conversation left on a sour note. There is nothing sourer than a rotten apple and your aunt is the literal evil queen hoarding an entire bundle.

Tag List: @tropfenlady​  @your-taxidermy @catastrophes-light  @rk900sexual  @tommy-10-k  @dreamyby @randomfandomgirl1996 @etherealcel @justashamwithwastedpotiental // tagging a few extra who I know would want a heads up <3

[lilith-tokoyami]

Tokoyami x Soulmate Reader

(Female Reader) 

[Name] lives in a world full of wonders. 80% of the population has some sort of uncanny ability known as Quirks and while the other 20% are born powerless. 

Quirks can range from so many different things. From changing ones appearance to giving them an ability made for fighting or just for everyday tasks. The possibility for quirks is endless and in this world evil dares to try to overcome the good with their wicked quirks. So in this magical world there are those who aim to protect and save the innocents. They could pursue this for multiple reasons. Money, fame, popularity, justice. But whatever the reason these fearless saviors are called Hero's. They protect the good and capture the evil. 

However quirks aren’t the only magical thing that the people of today have grown accustomed to. 

Soulmates.

While only 80% of the population has quirks everyone has a soulmate. Even if they meet them in their lifetime or not. 

In this world whatever eye color your soulmate has is the color you can’t see until the day you meet. If they have two different eye colors or their eye color changes over time so does the color their soulmate can see. Once you meet your soulmate if you ever do then your eyes glow with the color of your soulmates eyes for a short period of time after your first encounter. Once the glowing fades away you will find that you can now see the color that has been missing your entire life.

And that's where this story begins. A young girl who wants nothing more but to become a Hero. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today is the day. I can finally apply for UA and all I have to do is pass the entrance exam. Which should be a breeze considering my quirk is kind of over powered. 

(If you don’t care for this quirk or want your own then just change it in the story! I just really love the idea for this quirk so I added it in. Feel free to skip it if you don’t wish to use it)

*Present Mic like voice explains quirk*

[Full Name]

Her Quirk 100% Water

It is what it sounds like! Her body is made completely out of water. With her quirk she can harden the water and bring it closer together in order to form her body while on the other hand she can melt it and pull it apart to give her a form of a puddle. She can also decide what body parts should be in water form and what parts shouldn’t. Whenever a part of her body is in water form she can still control that part of her. For example if she is in complete water form then she can manipulate her body by propelling herself in order to move around. Finally if she is in her water form or a certain part of her body is in its water form it is partially impossible to hurt her. However the draw backs can include dehydration, broken bones from to much transformation, and if she doesn’t keep her body together in her water form she may loose some of her limps until she finds a water source to replace it.

Well I guess I should get going. If I am late they might not let me even take the test. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I finally arrived and on time which is kind of rare for me. I am always prepared but something always happens to make me late. But not this time. I guess lady luck is on my side today. 

As I walk in I notice a few different students around me. I noticed this really odd blonde guy who just seemed to hate everything. He was yelling like crazy and wouldn’t stop calling a few of the other students extras.

To be honest I am already tired of him and I only glanced at him. Gods some people really don’t know how to play nice.

Anyways I tore my focus away from the annoying blonde and continued inside the building. This is a new start for me. I can already feel my fate changing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oh my gods. 

Present Mic....Is... Um... interesting. 

Are all of the teachers this strange.. 

However I do feel kind of bad. For a guy who has a radio station he really can’t get the students to be excited. Maybe everyone is nervous but even if that where the case it’s still a little sad how not one person is cheering for him.

I am almost tempted to give him a pity cheer. 

Anyways he mentioned how there are three robots when four robots were on the screen. As it seems someone else took account of this and talked about how disgraceful it is for a mistake like this to happen to the supposal elite school known as UA. 

Present Mic explained to us how there will be one zero pointer which will be used as an obstacle. Hmm so all while fighting off these other robots to gain points to pass we must also avoid one that seems to be more powerful then the rest. This is going to be very interesting. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Okay at this point I have 58 combat points and have managed to protect a few of the other students from falling debris. I know it may be a waste of time but I don’t think I would fell the best with myself knowing they may get seriously hurt.

I honestly have no clue how many points are needed to pass but I really hope I am at least close to the passing mark. 

I was about to destroy another three pointer when out of no where the ground started to shake. Debris started to cover my vision as I could only see students running in the opposite direction of whatever is causing the ground to shake. 

When debris finally started to clear I was able to make out a giant zero pointer. 

However when I looked closer I noticed a small green haired boy. He ran in the direction of the robot. That’s when I noticed a brown haired girl trapped under some rubble.

I see now. The boy wants to protect her. So. I guess I will have to help. 

I started to run in the same direction but with the help of my quirk I was able to reach the girl and remove the rubble off of her. 

As I was helping her up a big gush of wind flew by and knocked back the giant robot. 

That’s when I noticed the boy from earlier falling from extreme heights seemingly with a broken bone or two. 

He’s gonna fall. He won’t make it!

The girl next to me was obviously scared for the fate of the green haired boy. But right before he hit the ground I put a layer of water underneath him as the girl smacked him while activating her quirk. He started to float for a second before the girl said ‘Release’ and fell into my small layer of water which was farther protecting him from the harsh landing. 

With that the exam was over and I went home. 

However on my way out I noticed this guy who had a raven head. I have no clue why but I was pulled closer to him. I wanted to talk to him but I just wasn’t able to seeing he was lost into the crowd. 

I didn’t even get to see his face. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As I walked home a small group of teenage girls stopped me to complement my outfit. They said the shade of red when great with my skintone. I honestly didn’t know that. So I would have to take their word on it.

Ever since I was born I have never been able to see the color red. I later learned my lack of sight for the color meant my soulmate had red eyes. I honestly find it really cool. 

I normally try not to wear anything red since I can’t see it but since this outfit was a gift I at least wanted to wear it once. 

Maybe if I find my soulmate and am finally able to see the color I will wear red more often. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Some time has pasted since the exam. Turns out I got in. I even managed to get into the main class 1-A. 

So much has happened my time here has been amazing. We got threatened by our weird teacher. This group of villains attacked us. Aizawa nearly was killed. Yet after all my class and I have been through I haven’t really been socializing. 

Dispite my love for Hero’s and wanted to become one I am not good with human to human confrontation.

I once was talking to my little sisters and they asked what I was learning in school so I panicked and said the holocaust. (True Story) 

So I keep to myself with my head down most of the time. However even with my head down I have noticed the raven boy from the exam. I knew nothing besides that his name was Fumikage Tokoyami. 

Even without talking to him or looking him in the eyes I could still feel that weird pull towards him. I still have no clue what it is but something deep down is telling me I will find out soon.

Anyways as it seems we are in the middle of the UA Sports Festival. The final and third round of the festival. 

I am currently waiting for my first match to start. I am up against some girl from class 1-B.

After a little waiting I finally heard the announcement for my match to start. 

The girl and me walked into the platform and almost as quickly as it started it was over with the over girl knocked out of bound. 

I was declared the winner as I waited for my next fight. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As I saw my name appear to fight next so did the raven boy who I have had a odd fascination with. 

Maybe I’ll be able to figure out why I want to be around him so much. 

I couldn't clear my thoughts as I walked unto the platform once again.

I slowly brought my eyes up to look at my opponent but was let in complete shock by what happened next. 

My eyes glowed a red color while his glowed a [Eye color] shade. 

When the glow disappeared I could see his red eyes. They were amazing. I had never seen such gorgeous eyes. 

The crowd had taken notice of the exchange completely silent. 

I was going to speak when out of nowhere Tokoyami’s quirk came out of hiding and came up to me while Tokoyami remained frozen. 

Mate... 

That was all the little shadow said as he hugged me and nuzzled his shadowy beak into my neck. 

I smiled at the feeling.

I looked up to see Tokoyami once more as he himself started to approach me.

He gently grabbed my hands and started to smile. 

So my dark queen. You have sat right next to me in class all this time and I have yet to gaze into your beautiful eyes. If you wouldn’t mind to become the one I call mine then please meet me after school. I would like to take you to a place I hold close to my heart. 

I smiled at him. 

I turned us around so he was now standing in my place and I....

I pushed him out of bound.

Of course Toko. I would love to be known as yours but as much as I wanted to hold you in my arms I wanted to win even more, my love.

Yeah sooo. Even with my cheap move Tokoyami I still got Third. 

All I will say for now is ice beats water...... 

[lizziehatter]

Every revealed quote from CTD and the Thomas Novella

Since I cannot wait for the release of both of these and I am going through a Cressworth withdrawal (pls Kerri release this novella soon I beg), I put together all the quotes I know of. PLEASE CRESSWORTHIANS OBSESS OVER THEM WITH ME, I BEG YOU, BECAUSE I TRULY CAN’T WAIT UNTIL SEPTEMBER. Send me asks saying which ones are your favourites, making theories of what the quotes could mean or just freaking out over Cressworth being together in the bath honestly, I’m game for anything.

I - Thomas Novella

1) The opening quote: “The prince of darkness is a gentleman.” (King Lear, Act 3, Scene 4). Not really from Kerri’s writing (hello Shakespeare) but still counts right? 

2) "Blood spilled over my hands in warm, rhythmic torrents. For one drawn out moment, I was frozen, then my world narrowed to an equation. Sterile. Familiar. Calm. The exact opposite of my surroundings." 

3) “I longed to touch her. First her mind, then her heart, and, finally, her body. I wished to own every inch of space between us and fill it with each emotion I’d ever suppressed or pretended away. I wanted to strip my soul bare for only her to see, and then do the same with my clothing, giving her everything I had of me. Scars and all.”

4) “I thought of numerators and denominators and the incalculable way my heart raced as she slowly licked her lips as if she’d deduced the heat blazing through me, destroying my resolve to set her free.”

5)     “Thomas?” she asked, her eyes stubbornly fixed on my mouth. I was finding it hard to think, to breath. She wasn’t aware of it, but when she gave something her attention, the force of it was overwhelming. “Why are you sneaking about this early?” 

         To find salvation from my demons. To stop pacing inside the cage of my room and the fears that threatened to be my undoing. To feel the stinging prickle of snow on my face and forget there wasn’t a cure for my current condition. Her gaze was a palpable caress as she slowly shifted it downward, igniting a deep male need I was startled by. 

         “I’m not sneaking, I’m prowling, Wadsworth.” I gave her a lazy grin. It was an effort to keep my tone casual, to stop myself from trying to kindle her desire too. Though, judging from the longing in her expression, perhaps she’d fanned the flames on her own. “Why are you sneaking about?”

6) “I will not become a monster for you.” 

II - Capturing the Devil

PART 1 - QUOTES FROM THE CHAPTER SAMPLER (the sampler will be revealed at events that Kerri will attend). The sampler is probably 40 pages long, based on what Kerri said on twitter. Each quote follows the number of which page they are from. 

1) “Instead of being terrified of her imminent death and thinking only of darkness, my mother wrote us letters. She wouldn’t survive to see either of us____________" (Somewhere near page 4)

2) “Oh, Thomas. Are you all right?” A single tear slipped down his cheek as he nodded. (Page 4)

3) “A faint image bled through the fabric. I leaned in. “What is that?” He glanced down as if he hadn’t a clue, then shrugged”. (Page 7)

4) “There was a sadness in its face that made me wonder if it was truly an angel. Perhaps it was one of the fallen.” (Page 14)

5) “Do you honestly expect me to address that creature that way? Where did you even find it?” (Page 15)

6) “I thought the gift of my presence was your one true wish,” I said blandly. (page 16)

7) Once they’d left, Liza tapped the image in the magazine again. “Well?” (Page 28)

8) “Why are you smiling like that? I’m trying to have a serious moment and you appear as though you either need to use the loo or have inexplicably sat on an anthill in the middle of my room.” (page 35)

9) This excerpt is also a part of the chapter sampler, but not the ones that Kerri shared on twitter, so I don’t know in which page it’s located. Also, she shared this on her insta story, and parts of it were covered by the text that she wrote on top of the image, so this is my best guess on what was written. The () are the parts I couldn’t read.        

      I lost my futile battle with morality. () like a () who’d discovered his hearts’ deepest () claim it immediately. ()ized his respect for me and my () the only tethers holding him in place. One little nod would unleash him.

      My heart raced as I silently gave him permission, wanting him to touch me again so badly it almost ached. Thomas Cresswell never disappointed. He leaned into me, his body snug between my thighs.

      “Your nightgown is nice, but your lace is what attracts and captivates me.” His gaze travelled from mine, meandering down the road of delicate lace, igniting a new wave of desire as he gripped the sheer fabric at my hip. His touch was scorching. I couldn’t stop myself from arching into it, craving more. “Your body…” 

      His fingers lingered on the ribbons. I enjoyed () the garment and how I felt both bold and soft while wearing it. Thomas seemed to appreciate it for other reasons, and he was no longer masking how much he wanted me. I drew in a ragged breath and fought the urge to completely disrobe him. If he kept looking at me that way, I’d lose control.

      “Your spirit…”

      Thomas dragged his attention down every () leaving no part neglected, his breath hitching the lower (). If looks could consume, he’d just devoured me. 10) Now we know this part and the next are from the chapter sampler as well, thanks to the entire chapter (!) that was released with the cover, so I have moved them here.  “I pulled back and his focus shifted to where my bare shoulders met the water. His gaze darkened in a dangerously seductive manner, awakening a sudden need in me.         “At least be a gentleman and turn around.”         His expression hinted that he was far from a gentleman at the moment, and a quick inspection of my face confirmed I liked it. Excitement thrummed through my veins.” 11)       “My aunt will die from the scandal!”                                Thomas brushed a piece of hair from my face, then slowly moved his lips from my jaw to my ear and back, kissing my bare skin until I was convinced we soaked, unhurt, in a pool of fire, and each of my fears and worries of being caught burned away.                

            “Then we ought to be very quiet.”             He lifted me higher and I stared into his eyes, losing myself in the sensation of running my fingers through his damp hair. He looked at me like I was a goddess—like I was fire and magic and spell work combined in human form. I traced a finger down to his collar, teasing the first button open. I suddenly wanted to see more of him, I needed to. 12) The entire (!) Chapter 14 from CTD, which can be found here. PART II – QUOTES FROM THE REST OF THE BOOK

1) “He repeated my name across my skin like an incantation, his tone as reverent as those praising gods.”  

2) “He brushed his thumb over my lower lip, his voice smooth and alluring in the dim light. ‘If the world thinks we’re heading straight to hell, we might as well enjoy the journey there. I’d much rather dance with the devil than sing with angels. Wouldn’t you?’” 

3) “Before we left for the play you seemed to want—“

“—you, Thomas.” I pulled him to me, silencing his smart mouth with a kiss. 

4)  “I crumpled the letter and fed it through the ornate grate covering the fireplace, watching as its edges shifted from black to orange before fulling catching fire. I waited until it had disintegrated to ash before turning way.” 

5) "Except maybe I’d never been born with the devil in me as he'd suggested. Maybe my monster was more vampiric in nature. I did not crave death, I craved blood." 

6)   “If he wished for a taste of my darkness, I hoped he recalled poison could also be sweet. Sweeter than berry wine and more deadly than oleander. This rose welcomed her thorns, perhaps more-so than her petals.”

7) “__isting until my hands were covered in his sins.”

8) “Love is immortal. Death can neither touch nor steal it. Especially when it’s true."

9) “Who are you?” I asked, only half-jesting.

       He stopped walking. “I am the man who will love you unto forever.” 10) “At some point, we’re all someone’s hero and another’s villain.” 11) I leveled a cold look at him.                  “This isn’t a fairytale. I’m not a white knight or some morally incorruptible prince.”        “If you claimed to be either of those, I’d know one thing for certain.”                    “And that would be?”                  “That you’re a villain and a liar. Same as me.” 12)  “there is nothing in this world, no threat mighty enough to keep me from you.”

[girlobsessed21]

The 100 season 6 predictions #2

As promised, here’s another prediction post. I checked my previous one and most of it occurred or might still play out in some way. This time I’m not so confident but I try. My mom vetoed only two of the theories I discussed with her and she’s brutally honest, so that’s something, at least.

That said, I’ll start with the basics. 

The Episode guide

6x09 - What you take with you

UNLIKELY COMPANIONS - Bellamy must venture out into enemy territory with an unlikely companion. Meanwhile, Octavia is forced to confront her past.

This is also the title of the biography of Therese Greenwood about wildfires that destroy an entire community in Canada causing its inhabitants to flee to safety.

A snippet from Rich Malloy’s article ‘What’s In There? Only What You Take With You’ about Yoda’s teachings to Luke Skywalker in the cave. “As we move through life, facing challenges, enjoying moments, getting excited, or being calm, how we are in that moment depends on what we take with us. Did you get blindsided by a difficult conversation? You faced it with only what you took with you. Did you prepare for the meeting? You faced it with only what you took with you. Each day we have new caves to enter with unknown challenges to face, and we do so with only what we take with us.”

6x10 - Matryoshka

REUNITED – Russel seeks justice. Meanwhile, Gabriel must make a difficult choice. Lastly, the Blake siblings reunite

The following was taken from Kerry Kubilius’s article: The Origin of the Matryoshka, Russian Nesting Dolls

A matryoshka (plural: matryoshki) is a Russian nesting doll, and they are often simply called nesting dolls. It's pronounced mah-tree-YOSH-kah. These dolls open to reveal increasingly smaller versions of the same doll, one within another. The dolls can be pulled apart in the middle to reveal the next smallest doll, with the smallest doll being made of a solid piece of wood.

6x11 - Ashes to Ashes

Ashes to Ashes is a British crime drama series, serving as the sequel to Life On Mars. The series tells the story of Alex Drake (played by Keeley Hawes), a police officer in service with the London Metropolitan Police, who is shot in 2008 by a man called Arthur Layton and inexplicably regains consciousness in 1981.

"Ashes to Ashes" is a song written and recorded by David Bowie. Described as "containing more messages per second" than any single released in 1980, the song also included the plaintive reflection:

I've never done good things

I've never done bad things

I never did anything out of the blue

Instead of a hippie astronaut who casually slips the bonds of a crass and material world to journey beyond the stars, the song describes Major Tom as a "junkie, strung out in heaven's high, hitting an all-time low". 

'Ashes to ashes' derives from the English Burial Service. The text of that service is adapted from the Biblical text, Genesis 3:19 (King James Version):

“In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken: for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.”

6x12 - Adjustment Protocol

Adjustment - a small alteration or movement made to achieve a desired fit, appearance, or result

Protocol - the official procedure or system of rules governing affairs of state or diplomatic occasions

6x13 - The Blood of Sanctum

Fire. Blood. Romance. Death. A glorious return. A shocking end that will change everything forever.

Blood Sanctum is a combat anomaly that can be found in null security space with Blood Raiders presence.

Blood globally represents life itself, as the element of divine life that functions within the human body. ... Blood and WINE are interchangeable symbols; in Chinese symbolism, blood and WATER are associated as complementaries, as THE YIN AND THE YANG. The term cold blood refers to unfeeling.

I’ll get into more details below but what I take from all of this is that the primes cannot continue to cheat death and that time dilation will play a big part in the series. Either in the current season or the next. 

Aboard the Eligius ship

Indra is back! Yes! I’ve called out to this awesome warrior in almost every analysis and finally, someone heard me. Kane will most certainly be less than pleased with his new body, but while he has it, he might as well put it to good use.

We’ve seen Abby’s downward spiral season after season, episode after episode, yet Kane’s transformation might be an all-time low. It’s known of drug addicts to purposefully re-invent themselves after hitting rock bottom. Abby Griffin stopped the pills and then focused all her energy on saving the man she loves, whose death was ultimately a subject of her addiction. 

He will certainly try and find a way to punish her for the selfishness and simultaneously rescue her from the compulsive behavior - he does still love her. How? By finding a way to undo what she did. They do not know how the mind-wipes work exactly. Kane would want to give Gavin his body back. So, if there’s a way, he’d want Abby to find it.

I don’t know if I’ll get used to Kane II. When I see Kane, I see Henry Ian Cusick. That body looked pretty dead to me but there might be a minuscule chance to save him. 

Kane’s new peaceful outlook will not involve killing the primes, but saving their hosts and protecting Sanctum. This is probably what he will conspire with Indra and Raven. Yeah, I doubt that plan will play out as they hope. Simone is still on that ship and will make life hard for them. 

Leaning on the Matryoshka themed episode, with the last of the dolls being a simple piece of wood. They’ve lived so many lives and come to see themselves as superior, that they’ve become cold and hollow through the centuries. Willing to do whatever it takes to maintain their immortality and power. Another fact, the dolls are all replicas, meaning Josephine must have matured into who she is by some sort of example from her parents. 

Daytrip 2.0 featuring Bellamy and Josephine

Bellamy is in for a bumpy ride in the woods. The sociopath will break him down and torture him to break free. My guess, she’ll use the betrayal tactic. Telling him that Clarke never really loved him, that she has always used him. That he wasn’t even in her mind when she took a peek. Only Lexa, Finn and Madi. She’ll try to make him believe that he’s not important to Clarke and that he should let her go.

We’ve seen some guy kill himself for Josie and Gabriel can’t shake her either, she’s clearly a master seductress. As a last resort, she might use these tactics to try and win Bellamy over. Make him fall for her using the body of the woman he loves? I’m not saying he’ll give into it, but hell it might be hard to resist. This will all be while watching her deteriorate.  

Reverting to the ‘what you take with you’ theme, how will he act in lieu of this information? Clarke apologized but does she really care? In season two she told him he should risk his life and go into Mount Weather, then left him in the end. In season three she chose to stay in Polis when he begged her to come home. In season five she left him to die in a fighting pit. They’ll have to sleep somewhere in the woods, perhaps Clarke finds another way to reach out to him.

When they reach their destination, Gabriel’s tough decision will obviously be Clarke or Josephine and when he saves Clarke, does he destroy Josephine? I doubt it. It won’t be the last we see of her. Octavia will beg him to save Clarke for her brother’s sake. This will somehow lead to peace between the siblings. She has A LOT to make up for, but it’s a start.

The Anomaly

A temporal anomaly is a disruption in the spacetime continuum which can be related to time travel. Temporal anomalies can take many forms and have many different effects, including temporal reversion, the creation of alternate timelines, and fracturing a vessel into different time periods.

The Octavia that returned looks like a younger version of herself. She may have lost her memories and be attacked by them once she takes a nap in the same way Clarke took a trip down memory lane. That is surely a night of terrors, reliving the Bloodreina phase. How will Bellamy react to this? 

Gabriel might see this as an opportunity to save both Clarke and the original Josephine. If it reversed Octavia’s age, won’t it do the same for them? They’re both in there, perhaps they can come out as younger versions of themselves? It fits into the Matryoshka theme.

The anomaly also picks up the soundwaves, implicating that they might have a way to contact the Eligius ship to collect them.

The synopsis of the finale states there will be a glorious return. I believe this is Diyoza coming back from the future, with Hope. Both her child and the abstract noun. If we’re going full-on time travel in season 7, she might contain the secret of how to stop the first Apocolypse. This is crazy, I know, if it’s where they’re headed, it will only happen in the series finale.

Sanctum’s blood

Russel will find Madi guilty for her attack. Maybe Jordan will explain that it’s not her actions, but the dark commander in her head which will lead to a painful exploration of the flame and perhaps even the destruction thereof. Although it seems like the writers are hesitant to let go.

Like I said in my previous analysis, Jade will turn on them and team up with Echo and Ryker to take them down from the inside. Unfortunately, there’s no way to communicate with the ship. Russel already said they’ll save Jordan’s life. If Ryker and Jordan can convince Priya, she might switch sides as well. 

Murphy is a bit of a conundrum. I still think those chips exist for a reason, yet Emori, the hero of the previous episode, convinced him that dying is an option. That she’ll love him forever even if the end is near. 

Anyway, Bellamy will most likely follow Kane’s plan with a bit more force aka guns and manpower. They’ll enter Sanctum to take out the primes but will ultimately walk into a war and have to fight it. 

Who’s on my deathdar?

Madi - Russel wants revenge. If he tries to take out the flame without the necessary knowledge, it might result in Madi’s death

Murphy and Emori - Their story is trudging dangerously close to happily ever after and that’s never a good sign on this show. Emori has also shown some great strength and character development. This might be the end for one or both of them if they don’t co-operate with Russel.

Gaia - She’s been outcasted to the dangerous woods, not sure how this will end when another eclipse appears.

Russel, Simone, and the other prime chips - Bellamy and his army might have to face countless tribulations to succeed but I believe they will eventually take them out.

Kane - If Abby doesn’t find a way to save his original body, I think he’s a goner.

The romance section

Right now there’s not much romance except for Memori, and that one scares me because it’s bittersweet. Remember the Marper moment in 5x08 where Monty asked Harper if she’ll still love him even if he’s just a farmer? This is following right in their footsteps.

Is Becho dead or alive? I’ve been called misogynistic and typical based on my Becho views but I’m not blind. I do not watch this show with shipper goggles. For a long time, I even thought Becho to be endgame. What in this season so far has broadcasted their relationship except for a sweet moment after Bellamy apologized for calling her an emotionless spy. 

What I think we might get a hint of is Jade and Echo based on what Tasya Teles said. Apparently, her favorite dynamic is between Echo and a new character. On another occasion, she said that Echo is bisexual. What would be better than this lesbian, mixed race pairing? They’re two badass female spies who will diminish the false gods from within. Who knows, we might see a spark.

Early on I saw a subtle hint of Raven and Ryker, but that’s on hold for now. It might turn in the future now that we’ve learned Ryker is on Gabriel’s side.

Xatavia or Gatavia - There was a momentary connection. I wrote about it last week, then some people told me they saw it too. I like it. I ship it. Okay, Octavia still has a long way to go within herself before she can pursue relationships with others but she’s making progress and I’m loving her this season. 

Jordan and Delilah/Priya - Perhaps Abby (and Gabriel) can find a way to bring the hosts back. If they can’t, Priya defended him, it might turn into something.

Mackson’s still going strong, I don’t see anything breaking them up.

Kabby is dead, by all means.

Bellarke - I wish I could be as positive about them as I was in my previous posts. What I see on screen, what I’ve watched for six seasons straight is the two of them within every romantic trope in the book. Now, once again, Bellamy is risking everything, leaving everyone behind to save her. People call him out on only caring about her. Bellamy is the one thing in Clarke’s mind she cannot face. He’s also her biggest regret. 

I never thought they’ll go the romantic route with Bellarke this season, Becho is still a couple, yet I banked on a confession of some sorts. I’ve read articles and seen tweets about misinterpretations on-screen which means they’ll remain platonic soulmates, for now. On the other hand, it’s bs. While discussing this with my mom, who does not ship, at all, she asked, “I’m waiting for the Bellarke theory...”

And all I had was Bellamy might head into the anomaly in the end and see this cute kid who makes his debut in the finale. He has the freckles and the hair, maybe it’s Bellarke’s child. But it could just be a young Bellamy. Or not related to him at all. What do you think? If it is, they won’t say it is but he’ll have a role to play in season seven.

Argue with me, I know I’m often wrong. Tell me about your theories, I’d love to hear them. Okay, until next week, bye.

[noveltylsland-blog]

Our 2019 First Quarter Roundup

thank u, next - Ariana Grande

(Republic)

Ariana Grande has followed up last year’s charming Sweetener with a more consistent, more confident and more moving record; thank u, next. As usual, Ariana’s voice is really something to behold, hitting every note perfectly as she delves into her own heartbreak, loss and guilt following the death of her ex-boyfriend, Mac Miller. Ariana bravely goes into this with no features, which proves to be a powerful decision, as there are no obnoxious Pharrell additions or out-of-date Lil Wayne verses, making for an appropriately personal record. As if to ease us away from the lack of rap features, we are treated to a Wendy Rene sample on ‘Fake Smile’, which will put a real smile on the face of any hip-hop head. The juxtaposition of deep lyrical themes with the positive, playful instrumentation is rather refreshing, and it’s good to see Ariana excited about life and this new chapter in her life. -M

Gallipoli - Beirut

(4AD)

Zach Condon’s Beirut project has buried Balkan folk deep in the hearts of the Western indie fanatics ever since the release of its first three albums. He’s had us enamoured with the sound ever since, and while Beirut’s work has seemingly gotten ever more formulaic and poppy, that folky, worldly manifesto has never really left Condon. Compared to 2015’s No No No, the most recent Beirut project Gallipoli actually sees him taking it in a more varied and independent direction, and you’ll be hard-pushed to find anything objectionable as Beirut traverse their usual pastures of percussive ukulele and various organs and synthesisers. Gallipoli isn’t short of entirely new sounds for the band either and, indeed, it’s hard to see it as anything but a solid record. Condon might not be making the same impact on the musical landscape as he was thirteen years ago but this is his most consistent release in a decade. Gallipoli proves there are indie bands in far worse form than Beirut; an admirably fresh and progressive release for a band who probably don’t particularly need to be either of those things. -E

Assume Form - James Blake

(Polydor)

Even if it isn’t quite the musical landscape-defining, career-best record that James Blake seems inevitably destined to produce, Assume Form goes quite some distance to confirming him as one of this era of popular music’s defining and most influential figures. And that means a lot, considering no one else is really quite like him. There’s a very particular beauty to the combination of Blake’s music style and his love-themed lyricism, and Assume Form sees both assemble for an impressive, career-best effort. More checked for excess than The Colour in Anything but more stylistically developed than Overgrown, the niche Blake has found treads a fine line between hip-hop and sparse, soulful electronica. Assume Form shows what he can do with both, seeing the likes of Travis Scott and Andre 3000, but also Moses Sumney and Rosalía, make impactful and appropriate appearances alongside Blake’s own plainly romantic lyrics. He’s refreshingly obsessive and open but never too doting or unrelatable, and tracks such as ‘Assume Form’, ‘Can’t Believe the Way We Flow’ and ‘I’ll Come Too’ clearly reveal this untethered romantic happiness. Whether you like his newfound bessottedness or not, one can’t deny Blake has carved himself a distinctive aesthetic, to such an extent it’s no wonder his collaboration is so sought-after by hip-hop artists. Even more exciting is that there’s probably much better to come from Blake, and he remains (as he has for the last ten years) one of the most interesting and exciting artists in popular music. -E

Liv - Daniel Blumberg & Hebronix

(Mute)

Apparently a collaboration between Daniel Blumberg and himself (an endeavour I’m still not sure is artistically innovative or a bit pretentious) Liv builds on Blumberg’s 2018 release Minus with impressive amounts of abrasive noise and more chaotic baroque instrumentation. Hebronix is supposed to be Blumberg’s own psych-pop project, predating his releases under his own name, but on Liv it seems like he’s used it to fill out his own sound. His lonely vocals are more like Phil Elverum on the louder Microphones/Mount Eerie records, while the scrawls of anxious feedback that underly the majority of Liv endlessly build to lengthy, haunting finales; entirely validating the record’s lack of drums. The fact that Liv was recorded in only one take is a feat unto itself, never mind the consistency and coherence that it gives the record. Despite seeing releases on the infamous Mute Records, Blumberg continues to be overlooked by pretty much everyone – and as he’s putting out exceptional, genre-bending experimental music like this he deserves far, far more attention than he currently enjoys. -E

Careful - Boy Harsher

(Nude Club)

Despite “minimal wave” having seemingly ran its course, Boy Harsher provide another argument for it being the perfect time to rework the genre. On Careful, inspiration is clearly drawn from the likes of Depeche Mode and New Order, but whereas these bands created colourful, dynamic dance tracks, Boy Harsher do the complete opposite; as if they’ve been booked to DJ a funeral. Ghostly vocals speak of abandonment and loss over layers of cold, pounding synths and minimal drums – fit for any cyberpunk movie. Dotted throughout the record are a handful of quieter, atmospheric moments which add to this cinematic feel; intensifying the anxious, dark nature of the project. This is a synthpop record which truly reflects the times. –M

Trust in the Lifeforce of the Deep Mystery - The Comet is Coming

(Impulse!)

The sophomore offering from The Comet Is Coming is the latest outstanding British jazz record, taking the reins from from Sons of Kemet’s 2017 offering Your Queen is a Reptile (incidentally another project with the involvement of Shabaka Hutchings), with more of an electronic, rock fusion. Fusion of the last twenty years has usually been the result of influence the other way, injected jazz into electronic, funk or rock music; but Trust in the Lifeforce of the Deep Mystery appears to have come the opposite way. Foremostly a jazz record but enhanced and driven by elements of other genres, it’s catchy and passionate spiritual jazz, topped off with harks to Sun Ra and an inventive space-age theme. The Comet is Coming are yet more evidence of the burgeoning, world-leading London jazz scene and this is easily one of the year’s most striking and innovative releases. -E

Czarface Meets Ghostface - Czarface and Ghostface Killah

(Silver Age)

The follow up to the much-anticipated and mostly-forgotten Czarface Meets Metal Face, Czarface Meets Ghostface proves to be an enjoyable return to form for both Czarface and Ghostface Killah. As usual, all beats are produced by The Czar-Keys (7L and Jeremy Page) and are an electrifying mix of updated, gritty boom-bap, and futuristic beats reminiscent of early-morning superhero cartoons. Lyrically, the emcees really entertain, bringing the right amount of corniness needed for a project based around comic book superheroes, but still manage to sound imposing and even threatening when necessary. A specific standout moment is Esoteric’s verse on ‘The King Heard Voices’ in which he moves his way between four different flows with such ease. Comparisons with the collaboration with MF DOOM were always going to be drawn, and, for this album, that is a good thing. I’m not sure it would have been able to stand on its own, but in comparison, it shines. –M  

Remind Me Tomorrow - Sharon Van Etten

(Jagjaguwar)

Sharon Van Etten’s most lyrically and instrumentally developed record yet, Remind Me Tomorrow continues to carry Van Etten’s reputation for impressive songwriting and great capacity for reinvention. Her vocals are emotionally resonant and forthright and, helped by super-producer John Congleton, her instrumental developments clearly exceed that of her previous contemporary folk. Often the instrumentals here are moodier and heavy, even descending into lower-key, electronica-influenced, more Annie Clark-esque sound. Contrasting with that are lead singles ‘Comeback Kid’ and ‘Seventeen’, which have a Springsteen stomp to them, but mostly Remind Me Tomorrow’s tracks are of a more sullen quality. Well written, well produced, well performed, there isn’t much more one can ask of an indie album – and though Van Etten doesn’t pull out anything spectacular out of the bag on Remind Me Tomorrow, it’s one of the year’s strongest releases and a progressive release for her artistically. -E

This Is How You Smile - Helado Negro

(Rvng)

Robert Carlos Lange takes a step back from his usual focus on race and politics to reflect on his life and hone in on his musical soundscapes. Latin folk and atmospheric synths are mixed beautifully to create a cathartic listening experience which Lange guides us through with his gentle vocals, switching back and forth between English and Spanish. Lange’s hauntological influences are evident more than ever on Smile. Beneath the cosy, relaxed instrumentals there are field recordings and unnerving samples which give the nostalgic feel of a Caretaker project, with some of its dejectedness too. The perfect example of this is ‘Fantasma Vaga’, which directly translates to “Ghost Knife” in which Lange describes a supernatural figure over droning synths and sparse steel drums. The triumph of Smile is this ability to overlay and mix these tranquil folk songs, with a hint of discomfort, giving it just the right amount of edge. –M

Crushing - Julia Jacklin

(Polyvinyl)

The 2010’s have become synonymous with female singer-songwriter indie folk; Sharon van Etten, Angel Olsen and Courtney Barnett are just some of the artists who have really championed the genre. It has, however, become rather saturated in the past couple of years, making it that much harder to standout and make a name for oneself. Julia Jacklin has a lot to say, however, and is determined to be heard. Themes of betrayal, loneliness and acceptance are touched upon in a mature and articulate way. Jacklin stands out because she really gets into her subject matter; she intensely scrutinises herself and her surroundings in order to find answers to her questions and solutions to her problems. It is empowering and refreshing to hear an artist not only acknowledging their struggle with humanity and empathy, but so confidently confront and explore it. –M

Love Is - Jungstötter

(PIAS)

Gaining some buzz from his tour with Soap&Skin this spring, Fabian Alstötter’s debut album under the name Jungstötter is a gloomy affair. The name Jungstötter is a mix of his family name and the German word ‘jungstoter’, which translates to ‘young dead’, which perfectly embodies the overall theme of this record. The general slow pace of the album is occasionally disrupted by more intense and chaotic moments, creating some really dynamic and striking tracks. On listening to this record, a barrage of familiar sounds will flood your ears. From the intense baritone ballads of Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds to the androgynous vocals of ANOHNI, there is a wealth of alternative art rock influences dotted throughout. Though, at times, Alstötter does seem reliant on his influences, it is a marvellous debut from the German, obviously keen to form his own signature sound. –M

[X X] - 이달의 소녀 [LOONA]

(BlockBerryCreative)

Loona’s reissued EP is a modern and fashionable set of pop tunes pretty typical of K-pop but with some characteristics Western listeners might find in the work of Grimes or, to a lesser extent, other electro-pop artists like SOPHIE and Charli XCX. Considering there are twelve members of Loona, [X X] is a watertight release, even if it stylistically varies a bit between tracks. Opener ‘X X’ combines electronic chillwave with dubstep in an interesting way, followed by the very modern album highlight ‘Butterfly’; and while many of the rest of the tracks aren’t particularly memorable, they certainly aren’t dull – ‘Colors’ even seems overtly influenced by American R’n’B. With all its similarities to Western pop, it’s easy to see [X X] as a record that could be a gateway into Korean pop music for Western listeners; with the added bonus of being of slightly more substance than your usual idol group. -E

Elephantine - Maurice Louca

(Northern Spy)

A by-product of the Arab Spring in 2011 was the development of a flourishing music scene in Egypt. Cairo-born composer and performer, Maurice Louca, is one of the most exciting names to have risen from this scene. On his third project, Elephantine, Louca explores native Egyptian jazz, surrounding them in the avant-garde. On the track ‘One More for the Gutter’, outbursts of free jazz are complemented by the intensity of guitar-led post-rock. Whilst the finale, ‘Al Khawaga’ is a powerful, repetitive groove littered with swinging horns and hectic drum fills. Elephantine is an inventive exploration, covering immense musical ground throughout its six compositions. –M

Malibu Ken - Malibu Ken

(Rhymesayers)

Aesop Rock has always kept a low profile and doesn’t seem too fussed about reaching the mainstreams. This collaboration with Tobacco of Black Moth Super Rainbow fame certainly doesn’t’ change that as his infamously lengthy and challenging bars have finally found a match. Tobacco’s own brand of neo-psychedelia and indietronica is so out of skew with traditional hip-hop beats that it gives Aesop an edge which he has certainly been missing in the past couple of years. Aesop revisits old themes and is as introspective and philosophical as ever, and opener, ‘Corn Maze’, and ‘Suicide Big Gulp’ showcase some of the best flows of his career. Tobacco’s production is faultless throughout the entire ten tracks, which is good to hear after last year’s lacklustre BMSR effort. Aesop Rock’s dry, esoteric style finds a new home in Tobacco’s weird world of psychedelia. –M

Girl With Basket of Fruit - Xiu Xiu

(Polyvinyl)

Even for Xiu Xiu, Girl With Basket of Fruit is a wild release. Post-pop, post-industrial, post-punk and post-everything, there’s nothing comfortable or light about it – especially compared to the Arcade Fire-cum-lunatic style of 2017’s Forget. So much of this record is unsettled and eerie, isolating and unpredictable. There’s bits of Swans (Thor Harris showing through), some Einstürzende Neubauten, some Suicide, some drone, some Baroque. There’s no belittling Xiu Xiu’s ability to entirely manipulate mood, and here demonstrates again the emotive uniqueness of Jamie Stewart’s exulting, uber-dramatic vocals as well as a new, unsettling sound that includes a pretty vast array of instruments from upright bass to electronic percussion. I’ll be listening to this for years before getting anywhere close to actually dissecting and understanding what Xiu Xiu are doing here, but that’s what makes it so compelling. There’s nothing else like it, an album of intriguingly formless music that’s worth hearing just to for the experience of being so entirely, helplessly intrigued. ­-E

[djinmer4]

Paimë i Valaina (Silmarillion)

“Are you worried?” Elrond approached the figure at the rail, watching the rapidly nearing quay.  The other ellon turned to look at him, grey eyes calm with none of the apprehension the Peredhel had expected.

“Not anymore.  I was worried at the beginning of the trip, that the Valar might choose to do something dramatic during the journey.  But we seemed to have made it safely through the Straight Road.  Even if Manwë takes it into his head to hit the ship with a lightning bolt to drown me, we’re close enough to the shore that the rest of you can swim to safety.”  Maglor leaned back and shaded his eyes.  “I’m not seeing a company of Maiar on the docks to escort me to the  Máhanaxar so I’ll take that as a good sign.”

Indeed, when the ship docked there was only a small contingent to meet them.  Galadriel had taken it upon herself to be their spokeswoman and commented on the lack.  The head of the delegation apologized, “We were indeed warned by Uinen and other Maiar of Ulmo, but ‘The Ship bearing those who fought against Sauron will arrive soon’ doesn’t actually give a time frame for expected arrival.  Your parents, Princess, could not take leave of their duties for such a great time period to meet you here, although word will be sent to Tirion to let them prepare a celebration for your arrival.”

“That is acceptable,” piped in Elrond.  “But the ship that left prior to ours should have given word that we would be the next.”

“Indeed they did.  However, they did not know if a new ship would be built from scratch or if you would take whatever was available or if you would wait a few more years to tie up any loose ends or even what the weather conditions would be like.”

Now it was Maglor’s turn to interrupt.  “Practical enough.  But I believe you were told that not only the leaders of the Resistance would be coming but also a notorious criminal.  Were there no preparations made for that?”  The Teleri ner simply looked confused, and the Feanorian realized that he was far too young to have known who he was currently speaking to.  To make his point clear, the eldest Elf there slipped off his black leather glove and held out his hand, palm facing the other.  Even then, it took the Teler a few minutes to understand what the bright red design on his hand meant.  “Oh, uh, yes, we were informed.  Again though, we weren’t sure if the rumors that you had chosen to return was true.”  Maglor put his gloves back on and spared a bemused glance to his cousin and foster-son.  “Well, as you can see, it is.  Perhaps we might get things over with and you can escort me to Máhanaxar so that I may face the judgment of the Valar.”

Brown eyes looked away, the ner darting glances back at the Noldo.  “That won’t be necessary.  There will indeed be a trial over your actions back in the First Age, but the advocates from Tirion, Alqualondë and Tol Eressëa will need at least a month to prepare.  In the meantime, given your good behavior since then, your bond has been given to your family.  You can spend the wait in Formenos, catching up with them.”

“My family?  Surely you must be mistaken.  My mother and grandparents perhaps, but my family has been condemned unto the Void for being unable to fulfill our Oath.”

“With the exception of Maedhros, the rest of your family has returned from the Halls of Mandos.  And given that you’ve returned, I’m sure your last brother will also be released soon.”  Before any of the three Elves could comment, the Teleri delegate continued.  “I’m a bit surprised you mentioned facing the judgment of the Valar.  Surely Olorin and Aiwendil had mentioned that the Valar no longer rule Aman.”  That statement made even Galadriel jump.

“Truly?”

“The Valar have not ruled since the end of the Second Age.  Did not Curunír or any of the other Istari tell you so?”  Before they could respond, they heard Bilbo gasp behind them.  “Why Gandalf!  You look so young!”  Turning around they saw that Olorin had returned to his form of shining light.  (Trust a hobbit to describe it as looking young.)  Tired but still compassionate eyes looked over all of them.

“I think it’s time for you three to see the truth of Aman.”

The cavern was deep underground, underneath the crater of what had been the  Máhanaxar.  It was cut off from any wind or light.  Inside the gloom they could hear a thin, reedy voice, begging for news of the outside world, for someone to answer its cries.  “He once was the King of all the Valar in this world.  But when the Downfall of Numenor occurred, so too was the Ring of Judgment struck.  The Noldor eventually discovered this cavern while searching for new veins of ore.  Now he crawls alone in the dark, blind and deaf to anything around him.”

Galadriel and Elrond were struck speechless.  Only Maglor had the presence of mind to respond and even he took more than a few minutes to recover.  “How did this happen?”

Olorin shrugged, as much as any being of light could.  “The survivors are not certain but the most popular theory is that it is Eru’s punishment.  The Valar exist as custodians of Arda and as guides to the Children of Eru.  By the time of Numenor, it may have been that they had failed all their duties.”

“I can think of plenty of ways they failed the Elves but how did they fail otherwise.”

“They ruled the Firstborn but aside from the Maiar sent to help the creation of Numenor, ignored the Secondborn completely.  As for they’re other duties, they restricted themselves to Aman.”

“Some of that was fear of Melkor.  But even after he was gone, very little effort was made on their part to repair the damage from the war.”

“Exactly.  So when they called on Eru to defeat the Numenorean invasion, apparently Eru decided if they were going to be derelict in their duties, they should not have the benefits of power that went with their position.”

Eyes that still glowed with the light of the Trees contemplated the black hole in the ground.  “Surely they are not all like this.  The Telerin delegate mentioned Ulmo.”

“No.  Ulmo, Aulë, Irmo, Nienna, Estë and Vána have all been seen since then and appear to have retained their duties.  They have given up ruling the Firstborn but will offer advice if one seeks them out.”

“May we see any of the others?”

“The other Valar are scattered across Aman.  However, Yavanna is close by and we can walk to her prison within an hour.”

Not far indeed.  Yavanna was standing on the mound where the Trees had once grown.  The strike that had destroyed Máhanaxar had also caused the hills around it to cave in.  The Giver of Fruits was dressed in rags of brown and as far as she could see, nothing grew.  She did not move, staring at where her greatest creations had fallen.  “Not all of them are uncommunicative and still.  Varda and  Vairë were only struck blind-”

“Given those two, that’s punishment enough.” stated the Feanorian dryly.

“On the other hand, Nessa, Tulkas and Oromë were all encased in partially in stone.  And we’re not precisely sure about Mandos.  He still rules over the Dead in his Halls but he hasn’t left them since the end of the Second Age.”

“I’ll bet he makes no more prophecies either.”  The Vanyarin guide gave Maglor a funny look.  “You’re right about that.  How did you know?”

“It’s fairly obvious.  Eru must have quite a sense of irony or humor.   Manwë had the winds bring him news from all over the world now he knows nothing about anything.  Yavanna was in charge of growing things now all she sees is sterility and decay.  Nessa, Tulkas, they never stood still and now they can do nothing but.  Varda loved the light, all she sees is the dark.  For Mandos, he ruled over the Dead but also the living and pronounced Doom over the Firstborn.  Although I suppose he didn’t fail his duty, just tried to rule over the living Eldar and reduce their free will.  Maybe that’s why he’s still Ruler of the Dead.”

The blonde looked too much like his step-grandmother, and Maglor’s tone was more condescending than perhaps he intended.  “Tell me, did the decision to reduce themselves come before or after the end of the Second Age?”

“I-I don’t know.  Nienna, Ulmo and some of the others had long withdrawn away from Taniquetil before the Incident occurred.  But the others, Vana and Nienna were still seen.”

“Hmm, I’ll bet then, that the ones who were punished were the ones who voted to let Eru take care of the Numenorean problem.”

“I can’t confirm that.”

“I suppose even the Valar have their own secrets.” 

“Cousin.”  Maglor turned from where he was saddling a horse.  Last night it had been decided that he would await the trial in Formenos with his family.  Elrond would follow later, after meeting with his wife in Lorien.  Galadriel had not yet decided if she would go to Tirion to meet her parents but was staying longer on Tol Eressëa to take the time to make up her mind.

“Cousin,” he responded in kind.

“What you said yesterday, do you really believe the Valar deserved what happened to them?”

Glowing grey eyes looked into the same.  “Artanis, do you agree that the Valar abandoned their duties to Aman after the War of the Wrath?”

Reluctantly she nodded.  “Melkor was gone.  They could have helped us all rebuild and did not.”

“And do you agree that they also abandoned the Secondborn?”

“I’m not so sure about that.  But certainly, aside from the Gift, no aid ever came to them after the First Age.  And really, the only thing that happened before was Ulmo trying to warn Gondolin and that wasn’t even for the benefit of the Secondborn.”

“What about their treatment of Melkor?”

Here her face hardened.  “No, they were definitely in the wrong there.  It’s all well and good to say that Manwë didn’t understand evil, but even after being shown he was wrong, they took no responsibility for his actions until the War of Wrath.  Melkor was a Vala, one of them.  Instead, they abandoned the rest of us, Noldor, Secondborn, Sindar, everyone to the mercy of him and his lieutenants.”

“Then I take it the part you object to is their treatment of the Eldar?”

“Maglor, they are not like us.  They couldn’t possibly understand what they were doing was wrong.”

“Perhaps.  There have been times when I too want to believe they had good intentions and were merely misguided.  Certainly, the line between advising and guiding and actually ruling is very blurry.”  His eyes were as hard as hers.  “But even if I ignore the crimes to our family, that still leaves them guilty of three out of four charges.  And I think even one of those still shows an unforgivable breach of duty, with no signs of remorse or restitution in sight.  In my view, Eru is only handing out the just retribution those of Arda would inflict if they had the power to do so.”  He finished saddling the horse and easily mounted despite the scarred hand.

“Talk to others here, cousin.  Life is more complicated now than it was during the Years of the Trees.  But I think you will find most are satisfied with the trade-off of more responsibility in return for freedom.”

[addicted-to-darkness]

The Second Coil of Bahamut Turn 4 Translation (German to English)

Playing the newest patch I noticed some massive differences in characterization between the English and German version (looking at you, Asahi), so I picked up the keyboard again and - much like with the Royal Menagerie - did some direct comparisons of both. But before looking at new content I decided to look at the wildly discussed cutscenes surrounding Nael van Darnus. So here it is, in case anyone ever wondered what Nael was like in another localization (and why apparently only those who played the English version of the game ever wondered about her gender). 

Bold: English Localization

Plain: German transcription

Cursive: Literal translation

(Alisaie) That... that surely cannot be Dalamud? How-- Where are we!?

Dalamud?! Aber wir sind doch in seinem Kern! Wie können wir ihn dann von unten sehen?!

Dalamud?! But we're inside its core! How can we see it from down here?!

(Nael van Darnus) The final resting place of Nael van Darnus.

Darf ich präsentieren? Das luftige Grab von Nael van Darnus!

May I present you? The lofty grave of Nael van Darnus!

This is a grave for the undeserving.

Ein Opfer – zerstört vom Produkt seines eigenen kranken Geistes.

A victim – destroyed by the product of their own sick mind.

And for the crime of trespassing upon my god's sanctuary, this place shall serve as your grave too!

Und bald ist es auch das Grab von neun kleinen Würmchen, die sich vorwitzig bis hierher vorgewagt haben!

And soon it shall also be the grave of nine little worms, which had the audacity of daring to come here!

(Alisaie) No!

Oh, nein … Bei allen Göttern!

Oh, no! … By all gods!

(Nael deus Darnus) In the hour of his failure, Nael van Darnus felt the currents of aether begin to bear away his essence. But before oblivion could claim the last of him, a divine will reached out... and I was born.

Als damals mein Äther zerstob, rettet er meine Seele … Er gab mir meinen Körper zurück … und neue, wahrhafte Stärke!

Back when my aether dispersed, he saved my soul … He gave me back my body … and new, veritable strength!

Then did the words of my god resound in mine ears...

Nun ist der große Gott tief im Inneren verborgen, und ich bin seine Wächterin.

Now the great god is hidden deep within, and I am his guardian*. (Note: Guardian is expressed as explicitly female.)

“Bring unto mine enemies crushing defeat, that they might know despair without end! And claim thee thus the victory which thou wert once denied!”

Kein Sterblicher verdient es, einen Blick auf ihn zu werfen. Ihr habt es getan, und dafür sollt ihr büßen … Die gesamte verdorbene Welt soll es büßen! Die Zeit der Läuterung ist nah!

No mortal is worthy of gazing upon him. You did so, and for this you shall suffer... The whole putrid world shall suffer! The time of catharsis has come!

(Alisaie) ...'Twould seem that little remained of Nael's essence when Bahamut plucked him from the brink of oblivion. And the result was this strange... simulacrum. Nevertheless, her aura bespeaks great power. She channels the rage of the elder primal himself...

Nicht zu fassen – Nael ist eine Frau? Ich hätte schwören können, Großvater sagte … Aber viel wichtiger: Hat sie nun Bahamuts Stärke erlangt?!

Unbelievable – Nael is a woman? I could have sworn grandfather said... But more importantly: Did she gain Bahamuts strength?!

(Nael deus Darnus) Lord Bahamut! Thy wish is my command! None shall 'scape Thine unquenchable fury!

Allmächtiger! Erhebe diesen schwachen Körper zu deinem Werkzeug! Nimm mich und verleih deinem Willen Gestalt!

Allmighty! Ascend this weak body to be your tool! Take me and make your will manifest!

Come, ye dull, unthinking beasts... bare your teeth!

Ich bin die verkörperte Katharsis! Der Anfang und das Ende … euer Ende.

I am the embodiment of catharsis! The beginning and the end... Your end.

They will avail you naught in the calamity to come!

Nun wird die wahre Siebte Katastrophe über Eorzea hereinbrechen!

Now the true Seventh Calamity shall befall Eorzea!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

(Alisaie) Poor creature. Would that you had never been born.

Du hast dein Leben zum zweiten Mal verloren, Nael.

You lost your life a second time, Nael.

You had surrendered your physical form, and collapsed into aether... But Bahamut denied you death, and imprisoned what little was left of you in an aetherial shell resembling... what, I wonder? Images from your memory, perhaps?

Als dein Körper vor langer Zeit starb, verschlang Bahamut den Äther deiner Seele, und so lebtest du fort … Doch nun ist dieser Albtraum vorbei. Auch für uns.

When your body perished a long time ago, Bahamut devoured the aether of your soul, and this way, you lived on... But now this nightmare is over. For us as well.

But that shell is now broken. And your primal deity seems disinclined to sustain your existence.

Dein Gott hat dich verlassen.

Your god has abandoned you.

(Nael Deus Darnus) My “primal deity”? I kneel to no eikon! What need have I to beg the favor of such filth!?

”Gott”? Hah. Wer, der dem auch nur ein Funken Verstand, ein Rest von Stärke geblieben ist, huldigt verfluchten Götzenbildern?!

“God”? Hah. Which person, who is left with even so much as a sliver of sanity and strength, worships a fucking primal?!

I am Nael van Darnus! Legatus of the VIIth Legion...

Ich bin Nael van Darnus, Legatus der VII. Legion des Garleanischen Reichs. Niemand lenkt mein Schicksal außer mir selbst.

I am Nael van Darnus, Legatus of the VIIth legion of the Garlean Empire. Nobody determines my fate but myself.

No... A moment... My thoughts are clouded... and this body is not mine own. Could it be that you spoke the truth? Was I ensorcelled by the lesser moon's ancient prisoner? ...That will not happen again.

... Ausgerechnet mich musste dieses primitive Götzenvieh besitzen. Welcher Hohn! Mein Geist, die scharfe Klinge der Vernunft, betäubt und in die Knie gezwungen – von der Bestie, die mir dienen sollte!

… Of all people, this primitive idol* had to possess me. Which mockery! My mind, the sharp blade of reason, numbened and forced to its knees – by the beast, which was to serve me! (Note: Idol is actively formulated as an insult here. To express idol the word 'Götze' would have sufficed, but instead Nael chooses the compound word Götzenvieh. 'Vieh' literally translates to cattle, but is also used as derogatory word for any sort of undesirable animal.)

(Alisaie) You speak as if Bahamut no longer controlled you! But that's impossible! Once a primal ensnares a mind, it cannot be freed!

Sie erinnert sich … Bahamuts Einfluss ist verflogen.

She remembers... Bahamut's influence is gone.

Unless... Unless Bahamut simply relinquished his claim. What need has he of a broken spirit bound for the aetherial realm?

Jetzt, da sie besiegt ist, hat er keine Verwendung mehr für Nael. Endlich kann ihre Seele in den Äther zurückkehren.

Now, that she's defeated, he no longer has use for Nael. Finally her soul can return to the aether.

(Nael van Darnus) Ohhh...that I should fall prey to the very influence I sought to purge from the land. The irony is galling.

Hmph. Ich nutzlos für eine Götze der Wilden? Größer könnte die Schande nicht sein, die ich über mich gebracht habe -  über die gesamte garleische Nation! Wäre ich nur zu Äther zerfallen, ohne jemals davon zu erfahren.

Hmph. Me useless for an idol of the savages? There is no way the shame I brought over me – over the whole garlean nation! – could be any bigger. If only I had disolved into aether without coming to know about this.

But do not assume that all of my actions were chosen for me. It was my will that the Meteor project be resurrected—mine and none other.

Aber glaub nur nicht, dass alles von Anfang an sein Werk gewesen sei, Mädchen! Das Projekt Meteor war die Frucht meines Geistes.

But don't think everything from the beginning was his doing all along, girl! Project Meteor was the spawn of my own mind.

Yet it seems that my grand designs were destined to fail. Even the ungentle release of death was denied me...

Wenn mir auch ein Tod in Würde nicht gewährt sein mag – die Größe meines Werks könnt ihr nicht leugnen! Mir steht die Herrschaft zu! Allein die Umstände waren gegen mich.

Even if I may not be granted a dignified death – the dimension of my opus cannot be denied by you! I deserve sovereignty! It was only the circumstances which were against me.

(Alisaie) Nael, please. You must tell us more of the Calamity. I must know the truth of what has befallen the world...and what has become of my grandfather, Archon Louisoix.

Wir wollen wissen, was bei der Siebten Katastrophe wirklich geschehen ist. Sag uns, was ist mit meinem Großvater passiert? Hat Bahamut ihn getötet?

We want to know what really happened in the Seventh Calamity. Tell us, what happened to my grandfather? Did Bahamut kill him?

(Nael van Darnus) You are Louosoix's grandchild? Ah, the fates are generous with their cruelty.

Ah, du bist das Enkelkind des Weisen Louisoix? Tja … wer hätte ihm ein solches Ende gewünscht? Zu schade.

Ah, you are the granddaughter of Archon Louisoix? Oh well.... who would have wished such an end upon him? Too bad.

Continue on, if you would have your answers—they await you at the terminus of your path. But know that this path leads only to despair. The light of truth was ever harsh and unforgiving...

Wenn du deine sogenannte Wahrheit ertragen kannst, dann geh nur weiter. Du wirst die finden … und bereuen, dass du je nach ihr gesucht hast.

If you can bear your so called truth, then go ahead and carry on. You will find it... and regret ever looking for it.

(Alisaie) Why do you say this? Grandfather will be free once we put a stop to Bahamut's restoration, will he not? What are you not telling us!?

Aber … wenn wir Bahamut töten, dann wird doch auch mein Großvater gerettet! Seine Seele wird sich befreien und zu uns zurückkommen, oder nicht?

But... if we kill Bahamut, my grandfather will be saved! His soul will free itself and return to us, isn't that so?

(Nael van Darnus) Steel yourself, child. Only unbending resolve and merciless strength can conquer what lies ahead.

Törichtes Kind. Stellst du dir so den lauf der Dinge vor? Die Welt folgt eisernem Willen und gnadenloer Macht, nicht den Wünschen kleiner Mädchen.

Foolish child. Is that how you imagine the course of things to be? The world follows steeled resolve and merciless power, not the wishes of small girls.

The weak can do naught but weep under the pall of their own misery. As did the frail child I once was...

Auch mir beugte sich niemand, als ich noch wünschte statt zu fordern. Tritt aber mutig ins Licht, und dein Name wird die Geschichte überdauern.

No one yielded to me either, when I still wished instead of demanded. But if you take a courageous step into the light, your name will outlive history.

(???) Silence, chattering raven. Your wretched wings are broken, and you shall soar no more.

Es ist genug, Silberschwinge. Du wirst diese Welt nun endlich verlassen!

That's enough, silver wing. You will finally leave this world now!

(Nael van Darnus) My crimson moon... Your brilliance sears mine eyes...

Nein … Verfluchter … gib mir meine Stärker zurück! … Sie gehört … mir!

No... Blasted... give me back my strength! …It is... mine! (Note: There's many ways to translate what Nael calls ??? here. Blasted, cursed, fucking, damned … take your pick, but she certainly isn't happy.)

(Alisaie) I recognize that voice, Warrior of Light. But never would he say such words...

Diese Stimme … sie klang so vertraut!

This voice... it sounds so familiar!

Come, let us finish what we came to do. All will be put aright when the final hulk lies dormant. Grandfather will be himself again.... I'm sure of it.

Wir dürfen unsere Mission nicht vergessen. Lass uns die Maschinen zerstören, die Bahamut erhalten. Das wird auch meinen Großvater befreien – egal, was Nael uns glauben machen will!

We can't forget about our mission. Let us stop the machines, which maintain Bahamut. This will free my granfather as well – no matter what Nael wants to make us believe.