#i know I detracted from the topic quite a bit more than usual here and I'm sorry

[mc-critical]

How do you think Şah Huban and Ibrahim's relationship really was? We've never been given insights about it and while I would have loved flashbacks, the way it is also fits well imo. Şah has an air of mystery around her, part of why I love her so, because I love unravelling ambiguous yet clear characters with hints but not insights to their backstory. I've always been drawn to them and Şah Huban is another one of them.

Personally, I can see why they would be drawn to each other at first. They are both shown as appreciative of art, very intelligent and pragmatic and have a similar personality, but in the long run I can't see them working as both prefer to be the dominant partner and Şah is very prideful and always maintains a power balance with those not from the family, whereas Ibrahim is quite insecure. They'd clash.

Even Hatice's reminder of his status hurt him so much that he started an affair with Nigar. According to him, it was a loss of innocence between them and for sure Hatice's innocence, purity, and nativity is what I think drew him to her, and I can see why. Among all the darkness of politics, power plays, his own insecurities and early loss of innocence, Hatice would have been the one ray of light to him..Their entire early interactions and love was so pure and free of darkness and I don't think he ever had that with Şah, who I don't think was ever innocent.

Şah also told Hürrem that Ibrahim is quite difficult to control and I thought that was maybe hinting at the past. It always seemed to me that she was the one who ended things with Ibrahim, judging by her and Ibrahim's interactions ( I really wish we had more of those ) and I have many theories why.

Also, my personal interpretation is that she did move on from Ibrahim and only had vestiges of her feelings for him, his memories to be more precise, left by the time we see her. Unlike many people, I don't think her unwillingness to be with Lütfi sexually or romantically has anything to do with Ibrahim. I just don't think she loves him or wants him and I can see why tbh. While he is a decent enough politician, he doesn't have much personality to be attracted to nor demeanor lmao. even the way he read her that piece of poetry was quite dry, and he is visibly much older than her.

What do you think?

{I also love Şah's character for much of the same reasons you do. Her lack of a backstory and more simplistic design that isn't put through a deconstruction for a character arc in the way Hatice's was during S02/3 bring us one of the most unique characters in the whole franchise. These aspects of her personality complement her motivation and I find her motivation to be the most fascinating element about her that makes for an interesting, contrasting duality in all her relationships. Revealing more backstory for her risks throwing all this out of the window, that's why I'm usually okay with that the show not delving deeper into her past.}

Still, in the case of Ibrahim, I agree that we could've seen a few more flashbacks. I feel Şah's distance and tiny resentment of Hatice stems from her previous feelings for Ibrahim and more flashbacks would put that distance and resentment into more context, which I don't think would harm her character all that much. It would actually help flesh out Şah's relationship with Hatice on a deeper level and that's always welcome for me, since I found their relationship to be the epitome of where Şah's character shines the most. All these delicious contrasts, the way her ambition goes with the care she has for the people she's closest to.... I love it! sorry for the blabbering

I also pretty much agree with your view on Şah and Ibrahim's relationship. They definetly wouldn't get on all that well - their ideals would clash right out of the gate and Şah isn't a person that would pull rank out of ignorance, it's not something she wants to detach from, no, she's living with her position and she's proud of it. Anytime Ibrahim would disagree with Şah, I feel she's going to pull rank instantly. And that's not something that Ibrahim would bear - Hatice did it one time and that one time was enough to make him doubt his whole relationship with her, I believe with Şah it's going to be an even more reccuring conflict and it's going to make things even worse.

I believe that in Manisa, in their past, Şah didn't have hopes for so long when it came to Ibrahim. Maybe she learned very quickly that he didn't have any feelings for her. Maybe Ibrahim didn't pay all that much attention to Şah and if she tried to give him subtle hints, he didn't catch on them at first. If Ibrahim and Hatice indeed had tiny crushes on each other that just hadn't had the chance to flourish yet in Manisa (as the flashback from E58 implied) and Şah became aware of this? All these factors could've contributed to Şah moving forward, along with her ambitious personality. Even her older self isn't a person who would fight what she views as a pointless battle (she didn't want to fight Mihrimah, she didn't get why Hürrem was such a problem at first, she could hold her part in the decisions SS made for Hatice off for so long) and her love for Hatice was apparently present even when they were kids (the whole horse situation), so these would be decent enough reasons for her to want to step out of it.

Her getting to know Ibrahim more personally after he could've gotten the hint is very likely, too. Her "he's difficult to control" line is definetly something to ruminate on: maybe she decided that they wouldn't get along despite of all, because yes, she would like to be on the more controlling side of the relationship. Not only is Ibrahim very insecure and wouldn't handle it when someone is pulling rank on him, this line could hint that a part of Ibrahim has had that ambitious side of him back in Manisa. Not as much in terms of power, but rather as in his sharp mind and dreams he had together with SS to conquer more than Alexander the Great and maybe Şah felt this aspect of his ambition whenever they've interacted. That means he could have exerted some amount of control in the relationship, and maybe Şah wouldn't be so okay. Both could be very dominating and that could very well show even earlier. There wouldn't be any innocence in their relationship, it would only result in clash of personalities and philosophies and probably both of them got aware of this. While with Hatice it was possible for both of them to get over their extremely idealistic delusions, because they both were able and willing to reason with one another deep down, you wouldn't get that with Şah. It's probable she would consider herself right and not realize what's wrong, especially in terms of pulling rank, because well, that's what the tradition and law stands on and for her, Ibrahim's only role is to fit the mold.

Yup, Şah definetly had some of her feelings for Ibrahim remaining, because that's what moved a lot of her conflict with Hatice. Maybe she felt some jealousy that Hatice succeeded to make this work and that could be also a part of why she wanted to stop Hatice from grieving and didn't tell her where Ibrahim's grave was, but on the other hand, she had accepted it to an extent, as seen by her reaction when she learned about the infidelity. One could argue that she got irritated because of her own feelings, but I feel she felt bad for Hatice, too, and was really surprised that he pulled something like this. Yet both circle back to her own feelings anyways. Another reason why I think she didn't get over her feelings for him completely is that (most of) what she does is driven by personal desire and attacks directed to her personal bonds and attachments. It's Hatice's suicide attempt that drove Şah to act against Hürrem, but it's also Ibrahim's death that made her at least think whether should she act, in my opinion, because of something so surprising happening to a personal attachment of hers, seemingly all of the sudden. (in E84, she also said in front of Ibrahim's grave that she wouldn't let his blood stay on the ground) Şah's actions are driven by feelings more than anything else, but she tries her best to mask these feelings and only use them as fuel to her more pragmatic plans, if that means letting go of them or discarding them completely. She puts mind over emotion not because she doesn't have emotion or vulnerability or feelings lingering from the past, it's more because she considers pragmatism and careful planning the better, more effective way to achieve her goals. Just like the dynastic views and the elitism, it's something engrained in her she's proud of, but in the case of her feelings, when she's alone or with Hatice she can open herself a bit more. But because she has gotten over Ibrahim, she would never admit outright she has something for him in front of him or Lïtfi later.

I also don't think Ibrahim has ever had feelings for Şah to begin with. I don't think he forgot their experiences and memories completely (the "did your love turn into hate?" line) , but he has definitely left them behind him, even more than Şah herself.

While I think the love for another (Ibrahim) was a part of Şah's distaste for Lütfi, especially because the first hint of conflict between them, as far as I recall, was him sorta shading on Ibrahim in E82, it's definetly not the only factor. He just isn't a guy she could fall in love with, no matter how much he seemed to love her (more like tough love, but still), I'm sure she has gotten to know the more shadier aspects of his character, since they've lived together for so long. (even though the situation around the prostitute surprised her, since she hasn't ever seen such amount of disrespect, Şah may have seen other skeletons in his closet. He seemed to be very authoritarian in the relationship. She also said in E101 that the divorce was a long time coming and I don't think it all originated from the show, the situations there were simply the peak of previous issues.) It being a forced marriage made things even worse, no one would like a forced marriage. I actually admire Şah for keeping up with this marriage for so long and finding advantage in it, being as composed as possible. (when she is) Their daughter is most probably what kept them together all these years, on a personal level outside of Şah's ambition.

[mysticjupi]

Umineko: When They Cry Review - Episode 0

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Part 0: Notes

This post can't be as aesthetic as I would like due to only having a phone; however I'll make do with what I have. Hello! Thank you for taking the time to read this; assuming you read my info on the header of my blog page, you should also know my dream is to be an author...and that takes me here, to Umineko and the WTC series in general. I finished reading the Umineko Visual Novel, and have watched the Higurashi Anime, and I plan to read the Manga for Higurashi soon.

The following posts will be about my thoughts, experience, and love for WTC, however this post 0 will be about WTC in general, along with miscallenous things.

Needless to say, SPOILERS!!!

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Part 1: When They Cry

My first experience with the series was years ago, when I was a child; and coming across some of the more gorey scenes from Higurashi on youtube, I was curious yet I never persued more of this media. Years went by and it remained nothing more than a afterthought in the back of my head, however, a friendgroup who was big into Higurashi made me watch the anime, and I decided on my own to read the Umineko novel, and since then...I've been very into the fandom for a few months.

I took two months to finish the Umineko VN...

And as you can tell, some days I read very generously. That being said however, it was all time well spent.

Ryukishi's writing has become an inspiration and something I think about greatly, his ability for creating and characterizing his characters in both dynamic and subtle ways has stuck out to me, as well as how he handles abuse and sensitive topics authors usually avoid delving into. This aspect will be discussed more when I get around to talking about characters.

However, the thing that sticks out the most to me is his...lessons. How he makes you think about mortality and the negative and positive aspects of people and their situations. Higurashi and Umineko identify and share their themes strongly, while leaving some leeway for the reader to think about it themselves. God knows I've been rethinking and pondering a lot of Umineko's plot.

Without Love, it cannot be seen. Is a new philosophy I have started to use, for example.

That's where much of my love for WTC comes from, and before you ask, I know nothing about Ciconia but I plan to read it once my technology situation is sorted.

I think that's enough for my introduction, and now you know where I stand on this series that's wiggled it's way into my heart.

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Part 2: Music

Before I discuss the Episodes of Umineko, I'd like to dedicate some to discuss one of my other favorite aspects of the Visual Novel, which is of course the amazing soundtrack that I cannot get enough of.

I never knew a Visual Novel about victorian ladies fucking with people would carry such a banger OST. I'll link some of my favorites:

Patchwork Chimera

Death From Stupefaction

Golden Sneer

Haze

Dream End Discharger

Deep Blue Jeer

The Girls Witch Hunt

Kina no Kaori

Reflection Call

Last End Conducter

I never realized how big of an impact music had on your enjoyment of a story, but Umi's soundtrack compliments scenes extremely well. There isn't much to say here but it's an extremely good listen and one of the major perks of the visual novel. Kudos to the various composers who worked on the soundtrack.

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Part 3: Artstyle and Design

The last thing I should have to say for this post, and of course this section will be talking about the original novel Artstyle, however the others will be mentioned.

Umineko's designs are stand-out and very unique yet remain alluring. This goes both for the hair and face of the characters and their outfits...

And of course, the fact many of the outfits are taken from actual goth fashion being displayed at around the time or Umineko's original releases. Some of my favorite examples:

Wonderful, I think. I can easily tell these characters from their silhouettes which always means good design. Somewhat unrelated but Ryukishi seemed to really enjoy thigh gaps when designing, (Chiester Sisters, Dlanor's Group, Seven Stakes...) and whatever you would consider Gaap's Gap. However this isn't a negative by any means. Most of the men's outfits are suits, however I can appreciate a formal and crisp style and at least everyone has their own suit aesthetic. Original Battler is the best style btw.

To make mention of the other Artstyles Umineko has...

Pachinko: It's...good? Some characters look better like Lambadelta or George but some were...proportioned oddly? Kyrie and her immensely inflated chest definitely put me off. I had the Pachinko sprites option during my read so I swapped between this and original depending on who was onscreen.

PS3 Remake: Very good and faithful rendition while also modernizing and streamlining designs, though it didn't quite capture the rawness of Ryukishi's expressions in the original Artstyle at times.

Manga: Amazing. The Umineko manga expressions are absolutely amazing. Raw, detailed, the anount of time spent on those illustrations is obvious, up there with the original style.

Anime: It's alright.

That said, the expressions of Umi are stunning, which makes sense considering how gritty and fucked up the story can be at times, nothing beats the little laugh that accompanies these expressions in the visual novel.

(Original Novel) Finally, while the backgrounds in the novel can be pretty simple, Ryukishi truly does his best with what he has and works with, and I think the simple backgrounds work well to not detract focus from the characters and text, however I wish he made the glass shatter screen transition a bit less abrupt?

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That covers everything I feel like I should discuss, next I'll be taking a retrospective look at Episode 1 of Umineko...Legend of the Golden Witch.

I think one or two posts a day covering a episode will be how I'll write the rest of this review, I hope you enjoy!

- Jupiter.

As some last notes, feel free to interact with me in dms or asks or anything! I'd love to discuss this story with anyone because hearing differing opinions or just bonding over media is one of my favorite things! I'd love to make friends

This of course is all opinion and not objective! I love seeing different views and all opinions are valid to me!

Have a nice day!

[arahul-abyssia]

Looks like it's September again (already, somehow), so that means that it's Nintember again, which means I'll be writing again! Same dealio as last time, one story per five prompts, up to six writings total. (And I'll be putting most of each under a cut, because mobile users can't skip posts)

And for my first entry for @starprincesshlc and @jklantern 's wonderful little event, I shall once again be attempting to twist some modicum of continuity, characterization, and canon-compliance out of a world that clearly cares scarcely for all three.

The Great Act

~~ Art, Green, Dizzy, Fire, Strength ~~

It was the loud buzzing of his phone’s alarm clock that dragged him from his slumber. He awoke to find himself sprawled across the couch, which was in no way long enough for his lanky body and spindly legs. As he blearily reached out and slapped at the coffee table, hoping to find the rude device by pure luck, he also blearily reached out and slapped at his memories, trying to figure out what series of events had led him there. For a moment, they floated just out of reach, and then suddenly flooded back to him all at once.

Oh. Right. It’s all over.

Another sporting event had come and gone, and as usual, in spite of all the effort he put into training and practice, he had ultimately lost to the same people he always did. No matter the sport, no matter the plan, no matter the time, they always won. And why shouldn’t they? The heroes always win in the end, always securing victory against the villains.

And he was one of them: the purple-clad counterpart, mirror, and supposed rival to one of the land’s most revered figures. Meant to oppose, and meant to lose.

He was Waluigi.

The name still sounded absurd to him. He had no idea how two men whose names were ‘Mario’ and ‘Wario’ and who naturally served as near-perfect foils of each other, had managed to meet and form such a publicizable rivalry without any deliberate effort, but such was the case. However, the notion that the brother of one had his own doppelganger in the brother of the other (or cousin, they never did manage to keep that story straight), with the same dichotomies of name, body, and personality? That was simply and utterly ridiculous, far beyond even the realm of ‘too good to be true’. And yet, if anyone had caught on, they hadn’t made it known to him.

Lost in thought and routine, he realized he had reached and opened his wardrobe, where numerous sets of that purple hat, shirt, and overalls were staring him in the face. In a sickening sense, they were the centerpiece of a great work of art, the fabrication that was his entire public existence, the character that he and Wario had constructed so that he might further be the ‘evil counterpart’ to everyone’s favorite red-clothed fire-throwing hero. Mario was stout and a bit fat, Wario was stouter and fatter; Luigi was tall and a bit thin, so Waluigi was taller and thinner. Mario had an M as his emblem, Wario had an inverted M; Luigi had an L, so Waluigi had an inverted L. To any casual outside observer, it was perfect.

But unlike Mario and Wario, whose rivalry had been formed in their youth, Waluigi had never even met Luigi until Wario had made him his sporting partner. The most he had known of the legendary Mario Brothers was just that: they were legends, for the countless adventures and quests they went on. In truth, despite how much he played it up during each and every game, he bore no true grudge against the man he was supposed to hate; Wario had, for a time, convinced him that Luigi’s presence in the public eye was somehow detracting from his own, but he had long since realized that that wasn’t the case; in fact, it often seemed like Luigi himself was being snubbed by the public, with the vast majority of the glory placed upon Mario, no matter how much Luigi contributed.

And yet, despite his existence being little more than a convenient story, despite the stress that constantly acting like a jerk brought, and despite always losing at the games no matter what, none of it brought him any sadness: for all its ups and downs, he felt himself to be rather good at keeping up the act, and the sports were, at the end of the day, still fun.

So why do I still feel so… bad?

Routine and thought had once more brought Waluigi elsewhere, and he found himself once more on his couch, now dressed in his usual outfit, with some sort of drink in his hands, probably coffee or tea; he didn’t care to determine which at that moment. His eyes casually wandered around the room as he brought the mug to his lips.

Then, just as the liquid touched his tongue--apparently he had managed to make tea out of coffee beans--the answer came to him. All across the room’s walls and shelves was sporting equipment of every sort--tennis racquets, shin-guards, helmets, golf clubs, old kart wheels, giant dice blocks, a probably excessive number of deflated balls--and absolutely no other sort of decoration. He leaned forward to place the mug on the table, and in doing so noticed his gloved hands and violet sleeves. Who wore the outfit of a character that they supposedly were not, every single day? Apparently, him.

He didn’t do anything else. He had let the character that was Waluigi consume his life to the point that had no idea who he was outside of it. He had nothing that he did when sports weren’t involved. Wario didn’t dedicate all his time to his rivalry; he owned an entire video game company--an unstable and poorly-run one, certainly, but it was nevertheless another use of his time. Mario and Luigi had their own grand adventures, of course, which is also what Peach, the Yoshis, Bowser, and his horde of minions were all typically involved in.

They all had lives outside of the games, and what did he do during the interim times? He either tried to practice, on his own, in the few suitable locations that he could find when the world was arranged for adventure, in a vain attempt to not lose as bad when the next game came around, or he wallowed in his home, doing absolutely nothing of any import.

But what could he do? Waluigi was never anything beyond a fabricated counterpart to both Wario and Luigi, but he could not remember, even slightly, what or who he was before he embraced that role. That nearly all of his memories prior to his first meeting with his partner were lost to him, was, he shuddered to admit, rather unsettling. Not even his old name--if he even had had one, he could not recall anymore--would reveal itself to him, and it was not as though he could simply find out through some external means: he was never the best at record-keeping, and to really sell their act, he had had his name legally changed to “Waluigi” and all references to his previous identity erased.

He shook his head, attempting to clear his mind of thoughts. There was little sense in worrying and fretting over who he was in that moment--the chance of any sort of useful epiphany emerging from it was even slimmer than he was.

Ugh… better just try to distract myself…

The first suitable option to catch his eye was the TV remote lying on the table. He quickly grabbed it and flicked on the set, and was immediately assaulted by the cheery enunciation of the Lakitu news anchors on the aptly-named Lakitu News Channel. He recalled that that was the channel he had left the set on last night, after he had gotten quite fed up with the incessant and inane blathering about the events of that day’s final matches, and it took only about five seconds to figure out that they were still on that topic. Scowling, he began flipping through the various channels available, hoping to find something interesting enough to block out the melancholic thoughts that were biting at his mind, like a hundred tiny Muncher and Nipper Plants.

After a painfully long series of more newsrooms--all talking about the exact same thing, of course--and unappealing shows--Half of these are for children and other half would just make me feel even worse!--he stumbled across some sort of advice segment hosted by a Birdo (was it the Birdo? He couldn’t tell). With absolutely no better options, he resigned himself to sit back and listen halfheartedly to whatever trite tips she tried to provide; maybe they’d be amusing enough to at least give him a small chuckle.

“I hope you all enjoyed our lovely guest! Now, before we move on to the submissions from all you wonderful viewers, I’d like to reiterate some old, but tried and true, advice, which I hold very close to my heart.”

Oh, here we go…

“Something which you probably hear very often is to always be yourself, or to always be true to yourself…”

Feh, I can think of several people who definitely shouldn’t do that…

“But it may be that you don’t like who ‘yourself’ is, or perhaps you don’t know what self you even have to be true to…”

Hah! As if… uh…

“And to that end, I’d like to say that there is always room for change. There’s always a way to make something new of yourself, to alter the parts of you that you want to, to become a different, better person. ‘Yourself’ can be whoever you want it to be; never are you locked along one unending bleak path. Try new things! Experiment! Don’t let yourself be trapped in an endless cycle.

“Believe me when I say I have personal experience with this: I’ve done so many different things over a rather short period of time, trying to find what I wanted to do with myself, who I wanted to be. Even now, I’m still not entirely sure if this is my supposed ‘calling’…! But I never got anywhere by doing nothing: it was on me to break out of my shell and search for myself, and now it’s on you to do the same.

“You don’t have to begin drastically, with a flying leap of faith--I think we’ve all walked over enough cliffs by now to know that!--but, if this is the sort of mindset you find yourself in, why not try taking some small steps today? It could be as simple as wearing a new outfit, or talking to someone new, or partaking in a new pastime.”

Birdo continued to elaborate on her point, but Waluigi--or, whoever he was beneath that--had stopped listening. He wanted to make some snark about what she said; he wanted to rationalize how what she described couldn’t ever apply to him; but, he found that he couldn’t. He had attempted to follow similar advice long in the past, and failed, but something about the way she phrased it, managed to affect him more deeply than he had thought possible. It was as though her words had dug beneath his shields and layers and pierced something somewhere in his core; pulled a lever, turned a handle, flipped a switch.

A strange sensation washed over him, one he could only describe as a blazing fire--nay, an inferno--igniting within him. He had felt the touch of flame countless times over the years, but not even the innumerable rage-fueled volleys he had endured, all combined into a single force, could compare to what now burned in his soul.

He leapt up from the sofa and ran to his bathroom. Staring at him from within the mirror was a character, a costume, a facade. It was not who he was. He grabbed a towel, dampened it, and proceeded to scrub away the pink paint on his nose; Wario and Waluigi’s noses were defined by that bright rosy color, but his was not. He then tore open a cabinet and grabbed his bottle of mustache product; normally, it was used to create the signature angular mustache of Waluigi, but today, it would shape the hairs into something softer and curlier. Whether that was what he would ultimately like did not matter: he was experimenting! He was changing himself!

Though the man that stared back at him from the glass now bore a much different visage, it was still framed by the purple cap and shirt, yellow emblem, and dark indigo overalls. He tore them off, then opened his wardrobe once more and threw all the copies of that same outfit to the ground. Hidden behind them were old clothes that he hadn’t worn for many, many years. He grabbed the first garments he saw--a casual dress shirt and gaudy neon-yellow shorts. Did those go well together? It didn’t matter. Without hesitating, he put them on.

He quickly glanced in the mirror again: the ensemble was nearly complete, but just missing one last touch. He thought on it for a moment, then stricken with brilliance, hurried to his modest backyard, where the roses he performed with in the games grew. He plucked one from its bush and affixed it to his hair, then ran back to the mirror to observe himself one more time.

His mismatched get-up would likely garner many stares from others, though he wouldn’t mind them at all; if he had anything in common with Waluigi, it was that they both loved being the center of attention. Even still, that’s not what mattered. A whole new day lay before him, a whole new day to be someone new, someone different; to move on from the cycle he had been stuck in, to take a whole new step forward.

He returned to the sitting room and turned off the television, then went to the front door. Taking a deep breath, he turned the handle, threw it open, and marched into the daylight, the daylight which felt far fresher and warmer than it had in a long time, though even it held no candle to the flame that continued to blaze within him.

Ready or not, world; here I come!!

[jesatria]

Fic: Simple Pleasures, Chap 9

Title: Simple Pleasures Fandom: Kushiel’s Legacy Characters: Isidore d’Aiglemort, Anne Livet Pairings: Isidore/Anne Word Count: 5,130 Rating: NC-17 Summary: The story of Isidore d’Aiglemort & the gardener’s daughter of Lombelon. WIP. Disclaimer: I do not own Kushiel’s Legacy. This is only for fun & no profit is being made from it.

Previous Chapters:

1. The Visit

2. Desire

3. The Harvest Festival

4. Triumph

5. Gifts

6. The Eagle Unbound

7. Lighting the Candle

8. The Longest Night

Chapter 9: The Final Parting

           I didn’t mind being with child.

           Other women hated it, I came to understand. Between the monthly courses brought on by lighting the candle and the many pains and discomforts childbearing women were forced to endure, I understood why some wished Eisheth would close their wombs. Mayhap I would feel that way in time, after I’d borne more than one child, but not now. That isn’t to say I enjoyed the vomiting or back pain, but those things were not enough to detract from my happiness. I had chosen this. I wanted this child, our child. Early summer couldn’t come soon enough.

           It was extremely difficult to bid Isidore farewell when he left. Spring was in the air, a time when I’d normally rejoice at the first green shoots to poke through the thawing ground. This time I’d spent the better part of the winter with him and thus it was much harder to see him go. War was coming. We did not speak of it; I sensed he was reluctant to do so. At first I thought he didn’t want to spoil the occasion of our first Longest Night together, but it continued for the duration of his visit. I came to suspect his reluctance was due to my condition, never mind that I was hardly some delicate flower to faint at the mention of war. I suppose he meant to spare me the stress that was sure to follow if I knew the details. Regardless, he told me enough that I understood this was far more serious than the usual border raids. The Skaldi found a leader to unite them and they meant to invade. I’d learned enough from Isidore over the years to know he kept the border forts well-garrisoned and watched the passes closely. Surely that would be enough to hold off an invasion along with the Royal Army. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling of apprehension that rose in me whenever I thought of Isidore on the border. It was the only thing that spoiled my happiness.

           Bit by bit I grew used to my new status. I didn’t miss the more tedious of my chores, such as cleaning the manor. No longer being responsible for my share of that meant I could pursue other things. The quilt was one of them. It was my first time making one entirely on my own—my previous experience had been working alongside the other women making quilts for the household. It was true that I hardly needed to make one myself for our child, who wouldn’t lack for blankets, but I wanted a child of my body to have somewhat made with care by me. I’d made shirts for Isidore for the same reason. In time I would make clothing for our child too.

           With the arrival of spring, I returned to the gardens. It was the first time I’d done so since becoming lady of the manor. I could’ve hired a gardener to tend to the gardens according to my specifications, but I chose not to. The gardens had been my father’s charge for as long as I could remember and I was not about to give them over to another.

           “Are you certain you ought to be doing that in your condition?” a familiar voice asked. I looked up from the lavender bed to see Marcel, evidently deciding to stop for a chat on his way to the orchard.

           “Thank you for your concern, but this is hardly taxing.” I was far enough along now that my condition was quite apparent. I’d even had to make myself some new dresses and alter others to accommodate it.

           “You’re sure? Because I doubt d’Aiglemort would want you overexerting yourself.”

           “I’m quite sure, Marcel. I’ll stop if I feel tired or ill.”

           He knelt down until he was level with me. “Do you think you’ll have much time for gardening once he makes you his consort and you’re a mother?”

           “I certainly intend to make time, whatever happens,” I replied. Mayhap I could tend to the gardens at the townhouse Isidore offered to buy me. That would be my one requirement—I certainly didn’t need anything fancy. The prospect of being able to design and plan my gardens, not merely choose what I planted in plots laid out by someone else, was an exciting one.

           Somewhat softened in Marcel’s face. “I’ll miss you once you’re gone, you know.”

           I smiled. “I know, and I’ll miss you too. But you know I won’t be gone all the time. I love this place too much not to spend a portion of my time here.”

           “That’s good to know. Still, I’ll miss you.”

           After Marcel left, I let my thoughts wander. They were wont to take familiar paths these days. I couldn’t help wondering what our child will be like. Isidore wanted a son he could teach Camael’s Arts, but I had no preference. Boy or girl, I meant to teach our child to appreciate growing things as I did. Mayhap our child might even join me when I worked in the gardens. I would make sure the L’Agnacite heritage wasn’t lost beneath the Camaeline. I hoped the child would have Isidore’s beautiful hair. In my mind’s eye, I could see a girl who looked like me but for the silver hair or a boy who was the spitting image of his father.

           The first buds were just opening on the trees when Isidore returned to Lombelon. I could tell right away that he was not himself. He was tense, though his face brightened at the sight of me. “Somewhat’s bothering you, I can tell,” I said once we’d settled into the privacy of the master suite. “Care to tell me?”

           He looked away. “It’s nothing, Anne, just the impending invasion. Soon enough the passes will be free of snow and the Skaldi will be upon us. I cannot stay here long, but I had to see you again. You are well, I hope?”

           “Yes, aside from the common complaints of a woman with child.” I laid a hand on my stomach. “I’m managing just fine, though I have to admit I’m quite ready for the birth.”

           “We are into spring now. The start of summer is not so very far away.”

          ��“No, and yet time moves so slowly. Have you thought much about our child, what it might be like?”

           He pursed his lips, considering the question. “I have, yes.”

           “Personally I’m hoping it has your hair.”

           An amused expression came over his face. “Have you now?”

           “Of course. It’s beautiful.”

           “I’ll freely admit it’s my only vanity. So yes, I’ve also imagined our child inheriting my hair,” he answered, grinning.

           “Blessed Elua let it be so,” I said with a smile. “You are still hoping for a son?”

           “Yes, though I’d be willing to teach our daughter Camael’s Arts if she’d a mind to learn. Truth be told, I can’t see any child of mine not being drawn to the sword.”

           “Is that how it was for you?”

           He nodded. “I started learning around the time I was learning to read. I can still remember how it felt, the first time I picked up a practice sword. Somewhat inside of me cried out in happiness at how right it felt.”

           “That’s quite young to begin, is it not? I imagined you started at age ten, as the Cassiline Brothers do.”

           “Not in Camlach. I don’t know how it is in the other provinces, but it is common for Camaeline peers to begin training at such a young age,” he replied. I suppose that made sense if you were born to wield a sword.

           “Is it the same for the girls?”

           “I cannot say. I never had a sister, or indeed any close female friends until I went to the Shahrizai. If I had to guess, I’d say they begin later. Camaeline women don’t take to the battlefield, but they are expected to defend themselves.”

           Try as I might, I had a hard time picturing a noblewoman, even a Camaeline one, wielding a sword. “Do they carry swords as men do?”

           Isidore chuckled. “Some of them might. They certainly own them and bear them as needed. Camaeline noblewomen will defend themselves and their castles at need.”

           I’d never heard of any D’Angeline woman doing such a thing. It certainly wasn’t done in L’Agnace. “Would I be expected to do that?”

           He was quiet for a moment before answering. “Camael willing, there will be no more Skaldi attacks for some time after I deal with them and you’ll not need to concern yourself with such matters. The Camaelines won’t expect a gardener from L’Agnace to know how to defend a castle.”

           I let out a big sigh “Well that’s a relief!”

           “You are no Camaeline. They’ll notice that, as surely as everyone here can see I’m no L’Agnacite.”

           “I could tell the moment I set eyes on you, though I was quite preoccupied with how beautiful you are.”

           “Were you indeed?”

           “I was.”

           “Well, I wish I could say I noticed you when I first arrived, but I didn’t. There was much to take in. You only caught my attention when you brought me that first bottle of pear brandy.”

           “We owe a debt of gratitude to Thèrese, for choosing to send me up with that brandy,” I replied, leaning my head against his shoulder.

           We spoke of names for the first time that night. I lay propped up in bed, a stack of pillows behind my back, while Isidore rubbed oil onto my belly. The motion of his hands soon soothed me so much that I began to doze.

           “I had a thought about names.” His voice startled me into alertness.

           “Oh?” I hadn’t given the topic much thought, for all the time I’d spent imagining what our child would be like.

           “If we should have a son, I’d like to name him Maslin.”

           “A pretty name. I like it.” He gave me a small smile in response. “Maslin was your father’s name, was it not?”

           “Yes. I thought we might follow tradition.”

           The babe moved at his words as if in agreement. “That would be good. If we have a daughter, we could name her Louise after my mother.”

           For a moment I thought he might insist a daughter be named after his mother, but he didn’t. Instead all he said was, “Louise d’Aiglemort? That does have a certain flow to it.”

           “Well, there’s that decided. Maslin for a boy; Louise for a girl,” I remarked. He continued to massage me and I closed my eyes in contentment. He’d rubbed my feet earlier in the evening, which I greatly appreciated. Any relief from the aches and pains that came with my condition were quite welcome.

           “You look as content as can be,” Isidore observed.

           “I am. The only thing that could make me happier would be you staying here until the birth.”

           “You know I cannot do that, much as I wish I could.”

           “Yes, but I can’t help wishing it was so,” I replied.

           He ceased his rubbing and moved to lie beside me. “I will do whatever I can to be here for the birth,” he said gently, black eyes softening as he met my gaze. “I cannot promise more than that, and there is a real possibility that I will fail.”

           My hopes deflated at his words. Every time I’d imagined giving birth he was beside me, despite knowing he was needed to deal with the Skaldi. I’d held that hope since I discovered I was with child and it died hard. Isidore saw the disappointment in my face and laid a hand on my belly. “I will not make false promises to you, Anne. All I can promise is that I will try. The Skaldi will be defeated by then, Camael willing.”

           “Camael willing.”

 **

           We spoke more about the future the next day. Isidore was due to leave the day after that and we were determined to spend as much time together as we could. Despite his assurances, the impending Skaldi invasion lingered in my mind. This was rather more serious than the border raids he’d spoken of previously. What would happen if the Skaldi were able to breach the border defenses? I shuddered at the thought of a horde of barbarians raping, pillaging, and plundering their way across Terre d’Ange. These fears I mostly kept to myself, not wanting to mar our time together. It was the last time I would see him before the invasion, and I did not want it filled with talk of coming war.

           It was a chilly spring day, cold enough to warrant wearing a cloak when walking outside. We walked together in the orchard, where the laborers who tended the trees could be seen here and there going about their work. It was chilly enough that the sun peeking through the clouds gave little warmth. Beside the buds on the trees, here and there green shoots poked their way through the earth. I’d always loved spring. It was heartening to see the first bits of green coming up after months of winter. Yet I did not feel that way this spring, rare for a L’Agnacite and unheard of for a gardener.

           “I’ve been giving some thought to matters of inheritance,” Isidore began, “I know very well how deeply you love Lombelon and it seems fitting that our child should inherit it.”

           “Elua willing, our child will love Lombelon as much as I do.” The babe was half-L’Agnacite, after all, and surely that wouldn’t all vanish beneath the Camaeline heritage.

           “Indeed, I cannot imagine any child of ours not inheriting your L’Agnacite love of the land,” he replied, amused.

           “Neither can I,” I said with a grin, “for I do not mean to let our child be ignorant of that part of its heritage. What of your other estates? Would our child inherit them as well?”

           He took a moment to consider the question. “Mayhap. We shall see.”

           “Because politics may demand you marry some noblewoman?”

           “Yes. You do understand that such a marriage would not mean me casting you aside?”

           I nodded. “I know well enough how you feel about me to be certain that wouldn’t be the case.”

           He took my hand in his and ran a calloused thumb over it. “You are first in my heart, now and always. No future wife of mine will ever come between us. And if it transpires that I need not marry for politics, I would be pleased to have our child succeed me as Duc or Duchese d’Aiglemort.”

           My child, ruling a province. “That would be… a great honor.” In truth I cared very little about such things. Our child inheriting Lombelon meant more to me than becoming a Duc or Duchese. That a child of my blood would inherit the home I loved was so much more than I’d ever dreamed. With that inheritance, my child would be a peer of the Realm. I smiled a little at the thought—not bad for the grandchild of a gardener.

           “We shall see but Lombelon, that is certain. I’ll see it done once the babe is born and officially acknowledged by me,” he said. “It is easy enough to change my will and dispose of my estates as I see fit.”

           “Do you think you’ll still want to come here often once I am living with you as your consort?” I asked. All this talk of estates had me wondering how much time I’d be spending at Lombelon in the future.

           “We can come here as often as you like,” Isidore replied, “and you would be welcome to come here without me if you so desired. I’ll not expect you to remain at my side wherever I go. I doubt you’d enjoy the border fortifications.”

           “No, I daresay I would not. I recall you once telling me there were almost no women to be found there, not even Servants of Naamah.”

           “There’s little in the way of comfort to be found. Hardly a place I’d take my consort, even with the border perfectly quiet and peaceful.”

           This talk of the border brought the fears I’d tried to bury back to the surface. “Will it be a long campaign, do you think?”

           He looked away, taking time to consider his answer. “I am hopeful that it will be. The combined might of the Allies of Camlach and the Royal Army should suffice to drive back the Skaldi.” There was a note of tension in his voice that hadn’t been there before; I suspected he was more worried about the battle to come than he was letting on, not wanting me to worry overmuch. Well, it was too late for that now. My worry must’ve shown on my face, for he gave my hand a squeeze of reassurance and stroked my cheek gently. He said nothing; there was nothing to say on this matter that hadn’t been said already.

           Did I know, then, what was to come? I did not. All I had was a nagging worry, born of what he’d told me of the Skaldi. I suppose many women have felt the same when their lovers have gone off to war. It is my own misfortune that those worries would prove to be horribly correct, and in ways I couldn’t have begun to imagine. That last day we spent together became all the more precious. I was for enough gone with child by then that long walks tired me, so we returned to the manor after a short walk through the gardens and nearest orchard. Instead we retired to the manor, where we passed the rest of the day in quiet companionship, savoring each other’s presence. Things had progressed to the point where simply being together was enough. That being said, we were certain to make good use of what we both knew would be our last night together for some time. It would indeed prove to be our last together, but for a far longer time than either of us anticipated.

           We took our time that night, hands exploring each other’s bodies as if for the first time. The feel of his calloused hands on me never failed to stir my desire, and this was no exception. Isidore took the lead, as he’d done every night of this visit, and I was content to lie on the plush pillows and let him pleasure me. He moved slowly with the languisement, licking and sucking until I thought I might die of pleasure. With me now so far gone with child, he insisted that I relax and let him take over. I was more than happy to do so. That never lost its appeal for me, who’d been a servant for so long, being serviced by another.

           The Trois Milles Joies lists positions considered most comfortable for a woman with child. We’d already sampled a few on this visit. After he brought me to the peak of arousal for a second time, I turned on my side and spread my legs. My foot came to rest on Isidore’s shoulder as he situated himself between my legs. He moved as slowly as he had with everything else that night. I closed my eyes and savored the feeling of him inside me, of his hand gripping my thigh. I almost didn’t want my climax to come so I might remain in that moment. But come it did, for I could not preserve the night forever. Later we lay closely together, both of us spent and satisfied. I lay on my side, with him pressed up close against my back, one arm thrown protectively over my stomach.

           The morning came too soon.

           Since being relieved of my servant duties, I’d taken to lingering longer in bed than I would have otherwise, even when Isidore wasn’t there. This morning was no exception. If I remained in bed, perhaps the day wouldn’t begin and Isidore wouldn’t leave me. I wondered if he felt the same, for he did not rise as early as he usually did. After some minutes had passed, I felt him move off the bed. I turned to watch as he dressed, fixing the image of his perfect body in my mind. I never tired of looking at him, especially when he was unclothed. He was well-aware of it too, and I swear he would deliberately take his time dressing for my enjoyment. This was not one of those times, much to my dismay. There was naught for me to do then but rise and don my own clothes.

           Isidore handed me a small wooden box once I’d finished dressing. “A gift for you. Since I’ll not be here for your birthday, I thought I might give it to you now.”

           I opened it to find a delicate snowdrop pendant on a silver chain. The white flower was inlaid with pearl and the green stem set with emeralds. “Oh!” No one had ever given me such a valuable gift, and I found myself at a loss for words.

           “You told me you’d like to see snowdrops.” His voice was soft. “This will have to do until I can take you with me to Camlach.”

           I slipped the necklace over my head. The chain was long enough that there was no need to undo the clasp. It came to rest just above my breasts. “It’s beautiful. I will wear it and think of you until we are reunited.”

           We left the bedchamber and walked into the sitting room. A meal waited for us on the table. I immediately spread jam on a thick slice of baguette and took a bite. I was well-accustomed by now to the increases in appetite brought on by my condition. Even so, I was a bit surprised to find myself still hungry after finishing my meal. Indeed, the meal passed all too quickly and there was no more delaying the inevitable.

           I met Isidore in the courtyard to bid him farewell, as was our custom. A few other members of the household were present, as were his men in their familiar black-and-silver livery, but we might’ve been alone for all the attention I paid them. It was a clear spring day, with a hint of winter’s chill yet in the air. He pulled me into his arms and kissed me softly. “Return to me,” I breathed once we’d separated, resting my head against his chest, “return to me and see our child born.”

           “I have every intention of doing so,” he said, stroking my hair with a gloved hand. “If I should not return… I left you enough coin to keep you and the babe for a while. You will name it as we discussed?”

           “Yes. Maslin for a boy; Louise for a girl.”

           “Very good.” I leaned my cheek against the rich velvet of his doublet; his hand moved to rest on my back. “Anne, I want you to know that though it is unlikely I’ll be able to write much, you will be in my thoughts every day we are parted.” His voice was thick with emotion. “Every soldier knows there’s nothing quite like the promise of returning home to loved ones to keep him going through the hell of war. I want you to know that I’ll carry the memory of you with me along with the promise of our child and hope they will see me through.”

           Tears slid down my cheeks, soaking into his doublet. “Anne.” I lifted my head to look up at him. His black eyes were filled with a terrible love. “Anne, love, please don’t cry. I don’t want my last sight of you before I go to war to be with tears running down your face.” He removed one of his gloves and gently brushed the tears away. That he called me “love” was enough to show the depths of his feelings. He rarely did that.

           “That would hardly be a memory to sustain you through the hardships of war,” I replied, giving him a small smile.

           He brushed the last of my tears away. “Indeed it would not.”

           I stroked his beautiful hair and gave him another kiss. “I trust that will be a better memory.”

           “Rest assured that it will.”

           We kissed and embraced for a little while longer until the parting could be put off no longer. “I love you,” he said as we separated. “Sometimes I think I haven’t said that as often I should have.”

           “It doesn’t matter. I’ve known it in my heart, as you know I love you.”

           We parted truly then, and I watched as he mounted his horse, waved to me, and rode down the path to the gate with his men following close behind him. I remained where I was until his distant figure vanished from sight.

           I never saw him again.

 **

           It is an unfortunate thing that the mind will retain the memories of the worst moments of our lives when we’d much prefer to forget them if we could. I would gladly do without the memory of the day my world came crashing down around me. Spring had come in earnest by then and the pear trees were fully leafed out. Many flowers had already started to bloom. A few weeks had passed since Isidore’s departure and I wondered how he was faring. Surely the mountain passes were open by now and the Skaldi invasion had begun.

           I was now in the last weeks of my term. Early summer, the priestess had told me, or mayhap late spring if the babe was minded to come early. With some reluctance I had to cut down on my time in the gardens, as I tried easily. The birth really couldn’t come soon enough. This was my mood, then, when the news arrived.

           Lombelon was never starved for news. Close as we were to the City, we heard things. Couriers passed by frequently and would often share news with us. It was one such courier who brought the news that was to devastate me. I was in the upstairs sitting room when he came, working on the quilt. It was very near to completion. The noise downstairs was clearly audible with the door to the room open. I set the quilt aside and rose from my chair, awkward as I now was. I’d made it halfway down the stairs when I heard the news the courier brought.

           “The Duc d’Aiglemort has turned traitor to the Crown!”

           The words were a dagger to my heart. I gripped the railing tightly as the room seemed almost to spin around me. Isidore, a traitor? Surely not! He always was mindful of his duty to protect the Realm from the Skaldi. I wouldn’t believe it, I couldn’t believe it…

           “The Skaldi have invaded through the passes of Camlach, a horde such as has never been seen in recent times!”

           He’d been preparing to fend off the invasion by making sure the passes were well-defended. How many times had we spoken of this, and how it was his duty to protect the Realm from the Skaldi. “No,” I heard myself saying, “no. He wouldn’t do that. The Skaldi must’ve broken past the border defenses. They have a strong leader…”

           But the courier shook his head. “You are mistaken, Madame. I have just come from the front and heard the news from those who were there.”

           “Then they must be mistaken! He’d never let the Skaldi through the passes intentionally!”

           “D’Aiglemort left the southern passes lightly defended so the Skaldi could pass through. He meant to use them to claim the throne for himself.” A small crowd had gathered around the courier by now. “But the Skaldi turned on him, and he fled with his army into the mountains.”

           I didn’t want to believe it. It was too awful a thing to contemplate, that the man I loved could betray our nation in such a way. Yet the rational part of my mind pointed out that a courier riding to the City had no reason to lie about such a thing. What purpose would he have in making up things about Isidore? It’s true, that part of my mind insisted, otherwise why carry such news to the City? This I understood, even as the rest of me rebelled at it. I was lover to a traitor, carrying a traitor’s child…

           My legs seemed to be made of jelly. I clung to the railing so tightly my knuckles were white and sank to my knees, mind reeling. Footsteps sounded on the stairs as some of the crowd noticed me and meant to see that I was unharmed. Hands grabbed my arms and carefully lifted me up; I couldn’t have said whose they were.

           “Anne!” someone cried out.

           “Quick—she might lose the child!”

           I could not say what exactly happened next, only that my head was spinning and the shock of the news rendered me unable to focus on anything else. The next thing I can recall clearly is lying on my bed. I turned my head to see Thèrese sitting in a chair at the bedside, watching me intently. “Thèrese?” I asked, sitting up.

           She held up a hand and I settled back down on the pillows. “You’re in shock from what you just heard. You need to rest and steady yourself.”

           My hand came to rest on my stomach. Nothing felt out of the ordinary, indeed the babe moved as if in response to my apprehension. I breathed a small sigh of relief. Had I fallen down the stairs, the worst might’ve happened. Thèrese’s gaze moved from my face to my stomach. “I’m so sorry, Anne.”

           Everything was a haze. All I could think of was the revelation that Isidore was a traitor. He’d never said anything to me indicating he coveted the throne, not once in the years we’d been lovers. The only time I could recall him showing any sort of ambition when he told me about the triumph he and Baudoin had been grated by the King. Yet it had clearly been growing inside him for years and he’d kept it from me. I had to wonder—how well did I really know him? What else had he kept from me? “Oh Isidore, how could you?” I whispered, turning away from Thèrese. After a few minutes passed, I heard her chair scrape across the floor followed by the sound of her shoes as she walked out of the room. The tears flowed then, as if a dam holding them back had burst.

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One:  The Dark Curse

Chapter 66:  The Art of Meddling

He could remember, long ago, when he'd first become the Dark One and understood he was immortal until the curse ended, wondering when he would begin to feel the weight of the years he'd lived on his shoulders. The answer was now. In the times when the world around him felt calm and easy, fleeting even, but his mind hummed with work to do, spells, even visions of the future that he realized just how old he was.

James was eight today. Eight years old already. It seemed like yesterday his father had stopped by, seeking help in finding the son he'd traded to the King and succeeding before the King had ordered him killed. Since then, poor David and his mother had begun to struggle again, but the Seer in the back of his mind had encouraged him to send work their way simply because "it wasn't time yet". There was something at work, something that he tried to focus on, and yet when he focused on the future, he saw Ruth in her hut and the False Prince at King George's side, just as he had been for nearly two years. It was a shame really that after James met and married Snow White, Regina would hate them both as much as they would. She had more in common with James than she would ever know. But for now, Snow White remained the object of her frustration, and it was good.

Over the years, he'd learned that there was an art to meddling in someone's life. Some individuals wanted and even needed their paths laid out for them on a silver platter. Those were the clients that he found himself most busy with. They were the ones who required little but specific tasks that kept his mind busy and his hands experimenting. But then there were the clients like Regina. In those situations, he thought of himself more like a clockmaker. It was his job to simply wind them up, meddle a little bit with gentle nudges and pushes when necessary, and then watch life unfold before them as he intended.

When he'd first met her, shy and quiet, even kind, were all words he'd used to describe her, and he'd prepared himself to have to meddle in her life a great deal to spur on the jealousy Regina felt toward Snow White. In the end, all she needed was nudging. A carefully placed comment here or there are his part was all that was required of him. Time was doing the rest. And while that pleased him enormously most of the time, sometimes, like tonight, it drove him mad with anger.

She was skipping her lesson. Again. Leopold had taken Snow White out on another tour, leaving Regina home alone, and for whatever reason, she'd decided not to come to him despite the plans they'd made. He knew she'd decided because it took all of two seconds for him to summon her image in his mirror and find her reclining at her seat at the table alone, sulking and scowling in the dark. She was petulant, reminding him of a hormonal teenager sometimes. Her sorcery skills were improving greatly. But along with it so was her confidence. She was beginning to question why she needed him and talk of growing more powerful than he was, a laughable goal. She was beginning to comb through her mother's old books and wonder if she couldn't teach herself, and if he was honest, more than once, he was tempted to let her; especially in those times she dared to ask what it would take to be more powerful than he. But he couldn't let her teach herself. The second he'd had the thought, Baelfire's face had come into his vision and he knew that was one thing he couldn't afford not to meddle in. The lessons he was teaching her were about to change. It wasn't lessons in sorcery she needed, though in a way she still did. Now it was simply lessons of life that he had to teach her lest she swerve and end up-

"Hey!"

A shudder nearly rocked through him at the sound of Jefferson screeching behind him. Another attempt to scare him born of a conversation they'd had a few months back. A conversation that he now regretted more than any other he'd ever had with the man.

"You jumped! I think I got you that time!" he declared, circling the tower and coming into view.

"Where have you been?" he growled at the boy. It had been a few weeks since Jefferson's last stop by. Though he felt very strongly it hadn't been enough time. The agreement he'd reached with Regina years ago to travel to her land was supposed to make stops like this less frequent; sometimes it didn't seem like it helped. It was only recently that Jefferson had met a girl, another realm jumper like himself that he'd made himself more scarce. Which was fine, so long as it didn't detract from the job he was meant to be doing.

"Wonderland. I brought you…" he reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of small crackers, then a large bottle of what appeared to be wine. "Food! But don't eat or drink it if you know what's good for you."

"Yes, yes, I'm well aware of what the cuisine of Wonderland does to the body. These are helpful, but not what I sent you out to seek. Have you, by any chance, found my curse?!"

"Oh! Yeah! Years ago! Did I forget to tell you?"

His heart didn't race, nor did it skip a beat as Jefferson jumped up onto one of the tables. He knew when he was being a caddy bastard, and he was now. Any other topic of conversation and he might have responded with the same kind of sarcasm he was offering, but not when it came to the curse. Jefferson's face fell and he rolled his eyes in the silence.

"No," he admitted. "Don't you think after all these years I would have told you if I did?"

"What you would do is sometimes beyond even my abilities to predict."

"Well then, let me assure you. Nothing so far. There were lots of people talking in Wonderland recently, and I thought I was on to something, thus why I was there so long, but it turns out the curse they were talking about was their Queen."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, calls herself the Queen of Hearts, wears a mask, only talks to her footman. Rumor is that she's something of a fan of ripping out hearts and keeping them in some kind of vault. Also, something about roses being red…or maybe white…can't quite remember that one. I don't know."

Queen of Hearts. A fan of ripping hearts out. Well…now he knew what Cora was doing with her time. He'd always known she'd gone to Wonderland, what she made of herself once she'd gotten there had remained a complete mystery up until now, but it appeared that Cora had finally become the Queen she'd always dreamed she would be. It wasn't surprising. Cora was enough of a conniving bitch; he didn't put much past her. But if Jefferson was there as his emissary…

With a sigh, he rose from his place at the spinning wheel and went to a special cupboard he kept a few handy and completed potions in. This one in particular might help Jefferson should he ever find himself face to face with Cora.

"Here…" he exclaimed plucking one with the picture of a human heart under it out of his rack and tossing it to him. He made a note to remember to make another one tomorrow. Jefferson caught the bottle and stared down at it in his hand. "That will ensure your heart stays in your chest."

Jefferson nodded and removed the top before glancing over at him and raising his eyebrows. "For a favor?" he asked.

"For a favor," he confirmed with a smile. Annoying as he was, and even though he'd been unsuccessful at finding his curse, Jefferson was still his most profitable alliance. That being said, the man was starting to acquire quite the debt. They'd made so many of these sorts of deals he'd lost count. He used magic to get the boy out of numerous scrapes before and always "for a favor". He had a sneaking suspicion that Jefferson thought it was all a joke of some kind. One day he'd be in for a surprise.

"Now go…I have a lesson to teach Regina."

"Aye, aye, Captain!" he saluted, hopping off the table. "I'm taking my girl out to the ball tonight anyway."

"The ball?!" he scoffed. "I wasn't aware of any balls tonight."

"Not in this realm," he shrugged. "Besides, it's not so much the ball we're looking forward to as the fancy crown they're keeping in their castle which will be left unguarded tonight. We've both got our eyes on that prize. Which of us will get it…that's all part of the fun! And really what kind of infant needs a crown, anyway?"

Without warning he felt something turn within him. The girl was one thing but plotting together as they were was another thing. He had a terrible feeling about it all but knew because of his character there was nothing he could say to make Jefferson see the light. Whatever the feeling meant he'd have to decipher it on his own.

"Careful with this girl, Jefferson. One dance can lead to another if you're not cautious."

"Oh, I know!" he smiled slyly. "I'm rather hoping that one kind of dance will lead to another kind…if you catch my drift."

He did, because it was exactly that kind of dance he rather thought Jefferson didn't need at the moment. Or at least he didn't need Jefferson to have it. The girl was already proving to be a distraction, and that was without being a pretty receptacle for his cock. He hated to see what might become of him if she managed to drag him to bed.

"At least attempt to stay out of trouble."

"Pfft!" he tutted, rolling his eyes. "Like I'd dream of trouble…night, Pops!" he called practically skipping down the stairs.

Pops. Jefferson had first called him that a few months ago. It was always in jest, usually when he corrected him about getting into trouble or staying out too late. Initially, he'd done it to mock how much he sounded like he was his father, but now that word was coming a little bit too easily. Perhaps Regina wasn't the only one who needed a lesson. He might need to knock Jefferson off his high horse and remind them that their relationship was one strictly born out of necessity and business, not because he actually cared for the realm jumper. He had eyes on one son and one son only, and that was Baelfire. There was no room in his heart for anything else and frankly, he was certain there wasn't a heart big enough, aside from Bae's, for him.

[deltaengineering]

Spring Anime 2019 Part 1: git gud

I was trying to wait until something really good came along. This ran into a problem. Yes this is a day behind but not because of... that.

Amazing Stranger

What: Otaku dipshit buys a figurine that turns out to be an alien robot girl from an anime.

❌❌ Otaku dipshit nonsense about perving on a figurine-sized robot girl. It’s bad, yo.

❌ Execution is as questionable as the content. I’ll give it a star for using 3DCG and 2D animation where they respectively make sense.

♎ Only ⅓ runtime so it ended before I could get mad.

Bokutachi wa Benkyou ga Dekinai

What: Overachiever gets conned into tutoring a bunch of girls with specialized talents and general uselessness. The twist is that they don’t look identical.

♎ Basic ass harem setup with little to distinguish itself. And if it’s not a real harem it’s just a lacklaughter comedy.

♎ Characters aren’t terrible but sort of just there. Their talents are also too cartoonish to take seriously but not outlandish enough to be funny.

♎ You guessed it, production is workmanlike/undistinguished as well.

❌ Didn’t I just watch this? In any case, this lacks Quintuplet’s trademark sass so it’s just painfully mediocre.

Fruits Basket

What: Poor but optimistic high school girl gets involved with a harem of supernatural critters.

♎ This seems incredibly derivative and unoriginal. Seems of course, because Fruits Basket is the OG so all the others ripped it off in the first place. Doesn’t change the fact that I’ve sampled and discarded dozens of otome harems exactly like this.

✅ The production is aware that they’re adapting a classic over here, so the production values are high. It looks nice.

✅ It’s directed quite competently as well, especially the comic bits have the right timing.

❌ I don’t like the characters much. Tohru is a little annoying and the boyz are a big nothing. That’s not good for a romantic comedy. Side characters fare much better but hey, side characters in a show like this don’t matter.

♎ I have no attachment to Fruits Basket so this will have to stand on its own. So far it looks watchable, but very middle of the road.

Hitoribocchi no Marumaru Seikatsu

What: Kiraralike about a class of middle school girls that are all named after their personality. The main character (Bocchi Hitori, natch) is lonely and made of social anxiety.

❌ Dealing with #relatable topics is always sketchy, but Bocchi talking to herself for the majority of the episode just gets really old no matter what.

✅ However, once she starts actually talking to other people it gets better. Slightly above average for a show like this, which means inoffensively cute and very mildly comedic.

♎ This is a Kiraralike where all the characters are named after their personality, so I wouldn’t expect any depth. Not that that’s unusual for the genre.

♎ I’ll probably give this 3 episodes because these shows live and die by the cast, which we haven’t seen much of so far. If Bocchi’s character development sticks and we get a few good support characters, it might be fun.

Joshikausei

What: the sound of one thigh slapping

❌ but

✅✅ though

Kimetsu no Yaiba / DEMON SLAYER

What: Edgy shounen about a dude whose family gets KILL BY DEMONS (no, he isn’t the demons (his sister is the demons)).

✅ Actually better than that sounds, it’s pretty serious with its approach to the whole revenge thing. The edginess is also only apparent on the margins, so tonally it’s more or less fine.

✅ The main guy isn’t terrible and his superpower (a superlative sense of smell) is fairly subdued for the genre. You could tell a story with this.

✅✅ This is ufotable and it looks REALLY good. ufotable shows are always very elaborate, but their aesthetics can be questionable. This, however, keeps the postprocessing to a minimum and uses CG only where appropriate. I’d say it rivals Emiya-san for the best looking thing they’ve ever done.

❌ The OP shows a bunch of supercool superdudes fighting like they're in a shounen anime, just in case you’re wondering.

❌❌ Three words: Weekly Shounen Jump. This is an instant death sentence for the long run, since it will be stretched until nobody cares anymore, then get swiftly killed - with some lipservice to closure, if you’re lucky.

❌❌ In case you’re willing to take your chances, WSJ is still a magazine for babies and imbeciles, so get ready for its “distinctive” writing style. Here it isn’t quite as bad as in Promised Neverland, but you’re still getting 100% wall-to-wall voiceover coverage explaining things that you either don’t need to know or are blindingly obvious. 

Kono Yo no Hate de Koi wo Utau Shoujo YU-NO

What: 90s eroge protagonist starts hopping dimensions to look for his dad or something.

❌❌ Those 90s eroge protagonists sure were hilarious, what with their lechery etc. Rest of the cast fills the genre template nicely as well, which is to say they suck.

❌ Doesn’t look outright terrible so far, but it already shows signs of slight jankiness that would lead me to suspect this is a candidate for a production collapse in the future.

❌ Story? Surely you jest. All that happens in the first episode is vague exposition and naked girls falling from the sky. I hear the game gets real good 100 hours in, btw.

❌ This isn’t just some 90s eroge, it is the 90s eroge. You know, before KEY came along and made them all respectable (ostensibly). In any case, YU-NO is regarded as some stone cold classic of epic feels. I have experience with those, and they usually are only great for as long as you can’t read them.

Midara na Ao-chan wa Benkyou ga Dekinai

What: High school girls hates men because her father happens to be one. Understandable, since he’s also a tiny dirty old man caricature from the 60s. Can love bloom on the ecchifield?

♎ This is mostly inoffensive...

❌ ...except when it isn’t, of course. Which isn’t that often but still too often.

❌ It would also be appreciated if it could be less offensive in those instances because hot damn.

❌ Even if it removed the main source of irritation it would still be nothing much. Something like Hitoribocchi or Benkyou ga Dekinai has at least some potential, this doesn’t look like it’s going anywhere.

❌❌ My man Kenjiro Tsuda is wasting his time on this goblin’s comedy voice.

Mix - Meisei Story

What: Some kids play baseball, very slowly. You’re supposed to care because you presumably cared about Touch (which Mix is a very far removed sequel to).

❌ I did not in fact care about Touch. Nor about baseball, for that matter.

❌ Seriously, the entire selling point for this is “Sequel. To. Touch.” It cares not for your indifference towards Touch and would rather you go away.

❌❌ The languid pace is a killer. I know baseball is a boring sport but Mix doesn’t even attempt to make it interesting. This could work as an iyashikei-type show but in that case it would need different hooks, such as characters whose personality goes beyond “good at THIS aspect of baseball”. Maybe they’ll get to that but with this pace it’ll take a few seasons.

✅ I think the 80s design with a few contemporary animation frills looks quite nice. They’re probably doing their job right over there.

Nobunaga-sensei no Osanazuma

What: One “Oda Nobunaga” is an otaku and somehow also a teacher. Girls looking for his better known ancestor approach him with marriage plans, and since they’re looking for a Sengoku warlord, they come with era appropriate sensibilities.

❌ Do not care much for anime about 14 year old time travellers falling onto some dork’s dick, sorry. Unless they’re real good. Which this isn’t.

❌ I suppose i should be thankful this isn’t an all-out ecchi show, but unlike the characters, “lmao they can’t fuck” gets old.

❌ Besides the obvious, this fails at pacing, comedy, heartwarming, production, etc. I’m getting tired of spelling it all out again, this season definitely has an overabundance of not-quite-terrible-but-subpar-in-every-way romantic comedies.

Senryuu Shoujo

What: Senryuu is poetry that’s pretty much a haiku, but not hella deep. A quiet weirdo girl and a delinquent type write some of those.

✅ This has low ambitions, but manages to meet them. It’s chill and cute and the characters are likeable.

✅ Half length, which is the correct runtime for something as slight as this.

♎ It’s cheap but not to the degree that it detracts from the experience.

✅ It’s the second coming of Go Go 575 and I’m all about that. Check it out!

ULTRAMAN

What: uLtRaMaN is an ultrasequel to UlTrAmAn in which Ultraman is now Ultradad and has to take care of his Ultrason.

♎ Decent looking by CG TV anime standards, though the amount of action is so low that it raises the question why it isn’t just live action, especially since it’s partially mocapped already. I would have expected more pizzazz, especially with Kenji Kamiyama AND Shinji Aramaki directing.

♎ Old man superhero has some charm, but the show suggests and Wikipedia confirms: He’s about to get his ass kicked and his much more standard progeny takes over. There goes your selling point.

♎ Apart from that, this appears to be a competent but not especially engaging sequel to Ultraman (i.e., it’s most definitely not SSSS.Gridman). I have no special affinity for Ultraman.

[the-desolated-quill]

The Woman Who Fell To Earth - Doctor Who blog (Change, my dear. And it seems not a moment too soon)

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. If you haven’t seen this episode yet, you may want to before reading this review)

Never before have I gone into a Doctor Who episode with such a mixture of excitement and dread as I did with The Woman Who Fell To Earth. On the one hand we’ve finally got a female Doctor, something most Whovians have been waiting decades for, but on the other hand she’s being written by Chris Chibnall, a writer who (and let’s be generous here) has never exactly managed to win me over in the past. His past Doctor Who episodes were often derivative, stupid and poorly written and while yes he did create Broadchurch (a show that people assure me is good, but I still have little to no interest in watching), he was also the showrunner of the god awful spinoff Torchwood, which was essentially Doctor Who’s Suicide Squad. 

So yeah, the thought of him sitting in the driver’s seat and at such a crucial moment in Doctor Who’s long history didn’t exactly get me hyped for the new series and if I’m honest, come Sunday 7th October, I was bracing myself for the worst.

Then the most pleasant of surprises. The Woman Who Fell To Earth turned out to be really, really good. I’m actually gobsmacked by how much I enjoyed this episode. I never thought I’d see the day where I’d be praising a Chibnall episode, but here we are.

I think one of the reasons why I enjoyed this episode so much is because it feels like all the aspects that annoyed me about RTD and Moffat’s respective eras have been sheared away. There’s no convoluted plots. No dangling arcs. No forced whimsy. No smart arse dialogue or pretentious speeches. In fact this had a lot more in common with a classic series story in terms of its pacing and scale. It’s not some global threat where everyone is dashing about like headless chickens on speed. The threat is contained to one town in Northern England where only a handful of people are in danger. Even the music has mercifully been restrained. While I do have a fondness for Murray Gold’s work on Doctor Who, his music often had a tendency to go too overboard, bombarding the senses and drowning the audience in slush. New composer Segun Akinola offers a much more subtle and moving score. It enhances the action and certain emotional moments without bashing you over the head and, crucially, Akinola knows when to shut up and let the actors carry the scene.

I must say it’s such a relief to see some humanity injected back into Doctor Who again. After years of convoluted, timey wimey Moffat nonsense, Chibnall has had the good sense to bring everything back to basics. It’s not about the aliens, the special effects, the exotic locations or the overly pretentious plots that require a fucking flow chart in order to make sense of them. It’s all about the characters. And what wonderful characters they are. Ensemble casts rarely work on Doctor Who, but I have to say I really like this cast. Out of all the new companions, Ryan is probably my favourite. Tosin Cole gives a really good performance and I really like how he’s written. In particular I like how the episode portrays his dyspraxia. The way New Who has handled things like disability and mental health in the past has left a lot to be desired, but here Chibnall gets it just right. He never makes a big thing out of it and the episode never comes across as patronising or condescending. It’s treated like any other character trait, which is exactly how it should be.

Mandip Gill is also good as Yasmin Khan, a police officer who feels like she’s not getting the most out of her life or career. She reminds me slightly of Rose Tyler, but unlike Rose, Yasmin is more proactive. She doesn’t sit around waiting for something to happen. She pursues new opportunities when they come up and gets frustrated when someone puts a wall in front of her. It’ll be interesting to see how she’ll adapt to time travel over the course of the series.

And then there’s Graham, played by Bradley Walsh. To all my non-British readers, let me give you a quick education on the wonders that is Mr. Walsh. He’s one of our most versatile performers. He’s been a footballer, a comedian, an actor and a gameshow host. He’s an incredibly funny man as well as a great dramatic performer. Having seen him in Law & Order UK, I knew he’d be perfect and he didn’t disappoint. There’s a weariness to him that’s incredibly charming and likeable, but then he’s able to go from comedic to emotional at the drop of a hat. The eulogy he gives at Grace’s funeral was incredibly powerful and moving, as are the moments where he tries to bond with Ryan, who’s clearly sceptical of any kind of father figure in his life due to how unreliable his dad is. Both Graham and Ryan are the ones to keep a close eye on I think. Ryan in particular will be carrying a lot of baggage as the series progresses. His determination to ride a bike shows not only the pain he feels toward losing his Nan, but also the guilt. If he hadn’t lost his temper, chucked his bike down a cliff and then pressed the weird glowing shapes, none of this would have happened. He clearly feels he’s responsible for her death and I’m looking forward to seeing not only how he grows and moves on from that, but also how Graham will step up and help him, being the grandfather Ryan needs if not necessarily the one he wants.

It’s the characterisation that is The Woman Who Fell To Earth’s greatest strength. Not just the from the main cast, but the supporting characters too. Little moments like the old man telling his granddaughter he loves her before getting killed by the Stenza or the crane operator listening to self motivation tapes is what gives this episode more depth and soul. And then of course there’s Grace, played wonderfully by Sharon D. Clarke. I’m hard pressed to think of a single character from the Moffat era that I gave anything resembling a shit about, which is why it’s so remarkable that I’m able to care this much about Grace despite the short time we get to know her. She’s caring, supportive and energetic. She feels like the perfect companion for the Doctor and I would have loved to have seen her in the TARDIS with everyone else, which is what makes her death so heartbreaking. She’s not some random redshirt getting axed because the script requires more tension. She’s a three dimensional character we really like coming to a tragic end.

Okay. Okay. Let’s get to the main topic of conversation. How’s the new Doctor? Have the ‘feminazis’ ruined it? Is she swapping makeup tips with the Cybermen? Is she struggling to parallel park the TARDIS? Did she accidentally kill a whole species because it was her time of the month? (these are all things I’ve seriously heard butthurt fanboys say since Jodie Whittaker was cast and I think we can all agree it’s beyond pathetic). Well, quelle surprise, turns out the Doctor’s sex change didn’t jumpstart the SJW apocalypse after all. Who’d have thought women could be Doctors too? What a novel concept.

The minute she fell into the train, I was sold. Whereas Peter Capaldi took three whole series to finally come into his own (not that Capaldi is necessarily to blame for that. Blame the monkey at the fucking typewriter for that one), with Jodie Whittaker it’s instantaneous. She is the Doctor.

It helps that Chibnall largely dispenses with all the usual post-regeneration bullshit. With the fainting and gurning kept to a minimum, we can get on with actually learning about this new Doctor and I love what I’m seeing so far. She’s quick-witted, compassionate and quirky, but not to the point where it becomes annoying like Matt Smith’s often did (in my opinion. Tastes differ, obviously. I personally found Eleven to be unbearable at times). After the Twelfth Doctor, with his borderline misanthropy and his inability to even so much as blow his nose without a companion to hold his hand, Thirteen comes like a breath of fresh air. 

One thing I especially like about her is her complete lack of arrogance and boring machismo that previous New Who Doctors were sometimes guilty of. Rather than having her boast about how clever she is, like Ten or Eleven would have, she just shows us by building a new sonic screwdriver out of spoons. And she never tries to lord her moral superiority over others. Quite the opposite in fact. This is a Doctor who clearly values teamwork and can recognise strength in others. There are flashes of darkness too, like when she manipulates the Stenza into killing himself with his own DNA bombs, but she’s not driven by some inherent belief that she is right and they are wrong. She’s driven by the fact that she has gotten to know these people and doesn’t want anything to happen to them. Thirteen is quite possibly one of the most down to earth Doctors I’ve ever seen and I’m extremely excited to see more.

As I said, The Woman Who Fell To Earth is largely about its characters, which is just as well because the plot is... I wouldn’t say it’s bad, but it’s definitely the least interesting thing about the episode. I liked the look of the Stenza, with the teeth embedded in his face, and the gathering coil. I liked that it was a small scale threat and largely self contained, and I liked the way the plot slowly unfolds over the course of the story. However it is a bit derivative. The Stenza is pretty much a PG-13 version of the Predator and he is a bit one note. That being said, it doesn’t detract from the enjoyment factor of the episode. By keeping the plot simple for the most part, it allows Chibnall to fully explore the characters, who are clearly supposed to be the main focus.

In short, I’m pleased to say that I really liked Chris Chibnall’s first offering as showrunner (never thought I’d ever type this). The Woman Who Fell To Earth is without a doubt one of the most confident starts to a new Doctor I’ve ever seen and I’m very much anticipating where the series goes from here. For the first time, in a long time, I’m excited for the next Doctor Who adventure :D

(Oh, btw, all those idiots who were saying that Doctor Who’s ratings have been falling and that a female Doctor would kill the show off, so far this series the ratings have been at its highest since the show came back in 2005. Guess the reason why the ratings were low during the Moffat era wasn’t because of the World Cup, warm weather, streaming television or SJW propoganda. It was because Steven Moffat is a really shit writer. Go figure)

[5thinvictus]

A Fan Review of Stan Lee’s Lucky Man

or ... A Gift That Should Have Never Been Given

I’ve had a ton of fun promoting this terrible show and now that it’s over, I thought I’ve give a quick review on what I thought of it overall. 

So, TL;DR:  Overall Score: D+

Character Consistency: C-

Narrative Strength: F

Acting: B

Re-watchability: Minimal.

For some reason, people think that if a show/movie is based on a comic book, that excuses it from the same scrutiny that other fictional works receive.  Sorry, but this is actually very far from the case.  In fact, comic readers are often used to dramatically higher standards for plot, narrative, character development than most of the subpar movies and TV shows that find their way into production these days.

In Short: Lucky Man, just because you were based on a comic, does not excuse you from the most basic plot holes which abounded within your meagerly meandering narrative.

Click below for my detailed review:

The Good:

Elizabeth Gray (Neve McIntosh):

I enjoyed this actress and her character’s arc.  At first, you’re not sure what to make of her, but she proves that she’s a human being and not just a caricature of a strong female or a beautiful female.  She makes mistakes and then she seeks to correct them.  I liked this character a lot.  She grew and it was consistent and believable.

Samuel Blake (Rupert Penry-Jones):

No, I’m not biased.  Rupert is an exceptional actor, otherwise he wouldn’t be one of my favorites and this role was no different.  Regardless of how terrible the writing was, he was splendid.  Charismatic and likeably sinister.  I started to root for the bad guy at some point mid-season, and no, not just because he’s Rupert (I never rooted for Clive reader ... not even once.  He was such a asshole.)

His sudden reversal in the last episode was more than disappointing though.  They’d set up the villain to be very, very principled.  In fact, that was his most important quality and then, in the final episode, they completely reversed that?  In the end though, Samuel Blake was one of the best things in this season.

The Cinematography:

The angles.  The shots.  The lighting.  The costumes.  They were all lovely.  Consistently so.  I enjoyed how good Lucky Man looked.  The crew is phenomenal.  They should have taken the writers’ salaries and divided it up to the cast & crew.  They deserved ALL of the success of Lucky Man.

The Locations:

They really made London look incredible, but something has been bothering me quite a bit.  Did they really need to fly to Hong Kong to film?  There were very few shots that even gave hints that they were there and honestly, they could have cgi’d in most of that stuff.  Clearly they were more focused on having fun filming than actually making a good show.

The Bad:

Suri Chohan (Amara Karan):

Good lord, this character was a brick.  I felt nothing for her and I usually relate quite a bit to spunky, nerdy little sidekicks.  She was dumb at every corner.  Everyone got the drop on her.  She was hyper emotional.  She tried to sleep with the tall detective ... randomly.

I’m sorry, but she didn’t seem like a real person at all to me.  She was a caricature of some ideal Mary Sue.  Everyone loves Chohan.  Chohan is morally and ethically perfect.  Yeah ... no.  I’ve better things to do than watch a character I cannot relate to in any way, shape, or form.

Harry Clayton (James Nesbitt):

James Nesbitt is an incredible actor, but Harry Clayton was such a miserable character that I didn’t care if he lived or died.  He killed so many people.  He was overly arrogant.  I didn’t care about this character at all.  In the later part of the season, I started to fast forward through most of his scenes.

The Narrative:

This was by far the worst aspect of the show.  Nothing ever really made sense.  Nothing.  It was a strange combination of scenes people wanted to shoot coupled together loosely with vague reasons and meandering dialogue and unbelievable character motivations.

The What-The-Fuck:

Eve Alexandri (Sienna Guillory):

I totally understand being pissed at Harry because he let you die.  I totally get that angle and they could have used that beautifully.  They could have built a narrative around her that reinforced her falling for Blake, but they didn’t.  They didn’t even bother.

She’d been brought up to protect the bracelets and it took Blake less than a day to tear her down?  Absolute bullshit.

Blake kidnaps her, after she said she would listen to him, and throws her off a bridge (which she nearly dies from), and she forgives him and not Harry?  Absolute bullshit.

So, she will forgive an hot stranger from trying to kill her, but she won’t forgive her best friend who did so to save another life?  Absolute bullshit.

And then, in a matter of days (or weeks?), Blake has turned her into a ruthless killer and she convinces him to kill his entire family in front of her?  Yeah, what?

She has no principles.  No loyalties.  No ethics.  She has a poorly fabricated fight with Harry and then runs to Blake.  After one fight.  One.  She can be turned away from her entire life’s goal because Blake winks at her?  And then, in the end, Blake says ONE mean thing to her and she tries to kill him.  And then, in the end, she turns on Blake suddenly.  “OH NO!  NOT THAT MUCH INNOCENT BLOOD!”

Absolute bullshit.

What a miserable and unbelievable character.

A scantly clad Samuel Blake:

Ok ok ok.  Yeah, this is absolutely a “what-the-fuck” topic.  As much as I enjoyed seeing him shirtless (and pants-less) ... over and over and over again, it was absolutely pointless and shouldn’t have been in the show.  EVEN THOUGH I FUCKING LOVED IT: That whole ... “I’m gonna walk through the morgue naked.” scene was unnecessary and it really did detract from the story.  Why didn’t he just take the doctor’s clothes?  Seriously.  He was heading out to meet Eve and he just happens across some pants ... he would have taken the Pathologist’s pants.  Anyone who argues otherwise is an idiot.

This was such blatant fan baiting / fan service.

A side rant here: As a fan of RPJ, this nudity really should have been fun, but the hardest part of it was the fact that there’s a small but very vocal minority of Rupert’s fan base which consider themselves his Morality Police.  It’s really just a handful of people using multiple accounts to fabricate dialogue, in an attempt to shame him (mind you, by directly tagging him on Twitter), on an almost daily basis, over his body.  They also shame fans for appreciating his body and no one better find him sexually attractive or you will be targeted.

Plot Holes:

I’m just gonna go over the holes in 3x08.  There are holes in EVERY episode, but I’ll focus on the last one because I want to push everything about this show out of my mind now.

Wasn’t Blake a drug addict?

At some point, I’m convinced the writers changed and they completely forgot about the most fundamental flaw that we’ve been given about Samuel.

In the last two episodes, that was just gone.  Since it was such an important aspect that they were setting up in the beginning, you’d think that it would come into play at some point in the finale.  Withdraw or making him entirely numb again (Like in Sam and Harry’s first fight).  It should have come full circle.  It should have played SOME part in his demise, but it didn’t.  In fact, there was no point to it at all.

It didn’t make him more or less evil.  It didn’t make him more or less relatable.  They didn’t use it in a way to explain anything.  Not his actions or his motivations.  It was complexity that was added as a superficial trait and then not used in the narrative at all.

Shameful writing.

ಠ_ಠ

Wasn’t Blake the head of a massive Chinese mafia?

At some point, they completely forgot about the Wu Chi.  His prison fight was fabricated ahead of time and the Snake Hands carried out his instructions, and then ... just vanished.  He is supposed to be the head of a massive Chinese mafia and yet, they all just vanished.

Any Wu Chi guards at his factory?  Nope.  Of course not, otherwise how would Harry just sneak in at the end.  Any Wu Chi guards helping him infiltrate Madame Cheng’s stronghold?  Nope.  I ... guess ... not?  Did they run out of money for asian extras?

Couldn’t they have scrubbed the unnecessary trip to Hong Kong to pay for more extras?

So, what was the point of him being a Dragon Head again? 

In the end, there was no point.

ಠ_ಠ

Blake was all about planning ahead and he didn’t steal the Uranium BEFORE he got himself purposefully arrested?

Don’t even get me started on the plot from 3x06.  Blake’s plan was to get arrested, fake his death, and break out?  Even the whole “waking up in the morgue” thing didn’t make sense.  Why didn’t Eve get his body out?  Why was she just waiting outside for him?!  Ugh, I digress ... focus on 3x08, focus on just 3x08 ...

So Blake’s been setting up this fission chamber for a while, right?  He brags about buying that factory years earlier in preparation.  In fact, he’s even got a handful of handy scientists to get it all up for him.  How clever, I guess?  But, he never bothered getting the Uranium before he purposefully got himself arrested?  His entire plan hinged on being able to get his hands on MOTHER FUCKING URANIUM ... and he didn’t plan ahead for that ... at all?  His entirely plan was to wait until his access was revoked and then find someone to torture the information out of?

That’s ... uh ... really, really weak.  This entire fission / nuclear thing seemed like an afterthought in the writing room when they realized they’d written themselves into a corner.

Writer 1:  Ah shit.  How is Blake even gonna destroy them?  It doesn’t make sense that the Torches would bring the forging weapons to London.  They had to have hidden them, right?

Writer 2: *having just watched The Strain*  I KNOW!  Let’s have him NUKE THEM!

ಠ_ಠ

Seriously, Harry basically killed that poor scientist.

This wasn’t a plot hole, but it seriously bothered me.  You know that man.  The one he strangely head butted.  The one messing with the fission machine.  Was the man even evil?  Did he know what he was hired to do?  Did he know that the controlled fission reaction was to destroy magical braclets and the chain reaction would melt down and likely kill him and thousands of people?  Doesn’t matter, he wasn’t useful to the plot, so Harry just ... killed him.

How did Harry know how to remove the Uranium?

He just walks over, reaching in to the machine, turns it and pulls it out.  He didn’t even know what it looked like.  I guess he was just ... lucky?  Pfffttt.  Whatever.  It’s just a little thing, but it’s still fucking lazy.

Why wasn’t Blake armed?  What the fuck was he doing?

There’s simply no way that Blake would have been walking around the factory without his gun.  He would have just shot Harry from above.  And before anyone says: He wouldn’t risk the fission machine!  He was wearing the bracelet.

This was so fabricated.  Was he pooping or something and that’s why he set his gun down on the desk?

And again, why didn’t he have Wu Chi guards ... or even a surveillance system set up?  There’s NO WAY that place didn’t have security if he had a fission machine INSTALLED in it.  And he already said he’d owned it from several years.

Seriously?  WTF Lucky Man.

ಠ_ಠ

Why didn’t Blake notice Eve had escaped?

She was tied to the fission machine and he didn’t even notice she was gone.  Ok then ... maybe it was because he was high?!  They didn’t even bother to address it at all.  Not to mention the fact that ... wasn’t it unlucky to Blake for Eve to have escaped?  Wasn’t he wearing the bracelet?

Also, wasn’t it unlucky for Eve to have put the other one on him?  Shouldn’t she have tripped or something?  Shouldn’t he have been able to stop her BECAUSE of the bracelet he was already wearing?!

Writers: Create the rules for your world and then stick to them.  Don’t change things because you want a scene to play out a specific way.  You make the rules, so stick to them.

ಠ_ಠ

Harry’s hiding in his brother’s flat.

The entire country is on the lookout for Harry and Blake.  He’s considered a domestic terrorist at this point and he’s hiding ... in his brother’s flat.

Where the fuck is Mi5?!  Seriously, no.  This is SO dumb.  FFS.

No one’s tracking his brother or his brother’s phone.  No one’s bothering with anything.  Harry keeps walking out into public.  He approaches the Security Guards in the URANIUM shipment (armed guards), and even tells them HIS NAME.  I find it unlikely that security professionals wouldn’t have been even MORE briefed on him than the general public (which already was).

ಠ_ಠ

Eve was pregnant.

I guess this was a poor attempt to explain away her sudden motivational shift, but it was so contrived.

So what?  Samuel forgot to wrap it?  Fucking unlikely, don’t you think?  Was he super, super high one night or something?  Because, you’ve shown us he’s incredibly pedantic and he plans everything TO A TEE.

I guess Eve forgot she wasn’t on birth control either?  Maybe she was super high too, I guess?

Maybe the condom broke and it just slipped Blake’s mind?  Given, unplanned pregnancies obviously occur, but I find it unbelievable that it would happen between these two characters as you’ve presented them to us.

Also, how long were they even together?  Was it days or was it weeks?

In the end, she was the character I felt should have gotten her just deserts MORE THAN ANYONE ELSE and yet, she lived.  She was inconsistent, without loyalty or morals or ethics, and she gets to live.  Thanks Lucky Man.

ಠ_ಠ

So ... To Summarize:

Lucky Man wasn’t a good show, but it was a hell of a guilty pleasure and I’m actually gutted it’s over, because I loved watching Rupert work again and hot damn, did Mr. Penry-Jones look smashing in it (as always).

Cheers.

[ayers85morales-blog]

Circumcised VERSUS Uncircumcised Penis.

Sharin Lion has been a freelance writer because 2009, specializing in health-related articles. When cosmetics executives explain the purported benefits of gold for the skin, they appear to be reading from the exact same PowerPoint slide: anti-aging, anti-inflammatory, anti- acne Individuals who market lotions with visible gold streaks discuss the capacity of those streaks to warm up the skin and also make it conducive to various other active ingredients. Main types of cosmetic surgery for creases of the face and neck are renovation, forehead lift, and necklift. Many thanks to blood being pumped around the body, live skin cells lying deep in the skin are pushed up higher to the surface area of the skin. The mild oil pressed from the lush avocado is understood to be comforting to the skin. The Seki Side Craftsman 6-piece Pet grooming Set is best for if you're tired of having to replace your manicure set. you. Evaluating the influence of skin condition on the quality of life in contrast keeping that of persistent nondermatological diseases is hard; nevertheless, the study by Mallon and others (1999), which was not executed in a developing nation, compares the usual skin disease acne with chronic disorders such as bronchial asthma, arthritis, and also diabetic issues as well as discovers equivalent deficiencies in unbiased dimensions of life quality. However, you may intend to look for skin tag treatment for cosmetic factors if, for instance, they are on your eyelids and also detract from your look. It is likewise product that, by the time Humbert's confession is read, both Humbert and Lolita have died of all-natural reasons. SkincareIQ works in a various way as well as you have to know your skin a little bit prior to you attempt this out. A good friend recommended CoQ 10. Everybody claims that it doesn't assist after damage is done-but I seem to be getting some relief from it-If I fail to remember to take it-the creepy skin begins once again. On the more expensive end, this light yet abundant cream is an example of the transfer to natural skin care that's been all over Korea. You could find olive oil in countless skin as well as hair treatment items, including soaps, facial washes, conditioners, shampoos, and creams. Topical or systemic anti-biotics may be needed for any one of these problems if the affected skin gets infected. Disinfectant - Elegance mavens have utilized apple vinegar for centuries to cleanse their skin. As compared to all the other available approaches of reducing temple wrinkles, rhytidectomy uses the longest-lasting, most effective outcomes. Grooves between the nose and corner of the lips (nasolabial folds up) or lip as well as chin (marionette lines) end up being much less noticeable with facial fillers such as hyaluronic acid. Physical activity could enhance sagging skin, with exercises that tone the muscle mass underneath your skin. As a result, everyday skin treatment ought to include protective clothing in addition to an application of a broad-spectrum sun block.

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[britesparc]

Weekend Top Ten #479

Top Ten Captain America Costumes in the MCU

Argh, it’s Sunday morning and I haven’t written anything! That doesn’t usually happen! Right, it’s time to just bang something out without any degree of care or attention just so I can get something up as soon as possible.

In truth, I’ve got quite a few ideas for the next few weeks, but they all require a bit more finessing and long-winded waffling than I have time for right now, so I’m going to scratch an itch that I’ve had for a week or two. I read a list online (yes, I read other lists) on the exact same topic that I’m covering today. Now, I normally don’t like doing that; if I see a list of, say, favourite Pop Tart flavours, I might start compiling my own mental list, but I don’t want to be seen as derivative or plagiarising (not that anyone would really care unless I lifted the list wholesale, of course, but I’m me and I’m weird), so I tend not actually write that list. I think it’s happened once or twice, because the topic has piqued my interest; but very often in those cases I sort of shelve the idea and work on it and make sure that my list is different. Anyway, long story short, that’s what’s happened today too, except that the process has been accelerated. Basically, I read a list online about the Top Ten Captain America costumes, and I disagreed with it so much I wanted to do my own, and so that’s what you’re getting this week. And they’re all illustrated via the medium of toys!

Hopefully next week I’ll actually get round to doing one of my other, more interesting, more time-consuming lists. We shall see!

Anyway, suit up, Avengers Assemble, on your left, etc, etc, etc.

Avengers: Endgame (2019): pretty much ticks all the boxes: suitably comics-accurate; good-looking helmet that shows off Chris Evans’ face to a flattering degree; cool fingerless gloves; straps and padding give it a utilitarian look without making it look super-armoured; maintains the stars-and-stripes motif without it looking like a fancy-dress outfit. Also, crucially, it has a really cool mesh-style effect across the breastplate, which echoes the mail/scales on his comic outfit.

Captain America: Civil War (2016): superficially close to the Endgame outfit, but there’s a bit too much going on in the chest department. They’re very close at this point, but some elements still come across as a bit too busy.

Avengers: Age of Ultron (2015): very, very similar to what came later – it’s clear that they’d settled on a style at this point that worked well. But I’m not fond of the coloured segments coming out of the star emblem, and actually I feel the white stripes on the arms are a bit distracting. The simpler, more utilitarian look of the later costumes is better.  

Captain America: The First Avenger (2011): I guess the first three are all variations on a theme, and this is where the differences come in. here we have a suit that’s supposed to look like it was developed eighty years ago, so it’s a bulkier thing, with more overt padding and strapping. As a result, I think it looks a bit weighty and top-heavy, but the design is great, and as a “1940s Cap” outfit, it’s excellent. No wonder they pulled it out of storage for Winter Soldier.

Captain America: The First Avenger – modified USO outfit (2011): this is what Cap wears when he goes AWOL to rescue the POWs during the movie. He’s wearing his gaudy USO outfit, but pulls on some combat pants and a bitching leather jacket, and heads off into battle. There’s a really cool Indiana Jones/The Rocketeer vibe to this outfit, and it’s excellent. The only reason I don’t prefer it to the standard First Avenger duds is because it’s not really a Captain America costume, is it? It’s like when he’s fighting in his civvies in Winter Soldier. But it’s still cool.

Avengers: Infinity War (2018): basically the costume from Civil War but modified; he loses the helmet and the star from the chest, significantly darkening the whole uniform. He also roles up his sleeves and – in a crucial addition that really makes the whole thing sing – grows a sexy beard. Feels a bit too dark and moody to be proper Cap; and I guess you could make the argument that he isn’t Cap at all at this point. But still, solid look.

Sam Wilson, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (2021): this year saw the debut of a new Captain America in the form of Sam Wilson. The Falcon and the Winter Soldier was a very good show that occasionally skirted genuine greatness, and spent most of its runtime teasing the inevitable debut of Sam as Cap. His suit, when it finally debuted, was cool enough, although there are various areas that annoy or detract; it’s fair to say its reception was a mixed as the show itself. On the plus side, well, it’s very comics-accurate, it definitely looks like Cap, he’s got cool wings, and the colours and design are mostly good. But for me it’s a bit too bulky, and there’s too much white on the top half. It’s more pronounced when seen in motion in the show itself, but it does detract from the overall look. I think Cap’s suits on film tend to work better without the segmented colours on the arms, and like I say I’m not keen on how white the top half is, so if they add a bit of blue to those areas next time round I think it’ll be genuinely excellent.

The Avengers (2012): when this suit first debuted, I thought it was excellent, but time has not been kind. I think the feeling was probably that Cap needed a “superhero suit”, something fairly sleek and modern to contrast with the bulky forties design. But it ends up making him smaller, and the form-fitting mask does him no favours. The colours are probably a bit too bright, we’re segmenting the arms again, and the thigh zips and those weird panels on the shoulders are very distracting. At least his arse looks good in it.

Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014): mixed bag this one. On the one hand, lots of design decisions made that there way into later, more refined, versions of the costume. The sleek-but-reinforced, padded look, that marks it as a modern interpretation of the First Avenger costume, is established here; as is the more practical helmet, and fingerless gloves. But it’s such a serious, sombre uniform; all dark blue, with no red and white tummy stripes. The pronounced silver stripes beside the star are doing a lot of lifting to make this seem like a bold, interesting outfit, but it’s not quite enough. The basic ideas were there, but it needed brightening up a bit. However, it did fit the film and tone perfectly.

John Walker, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (2021): I was torn here. There are, by my reckoning, eleven different Cap suits across the MCU (not counting when he was wearing the time travel suit in Endgame). So here I had to choose between John Walker or the gaudy costume Steve wears in his USO shows in First Avenger. Reluctantly, I chose Walker, as the USO suit really isn’t a good look for fighting crime (or Nazis) in; too skin-tight, not armoured, and the fit of the mask is terrible. Also I’ve sorta-kinda-half covered it when he straps on Indy’s jacket and rescues Bucky and co. Even so, Walker’s Cap outfit isn’t great; far too dark, with horizontal red stripes across the chest, a segmented “A” emblem on the breast that appears to be some sort of button or clasp, and the whole “A-within-a-star” on his helmet is a bit daft. However, it definitely works, because it’s just a little bit wrong; the colours too dark (even the red is more blood-red), the broken-up patterns of the clashing horizontal and vertical lines… even the fact that his helmet doesn’t seem to fit right, making his face pudgier and his ears stick out more. I think this is all deliberate, to discombobulate us, to make us know that this Cap isn’t right. In all these respects, I guess it’s a success. Unlike Walker himself.

Now let’s finish on a song.

[the-real-xmonster]

Hey I like ur account 💘but I wanted to ask what do you think about marin Honda? I think she skates wonderful but I'm sorry to say she is really overrated same with evgenia idk how to spell her name lol) but I'm not a hater but It's not fair for the rest of Japanese skaters like satoko mai !!! We all know they have favorites 😢🙄I just wanted ur opinion on this🤷🏻‍♀️

Funnily enough, I just had a chat with a Tumblr friend earlier today about this exact same topic.

First, let us talk purely about skating. I like Marin, she’s got lovely solid skating skills, nice flow, good edge, and good speed. Her musicality and interpretation are also top-notch. In order for her to get to the very top of the ladies’ field, I think she only needs (1) a bit more time to mature and solidify her consistency (which she’s doing quite well this season) and (2) improve her jump technique - currently she has this not very nice-looking habit of initiating rotation with her upper body and, for toe jumps in particular, bringing her tapping leg up quite high and doing the toe pick quite… violently, I guess, which I think detracts majorly from the aesthetics of her jumps. Still, that’s me nit-picking, despite those flaws, her pre-rotation is, most of the time, not bad enough to get her jumps downgraded so her BV is largely justified. As far as I know judges are not being particularly or systematically generous to her on GOE and PCS either - feel free to provide your own evidence to correct me if I’m wrong here. 

Considering that, I fail to see where and how Marin is being overrated when it comes to skating. She won her Junior World title 2 seasons ago fair and square, and she’s shaping up to claim her place among the leading Japanese ladies, also fair and square, based on her ability. What can be questioned about that? It’s not like the JSF has made an official announcement that they’ll pick Marin for the Olympic team regardless of her performance this season, nor have I seen anybody going around declaring that Marin Honda is the greatest female skater alive.

Now, for stuff that has little to do with skating, sure, apparently, Marin is quite the popular figure, who allegedly has reporters following her all over the world. So what? The media is fickle and likes to promote whomever is most convenient for its purpose. Marin happens to be a really well-spoken young lady, quite mature for her age, is quite comfortable in front of the camera, and, as a bonus, very pretty. I’ve worked with a lot marketeers and I can tell you, the media usually doesn’t overrate anyone on those qualities - they know what they’re doing when it comes to picking talents to promote. Is it fair to all the other Japanese girls that they’re not getting as much attention as Marin? Well, it depends on what you define as fair. For me personally, as long as all that attention doesn’t make Marin skate any worse, or lead the JSF to pick her over the other ladies for the JP team on any basis other than scoring, then, pardon my French, I don’t give a rat’s ass what kind of promotion deals or how much airtime Marin is getting, and I don’t think Satton or Mai or Wakaba would mind it, either. They’re figure skaters, for God’s sake, not members of AKB48.

Sorry for sounding so pissed off about this, but really I have been quite annoyed by all the random animosity I’ve seen thrown Marin’s way lately. 

One last point, on Evgenia Medvedeva, if you don’t even care enough about her to be able to spell her name right, I wouldn’t say she’s that overrated.

[tdrcharmschool4]

Charm School Test #4 - Welcome to my Channel, Please Like and Subscribe! - Critiques

This week, the students' alter-alter egos took to the web with their very own YouTube channels. Let's see how they did!

Kushboo

After Granny went on Grindr a few days ago, she was bombarded with messages. In a rush of excitement she decided to make a video to share with everyone. After all, she does love sharing special occasions with everyone. Moral of the day: Sharing is caring.

Analyse: Hey, Kushboo! I really enjoyed this video and thought it read as one of those "Old People React To _______" videos, so that part of it was spot on. You had a good number of jokes in there that were really quite funny, and I know raunchy, inappropriate humor isn't everyone's cup of tea, but I loved it, so, do with that what you will. I think it's important when you're planning out jokes that you think from the audience's perspective and try to understand how they'll perceive it. One joke in particular that I was waiting for the punchline and it never came was the guy you would let "play with [your] pussy all day," and I think we were all expecting the "my cat's name is Mittens" punchline or some sort of "pussy=cat" wordplay, but it never came, and so all the buildup to that was for nothing. I would also be careful with how much time you spend on a joke -- the "sleeping" and "crying" gags went on *just* a little too long without adding much comedic value. (Things running long also contributed to the fact that your video was a minute a half longer than the maximum allowed time; make sure you're reading and following ALL directions!) I know I had a lot of really small things that I critiqued, but as we go into the final exam, I just want to see you put your best foot forward, because I have so much faith in your talent!

Harper: I think you had the strongest character going into this test, but this video fell a little flat for me. I can tell that you took my notes on the look, and I appreciate that! I will admit that it was a little hard to hear you, and I thought voice was a little deep for a granny at times. I thought you did a nice job with the graphic overlays, but the green screen was messy; it can be really hard to achieve a solid green screen without an HD camera and decent lighting, so I feel your pain. I think the central issue of this video is that the joke gets a little repetitive and the pacing is a little slow (especially when you went way over the 3-5 minute time limit). I think some more creative editing or some sort of buildup in tension would have helped it a lot. Overall, I think this was a funny premise with a lot of potential, but I do think it fell short on the execution. I can tell that you are listening to critiques and applying them, though, and that's a really important quality that doesn't go unnoticed! Good effort this week!

Luna

HEY WHATS UP YOU GUYS, YES! So storytime: I decided to change Latoya a lot from when she was first scene. I took Harpers critiques of more brow coverage and decided that I shouldn't rely on a look or a a visual gag since I couldn't make that funny for 5 minutes straight. These pictures are of Latoya BEFORE her video she filmed, so that is why she does not have lips/ eyeliner, as if this were a "no make up" face. More beauty happens during the video, but she only did what she wanted in 5 mins because she's here for one reason. To make friend$ :) The outfit is very inspired from the 90's as well as Latina and chola (I use this word with love and respect as I love the fashion and culture behind it)  influences. Most items I had, except for the overalls, which were long pant overalls that were broken at the little hooks my sister had and gave to me, cut them and rolled them and stitched them into shorts. Not much construction but definitely a LOOK. Video description: Latoya's video this week is exactly what the title says, not click bait of course. It is a Q&A + new beauty trends video. She cares a lot about making content and she puts thought into every single #hack like it was totally the focus of the video. Subscribe and make sure to go to my PayPal and straight up send me money. Thanks.

Analyse: LA-TOY-A!!! For me, this video hit the nail on the head. Like, it fully decimated the nail. The jokes landed. The timing was right. There was a variety in humor. I loved it! A parody can be super hard to pull off, and I think you went a really good direction with this one. I lived for the references (bitch, you know I love Trisha Paytas), and while the look was simple and the makeup was pretty plain, it still looked cultivated and made sense with the concept. I would've liked to see maybe a before pic AND an after pic, because if somebody was just looking at these pictures, they'd wonder why there was no lip. I don't have much to say, so I'm just going to leave it at that! Good luck going forward, and I can't wait to see your final exam!

Harper:  Awesome work this week! I was really worried that your character would come off one note, but you really did a great job of using her to create a fully-realized parody. There were so many small details in here that I really appreciated, the coupon codes especially. I thought you were really funny, the editing was great, and the look was appropriate. Your acting was good, too. I'm trying to think of something constructive to add, but I got nothing. Keep it up!

Marina

For this week I wanted to parody story time youtubers. I always thought their content was hilariously pathetic and desperate, as is Susan. So why not make a parody of it? In this video, Susan tells her true stories from her days of prostitution. Not clickbait.

Analyse: Marina Susan! In terms of the look, I see a lot that has really stepped up for this challenge. The makeup is definitely looking "draggier," and I would love for you to talk to the deans this final week and really work on refining and defining some of the details, but it is a HUGE step in the right direction. The costume is fun and cute; it doesn't tell me a lot about the character, but I get an idea of who might wear that. The shoes don't really go with with rest of it, so just make sure that when you're doing a head-to-toe look that it's really head-to-toe. The real miss for me in this submission is the video. I get the kind of video you were going for, but overall, it wasn't really all that captivating. I know you had a script, but make sure when you're in the planning process, that you're really coming at it with an editing mind. Ask yourself "is this funny? does this make sense? is there a way I can word this more clearly so the joke lands better?" and other questions like that, and I really think it will help you to refine some of those jokes and make sure that the audience is entertained and that the humor comes across. Good job this week and good luck in the final exam!

Harper:  I like this look MUCH better than what you had for your homework assignment, good work there! I do wish you were wearing a wig, though! I thought your drag makeup also looked really nice, although I'd like to see you in bigger lashes, more nose contour, and with a bit more blending on the crease! As far as the acting goes, I think one of the biggest setbacks for you was the accent. At times it was Jersey, at times it was British... it was very all over the place. I don't expect you guys to be experts with accents, but if you choose to use one you gotta be consistent! I think the lack of eye contact was also a real issue. I know Marcella and I both brought it up in our lessons because it's a really important part of connecting with a viewer! You had some really good lines in there, but they got a little lost in the format. The parody wasn't super obvious to me, and I wish you would have used a few more "youtube-isms" in your submission. Finally, this video did not meet the 3-5 minute requirement! C'mon, henny!

Nikita

Analyse: CHARLENETOTHELEFT. This is one of the videos that had me cackling throughout! All in all, it's a very good submission! My number one complaint is the lighting, and I know there's a joke about finding your lighting right at the beginning, but then you settle back into this poorly lit filming. (On the topic of lighting, make sure when you take your pictures, you don't have a light directly behind you like in these head-to-toe shots). The jokes were FUNNY, and honestly, that's probably one of the hardest things to do in a challenge like this, so kudos on that. I think one of the things you can really work on is making sure that the timing works and that you aren't pausing, because there were a couple of times where you paused a little bit and it seemed like you were trying to remember your next line. The beauty of competing in an online setting like this is that (when permitted) you get to use the magic of video editing. Whenever I'm filming a video, the amount of footage I have is probably 5 times as long as the final product, sometimes more. This gives you ample takes to choose from, and you can edit down some of that awkward pausing time. (It'll also help the fact that your video was about a minute longer than the allowed maximum). I really did enjoy this video, I get the character from the look, and I'm super excited to see what you come up with for the final exam!

Harper:  I was a little worried about your video since we didn't get homework for you, but you pulled out a fully-realized character! I thought your acting was great, and I'm about 82% certain Charlene was in my graduating class. The makeup and look are great, but I can hardly see you! I wish this video was better lit. I appreciated the stream of consciousness, but I think at the end of the day this assignment was about parodying youtube videos, and I just didn't get that from this video. I thought the things you were saying were funny and in character, but there was no real narrative structure or punchline here. It was also about a minute over the 3-5 minute window you were assigned.  I think there is TONS of potential with you and this character, this video just didn't nail it for me.

Ophelia

Chip is your average peppy-happy, easily distracted, and kind of socially awkward kind demon spawn who wanted to take a break from her usual helpful tutorials to do something different for a change: a challenge video where she answers her viewers' questions!

Analyse: Hey there! I see a lot of things in the makeup that show that you're taking some of our critiques into consideration, so thank you for that! In this week's final exam, I would LOVE to see you give us full drag queen fantasy, because this is giving me the same facepaint kind of mug you've been giving, and I know I've already commented on that a couple of times. I like certain separate elements of this look (the skirt is cute, the belt is cool), but all together, I don't really understand it as a look and I'm not sure what it contributes to the character, so make sure you're super aware of those kinds of things when choosing a costume. The video for me was very all over the place, and I know that's the character and was the point of it, but it didn't really add anything to the video in terms of comedy or entertainment value. If I opened an actual video like this, I don't know that I would make it through the whole thing. It's not that the content of the video wasn't entertaining, but I think this flaws here happened in the editing. Make sure in future videos that your post-production elevates the quality of your video and doesn't detract or distract from the content. Good luck going forward, and I look forward to you final exam!

Harper: I can tell that you listened to the notes about deepening the contour and not relying so heavily on the face paint! I do wish, however, that you would have added some lashes and spiffed up the outit a bit. It looks like a sleeveless t-shirt that I'd wear to work out, and I'm not sure if it really fits with your character. I think the jokes in this video wound up being really one note... the punchline is always essentially that you're a happy demon. I would have liked to have seen you play around with editing/the youtube parody format a bit now, but I know you were having computer issues and were running late. I will say that this feels a little low effort compared to some of your classmates (also shorter than the 3-5 minute time limit you were assigned), and I think the energy you spent putting together this look/backstory would have been better spent putting together a super entertaining video. It's good to be ambitious, but sometimes it doesn't always pan out, and this (for me) was one of those weeks.

[evanspecs]

“Oh, Joy” || Jily.

My God I haven’t written Jily in so long… this is a combination of pointless plot and me avoiding studying at any and all costs, but I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 6,473 || archiveofourown

It was just more wholly unnecessary, but utterly definite proof that French really, truly was the Satan of all subjects. Of course, the events of that atomic disaster of a night could also have been blamed upon her liberal alcohol consumption, or even indeed on the disloyalty of her so-called friends - but their final term together ended in less than two months, and Lily was rendered too emotionally fragile at the thought of having to leave them to truly be angry with any of them.

That and the fact that blaming them for what transpired that night was probably entirely irrational, given that her actions just so happened to be of her own doing – alcohol or no alcohol.

Whoever or whatever was to blame, the fact remained that Lily effectively set her entire life alight on that fateful night, deep in the depths of what was quite possibly the grottiest pub on their side of the river.

And the most startling thing of all was that she didn’t really mind all that much.

~

Tally: Lily – 05 || James – 03

“Oi – prick-face,” she all but shouted, moving through the crowd with the grace of a mobile armoire. The prick-in-question’s eyebrows raised inquisitively at her greeting.

“Have pigs started flying, Evans? Or did you just voluntarily acknowledge my presence?”

Lily’s scowl deepened at the slow smirk which unfurled across his face.

It was more out of a stubborn resilience that she didn’t allow herself to fall at the feet of James Potter. She wasn’t blind - contrary to the popular public opinion - she just wasn’t bloody interested. She recognised a good-looking bloke when she saw one, and she could appreciate what Mother Nature had done for him over the course of puberty, but she was strictly monogamous, and entering a relationship with both James and his over-inflated ego was not something she would ever willingly inflict upon herself.

Of course, this resilience didn’t factor in the five-or-so shots she had taken in the interim between arriving at the pub and encountering her current sparring partner, and James’ smirk only increased in size and in smugness as her hand shot out to grab his shoulder as a means of stabilising herself.

“It seems not only pigs. Acknowledgement and touching? My, my Evans. Forward little minx, aren’t you?”

“Shut your mouth before you find my fist in it,” she grumbled, removing her hand from his shirt as if burned.

“You’ll need to take me on a date first.” He winked, causing her to roll her eyes.

“It this the famous Potter charm I’ve heard so much about?” she scoffed “Because I’ve got to admit, I’m underwhelmed.”

“Oh trust me, Ginge. I haven’t even started trying to charm you.”

A very unladylike grunt emitted from somewhere at the back of her throat “Ginge? That’s the best you can come up with?”

“You used to threaten to dismember my bodily appendages every time I called you Ginge, remember?” he reminded her almost fondly, a wistful nostalgia in his voice that made her roll her eyes.

“I most certainly didn’t say dismember bodily appen-whatevers. I told you I’d tear you limb from limb, you ponce. Don’t misquote me or I’ll sue-”

“God Evans, you’re really not holding back, are you?” he laughed “Usually you at least try and make an effort to begin pleasantly before breaking out the violent threats. You’re hurting my fweelings,” he sniffed, the ever-present smile detracting completely from what was otherwise a stellar performance.

“You’re infuriating.” She scowled.

“You chose to come talk to me,” he reminded her “Why was that, exactly?”

His eyes seemed to spark with mischief, mouth curling almost impossibly as he watched the slow, embarrassed flush spread across Lily’s cheeks. She could practically see I’ve got you there flashing across his pupils as he regarded her with something in between indulgence and amusement.

Fucking prick. Stupid bloody asshole with his stupid smile, and stupid twinkly-flash eyes. Why did people every describe eyes as flashing anyway? They weren’t bloody traffic lights.

“You’re a very philosophical drunk Evans, quite the little Aristotle,” he mused, tilting his head slightly as he looked down at her “I’ve got to admit, it’s kind of a turn-on.”

“I’m told I’m a truthful one.” She sniffed, trying to suppress the blush threatening to spread across her skin at his… sexual references. She wasn’t a prude, but she also didn’t like discussing topics beyond how much of a prat he was when conversing with Potter. It was unnerving to think of him as anything beyond an annoying eleven year old boy.

“As opposed to being a solely violent one? Package-deal you’ve got going on, I see,” he teased, arm reaching out to steady Lily once more as she swayed back and forth on her feet. She batted him away sharply, ignoring the jolt that seemed to course through her body.

“Where’s your harem?” she asked abruptly, diffusing the odd atmosphere which seemed to be descending on them both “I thought you were incapable of functioning without someone hanging off your arm to remind you oh what big biceps you have, Jamie,” she mocked, scoffing slightly at her own joke.

“My harem?” he snorted.

“Yes, your harem of women – well, girls.” She self-corrected. She hated the word woman – it was a constant reminder of the impending adulthood freight train that was about to obliterate them all.

That and referring to the gaggle of giggling nitwits that clung to Potter like the sickly perfume they all wore as women made her head hurt.

“I wasn’t aware I had a harem at my disposal,” he laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Oh sure.” She rolled her eyes “I’m sure you didn’t.”

“Are you sure I’m sure I didn’t?”

“Tease me one more time, Potter, and I’ll-”

“You’ll what, Evans? Stab me with a compass again?” he teased, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Oh would you let it go. We were twelve, and you wholly deserved it-”

“Wholly deserved or not, you certainly left me holey.”

She stared incredulously at him for a minute, as he shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels, a satisfied smirk on his face.

“That was single-handedly the worst pun I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“Then you obviously haven’t spent that much time with Remus.” He grinned.

“No, I can’t say I have. Because spending time with Remus would mean spending time with you,” she spat, more so out of habit than actual venom. It was a reflex action to go in for the kill whenever Potter provided her with a suitable opening.

“You’ve spent quite a bit of time on me already,” he reminded her once again.

“Only because I saw you and got mad.”

“Really? The mere sight of my face riled you up enough that you felt the need to come over here? Lord, I think I’ve hit a new low.”

“Yes, how does the world look from the metaphorical shit pit?”

“About as good as it must look from your throne of self-righteousness, my dear Evans.”

“Call me my dear one more time and I’ll-”

“Lose your composure? Let’s be honest here, you haven’t had that for quite a while.”

“Maybe you’ll find it shoved up your arse – although I highly doubt there’s room, considering you already have your head wedged up there.”

“Good grief Evans, you’re really not holding back, are you?” he laughed, giving Lily the hazy impression that he probably wasn’t on the same level of intoxication she was.

And everyone knows that sort of an imbalance in social awareness during a conversation is a recipe for utter disaster.

“I’m leaving,” she announced.

“Are you sure you can?” he chuckled, looking dubiously at her heels which were still causing her to pitch at odd angles.

“You just bloody watch me, Potter-” she snarled, stomping away from him purposely on a one-way track back towards the bar. Her exit probably would have held more drama had she not stumbling not two feet away from him.

But she would ignore his laughter in lieu of another alcoholic beverage.

-

Tally: Lily – 07 || James – 09

Two tequila shots and one episode of convincing Marlene that climbing up on the bar was definitely a sure-fire way to get them thrown out, Lily found herself wandering the dance floor, looking for her friends. Often there was a misconception that girls travelled in packs on nights out – and while ultimately that was the goal, it was inevitable that, just as in the wild, every so often the pack would lose a member or four.

And considering the fact she had just seen someone throw up in a bag that definitely wasn’t theirs, they had most certainly entered the wild. And her shoes were bloody killing her.

Eyeing the outskirts of the packed dance floor once more, she gave up on her search with a resigned sigh, choosing instead to make a beeline for the row of benches along the western wall so that she could ensure all her toes were indeed still attached to her body. Stumbling up the lone step differentiating the seated area from the manic revelry of the dance floor, she swerved around the enthusiastic couple sucking face and instead plonked down heavily on one of the plush benches that was worryingly sticky against the bare skin of her thigh.

“Wouldn’t sit there if I were you, Peter just spilt his pint all over the place. Other two took him to the bathroom, absolutely puking up his guts.”

Her neck snapped to her right upon hearing the voice, her eyes instantly narrowing when she took in the faintly-glowing white shirt, and birds-nest hair.

“Christ alive, what’re you doing, following me?” she groaned, shooting Potter a dirty look before leaning down to fiddle with the straps of her shoes – which were now positively murdering her poor, innocent toes.

“And you call me conceited – I’m just sitting,” he replied jovially, his shoulders moving in synchronisation with his voice.

“Well how about you bugger off and just sit somewhere else-”

“Well you see, there’s the little fact of I was here first, Evans.”

“I almost fell on my arse three times making my way from the bar to here,” she said, pointing towards the heaving crowd as if to add further emphasis “You can get fucked if you think I’m the one that’s going to be moving.”

They were locked in a heated staring contest for a few moments, before Potter eventually conceded and shook his head with a chuckle.

“Christ, you’re beautiful when you’re angry-”

“What sort of misogynistic drivel is that, Potter? Am I supposed to flush and quit being angry with you because you’ve complimented me?”

“On the contrary, I often find myself complimenting you as a way to enrage you further,” he said airily “Well that and the fact it’s startlingly easy to do.”

“Who says enrage in regular conversation?” she asked, her nose crinkling in disgust.

“You said drivel.” He shrugged “And I think that’d earn you more points in Scrabble.”

“Never played Scrabble,” she grumbled.

“You’d love it, truly. And there’s nothing sexier than spelling.”

“I’m sorry, did you just say the words sexy and spelling in the same sentence?”

“Nothing sexier than a bit of spelling. ‘Specially when there’s hidden letters. Like an unexpected striptease.” He wriggled his eyebrows suggestively, laughing rumbling deep in his chest at the sight of her displeased scowl.

“I’m beginning to see why you’re McGonagall’s pet now,” she said, her nose scrunching further.

“I absolutely am not.”

“You absolutely are too.”

He pouted almost petulantly, reaching to spin a bottle in a slow circle on the table in front of them, pointedly avoiding Lily’s smug smirk.

“Just jealous ‘cause there’s one teacher that likes me more than they like you.”

“Maybe I am.”

“I don’t believe there’s any maybe in that sentence, Evans.” He grinned, reaching to tug gently on a lock of her hair

“Only because there’s no reason for it!” she exclaimed hotly, slapping away his hands indignantly “You always hand up your essays late, you’re constantly skiving off with Sirius in the back of the class-”

“How do you know I hand up my essays late?”

“Because it’s you-”

“Careful there, that sounds awfully like a sweeping generalisation.”

“Well you never have your shit together for Slughorn.”

“Well there’s one glaring difference there – I like English. I’m planning on buying my biology book off the school so I can ceremoniously burn it after graduation,” he explained, his nose crinkling slightly upon the mere mention of his least-favourite subject.

“Biology’s easy,” she sniffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

“Not all of us are medical prodigies.”

“I’m not a prodigy, I work hard,” she emphasised, her lip curling slightly at the insinuation “Everyone who says I do well just because genetics or some shit like that needs to fuck the fuck off-”

“Alright, alright. Keep your wig on, I’m just saying that I could beat myself around the head with the bio coursework and I still wouldn’t be able to remember what in God’s name half of it means.”

“Then you aren’t trying hard enough,” she said sharply. “That or you’re just inept.”

He coughed slightly, raising an eyebrow over the brim of his beer bottle before taking another swig “And there we have it, trademark Evans put down. Tell me, what happens if you don’t insult me every five minutes? Do you internally combust?” he asked cooly, causing her to look away in what felt closely linked to shame.

“Look - I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“Well, you were,” he replied shortly.

This was new. Lily wasn’t accustomed to insulted James,- her familiarity lay with insulting him – meaning the now unsmirking, unannoyinng-her being that occupied the seat next to her unnerved her. The silence which descended over them seemed deafening, even though the floor still vibrated underfoot from the jarring techno-bass mash-up disaster the DJ was blaring.

She huffed slightly, before leaning over to poke his cheek “C’mon Potter, I thought it was physically impossible for me to get you to shut up, don’t break the six-year trend now.”

“Maybe I’m sick of putting up with your snide comments.”

“Well – you and I both know that that’s a horrific lie, Potter. And horrific liars go to hell.”

“Don’t you implore me to take a quick trip to hell on the daily?”

“I may have occasionally told you to do that, yes,” she conceded rather sheepishly “But that doesn’t change the fact that you shouldn’t lie.”

“Hang on - I just used implore, and you’re not going to threaten grievous bodily harm? You must be sorry.”

“Did I say I was sorry?”

“You mean you’re not?”

“Well I – possibly could have been a bit harsh but-” she started difficulty.

“You’re terrible with apologies, Evans,” he chuckled, but the way his shoulder bumped hers told her she had in fact been forgiven.

Maybe it was the alcohol, but the contact made her stomach jolt slightly. No – not jolt. Lurch. Lurch was a verb with much more negative connotations, she couldn’t allow herself to think in the positive.

Lord knows what would happen then.

She settled for a short “like you’re any better” as a reply.

“Ah – but you see, very rarely do I ever do anything that I will later feel the need to apologise for.” He held up his finger to silence her before she could interject “And before you jump down my throat about my actions affecting others, doesn’t mean I’m a complete dickhead. Just means usually I try to do things I won’t regret.”

“Life’s full of regrets.”

“Not for me, Aristotle.”

“So there’s not one thing you regret?”

“Very few things,” he corrected her “I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t regret anything.”

“Well this is rather intriguing – the supreme James Potter admitting to making some mistakes?” she said, her lips curling up into a smile as she fully turned her body to face him “Well – come on. Don’t leave me in suspense, you’ve got to tell me at least one.”

“I most certainly do not,” he chuckled, leaning his head back so it rested against the wall.

“C’mon, Potter. Don’t be a wimp.” She reached forwards to prod his chest, tilting her head to match the angle of his.

“Absolutely not – you’ll laugh.”

“I’ll laugh anyway, laughing at you is my favourite hobby.” Something horrifically like a giggle bubbled from her lips as she reached to poke him once again.

“Are you going to keep poking me until you get your way?”

“Oh you can bet on it-” she promised, her finger tapping out a staccato rhythm on his rib cage.

“Alright – alright, enough woman!” He laughed, swatting her away “I regret pulling your pigtail on the first day of first year.”

“Really?” she snorted “Out of everything you’ve ever done in your life? That’s what you pick?”

“It’s not the only thing, mind you. But - yeah.” He shrugged “You’ve had a set on me ever since then. Probably would have saved a lot of shouting and arguing if I hadn’t.”

She considered his words for a few seconds, before nodding “Well yeah, probably would’ve. Why did you?”

“Why did I what?”

“Pull my hair, dunce.”

“Because I liked the colour.”

“Of my hair?” she snorted again.

“Of your eyes.”

Lily blinked for a moment, her eyes narrowing dangerously as she waited for any signs of a smirk, or a chuckle to emit from James, but he simply reached forward to pick up his beer bottle once more and take a swig.

“I don’t find that cute, you know. Lying to try get in a girl’s pants is just pathetic, Potter.”

“Ah, but liars go to hell, Evans. A wise philosopher once told me so. And I don’t really fancy a trip down below. So that – that was the truth,” he said, the beginnings of what almost looked like a sincere smile unfurling across his lips that seemed to be having an adverse effect on her knees, even though she was sitting down.

Of course, he had to go and ruin it all by winking. She left promptly after that.

~

Tally: Lily – 08 || James 09.5

Storming away from James for the second time that night led her on a very similar pathway to the bar, where she stopped just long enough to neck back another much-needed drink before continuing on her not-so merry way to start up the manhunt for her friends once more.

She eventually located them in the girl’s toilets, resulting either from a tactical ploy on Marlene’s part to scope out the talent remaining in the pub, or Mary’s pea-sized bladder.

“He’s such a childish, arrogant, fucking-” she forced through her clenched teeth, tearing a piece from the paper towel in her hands aggressively with each word. She was perched on the corner of one of the many sinks which lined the damp walls of the pub’s bathroom, pouting petulantly as she watched Marlene shakily reapply another coat of mascara.

“I’m sorry – who’re we talking about?” Mary shouted from inside the bathroom stall “What’s happened? Do you need me to fight someone? I’ll need help taking out m’earrings but otherwise I’m ready Lil-”

“Keep your arse on the toilet, Mary.” Marlene slapped the stall door, causing Mary to shriek “She’s just griping about James again.”

“Oh – well if that’s all.”

“No – that is not all, thanks very much,” Lily said hotly, looking up from her shredded piece of tissue to glare at Marlene.

“But it really is, Lil – you vehemently refuse to snog the boy’s face off, so there’s not very much we can do for you.” Marlene shrugged “Tough tits.”

“How in God’s name would snogging anyone’s face off solve any problem? Much less this one?”

“You know, for a smart girl you’re annoyingly stupid,” Marlene sighed, throwing her mascara tube back into her clutch before reaching to grab Lily’s hands “It’s this horrible little thing called sexual tension.”

“Please remove your hands from my body and stop chatting shit, Marl.”

“You can deny it all you want, Lil. But the truth of the matter is that you want to play tonsil hockey with James.”

“No, I sodding well don’t! A girl can hate a boy, you know. It’s not always just hidden feelings – this isn’t some crappy youth novel, this is my life!”

“Yes, that you seem insistent to live in denial. Look – it doesn’t give me any pleasure to throw you into the deep end like this. But we’re all just sick of hearing about him, okay?”

“Mary, what the hell has Marlene been drinking, straight bleach?” Lily demanded as soon as the bathroom door unlatched, and Mary emerged.

“Been very responsible tonight, actually,” Marlene sniffed.

“Then would you care to explain the origins for this insane theory of yours?”

“It’s not insane, Lily. You’ve not been exactly subtle about it-”

“Look – what Marlene’s trying to say is that, well there has been signs, Lil,” Mary admitted awkwardly, reaching around Lily’s head to grab a handful of paper towels “No one’s trying to say you’ve been doodling his name everywhere or anything – but, there’s clearly something. And the longer you make yourself wait, the worse it’s going to get.”

“Long story short, the tension’s going to make one of you explode,” Marlene supplemented “So get on it, yeah?”

“Neither of you seem to be understanding that I hate him-”

“You’re walking a fine line between love and hate on this one, Lil. So will you just do us all a favour and pick a side, yeah?”

“And meet us on the dance floor if Ed comes on.” Mary grinned, before they linked arms and vacated the bathroom, leaving Lily to brood.

~

Tally: Lily – 09 || James – 11

Lily stumbled out of the bathroom in what felt like a daze, one which was only partly induced by the alcohol units she had consumed. She pushed her way slowly through the throng that still occupied the bar, her mind whirring at the concept that is wasn’t pure hatred she felt towards James.

Facultative hatred, certainly. But even the fact that there might be some hint of fondness present had her world spinning completely off-kilter.

It was nothing more than fate laughing directly in her face that she should then stumble into James.

“Not you again-”

“Really, Lily. I don’t think I can deal with any more fighting tonight. M’brains all fuzzy, won’t be able to think of witty things to say to -”

“Why do you think I hate you?” she asked, cutting over him.

“Oh, all the regular reasons – you know yourself.” He grinned.

“But why do you think I hate you?”

“Will I let you in on a little secret, Lily?” he asked, dipping his head so his lips seemed to hover uncomfortably close to her ear “I have this valiant hope – cursed optimistic nature – that really, deep down, you don’t.”

And she hated herself for it, but her breath hitched – fucking hitched - getting caught somewhere in her throat before it could exit her body.

Carbon dioxide poisoning caused people to behave madly, didn’t it? Would certainly explain as to why the hell her eyes seemed fixated on his eyelashes, which she was nearly certain were longer than hers. And usually that would have caused an irrational pit of hatred to bubble, because stupid Potter and his stupid perfect eyelashes.

But this time it just made her want to know how they’d feel brushing against her cheek.

“I think my epiglottis is malfunctioning-”

“How on earth do I find you attractive?”

“You like my eyes,” she reminded him.

“God, I do. I really do,” he replied, his mouth curling into a grin, causing Lily’s chin to tilt upwards in response. Her heels were putting out a valiant effort of bridging the rather substantial height difference which usually kept her on par with his shoulder. Potter’s head seemed to duck in response, the space between them rapidly decreasing until –

A hand suddenly clamped around the back of her neck, and she found herself being shoved towards James, their heads colliding painfully with what most definitely would have been a resounding thump had it not been cancelled out by whatever God-awful house mix the DJ was blasting out.

Her hands instinctively shot up to cradle her forehead, a groan lost under Potter’s shout of “For fuck sake, Sirius!”

“Just kiss each other already-” Sirius shouted, his hands making a crude hand gesture towards Lily with a grin that made her want to hit him.

Having Potter shove him would suffice nicely, however.

She watched as his mouth moved furiously, his index finger jabbing Sirius’ chest as she watched rather than heard him say “She doesn’t bloody want to.”

If it hadn’t felt like she had just entered the twilight zone, she probably would have found it funny. The anger evident in the way a red flush was forming on Potter’s neck told her his anger was real, and that he was directing it at Sirius of all people was entirely bizarre.

That he was getting so het up about Sirius’ interference lay somewhere in between the realm of ridiculous, but also oddly sweet. Potter’s half-arsed efforts at chivalry usually annoyed her beyond all comprehension, but even she could see that he was simply trying to do the right thing.

Even if what he thought was the right thing was completely and utterly wrong.

Lily’s eyes continued to dart from the now completely beetroot Potter, to the seemingly mollified Sirius, who had his hands raised in defence. Potter gave his friend one last poke, and a concluding glare before turning back to Lily, an apology written all over his features.

“Look, Evans – I’m really sorry, Sirius is just a prick and-”

“Do you make it a habit to make other people’s decisions for them, Potter?” she cut in, archly raising an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry, what?” His entire expression betrayed complete bewilderment.

“You just assumed what I wanted to do.”

“I didn’t – what?”

“Don’t assume what I want and don’t want to do.”

“But-”

She silenced the rest of whatever he wanted to prattle on about by grabbing the front of his shirt and slamming her lips to his.

Their noses seemed to collide awkwardly as they both turned in different directions, a startled ‘oof’ emitting from Potter which really wasn’t what anyone wanted to hear upon kissing anyone. And in a brief moment of clarity, and perhaps even sobriety, she realised she was standing in the middle of a dance floor which was coated in a black scum, her hands awkwardly knotted in Potter’s slightly-damp t-shirt, his lips seemingly frozen against hers while the bridge of his glasses cut uncomfortably into her cheek.

A horrible feeling of regret began clawing its way from her stomach to her mouth – Oh God, oh God, oh fucking God, she had read all the signs wrong. This was awful – he’d never let her live it down. Forever, she would be known as the girl who virtually assaulted Potter while he stood there and did nothing.

Pulling back, she took in the bug-eyed expression of shock on his face, her own cheeks burning bright with embarrassment. Cold reality seemed to rain down upon her with the realisation that he had probably never contemplated, or indeed ever wanted to swap spit with her, and considering their explosive history, had presumed that Lily was on the same wavelength.

“I’m – I’ve – got to go,” she stuttered, waving vaguely in the direction of the exit door before taking off through the crowd, ignoring his calls for her to wait until she could no longer hear them over the music.

She weaved her way through the still-writhing masses, pressing the backs of her hands against her cheeks in a vain attempt to cool the fire-pits that had seemingly replaced half of her face.

She probably could have gotten over the embarrassment of crashing and burning with Potter – after an appropriate amount of dodging him in the remaining weeks of school, and proposing a binding contract to never mention his name again – however it was the fact that she had crashed and burned with Potter with the majority of her class as an audience which was the true problem. There was still six weeks left in school, so really, abandoning her education to move to Ecuador would just be a waste of the last fourteen years of education.

Plus, she had taken French instead of Spanish.

A tinny ringing in her ears erupted as soon as she stepped out of the pub, her heels scraping against the cobblestones of the footpath. Bobbing her head to the bouncer, she wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to fend off the April chill as she began her slow hobble to the chipper – conveniently located next door.

“Lily – Christ alive Evans, can you just wait-”

She made no attempt to stifle the groan that seemed almost a reflex action in response to his voice “Potter – go away, please. I’m begging.”

“No, I want to talk about whatever what just happened was,” he said determinedly, reaching out as if to grab Lily’s arm, before thinking better of it.

“Can we just – forget that happened? Please?”

“No – no, well – I mean, yeah because that was terrible-”

“Well thanks,” she gritted out, embarrassment still colouring her cheeks as she narrowed her eyes to glare at him.

He started, horror dawning on his face as he processed what he had said “Not – no, you weren’t terrible, I was terrible-“

“Yeah – you sodding well were! Why didn’t you kiss me back?” she demanded.

“I wasn’t expecting you to do that!”

“Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you needed a formal letter of notice before someone kissed you, my bloody mistake,” she said, sarcasm dripping from every word.

“Well sod it, if it’s you kissing me maybe I do!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means – it means I would’ve been less surprised if you ran me over with a car, Evans,” he sighed.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, growing more and more affronted.

“It means you – earlier this evening you were threatening to sue me, and then suddenly you’re flirting with me and I got confused!”

“I never flirted with you-”

“This is what I’m talking about, Lily! This – the hot and cold thing, I can’t keep up with you. And believe me, I love the fact you’re absolutely mental, I fucking love it because it’s you. But - can you at least give me some help in figuring out where I stand with you? Please?”

Her anger faltered slightly at the desperate plea that seemed to emit from his eyes, his words hanging in the air between them. His eyes seemed to search hers for something, desperation leaving the hazel irises to be replaced by what she remarked looked horribly close to resignation. She stepped towards him, a line appearing between her eyebrows as she scrutinized his eyes – hazel in colour, and slightly too small for his face behind the frames of his glasses.

“Your eyes aren’t brown,” she said almost stupidly, blinking up at him. “I’d always thought they were brown.”

His heavy sigh sent hot air rushing across her cheeks, the scent of beer and stale chewing gum enveloping her.

“I think you need to go home, Evans,” he said, running a hand through his hair slowly.

“Potter-” she began, before he cut her off

“Can you just – call me James? Like a normal person? So maybe I could call you Lily without feeling like I’ve just called my grandmother Dorea?”

“Why are you talking about your grandmother?” she asked, her forehead wrinkling in confusion.

“Because that’s what I do when I’m nervous! I projectile vomit stupid stuff I probably shouldn’t say-” he said hurriedly, his hand reaching up to ruffle the hair at the nape of his neck.

Usually, this particular quirk of his irked her beyond all comprehension, yet for some ungodly reason, cast in the semi-light emitting from the chipper’s condensation-covered window, the action looked almost endearing.

“I was talking about my epiglottis earlier, I think I can relate,” she interjected, raising her eyebrow.

The corners of his mouth tilted up into a half smile, and she felt her own copy the movement. The front of his shirt was wrinkled slightly where her hands had twisted the fabric, beads of sweat on his forehead still not evaporated even in the frigid cold night air.

“I like it when you call me Evans. Makes me want to smile, and hit you all at the one time,” she blurted out.

“Alright, admittedly not exactly what I was going for-”

“Everyone calls me Lily, or Lil. You’re the only one that calls me Evans. And I like it, because it’s different. Because you’re different. And whether you’re different because you’re destined to annoy me to death, or because of something else – I don’t really know. But I like when you call me it,” she said quickly, her breath releasing in a quick huff.

“…you do?” He blinked at her.

“I do.”

Silence descended on them, James rocking back onto his heels before shoving his hands into his pockets.

“And…that’s all you’re going to say?”

“Would you like me to say anything else?” she countered.

“Well – Christ, I dunno really.”

“I’m not going to start spouting poetry at any point, so if that’s what you’re looking for-”

“No, that’s definitely not what I’m looking for,” he chuckled tiredly “I just – want to know, really.

“You want to know what?”

“See – that I don’t even know. Do you – like me? Hate me? Mildly tolerate me? Why’d you kiss me? Things like that.”

“I-” she began, before biting her lip “Can’t really answer any of those.”

“Not even why you kissed me?”

“…possessed by a demon?”

His chuckle caused a smile to inch its way across her face.

“You’re something else, Evans.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Any chance you might take pity and be a bit nicer to me now though? Considering you nearly headbutted me.”

“I most certainly did not you shit-”

“I know, I know. Keep your knickers on. You’re going to have to learn when I’m teasing you, you know.”

“Believe me, I usually know. I just don’t find your jokes all that funny.

“And there you have it, spear right through the heart. Have mercy, my sense of humour is more precious to me than my pride,” he said dramatically, clutching his heart.

“You’re such a dork, Potter.”

“So you love to tell me.” He grinned.

“Am I still hurting your fweelings?” she teased, raising an eyebrow jestingly.

“Oh, I’m almost used to it by now.”

“It seems I may end up needing to make it up to you, Potter.”

“Well if it’s anything like your apologies, I don’t think I want to know,” he laughed, causing Lily to scowl.

“It was a perfectly sufficient apol-”

The latter half of her sentence was cut off rather suddenly, Potter swooping down to press his lips against hers gently. His hand found its way to her waist, almost anchoring her to him, the heat from his hand radiating through the thin material of her top. If their first kiss had been rushed and jerky, this one was slow and cautionary, their noses brushing slightly as their heads tilted to accommodate the other – James nudging the frame of his glasses slightly so that they didn’t interfere as they had before. Her hands snaked their way around his neck, fingers gently brushing the closely cropped hair at the nape.

It wasn’t a kiss that stopped time, or made her weak at the knees. The wafting scent of chips, cheese and curry meant that she was more than aware that they stood in front of a greasy chipper, next door to a grotty pub. His shirt was still damp, and her shoes had begun to pinch, but the sheer warmth that enveloped her as he pulled his arms tighter around her, the little spark in her chest as their mouths moved in almost perfect synchronisation made it feel like an invitation, a tantalisation. A promise of what could be, rather than what was right there and then.

They broke apart slowly, their faces still almost impossibly close together. James chuckled a little, leaning towards her so their foreheads pressed together.

“Why did you do that?” she asked, her arms still wrapped loosely around his neck.

“Well – one, I sort of had to make up for earlier. And two, I could feel you working yourself up into a tizzy. And I think we’ve met our arguments quota for tonight.” He grinned.

“If you didn’t aggravate me, we wouldn’t argue.”

“Ah – but if we hadn’t argued, I wouldn’t have gotten to kiss you.”

“You know – this isn’t going to become a thing,” she said sharply “You’re not allowed to just start kissing me whenever you don’t like what I’m saying.”

“Oh, never dear Evans. Don’t worry – I enjoy your sparkling wit entirely too much,” he said, the reassuring tone he adopted completely cancelled out by the crinkles around his eyes which told her he was trying very hard not to smile.

“And here we have a classic example of where I don’t know whether I want to smile, or punch you.”

“How about we add a third option – you could always kiss me.”

“I wouldn’t bank on that, if I were you. I’m fully expecting to wake up tomorrow in a cold sweat of fear.”

“Well – let’s not worry ourselves with bruising my ego right now. How about you and I buy a bag of food poisoning each from this here lovely establishment, and see how long we can sit in each other’s company without arguing, hmm?” He grinned, raising an eyebrow.

“We won’t make it five minutes without killing each other,” she said, however her hand reached for his, their fingers intertwining as she began to tow him in the direction of the door.

“A little bit of optimism, yeah Evans? I think we could be on to something good here,” he countered, ducking to kiss Lily’s cheek.

“Stop that you-” She swatted him away, though her smile was completely destroying any illusion of annoyance.

“It seems I’ve found my new preferred method of annoying you, Evans.”

”Oh joy.”

[satorisa]

Lift the Veil - Chapter 5

Lift the Veil - Chapter 5: War of My Life

Rating: T

Summary: After living in Tokyo for the past six years, she decides to head back to Azumano to escape the big city. However, she now has to face everything that she tried to flee from all those years ago. How exactly will she fare when the pages of a long forgotten book start turning once more?

Read On: FanFiction.Net, Archive of Our Own

Risa may or may not have a drinking problem, but I most certainly do know that I have a problem with how this is progressing because I’m behind on my editing schedule for this fic because life but mainly because I have no clue what I’m even doing. 

On that note, enjoy this mess of a chapter. 

War of My Life

I’ve got a hammer and a heart of glass; I got to know right now which walls to smash.

Waving goodbye to Saehara, I left the police station feeling energized with the noon sun on my skin. Ritsuko stood outside, dressed in a fashionable ensemble that she complemented with a designer handbag. She smiled before somehow managing to run towards me in her heels to give me a hug.

“How’ve you been?” she asked excitedly as she let go of me.

“Good,” I replied as we started walking towards the café that was, according to her, to die for. She reminded me of my high school self, back when she was level-headed and I was the hyperactive one more in touch with my girly side. I supposed owning and managing a couple of high-end boutiques does that to someone. “Work’s been easy, and it’s nice being back home. What about you?”

“I’m great!” she exclaimed with an enthusiasm for life that I no longer had. “The boutiques have been doing well, and the suppliers are wondering if I can extend the market to a bigger city like Sapporo!”

“Really?”

“Yup! I get a lot of customers who come by the boutiques since a lot of our better merchandise is marked as store-exclusives.” She smiled. “Honestly, I didn’t realize I’d have this much fun working with the fashion industry. When my friend decided to rope me into entrepreneurship, I didn’t know what I was getting myself into.”

“Wasn’t it hard?”

“Of course! I nearly quit in the beginning since I was selling unknown brands from a tiny little boutique, but one regular turned into several regulars who attracted more upcoming designers which, in turn, brought more regulars, leading me to where I am today. It’s amazing to see how far everyone I’ve worked with has come, and seeing all my hard work paying off has been the biggest reward for me!”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“Well, what about you?” she asked. “Don’t you like what you’re doing?”

I paused, unsure of how to actually respond to her question. Once upon a time, I had big plans on becoming a news anchor, completely obsessed with the fact that I’d become famous in my own right by showing up on TV every day. I settled on editing being my entry job simply because I was relatively decent with writing and grammar but, somewhere along the way, I became attached to books. Even though I still aimed to be a news anchor, I now had to determine whether I kept that goal because I really wanted to become one or because it was my childhood dream.

“Yeah,” I finally answered, trying to hide the small crisis that innocent question brought. “Working in Tokyo was too much, so I decided to move back here. The workload is nothing compared to my last job, but it still keeps me preoccupied for most of the day.”

She nodded, staying silent as if waiting for me to elaborate as much as she did. However, before she could say something to egg me on, we arrived at our destination—unfortunately christened Castelnuovo Bistro—and were seated in a booth under some dim lighting.

After ordering, we started talking about our college lives which, eventually, led to us sharing all the dumb things we did as students. However, no amount of laughing and eating could get my mind off of earlier. Even as we headed back to the police station, joking as if we were back in high school with Mari to complete our trio, I could barely focus on what exactly we were talking about.

And, when I walked back in, both Saehara and Hiwatari stopped their conversation, staring at me with bewilderment as I sat down, opening my laptop to drown myself in work and forget about my sudden displacement in life.

For study breaks, my friends and I always headed to the Starbucks overlooking Shibuya Crossing, somehow managing to find a vacant table in the midst of all the Tokyo chaos. Over personal drinks and shared snacks, we’d discuss what I secretly called the topic of the day.

One time, unfortunately, they all decided to focus on their love lives. They ranted on about terrible exes and failed romances or praised their current partners, proudly boasting about their healthy relationships. I sat there reading (The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry felt too out of place amidst the love lives of young adults in this century) while nibbling away at my baumkuchen, hoping that I could stay quiet and unnoticed for the rest of this conversation.

Unfortunately, they could read neither my mood nor my expression, so they eventually turned to me with smirks and curious eyes. They were all journalism majors and approached me because I seemed just like them: a girl who only cared about how well other people perceived her. Finding it hard to connect with others, especially as a first-year in college, I clung to them if only for my weekly dosage of social interaction. (It took me a while to finally separate from this group of people, but that wouldn’t happen until I finally got closer to other people in Japanese literature who eventually introduced me to other people in journalism.)

“Come on, Risa-chan!” one coaxed. “You’ve got to have some interesting stories!”

“I came from a small town in northern Japan; the only interesting story I’ve got is the fact that my sister’s been in a relationship for four years.”

Another pouted. “We’re asking for your stories though! Nothing passionate? Sexy? Steamy?”

I silently laughed at the memories that resurfaced, mentally berating myself for my stupidity. But then my mind, whirring from comprehension, presented two memories regarding the first word. I cringed at the juxtaposition of them, and I could feel my tears rising up.

“Please,” I croaked, ready to chug my chai latte after I said my piece. “The only thing that was hot and steamy was the bits of salmon floating around in the soup.”

They looked at each other, slightly confused before forcing a laugh. Any lover of language would have either groaned or snorted at my remark. Clearly, I had found myself in the wrong group of people.

Blocking out the rest of their conversation, and the memories trying to flood my brain, I downed my drink, trying to forget everything with its comforting warmth.

“Harada-imouto, be a pal and let me go home early today!”

Looking up from my laptop, I saw Saehara in front of me, bowing at such a steep angle that I thought he might just tumble over. I nearly dismissed him without hesitation considering the Saehara I knew probably had a dumb reason to excuse himself, but I decided to give him the benefit of doubt.

I braced myself for his terrible answer. “…why?”

“I’m having dinner with Akane and—”

“Why are you still here?” I screeched, somehow too caught up with the pitiful image of his girlfriend having to wait for his sorry ass to consider that Saehara might’ve just played to my pathos. “You’ve got better places to be than this dingy place!”

Thanking me, he rushed out at such a pace that I couldn’t help but believe his claim. He usually left the station at a casual stroll, and I smiled at his burst of energy and enthusiasm before returning to my work. I had around an hour left before I wanted to leave for the news station so I could polish up my pre-broadcast work without running into Hiwatari.

“Is my station really that dingy?”

Looking up from my work, I saw Hiwatari standing nearby with a steaming mug of coffee in his hand. Startled by his presence, I slightly jumped, noting the flicker of concern on his face before his composure settled in.

“All police stations are dingy,” I answered. “To be fair though, I might’ve spent too much time in one back in Tokyo.”

He nodded. “I can imagine that the ones in the city weren’t as well-maintained, although I am glad that that was just your biased opinion. I do take good care of my station, but I am willing to work on improving it if need be.”

I didn’t acknowledge his statement. Hopefully, my disinterest would dissuade Hiwatari from continuing this conversation, but his figure lingered in my peripherals, detracting me from the work I was trying to focus on.

“Your sister invited me over for a meal whenever I was free as thanks for the other night,” he awkwardly started.

My focus waned from my growing agitation at Hiwatari’s inability to take a hint and at Riku’s well-meant yet completely insensitive offer. “Why tell me that?”

“I figured that you would’ve appreciated the notice.”

“You don’t have to be considerate of my feelings now.” I turned to him, allowing my frustration to seep through my furrowed brows and frown. “Besides, don’t you think it’s kind of late to be caring now?”

He somehow maintained his expression despite my sudden accusation. With a nod, he muttered a soft-spoken apology before he turned away and retreated back to his office. Once I heard the door shut, I gathered my things and escaped from the police station, running towards the news station in a feeble attempt to get my mind off what happened.

I knew that what I said rattled Hiwatari; he had a habit of excusing himself whenever he was uncomfortable. Not that it was easy for a layman to read the subtle changes in his expression and mood, but Hiwatari always felt apprehensive whenever he found himself in a vulnerable position. A lot of men did that to protect their manly pride or ego, but, for Hiwatari, it was one of the consequences of living with Krad for around fourteen years of his life.

Honestly, I hated that I knew this. I hated the knot that appeared in my stomach when he stiffened up before quickly excusing himself. After all these years, after everything that happened, I still couldn’t stand seeing Hiwatari anything less than his normally aloof and composed self.

I somehow managed to keep myself collected and made it to the news station without catching too much attention. The security guard greeted me with a smile, and I returned the gesture, trying to leave any thoughts of Hiwatari at the door of the building.

Heading towards my cubicle, the staff seemed as calm as always, chatting about the usual topics of the handsome Police Commissioner (not that that was helping my case and ick) or the cute new editor from Tokyo (please) before I settled down at my desk. Even with the trivial and slightly annoying conversations occurring around me, it set up the white noise I needed to fully focus on the rest of my work.

Until they started gossiping about something that turned my productivity into an existential nightmare.

“Oi, Kawamura-san, did you hear?”

“Hear what?”

I peeked over the cubicle, looking at the women in the cubicle next to mine. One of them was sitting, the other standing, but both were idly holding a steaming cup of coffee.

“That the Captain’s going to promote the new editor.”

“Eeeeh? Already? But she just got here!”

“But she graduated from Tokyo University and interned at the NHK! Don’t you think she’s overly qualified for her current position?”

“So what? She just got here. Who cares about where she came from? I’ve been working here far longer than she has, and I’ve yet to receive some huge bonus or substantial raise!”

“You’re just jealous!”

“And you’re not? She comes here from Tokyo, gets stationed at the police department with Hiwatari-san, and is already on her way to getting promoted! It’s not fair!”

“I know right!” she leaned closer to her confidant, but I could still hear her obnoxiously loud voice. “Did you hear this though? Apparently, she grew up here before disappearing off the face of the earth, and now she’s returned despite all her success. Do you think it’s a fraud? Maybe she’s running from something? Relationship issues?”

By this time, I was already so far into the conversation that I was silently responding to their blathering mouths with my changing expressions. They somehow moved onto another conversation that lost my attention without noticing that I was obviously eavesdropping, and I returned to my work, glad that I was on my way to not having to see Hiwatari first thing in the morning. But did I really want this? Anyone would be glad to have a promotion since that meant a more prestigious job with better pay but…

Damn. How dare I have these second thoughts now. I should be happy about this.

Hearing my phone ring, I looked down to see a text message from Daisuke saying that his parents wanted me over for dinner and that Argentine and Towa terribly missed my company. He, unfortunately, couldn’t be there in case he needed defuse his rambunctious family since he made plans to have dinner at my house, so I texted Riku that I would be over at Daisuke’s for dinner and continued working until I had to leave.

“Risa!” Mrs. Emiko greeted, pulling me into a hug. “It’s been forever!”

“Emiko, please, you’re choking her!” Mr. Kousuke called when he emerged from the kitchen.

She pulled away with a huge grin, ushering me into the living room before excusing herself to check up on the food. I sat next to Grandpa Daiki, bowing slightly before turning my attention to an Alphonse Mucha documentary that so happened to be on. I became so engulfed with the show that I didn’t notice Towa and Argentine slowly creeping up behind me.

“Boo.”

Startled out of my seat, I turned around to see the personified artworks hovering over me from behind the sofa. Towa had a grin that eclipsed her face and Argentine, sly bastard, covered his chuckling mouth with his gloved hand.

“Still as sensitive as ever!” Towa chirped before skipping back into the kitchen to help the Niwas prepare dinner.

Argentine offered his hand, helping me up with an apology, before setting up the table. I followed him and, despite his protests, laid out the wine goblets and silverware.

“You are the guest, Risa-sama.”

“And, as the guest, it’d be rude of me to just sit around doing nothing!”

He sighed before heading into the kitchen. From previous experience, I knew Mrs. Emiko would kick me out if I stepped onto that hallowed ground, so I settled back down next to Grandpa Daiki and dove back into the interesting world of the Art Nouveau movement.

Back then, when I practically spent every waking second with Daisuke, Riku, and Hiwatari, we tended to drop by the Niwa household after school. Riku and Daisuke always retreated to the latter’s room before dinner, getting their daily dosage of alone time together, so I spent that time studying at the dining table with Hiwatari’s guidance. And when he had to work overtime, Towa and Argentine took a break from maintaining the house to keep me company. On occasion, when Grandpa Daiki was awake or in, he’d sit at the head of the table with a steaming cup of green tea while reading or writing something.

This slightly cramped and always noisy household became my second home, and I found a second family with the Niwas, too. I used to joke around about getting to know the in-laws back then but, on the extremely off chance that Riku and Daisuke didn’t work out, I knew they’d still be family to me.

The doorbell rang, and I shot up to let whoever it was in. I didn’t think too much about who it could be but, opening the door to see a slightly startled Hiwatari, I squeaked.

“Good evening, Harada-san,” he mumbled, taking off his shoes and brushing past me without much of a scene. “Auntie, Uncle, I’m home.”

The quartet in the kitchen marched out, greeting their wayward “son” with fanfare. I returned to my spot by Grandpa Daiki, wondering why he didn’t bother to join them.

“Not greeting your practically grandson?”

“He doesn’t need this old coot to fawn over him; the rest of the family gives him enough attention anyway. Besides, it’s been a while since I’ve seen my practically granddaughter-in-law.” He shot me a toothy grin before patting my shoulder to comfort me. “I told them not to invite him for dinner with you, but they just didn’t listen to me.”

After coming back to Azumano, I hated how everyone assumed that I had gotten over what happened. Sure, their conclusions were valid, but my being back here didn’t mean that I had finally made peace with what happened. Like any other adult dealing with a lack of closure, I left it as far behind me as feasibly possible so I could move on with my life. And here I was, still running away from it just to keep myself afloat and somewhat sane.

I took Grandpa Daiki’s hand and smiled, grateful for his gesture. It was nice to know that someone still kept what happened in the back of their mind even after my long absence.

“Risa, honey, dinner’s ready!” Mrs. Emiko called. “And could you please help Dad over? Thanks, dear!”

Despite his old age, he was still fit enough to move around without aid. Mrs. Emiko probably worried about her aging father yet, despite Grandpa Daiki’s notorious stubbornness, he let me help him to the table if only to avert my attention from Hiwatari’s presence at the table.

Argentine insisted on having me sit next to him, so I found myself wedged between him and Grandpa Daiki. I found it funny how I became closer to Argentine even though he kidnapped me back then. I certainly kept my distance from him after meeting him at the Niwa household once but that somehow turned into him poking my ticklish sides when I was too engrossed with my work to get a rise out of me (and entertain whoever else was around.) Maybe it happened from listening to all his long-winded stories, filled with melodramatic tangents, about Qualia. I was a blooming teenager obsessed with love, and he probably found solace from my genuine interest in his life.

“How are Towa and Argentine?” Hiwatari asked, rightfully concerned over the artworks wellbeing.

“They’ve been good,” Mr. Kousuke replied. “Emiko’s been working them to the bone like always. It’s a mystery how they’re still holding up so well.”

The married couple squabbled from his remark, and I glanced at Hiwatari’s expression. With his smiling eyes and upturned mouth, I found myself recalling those looks he—

“Risa-sama, are you okay?” Argentine asked. He, luckily, didn’t draw any attention towards me. I exhaled the breath hitched at the back of my throat and drank some wine to wash it do.

“I’m good. Sorry to worry you.”

“It’s alright as long as you are fine.” On his other side, I saw Towa jab him while taking a bite. “Erm, if you don’t mind, could you share some of your experiences in Tokyo? Towa and I were wondering what it would be like to be in a big city.”

They couldn’t leave Azumano due to reasons along the lines of being delicate and an extreme liability, so I picked out stories that I knew would catch their attention. Hooked on my words, they reminded me of children with their enchanted eyes and fascination with the simplest of things. Eventually, the table quieted down as I started talking about my college misadventures.

Argentine found himself attached to the many themed cafés dotting Akihabara, while Towa clung onto the melting pot of Harajuku’s fashion scene. Mrs. Emiko and Mr. Kousuke, however, were thoroughly entertained whenever I’d talk about my college hijinks. (I mean, at some point the couple was snorting in laughter. Pretty sure they were getting a kick out of this.) Grandpa Daiki would sometimes smile, and Hiwatari looked like he was having a ball with it. Whenever he would catch me watching him though, he would feign indifference, faking a cough to hide his laughter and cover that smirk he couldn’t seem to get off his damn face.

To think I was somehow concerned over this man a few hours ago when here he was, perfectly fine while relishing in my embarrassments.

Eventually everyone calmed down and the conversation moved to other topics, like the artworks asking if they could take a short trip to Tokyo and the art-savvy men wondering what could possibly go wrong. (Apparently, it was so bad that the three of them couldn’t wrap their head around the potential chaos that would occur.) I finished the grand meal of Tournedos Rossini (courtesy of Emiko’s grand tastes and Argentine’s odd talent for creating fine cuisine) before my eyes drifted to Hiwatari, who looked content surrounded by such animated company for dinner.

Honestly, why the hell was I always staring at him?

“The past is always too hard to leave behind,” Grandpa Daiki sighed.

“It’s not like it’s easy to leave it behind when it’s right in front of you.”

“There will never not be a day when it’s not in front of you,” he reminded before sipping his water.

I groaned, downing the rest of my red wine. Grandpa Daiki offered his untouched goblet, and I quickly finished it as well. Did he want me to drink for him? Or maybe he wanted to help me by letting me loosen my grip on reality?

Eventually, dinner came to end when Grandpa Daiki excused himself to get some sleep. Both Mrs. Emiko and Mr. Kousuke left to help him upstairs despite his protests. Towa and Argentine started to clean the table, keeping me in my seat despite my protests to help. They emerged from the kitchen after they tidied the table, each of them carrying a flower-adorned porcelain plate with a matching teacup. Argentine set his set of china down in front of me, and I stared in awe at the intricately decorated petit four and could smell what seemed like jasmine tea from my cup. Hiwatari had a different petit four in front of him, and his cup was filled with black coffee that eclipsed the flowery aroma in front of me.

“Enjoy the desserts!” Towa chirped.

“You won’t join us?” I asked.

“There’re dishes to wash,” Argentine answered. “Besides, Satoshi-sama likes time to himself.”

“Well, if he likes time to himself, I should help you then.” I started to get up from my seat, but Towa pushed me back down.

“Nu-uh. Madam said that no one gets up from the table until they need to leave.”

“Well then, I have to go.”

“Risa-sama!” The artworks simultaneously called over the scraping chair as I started my long overdue escape.

“I never thought the day would come when Risa Harada would pass on an offer of cake and tea.” When those cold words sliced through the air, I stopped. I turned to see Hiwatari’s icy glare, unmoving as he mechanically sipped his coffee. The striking color of his eyes only aided his intimidation. “If you have a problem with me, you should personally tell me instead relying on off-hand comments and running away.”

The Hiwatari I knew would’ve sulked for a bit instead of passive aggressively confronting anyone; I was the one guilty of doing that. But what fueled his uncharacteristic pettiness? Was it to call me out on my disdain from earlier in an eye-for-an-eye type of deal? Or was he trying to undermine me by using my own methods?

I shot him a look before sitting back down, readying myself to verbally battle with Hiwatari. Immature, I knew, that our communications had finally boiled down to this, but unrelenting stubbornness was an uncanny trait I shared with the young man hailed as such a mature role-model; we could never just admit our wrongs. Besides, I wasn’t going to take this without a fight. I wasn’t that young woman who allowed herself to get hurt by others anymore. And if ignoring him meant protecting myself, I didn’t care what others thought of it.

Besides, the damn hypocrite had no right to call me out on that.

“Oh, boo-hoo. I’m so sorry that I heart your pathetic pride,” I responded with sarcasm. “I didn’t realize that I had to be nice to your frozen majesty when I came back.”

“It’s common courtesy, although I highly doubt you know what that means since you’re making a fuss at someone else’s house.”

“I wouldn’t be like this if you hadn’t started it.”

“Did you need to continue it though?” he scoffed. “Six years later and your volatile temper is still as prominent as ever.”

“As it should be considering I have good reason for it compared to that nasty attitude of yours.” I took a bite of my cake. “Tell me, how does it feel to have karma bite you in the ass?”

The calm front that Hiwatari somehow maintained gave way to the storm brewing inside of him. He shot up, slamming his hands on the table; a cacophony of clattering china and spilled drinks followed. I flinched, slightly terrified at his sudden ferocity almost reminiscent of Krad, but I had to maintain my ground.

“Harada-san, how could you be so damn stubborn?”

I glared at him, gingerly laying the fork down before I threw it at his face. “Self-preservation, Hiwatari-san: something you know very well. After all, would you keep someone in your life when you know that they’re able to ruin everything in one-fell swoop?” His eyes widened, and he fell back into his chair looking devastated. “See? You wouldn’t, so I have every right to do the same.”

Finally finished with letting out those pent-up emotions, I focused on the food in front of me, stuffing myself with the cake before emptying the teacup without break, burning my tongue from its scalding temperature. I left the house without a farewell, avoiding the frozen artworks who were unfortunately caught in the fray and the bewildered older Niwa couple standing by the foot of the staircase.

I ran back to my house, trying to at least keep myself composed until I got to my room, but when Daisuke opened the door, I broke down crying right there on the stoop, screaming into my hands until Riku pulled me into an embrace.

[figjelly]

How do you approach worldbuilding?

Okay, full disclosure here but I’m still working on feeling comfortablewith my abilities in “world-building” (I put the phrase in quotes for a reasonI’ll explain in a moment). When I started writing fanfiction, I did so becauseI wanted to write but didn’t reallyfeel like I had the skills to develop something from scratch. But I had a fewcharacters and I was really into playing Skyrim at the time. So, I thought, “MaybeI’ll just start out writing a journal for Rook in Skyrim.” Rook was a characterI thought I had a good-enough handle on (spoiler alert: I didn’t and, boy, do Isometimes STILL pay for it) and I thought sticking with the Dragonborn DLCwould be a really easy story to chart a beginning, a middle, and an end for acharacter I didn’t have to build from the ground up or build an entire world ora story. A diary for a character seemed like a good start.

Rook of Skyrimquickly became not a journal (althoughin the first couple of chapters, you can still see where it started out assuch). There are probably still some of the very first drafts on a Skyrim forumsomewhere (that I just never bothered deleting because who cares). Whilewriting in this older style though, all ofthe characters started yelling at me (“I don’t sound like that!” or “I see how it is—I’m just a cardboard cut-out to put hereas a convenient thing to mention. Fuck you too.”).  So, while I’ve feel I’ve gotten better atdialogue and the like, world-building is still something I keep floaters onfor. That’s not to say I’ve not tried my hand at world-building (Cognitiva Uprising had eleven chaptersbefore I sort of put it aside. I don’t think it’s hosted anywhere currently,but it was something that I have a beginning, middle, and end for. There arestrong characters. The world was just a bit weaker than I wanted it). Fanfiction is basically the way in which I practice small-scale world-buildinguntil I can get a handle on it. With something like The Elder Scrolls (althoughat one time I also wrote for Dragon Age so I think that would work well inaddition to Fallout), big events exist and some details but thegames don’t often give you mechanisms for why the world is the way it is a goodamount of the time. It’s easy to build a world and populate it but it’llbe super flat if you’re looking to build a narrative that has some richness toit. For a story like Thistle Do Nicely,I don’t have to build a world—or atleast worry about the mechanisms behind why it is the way it is. It’s set inthe reality we have first-hand experience with. I don’t have to explain howcollege works in Thistle Do Nicely. IHAVE to do work in Relentless toexplain the academic systems of knowledge on a number of levels: an individualstudent’s progress, dynamics of an individual institution, how a particularinstitution interacts with local government/state government, and how otherinstitutions view one another (to be fair, I also use Raven’s Song to do some of this work). We do not have firsthand experiencefor the world of The Elder Scrolls. We dohave firsthand experience for what issues concern universities in ourworld.WHEW. That was really long-winded. Why did I put “world-building” in quotesabove? Because I feel that it the phrase is often used as an inefficient proxyfor “external environment.” I would classify developing characters as internalworld-building and building the environment around a character as externalworld building. I think we could then classify these even further (e.g.interpersonal relationships as being an “ecosystem,” a character’s interactionswith the physical environment as being “embodied world-building,” etc etc) butit would detract from the point. Here’s what I’ve learned from my own experiences and approaches ofworld-building. The usual YMMV and these are from my perspective und so weiter:

Don’t build worlds off of our currentworld’s assumptions. I don’t care if you are writing a modern day romance set in the United States, take allthe assumptions you have and put ‘em in a box because you’re gonna need to dosome hardcore reassessment about “the way things are.” For example, compulsoryheteronormativity isn’t just a story we hear when looking at the “usual”romantic comedy but also things like a “socially-acceptable” transgendernarrative that looks like “I am a woman in a man’s body.” It’s a narrative thatconforms to the expectations and assumptions that heteronormativity asserts. Inhomosexual relationships, it is common to hear, “So who’s the man and who’s thewoman?” Even beyond hot topic issues (such as gender and sexuality), there alsoexists assumptions about how communication works (usually “data transferbetween two people”), how social interactions work, and even how someone thinksabout the world (we don’t all interact with the world in the same way, we don’tall have the same mental dialogue with ourselves etc etc).

Become an expert at thetop-down/bottom-up analyses of your world. “Ash,” you sigh. “What the fuck does that mean?” Here’s an example:

A lot of writing advice with world-building has writersthink about what the lay of the land is. So, is the setting on an island? Alarge, land-locked continent? Near mountains? That’s fine. But I think whatthen happens is a disconnect between thinking about the land to thinking aboutsomething such as governmental policy or import/export mechanisms. When I sayto think about your world from a top-down perspective, I’m asking you to thinkabout larger phenomenon and behavior of the characters and then how we cantrace that back to smaller elements in the world. For example, if you statethat in your world the local government has always had strict policies in placethat regulate the hunting of certain wildlife, then it’s also important to knowwhy that is from smaller, foundationelements. Perhaps the particular wildlife upon which the regulations are enforcedare a species that in some seasons are superimportant for soil recovery (idk like maybe they have a jacked upmetabolism and poop a lot). THEN you might look further down and see, “Ah,well, these people would want a quicker turn around on soil recovery duringseason X because farming season Y is right after that time.” And so on. Youkeep taking this large-scale, overarching observation (strict rules on huntingduring a particular season) and then keep breaking down the whys and hows until you’ve got a good idea for why things are the way they are. (obvs I like repeating myself). But what about a bottom-up approach? Let’s take something like a friend groupfor this example. Suppose you have three characters that are really goodfriends (A, B, and C because I’m so creative). If friend A says somethinghurtful to friend B, then not only will friend B’s feelings become hurt butalso friend C will have a/some reaction(s): be angry at friend A, besympathetic to friend B, agree with friend A, not give a fuck about either A orB because it ain’t their business, etc. We’ve got individual elements A, B, andC but we can now trace this one incident like a ripple effect. A, B, and C havelives outside of their relationship so how does this effect their otherrelationships? Work? Family? Etc etc. Let’s take our Poop Factory species fromthe top-down approach to understanding the whysof a world. Think about the very first time the local government first passedthe regulation. What did they notice? Well, sometimes the crops would be stableenough to sustain people but then other years it was absolute shit. You canpretend one of the Top Poop Scientists of the Country (I’m sure you’d give thema better name) was also like, “Hey guys, I think I’m noticing that on years inwhich the crops are better, there are more Poop Factories around.” And on andon. Now, is it important to describe all of this to your readers? Absolutely not unless it is important to the story. If it’snot, then you’ve got a good working knowledge that you can explicitly describeinside and out—AND THAT will shine through in your world.

Consistent, tinydetails matter. So, you’ve gotthe world, you’re an expert in it, and you’ve got a pretty solid idea of yourcharacters. Just don’t forget to include the tiny details in the story! Treat thislike seasoning on food. Too much will ruinthe balance (garlic is the exception in the food analogy, so think of garlic inplace of “good grammar” because you can’t have enough of that).

 Culture andreligion: usually a hot topic to bring up in any world-building how-tothat can be found via google. I would add to this simply by referring to the “Don’tbuild a world off of this world’s assumptions” advice. Religions are usuallydeity-based but one should think about how deities are interpreted/ARE in a particularworld. A really good example of this is the pantheon in Bastion (rpg by Supergiant Games). Each god seems to represent theextreme ends of a particular spectrum (e.g. health and atrophy) and would grantfollowers one or the other with no rhyme or reason. In the game, this plays outin two ways. In the world, there are temples but you get the feeling thatthings aren’t quite stable (inreference to the deity impulses, not the actualworld that is literally fallingapart from under your feet). In gameplay, the main character can worshipone god at a time. If you choose to worship the god I was referencing above(health/atrophy), protag will get +5% on experience and currency earned in eachfight but all enemies become resistant to physical attacks. This is a unique mechanismby which deity creation drives the mechanisms by which religion is establishedand how culture conducts itself (if we are all subject to the god’s whims, nomatter how deep our belief and devotion, how would that come out in culture?).You might have entire towns where nowhere daresbe anything less than a devout follower of a particular god.

But I’ve done a bad thing and lumped these two ideastogether. In actuality, culture gets played out in a number of ways: food,medicine, geography, clothes, dialect, how to conduct oneself based on powerdynamics, etc. If you’ve decided to world-build on an island, I bet thatculture is going to differ a lot than if you’ve decided mountain valleys areyour thing. The difference will probablybe reflected in the geography by which characters are bound. Meals willlook different and because they look different, you might see a difference inwhat is considered polite ways to eat food or to conduct one’s self at a meal. If you’ve got specific questions about the myriad of ways culture is going tobe built into the world, hit me up. I haven’t even touched tool-use anddevelopment!Okay, I’ve written a lot so that’s it for now!

[lyrieux-blog]

Wednesday, October 25th

Time: 11:20

This is quite a serious blog entry and is something I feel the need to do as I go along. I am currently writing appendices for my mandatory reconsideration letter for PIP, and I know that as I read through the assessors report and things of the sort, my mind will alter and change. I think documenting that of which happens through such a thing would be a useful insight. I woke up this morning with a very level mind, able to concentrate clearly, able to understand and recognize things around me - I was able to process that of which I wished to do for the day and met those thoughts with excitement and ease. My thoughts turned to perhaps finishing costumes, doing housework, perhaps going for a walk with my mother to get shopping for the coming days. Once up, however, it was bought to my attention that a brown envelope had been posted, addressed to myself. Within an instant a fierce anxiety erupted from my gut and I could barely process what was going on around me - I could scarcely concentrate, I could scarcely string together a sentence. The overwhelming dread and lack of knowing what was inside was almost too much to bare. It took a full half an hour for me to open the envelope and see that it was the report from the face to face assessment, as requested for analysis. I was both relieved and apprehensive for I know that reading the document would bring a great emotional strain upon me and I would no doubt react in intense ways from either end of the emotional spectrum while going through it. Time: 11:26 I have opened a word document ready for my write up and I am reading the very beginning of the report of which talks about history of conditions. I feel pretty steady as of the moment, if not apprehensive; I know there is a lot of work ahead and I know that most only undertake the knowledge of physical disabilities - it can be very difficult to understand the workings of someone else’s head when they do not or have not experienced the condition themselves. Seeing someone with a physical disability is one thing - you can imagine, to an extend, what it would be like to be unable to walk - because physicality is something we all have in common. But mental health still has stigma, and not only that, it is seldom understood by any of whom have not experienced it. Another notable mention would be the fact that just because I am mentally ill and prone to reactions that can vary from explosive to severely emotional - does not mean I am not intelligent. The variation of my issues can transform my mind for minutes, to hours at a time; it is not something I am able to help or note most of the time, but that does not mean that when I am in a more rational state, that I cannot understand what had happened. I am able to look back when more rational and understand things, I am able to look for triggers, if any, to aid myself in stepping along the road toward recovery - they may not always stick with me and I may not always be able to access such memories, but that are still made.  I’m going to write the first part of my analysis now, after reading the history of conditions part. I know this is the easy bit at the beginning, it’s only going to get harder, and I’m trying to set myself up for that. Talking about my condition and how it affects me can make me very emotional and give me feelings of severe helplessness. Time: 11:49 I’m writing about disassociation. I swear, most people think it’s just zoning out or daydreaming fora little while. It’s so much more than that and it agitates me that most people don’t understand. But they wouldn’t - because they haven’t experienced it to the degree I have. Which is why I am going into a hell of a lot of detail- I think it’s really needed. But trying to explain what happens to someone who has never experienced it is always going to be a very difficult task. Time: 12:25 I’m having a very difficult time reading and acknowledging things. My head seems to have escaped me. My mind isn’t entirely responding - I’m reading things but they’re not going in, and i’m having to read it repeatedly before I can even fathom a comment. It’s making me marginally agitated. I’m getting detracted too easily by what is around; the TV is too loud even though the volume is barely up, there’s people talking and it sounds as if they are right in my ears; I’m going to have to take a break. I’m overwhelmed. Time: 13:04 I’m going to try and get back to writing. I’m not even through the first page and I’m very conscious of the deadline of which I have to adhere to, which is making me very anxious... and it’s hard to think about what to write when... nothing feels like its going in my head and it’s making me agitated. So I’m getting nowhere! Time: 14:16 I’m managing to do some more, finally moved on to the next page in the report. I feel a little more like I can concentrate again. I still feel very anxious and agitated about getting it done but for the time being I think I can do some more. There’s a lot of things going on around me, distracting me; my nan is here, my sister has a friend over and they’re all talking in the same room as me. The TV is on and is loud, and I’m getting overwhelmed by sounds. Time: 14:54 I’m taking a break - mom is forcing me to. I’m getting too hyper-focused and overwhelmed, too angry at things. She’s made me a sandwich because I haven’t eaten today, and a drink... because I’ve barely been keeping hydrated today, at all. I’m usually better at that. My head is just everywhere today though. I can barely concentrate, there’s too much going on in my head at once. Time: 15:14 I want to vomit, I have a headache, I am severely anxious; I can’t settle well. Reading about my problems is making me twice as aware of them, it’s making me hyper-focused, its making me agitated and I’ve been snapping and shouting at anyone who’s been trying to talk to me, or ask me if I need anything. I know I need to take a break away from it but I have this burning need to get it all done because I can’t cope when I have something I need to be completed hanging over me. The pressure kills me. Time: 15:28 You know what? I don’t even know why I bother taking medication because it never feels like it works and it just throws my body about. I’m just as mental as I always was. I don’t know why I go with it because it’s obviously not helping at all. It’s stupid; its just something to stone people out on so they don’t complain or anything. Just pacify them so they don’t complain and drain resources and things like that. Whats even the point. Don’t know why I bother. I hate talking about my medication. It’s a really damn sensitive topic for me. And I’m on that bit in the write up and honestly, it’s driving me crazy. I’m so agitated, and I’m angry. I’m going to have to take a break before I toss something or have an outburst. THURSDAY, OCTOBER 26TH Time: 10:24 I couldn’t face writing any more yesterday, I was so very worked up, overwhelmed, agitated and outwardly frustrated and angry that my mother came close to calling the crisis team. It was not a pretty sight and indeed, I found it very difficult to relax for the rest of the evening. I was constantly agitated, focused on the fact that I need to get the letter written and sent off so I can have some hope of getting somewhere in a timely manner without losing all the progress I have made already. I’ve sat down to do more, now; after contemplating it for most of the morning; already I am stressed, already I am sick of the process, already do I want to toss it to the side and not bother. I’m in tears... I don’t want to do it, I don’t want to have to read through things that upset me, that affect me day to day and just... solidify my issues. It hurts. My mom had to keep insisting I take my medication this morning, too. I took it over half an hour late. I didn’t remember, and I didn’t want to. What’s the point? The woman who was writing the assessment up obviously had no experience with mental health - it was all written toward physical disabilities and honestly, I find it very difficult to understand how getting a 40-minute snapshot of someone’s life is enough to judge them. For a physical disability, yes... but not for a mental health condition. Every day is a new day. Every day is different. Every day is a battle with yourself. And I don’t think they have a process for that. Mental Health is so complicated. Time: 10:51 I’m getting there. I’m starting to feel overwhelmed and uncomfortable, I feel sick and somewhat anxious... Reading over everything really is taking it’s toll. Especially after ending up feeling suicidal last night. So I am going to take a short break, maybe have a cup of tea to try and calm myself. I get comfort from warm things so- I think it would help.  Time: 11:22 So after a cup of tea and a piece of toast [forced by mom] I’m ready to carry on. The whole ordeal is a huge drain on me but... I just really want it done and sent off, now. Time: 11:47 Its so hard to read that, basically, people don’t believe you. I mean, I haven’t brushed my hair in almost two weeks. The letter thing... review... states that I can cook a simple meal on my own, unaided. I can’t. There are knives in the kitchen and I’m a self-harmer often pushed on by stress and things of the sort - my mind and emotional status is constantly changing to severe levels... I mean, for crying out loud, I’m not allowed in the kitchen on my own. I can’t do anything in there on my own. I have to be watched. It states that I have enough cognitive function to do so - well so does a person sat down in a kitchen, on a chair. Why is mental illness so... I don’t know - shoved aside? It’s not safe for me to be in a kitchen, cooking, because I might purposely burn myself, cut myself, stick my head in the gas oven... but because I can lift a knife, that makes it okay, does it? Its agitating. It’s annoying. It’s really beginning to irk me. Time: 11:57 I’m actually really damn angry right now. How can they sum up my life in 40 minutes? How can that even work? So I was cognitive and focused, somewhat, at the time of the interview? Well done, you caught me at a decent time - I was crippled by anxiety and pressure, my mind was running on auto pilot. So that makes me perfectly able to do everything, even though the moment you left I was overwhelmed and suicidal? That obviously doesn’t matter because they didn’t see it! It’s ridiculous! Time: 12:02 Mom is singing in the kitchen and it is really distracting and agitating me, and I can hear it through my headphones and it’s so agitating. I can feel the anger swelling inside of my chest and it’s really sending me insane. I just want to lash out and make everything be quiet so there is just me and no noise so I can actually get things done for a change and not get more crazy while doing so because honestly it is all just draining me to the point of wanting to toss myself off a damned bridge.  Time: 12:18 I really am getting really agitated, I can hear my heart beating in my ears, I can feel an anger bubbling in my chest. Everything is so focused toward physical issues - it isn’t fair! It isn’t accurate for people like me! So we get shunned because we can’t give more accurate evidence. What am I supposed to do? Record my whole life? Time: 12:21 There really needs to be a separate form for physical disabilities and mental disabilities where each one is analysed by a professional in that particular area. Whats the point if applying while under the essence of mental health if it is going to potentially be analysed by someone who only knows about bones and hip issues or something of that kin? I mean, its almost discriminating, really. Time: 12:44 I’ve got three pages left t go through. The end is in sight and I am eager to get there so I don’t have to worry about it any more! its taking its toll... I’m fighting back tears because it all hurts so much to remember... to have to write about. I just want to go back to sleep. I want it all to be over. I just... want things to work out. Life would be so much easier if I was normal. I’m pathetic. I have friends that are doctors and then there is me who can barely function as a damned human being.               Time: 12:53 Almost all of the answers in this document from the DWP are copy-pasted from previous ones. Most of the sentences are really generic and just... exactly the same in every single box. It’s annoying, given how much effort I have to put in to get anywhere. I’m almost finished but I am in tears... its just all way too much... I can barely concentrate... It hurts to recall it all, to read what I’m always like... its horrible... its draining.... its overwhelming.  Time: 13:03 I’ve finished the main analysis. I feel like a great, massive weight has been taken off my shoulders. I can try and get rid of the irritation, now. But I’m so anxious - I’m so very agitated and snappy at those around me. I’ve also decided to include some of my blog entries as support... they’re so personal... and I don’t really want to... but it would be best that I did. They’re a highly personal insight into my life and... I think that would help.