#if it bit someone else it would have a marginally stronger effect

[im-boned]

ok Heres some thoughts now that im not stupidly sleepy anymore. i like thinking about dreamys first encounter with miles after entering his universe, freshly mutated and not having any real idea of whats going on, confused as fuck. so they see spiderman on the news and go “shit, thats the guy i gotta talk to, how the FUCK do i get in contact with him” and then IM THINKING they do something very silly and dramatic which is to stage a crime like an armed robbery or something so hell show up, then as soon as hes there they drop the weapon or whatever and go “oh good it worked. sorry about scaring everyone i just needed to talk to spiderman for a second ill find some way to pay for therapy if anyone needs it after this” and then telling him about their own powers so he can help

[embyrinitalics]

Calamiversary: Link’s POV I

So keep in mind when I wrote these scenes that Calamitous was still written in third, so flipping to first felt super edgy. 😂 I did read recently that using first with very flawed/troubled characters is more interesting, and I think that’s evident in these. Like, it’s way more interesting than listening to Zelda in the main fic lol.

Also, I wrote these before all the big revisions, so the scenes probably won’t line up in the dialogue the way they used to. STILL, these exercises helped me get to know Link better as a character, and hopefully you��ll get a kick out of them too (in all their unedited glory 🤦🏻‍♀️)!

There’s a lot of these scenes so I’m breaking it up into two posts. Below the cut is about 1.9k words worth. OK BAI.

  Awakening

I breathe deep of familiar air as I reform from the smoke and light pouring out of the fissure. It’s cold and sweet, carried down into the valley from distant plateaus. My blood pounds hotter at the recognition of it, and I steel myself to ignore the allure it holds. I know death will be my only release now.

My heightened senses register four incoming attacks with a thrill, and I regain my focus, choking out the desire to crush them with my bare hands. I rebuff their assaults one at a time, reining my power with some effort. Part of me revels in how easily I cast them aside, how breakable they are—the part of me that I must never feed, but that’s too dangerous to ignore entirely.

Then I see her: power ebbing off her in waves, her body emitting pulses of brilliant light. I want to bask in the splendor of her, so different and yet so familiar. I crush that longing, letting the monster in me react in case I’m not strong enough to do it alone. In an instant I’m facing her, holding her at bay with a power she was never meant to overcome. I can taste her fear as she registers my resistance, heady and intoxicating.

I reach for the source of her light and smother it.

  Applean Woods

I take her to Applean, knowing the others won’t be able to follow for some time, and wait for her to regain her strength. She’s spattered in firelight, her expression placid, and she looks so much like the Zelda I knew—too much like her. I know she isn’t the same woman, but I feel the same draw, the same devotion to her. I know I have to protect her no matter the cost to myself. It almost makes the thought of what’s coming bearable.

I stroke her cheek without thinking, and she surges to life, sending power and light flailing in all directions. The monster in me roars in response, so powerfully I nearly falter. I force myself to tame it first, afraid of what I might do to her if I don’t. She’s strong, but she’s also scared and disoriented. Overpowering her isn’t difficult.

“Don’t do that again,” I growl after I have her pinned to my chest. I can feel her pulse, rapid and bright, rushing beneath her skin, appealing to my two halves for two different reasons. I deny us both, dropping her to her hands and knees and moving to reignite the fire she put out.

“What do you want with me?” she demands, and she reminds me again of a woman who’s been dead for 10,000 years. “I won’t cooperate.”

Definitely too much like her.

“I’ll accomplish what I set out to do alone, if I must,” I insist, but I know the odds of plunging the Sword into my own chest and managing to contain and outlive the Calamity on my own are marginal at best. “Though it would be easier with a second set of hands.”

She’s confused, of course. She obviously has no idea what I am. In a way, that makes it easier; in a way, that makes it harder.

“I don’t—”

“Is the Sword in the Great Hyrule Forest?” I interrupt, suddenly in a hurry to get this over with.

“What?”

“The Sword,” I repeat, trying not to think of everything finding it will mean for me. “The Blade of Evil’s Bane. Does it still rest in the Lost Woods?”

“You wish to destroy it,” she accuses me quietly. Silly girl.

“I don’t know that such a thing is even possible,” I wonder aloud, intrigued by the idea. But that’s beside the point. It has to be in the Woods, because the hero’s spirit could hardly be reborn if it’s still alive in me. “It has no wielder.”

“No. You didn’t leave us a choice.”

I smirk in spite of myself. She’s right about that, more than she knows. “I suppose not.”

“You still haven’t answered me. I demand to know why you’ve brought me here.”

So, so much like her.

“You’re hardly in a position to be making demands, Your Highness,” I point out, and her cheeks flush a bit, betraying that streak of temper I know too well. I leave my seat by the fire and crouch near her, appealing to her love of her kingdom. It’s stronger in her than her love for anything else, as I am painfully aware. “If you do as I say, you will destroy me. With any luck, the pall of the Calamity will never fall over Hyrule again. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

She considers my proposal fleetingly, and even though I know the reply is coming, that it’s deserved, that it’s better this way, it still hurts to hear it out loud. “I can’t trust you.”

“I’m not asking for your trust,” I scoff. How could I ever ask for her trust, when I don’t trust myself? When a single lapse on her part or mine could cost us everything, including her own life? No. Trust is out of the question. “Only your obedience.”

That accursed stubbornness of hers rears its pretty little head, her lip turning down just a bit. “If I don’t trust you—”

I can’t allow her to even suggest that I can earn it, for either of our sakes. I reach out, brushing her soft lips, the smooth line of her jaw, the swell of her cheekbone, knowing what my touch, harboring the evil of the Calamity, must be doing to her. I’ve felt it myself once, countless lifetimes ago, as the Calamity entered my body. I know I feel like that now, because she feels so unnaturally warm on my sensitive fingertips, so full of life and light it nearly burns.

“Does this feel like the touch of someone you can trust?” I ask rhetorically, and I feel her tremble under my hands. “That icy, numbing sensation of evil, trapped in this skin, grating on your nerves and pulling the warmth from your body and putting knots in your stomach, that urge to recoil that you can’t quite obey—that is the warning from the gods.” I can taste her fear growing, tantalizing and seductive, as I sweep the pad of my thumb along her full bottom lip, and I know I’m doing the right thing. She needs to fear me, as I fear myself. “You cannot trust me.”

  The Lost Woods

I could feel the mist, uninhibited, stroking the skin at the nape of my neck, and I bristled. The hallucinations would be quick on its heels. She had already been feeling the effects; a small gasp or a sudden change in her pace betrayed the way the woods were starting to torment her. But it was going to get much worse, and there was nothing I could do to protect either of us.

I’d already seen her—a ghost of who she once was, untouchable, ethereal, drifting through the trees like a specter. She’d been alight in moonglow, wraithlike, hauntingly graceful. But not now. Now she was fleshly, a healthy flush of color in her cheeks, looking so real. So vulnerable. Her eyes met mine, and I saw the recognition in them. Then they widened with fear, and she was pulled away into a distant darkness before she could make a sound.

I closed my eyes, trying to still my galloping heart. I turned slowly to check on Zelda—the real Zelda, the one who was alive right now—but the mist had separated us, and I cursed under my breath.

I heard a scream, and I closed my eyes again reflexively, fear coiling in my throat. I swallowed, trying to wet it. I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to look, to be plagued by whatever vision the woods had in store for me. I wanted to pray, I wanted to ask the Goddesses to spare me this. But they wouldn’t listen to a prayer from the Calamity.

I couldn’t just stand there with my eyes closed and hope that Zelda would stumble across me. She would lose herself here without me to guide her. So I opened my eyes.

Another scream tore out of her, and I recoiled from the grisly scene, blood and adrenaline pounding through me. The worst part was the way the monster in me reacted—that submerged, suppressed part of me that was enticed by it, that wanted to look closer. That smiled.

It was me. I was crouched over her, animalistic, tearing at the gaping wound I’d opened across her torso with my teeth, too numerous and sharpened to a hundred razor-sharp points.

I was eating her alive.

She screamed again as I ripped into her, her body lurching as I wrenched at the cavity. And she just wouldn’t die. Her clothes were drenched in so much crimson and torn to shreds, and her face was contorted in anguish and terror. I tore into her again and again, her broken figure jerking and lifting as I pulled at her.

My conflicted nature came to the fore. Part of me was in agony. Part of me was laughing. Like a dam, distressed and buckling under the weight of rising floodwaters, something in me broke open.

With a snarl, I let my power pour out of me, giving it free rein in a way that I was too fearful to before. In that moment I didn’t care if the woods burst into flames, or if I drowned Hyrule with my hate. I just reacted.

I was just lost.

The mist barreled away from me in a great dome, letting the sunlight in. The vision was gone. I could breathe. In the clarity that followed I felt for Zelda’s presence and sent my power cascading towards her, opening a canyon through the fog. She spotted me as the sunlight washed over her, and she ran towards me, her expression full of relief. She’s so stupid. So am I.

She fisted her hands in my tunic, catching her breath as the mist encircled us again. I wanted to pull her into my arms. I wanted to hold her close and protect her from this place. I wanted to tell her everything I’ve seen and everything I am and beg her to take pity on me and put an end to this because I just couldn’t go on anymore—Goddesses, I couldn’t do this anymore.

But I was barely in control. My power was still flying through my veins, threatening to burst out of me at any moment and do incomprehensible damage. My heart was still pounding. I cautiously put my hands on her shoulders, hoping the contact would calm me a little. It did; her warmth under my hands grounded me, helping me shunt reality into the forefront of my mind and block the visions out.

“I don’t have as much courage as I thought,” she whispered.

She had no idea what she was saying. She was so, so brave, so young but so capable, standing on the brink of her power with all the potential in the world. She was beautiful and wonderful, and she was going to be an amazing queen someday. She embodied everything I loved about my Zelda.

I almost told her. I was almost that weak. But then I swallowed it and told her the truth instead.

“Neither do I.”

[revlyncox]

Stone Soup 2020

This reflection was written for the Washington Ethical Society by Lyn Cox, November 22, 2020.

In the story of Stone Soup, we learn we are more powerful and resilient together than we are alone, and that however small we think our gifts are, they are a beautiful and necessary ingredient in the larger whole. Liz James makes a good point that we often miss opportunities because we haven’t noticed the beauty of our own gifts. It is also true that sometimes we hold back out of a feeling of scarcity, or because we’re not sure what else will be asked of us once we open up. We can tell by how many different versions of this folk tale are in existence that the legend of Stone Soup is rich with meaning. Just like a soup with many ingredients, a tale with many tellers has subtle notes and surprising flavors that we can keep discovering year after year. Today, I’d like to talk about appreciation and abundance.

Felix Adler knew that recognizing human worth is part of the project of moral uplift. He said, "May the humanity that is within every human being be held precious. The vice that underlies all vices is that we are held cheap by others, and far worse, that in our innermost soul we think cheaply of ourselves."

Adler exhorts us to appreciate each other and ourselves.

The Washington Ethical Society Community Relations Pact includes a commitment to “express gratitude readily and accept appreciation graciously.” You already know that appreciating one another and the staff is an act that lifts everyone up, and helps us to bring out the best in each other by reinforcing what is joyful, beautiful, and supportive of our shared mission. In a community as large as WES, especially when we’re mainly a virtual community, it can be hard to figure out how to participate, how to be part of the interactions and responses that help shape this poetry in motion. Positive feedback is an extremely effective way to do that. Appreciation increases energy and resilience. You know that. You voted on it.

What might be less obvious is the part about accepting appreciation graciously. When someone offers positive feedback, or even a simple greeting, take a moment and allow yourself to be known. We can’t always see each other face to face, even when we’re on video it’s tricky to figure out eye contact. An email, a chat message, an emoji, these small acts of kindness are worth noticing and celebrating. And when messages go out to the whole community, it may not feel personal, but the appreciation expressed for your dedication, your care, your simply being -- those sentiments are sincere. Thank you for being part of WES. Yes, I mean you.

Even less obvious is appreciating yourself. Please know that you are a precious creature of worth. Even before we get into what different people bring to this community or the world, you don’t have to earn your designation as a human being. I think it is easier to be part of something larger than ourselves when we start with the knowledge that we reach out from a place of inherent worth.

We’ve just been through Transgender Day of Remembrance, and I am reminded all over again that there are beloveds who don’t know that they are valued, who are shown by state-sanctioned violence and discrimination that they don’t matter, and the results are deadly. We have to do better at protecting our most marginalized beloveds, particularly Trans women of color, and we have to do better at building a world where every person knows that they are beautiful, valued, and loved. Here, we do our best to create a community where every person can be their whole selves, with all of who they are in terms of culture, race, gender, family shape, language, and ability.

People do not have to “contribute” to have inherent worth, and it’s still lovely to notice when people do offer gifts to the community. It is not mutually exclusive to appreciate people for simply being and to appreciate the time, talent, creativity, and resources that someone has intentionally made available to benefit others. In some retellings of Stone Soup, people bring things to the table that are unusual, things their neighbors would not have thought to add to soup. Maybe it’s some tart fruit that ends up adding tantalizing acidity to the soup, or something briny like capers that gives a surprise spark of salt, or some chickpeas to add body to the broth. Sometimes, but not often, Stone Soup retellings take place in a community where different families have different food traditions, and the resulting fusion creates a soup that is an entirely new culinary snapshot of that community in that place and time. Each person’s presence makes a difference.

Appreciation of others requires a certain amount of humility, recognizing that none of us can do and be all of the things that our communities need at the same time. We are each of us always learning, there are things we have not experienced and do not know. Humility does not necessarily mean self-deprecation. We can know that we are people of worth, and that the things we are in the process of learning are valuable talents to offer, while still admiring and appreciating others. You being your whole self, making mistakes so that you can keep learning to draw out your best talents, combines with your neighbor being their whole selves and being allowed to learn and grow in their talents, until we have a learning and growing community where works-in-progress are appreciated and encouraged.

Felix Adler spoke about how ethics is a cooperative endeavor, that we need each other in our uniqueness. He said, "People may be said to resemble not the bricks of which a house is built, but the pieces of a picture puzzle, each differing in shape, but matching the rest, and thus bringing out the picture."

Let’s go on appreciating the unique shapes of our neighbors, and the bit of the puzzle that we each bring, remembering that this puzzle is a living thing with constantly shifting pictures and shapes. Let’s find ways to affirm the shapes and pictures and flavors that are present in each fleeting moment.

Another value that Stone Soup reminds us of is abundance. In a scarcity mentality, we anticipate dividing up the resources that are apparently before us, with the expectation that it will not be enough. In an abundance mentality, we imagine what could be, and open our minds to the possibility that there may be resources we have not yet noticed. In an abundance framework, we use our time and our resources creatively, we find new applications for items and knowledge available among us, we remember what we are here to do.

Something I wonder about the village in the Stone Soup story is about their purpose for being a village. Why are their homes gathered together? Is it for convenience? Safety in numbers? Is it because political forces have pushed them together? Have they gathered to share a resource like fresh water or good soil? Are they in that area as stewards, caring for a sacred place? It is possible that part of the reason the villagers have stopped valuing their gifts and channeling them together is because they don’t know what their shared purpose might be.

The Stone Soup experience suggests that, whatever brought them together originally, the villagers might find new purpose as a result of this shift in perspective. Having a “why” can unleash energy, creativity, and unity. As the soup begins to cook, the villagers find a temporary purpose in curiosity. This is enough of a goal to help them to see their individual carrots and solitary noodles with new eyes. It is enough of a purpose to inspire action.

Abundance, coupled with purpose, helps us to overcome feelings of helplessness or despair. The people of the village didn’t seem happy at the beginning, or very active. Maybe hunger had made it more difficult to think, or maybe fear of scarcity was driving them apart. Coming together for a common goal reminds us that, even when we are individually limited, collectively we have power.

As we retell Stone Soup in these socially distant times, it is natural to long for the days when we can again safely gather in person. In a moment, we’ll see a video montage that includes photos of past celebrations. It’s OK to be happy about the memories and also sad that we can’t celebrate the same way today. But let’s also appreciate the gifts we have now, and those we have discovered as we have been forced to come up with new solutions. WES is more accessible than ever to those who live at a distance, or who have trouble with mobility. There are people who have never before been able to be part of a vibrant, humanistic congregation, and who now are just as much a part of the Platform experience as someone who lives in Shepherd Park. Let’s not lose our renewed purpose of inclusivity as we re-imagine a post-COVID future.

Given the challenges of planning a virtual Stone Soup, I wonder if one of the reasons the villagers fell into scarcity is because the world changed around them, and they weren’t sure how to adapt. They would have needed a new source of motivation when they couldn’t keep doing things the way they had always been done. They would have needed a new way to apply the talents they had developed under an old paradigm. They would have needed a way to encourage each other to try new things for this new world, to learn and grow imperfectly, with appreciation and acceptance.

Our experience of the last eight months tells us that none of that is easy. I know many of us are tired. Some of us have had economic and health challenges that need not have affected us as deeply in a society with a stronger safety net. Learning how to navigate a new world, even a temporary world when we don’t know how long it will last, is exhausting.

Yet here you are, seeking ways to practice abundance. You sent pictures of food and stones. You sent recipes, over 30 last I heard, which will be emailed to members in a PDF recipe book later today. Some of our Middle School families offered their talent for the story. Maybe there are days when you can’t focus on creating something, but you can begin with appreciating someone; that makes room for abundance, too. This community, collectively, has resources and skills and curiosity and creativity that can carry you into the future. There is abundance here, ready to be coupled with purpose.

The Washington Ethical Society is a precious and valuable community, comprised of beloved people. You are worthy just as you are. If you have gifts you want to share, skills you want to develop, a heart for caring, WES and the world will be made better by your generosity of spirit. We make room by appreciating each other as well as honoring our own gifts. We make way for the future with abundance and purpose. May it be so.

[arcticdementor]

Civilization is collapsing, the revolutionary political crisis is approaching, but, worse than that Heartiste has stopped posting on game, and Roosh has turned tradcuck. So even though I have sworn this is not going to be a game blog, and my life has demonstrated times without number that no end of men are better qualified to post on game than I am, I guess I will have to step into the gap, at least a little bit.

The three magic words are not “I love you”

The three magic words are “You are mine”.

…

I have followed the Sixteen Commandments of Poon both instinctively, and through long and painful experience, long before Heartiste started blogging, and they are the greatest short summary of that small part of game that can be put into readily intelligible words.

Game, however is more readily intelligible if we understand it through the lens of Evolutionary Game Theory, which should be understood as a materialistic account of the spiritual truths of the first part of the Book of Genesis, Evolutionary Game theory being, for higher animals, primarily evolutionary psychology, evolutionary psychology being in large part the application of game theory in the context of natural selection, the moral consequences of material and effective causation, the Logos.

Evolutionary Game theory is an account in terms of material and effective causation, in terms of chance and necessity, the Book of Genesis tells us something about how the consequences of Evolutionary Game Theory are the Will of Gnon.

…

For about the cost of two dates, you can have a hooker, and it is not an adequate substitute. Hookers are only a marginal improvement over masturbation. What progressives offer men, a rotating series of hookups, is just not what most men want, as revealed by men’s actions.

…

Look at the typical male polyamorist. He is psychologically scarred and mentally crippled for life. Having a bunch of whores rather than owning a woman, or better, owning two women, just really sucks brutally. Those guys are traumatized for life.

It unmans men, as if every day a bully beat them up, and they could do nothing about the daily humiliation but suck it up. Just look at what it does to men. It would be kinder to cut their balls off, which is pretty much what progressives are planning to do to us.

The typical male polyamorist looks as if a fat blue haired feminist has been beating him up every day – indeed, he would probably love it if a fat blue haired feminist beat him up every day.

Whores are a marginal improvement on beating off to anime, and hookups a marginal improvement on whores. When men are reduced to such desperate straights, it totally crashes their testosterone and they buy an anime cuddle pillow and weep bitter tears upon it.

We are maladapted to watching the decline from the pool.

Roosh took the wrong redpill from realizing that banging sloots becomes unfufilling after a while. He wants a 50s family life as men generally do, but needs to realize its impossible without a restoration of some degree of de jure patriarchal authority.

A convincing claim to be backed by the supreme alpha, and a plausible willingness to carry out his will on adultery, adultery as defined in the Old Testament, serves as a substitute for de jure backing of patriarchal authority.

The Old Testament prescribes the death penalty for a man who sleeps with someone else’s wife or betrothed, and the death penalty for the woman if she consented. And who gets to carry out that penalty?

Well, that is not defined. In the time of judges, Israel was somewhat anarchic, so presumably the husband and his family and friends. In the book of Proverbs, King Solomon assumes that system, though he implies some regulatory restraints, so that continued to be the system under King Solomon.

That is the best system, because the state or the official priesthood monopolizing the killing of adulterers emasculates the husband, and thus makes adultery more likely.

…

Listen to Heartiste, but, as Roosh discovered, there are better lives than watching the decline. Heartiste speaks the truth, and an important truth, and everything he says is true and important, and unlike most of Satan’s servants should be listened to with attention, but when he truthfully tells you that that watching the decline from poolside is the easiest way, and the better way is hard and dangerous, and likely to end in terrible failure, he is telling a truth that serves his master.

…

You cannot make a housewife out of a ho in our current environment, because she will see you as weak compared to numerous pimps she has been with. However late eighteenth, early nineteenth century Australia had swift and total success in making ho’s into wives. When the elite shotgun married them off, they reacted as if abducted from the weaker tribe into the stronger tribe, and completely internalized the values of the stronger tribe – which required and expected respectable female behavior. Female virtue is more easily obtained if you are more manly than anyone she has been with previously and a bit scary than by searching for it. Of course, in today’s environment, you don’t have backing from your tribe, you have hostility from your tribe. This makes things far more difficult than in late eighteenth century Australia, but not impossibly so. You have backing from God.

…

The mating dance has not been accurately depicted in media since the sixties. (Though it is still accurately depicted in Communist Chinese media, but the Chinese are too alien, too different.)

If you don’t perform the mating dance correctly, will get nowhere fast. The dance is complimentary but asymmetric.

…

This is why, when you are trying to get a chicks attention, it never helps to something nice for her, even to rescue her from danger. Rescuing the damsel in distress is a trope for male viewers. In books and movies targeted at women, the male love interest never rescues the damsel, he endangers her. Negs work, asking her to do something for you works, commanding her works. Stuff that a man would find ridiculous or insulting, and would either make him angry or make him laugh at your pretensions, works.

Negs work astonishingly well, even if so lacking in wit that they are actually insults and would make a man bristle up.

I have actually rescued a chick from danger in real life, with entirely predictable results. Protecting people registers with men as strength, but not with women as strength. Endangering people, innocent people, including the woman herself, registers as strength. I know this from my personal life experience. If you doubt me, check out the love interests in books written by women for women. All women are like that.

…

You don’t plant trees on land you don’t own, and if you don’t have some land and plant some trees for your grandkids, it hurts.

Roissy truthfully tells us how to operate in defect/defect equilibrium with women. But the point is to achieve cooperate/cooperate equilibrium.

…

Female behavior that appears wicked, foolish, and self destructive to a man is entirely intelligible when we realize that the proud independent rapidly aging overweight barista with one hundred thousand dollars in college and credit card debt is unlikely to have children, and is likely to die alone and be eaten by her numerous cats, but if abducted by Islamic State and sold on the auction block naked and in chains would probably have seven children and twenty five grandchildren, and would die surrounded by loving family.

If a man is defeated, conquered and subdued, perhaps because his tribe and country is conquered and subdued, he is unlikely to reproduce. If a woman is defeated, conquered and subdued, she has escaped from defect/defect equilibrium, escaped from prisoner’s dilemma, and also been transferred from weak men and a weak tribe to strong men and a strong tribe, and is therefore likely to be highly successful in reproducing. As a result, women have no country, no tribe, and no ingroup. When they are daughters, they have their father’s tribe, when wives, their husband’s tribe. A woman without a father or a husband is a stateless person, and if a state piously declares her to be a citizen, the state is deluding itself, or deluding its actual citizens in order to commit treason against them.

Thus female behavior that is seemingly wicked, self destructive, and crazy, makes sense when looked at through the lens of Evolutionary Game Theory.

…

But there is no escape from shit tests. Mohammed had a large harem, absolute power, and it clear he had a hard time. This is a chronic problem with large harems, and empires frequently die of it, as is the Turkish empire did and the Chinese empires often did. Genghis Khan had no women problems, and neither did his sons, but his grandsons were lesser men than he. Women will find a way to shit test you.

[exaltatuss]

“The thing about fire is that it can be so beautiful, they forget to run.”

Name: Maou Ryuga Nickname/s: Ryuga Title/s: Primordial Dragon, Primordial Flame, God of Fire Age:  ███,███,███,███ | Appearance-wise, appears to be a woman in her early 20′s Race: Primordial God Gender: Female Sexuality: Homosexual Morality: Chaotic Neutral

Physical Traits

Eye Color: Red Hair Color: Red Height: 215 cm Weight: 100 kg Complexion: Pale Cup Size: E

Mental Status

Fears: N/A Disorders: N/A

Interests

Likes: Food, Fire, Sparring, Eating Dislikes: Being overly serious Hobbies: Traveling, Cooking, Training, Setting things on fire

Personality

Like her fellow Primordial God and older sister, Ryuki, Ryuga’s defining trait is her booming self-confidence. Not only is she able to back it up due to her being a Primordial God, as well, but her feats actually rival that, or surpass even Ryuki’s by a good notch. That. and said self-confidence can bear fruit to cockiness, as well, up to the point that her core is pretty much exposed outside of her body, which many would mistake as a gem that she seemingly wears around her neck.

Also like her sister, she’d taken quite a liking in terms of traveling, catching up to things that have changed during her slumber, learning as much as she could, before moving on to somewhere else. She do sometimes just set things on fire for the fun of it, but she bears no ill intent when she does so.

Unlike Ryuki, however, Ryuga is more forgiving towards those who claim themselves to be a God of Fire or anything similar to such. Her reasoning is that one would be able to discern the genuine article from a fake, anyway, so no need to make too much of a fuss about it.

With that being put in mind, contrary to how explosive and hot her element is, she’s actually someone who likes taking things in a chill manner, and mostly having fun for fun’s sake, and while she doesn’t really like being overly serious, she can, however, be serious, depending on the situation, if needed be.

She’s still hotheaded, though, especially during fights and spars. That, and one should not mistake her outgoing personality for harmlessness. She can, and will, resort to explosive violence if one were to rub her scales the wrong way and push her past her patience’s threshold.

Background

A being born from the Primordial Nothingness, Ryuga was one of its firstborn, along with several other Primordial Gods, being a close second just right after Ryuki’s birth. Granted with the power of Primordial Fire, she gave such a powerful element to everything else to utilize for many things. A custom to every Primordial God, assigned with a specific element and all that. Her giving the element of fire to the universe has brought forth an age of life, and age of discovery of the many uses of fire, and both the marvel and respect of one of the more powerful elements there were.

Unlike other Primordial Gods who already sit back and just watch things flow the natural way, Ryuga, like her sister, Ryuki, isn’t content to just sit by and such, thus, she would humor herself by involving herself in several places teeming and booming with sentient life, her presence and her masterful display over fire, itself bringing forth praise, worship, and belief, that most of the mythological figures in relation to the sun, fire, or heat, all stem or reference her, in one way or another, something Ryuga enjoys very much so. She also became the progenitor of dragonkin, as a whole.

All things must come to an end, however, as a massive dispute broke out between each and every single Primordial God. Their family being split, Ryuga, siding with Ryuki, were pulled in on the cataclysmic battle that would result to the self-destruction of their kind, with only but little of them remaining. The rest of the ones who remained alive, entered into a state of deep slumber, to recuperate from both their injuries, and the massive amount of energy they had spent, with Ryuga’s core taking severe punishment, with it experiencing destruction and rejuvenation many times, that she had lost count., and thus, she would be one of the Primordial Gods that took a bit longer to recover.

By the time she did recover, however, she already discovered that Ryuki’s ‘sarcophagus’ is empty, having realized that she was the one to first awaken over them, and she’s the second. Thus, she did what she believed the Primordial God of Lightning did, and that is to see for herself, what had changed all throughout the eons of her slumber, what new things would unfold to her.

Powers, Equipment, & Abilities

Being the Primordial God of Fire, as well as being the Primordial Dragon, Ryuga has complete mastery over Primordial Flame, being the source of any and all forms of fire or heat based abilities, as well as draconic abilities. Thus, it is a no brainer that Ryuga can, and will be able to wield Primordial Flame, itself, a form of flame so powerful, it both surpasses Divine Flame by a magnanimous margin, as well as rival even that of Ryuki’s own Primordial Lightning. 

In fact, her flames can be so hot, that they can generate Primordial Lightning, itself, too, but unlike Ryuki’s Primordial Lightning control, Ryuga has no control over when would said lightning appear from her flames, and thus, would happen very randomly.

A consequential effect, so to speak.

Another thing to note is that Ryuga is also able to craft weapons made out entirely of Primordial Flame, itself, which would mean that while she doesn’t have any personal weapon, like Ryuki and her Raijin, she can produce various forms of weapons she can use whenever she’d want to, that can also share the same destructive capabilities to permanently harm and/or kill a Primordial God.

Below are a few examples of weapons she can craft made out entirely of Primordial Flame(Not the complete list):

Judgment of Shamash: Created by using Primordial Flame to craft into the shape of a greatsword. Ryuga favors using this, most of the time.

Prometheus’ Flame: Created by using Primordial Flame to craft into the shape of a spear.

Surtr’s Verdict: Created by using Primordial Flame to craft into the shape of a Zweihander.

Ryuga also has an ability similar to Ryuki’s Dissonance, named Might of An-Utu, or simply called Draconic Might, in which, while Ryuki’s Dissonance makes her faster, stronger, and more durable, Ryuga’s Draconic Might further increases her strength, durability, and regenerative capabilities during fights, with strength and regenerative capabilities receiving more focus on such. 

Even outside of fights, it is very much always active, with regenerative capability receiving the full force of the benefit. And since, among Primordial Gods, Ryuga’s core has the unique trait of regenerating again and again, even as it gets destroyed, Draconic Might actually compliments the recovery speed of it, too.

Another thing is that among Primordial Gods, only Ryuga was able to tap into Ultra Instinct -Sign-. Indeed, she was the one Ryuki had mentioned to be the Primordial God that managed to pull such feat off.

One other thing to note is that Ryuga’s blood, when extracted from her, is called Vritra’s Essence. Application of it towards another individual would increase their recovery rate, strength, and durability by a tenfold. In other words, a miniature version of Draconic Might. However, the risk of addiction to Vritra’s Essence is very much high, as to how this was found out? Well, consider it a noodle incident involving Ryuga, herself.

All in all, she’s pretty much on par, if not, even stronger, than Ryuki, herself, by a wide margin if she decides to fight seriously.

Her name doesn’t mean “Imperial Demonic Dragon King” without reason, after all.

[musicprincess655]

Atsushi blinks his eyes open, wincing at the crick in his neck. He uncurls from the ball he had to sleep in to fit on the chair. It’s better than the floor, but only marginally.

They all agreed yesterday that he would stay with the Akutagawa siblings. Even with the murderous intent growing in Akutagawa’s eyes, it was still preferable to going with Dazai and Chuuya. For one, they didn’t have the space, and for another, they fought like cats and dogs.

“Why do they live together if they hate each other so much?” Atsushi had asked Akutagawa. Akutagawa had just rolled his eyes at Atsushi.

“They’re married,” he snapped. Atsushi had decided he didn’t really want to know. 

It isn’t like the Akutagawa siblings have all that much more room, though. They’d taken a larger room in the underground bunker – Atsushi thinks it might have been a bank vault, once – but at the cost of taking most of the storage. The room is covered in shelves holding all manner of strange items, everything from books to spare machinery bits to gear to things Atsushi can’t even identify.

Because the siblings, Dazai, and Chuuya are all part of a smuggling ring. Atsushi hasn’t quite gotten all the details, but the four of them steal just about anything they can get their hands on from No. 6, and that’s how they make their living.

It’s a life, or so Atsushi supposes.

The cluttered room means there’s not much room for furniture, though. There’s the skinny twin bed Gin uses, the couch that’s nearly as wide that Akutagawa sleeps on, and a pair of chairs that have seen better days. Between one of them and the floor, Atsushi took a chair.

He’s starting to think he might have been better off on the floor.

Both siblings are already up, already sipping at mugs of what Atsushi thinks might be coffee, based on the smell.

“Do I get a cup?” Atsushi asks, voice cracking with the sleep that hasn’t quite left his system yet.

“If you make it yourself,” Akutagawa says. “The kettle’s behind the last bookshelf. Don’t touch anything else.”

Atsushi glares at him, but doesn’t say anything. Despite Akutagawa’s desperate need for an attitude adjustment, he did save Atsushi’s life. And then gave him a place to stay. Even if it was only because Dazai told him he had to.

Dazai and Akutagawa’s relationship is something of a mystery. There’s strain, that’s for certain. Akutagawa doesn’t hate Dazai, though. If anything, Atsushi thinks Akutagawa is trying to win Dazai’s approval, and Dazai doesn’t seem to want much to do with that.

It doesn’t quite make sense to Atsushi. Akutagawa is so quick to hate Atsushi, for reasons Atsushi can’t fathom. He hasn’t done anything, after all, and when they were kids, Akutagawa seemed to tolerate him just fine.

There’s history between Dazai and Akutagawa, and Atsushi can’t help his curiosity.

There’s a lot Atsushi doesn’t know about Akutagawa, actually. He only just learned that Akutagawa has a sister. Why he was arrested, why he’s keeping an eye on No. 6, why he stays so close when the safest place for him would be far away from here…Atsushi doesn’t know the answers. And not knowing is not something that’s ever sat well with him.

“So how does all this work?” Atsushi asks. He mixes hot water with instant coffee and hopes it’ll taste okay. He sips it as he walks back up to join the siblings. It’s not the best, but it seems effective. “The smuggling business, I mean?”

“That’s not your concern.”

Akutagawa isn’t even paying Atsushi any attention. He’s flipping through a book. Gin almost looks like she’s meditating, staring blankly at the wall while she sips at her coffee. She’s pretty without her mask on, which is a comment that would probably get Atsushi murdered twice.

“I still want to know,” Atsushi insists.

“Just because Dazai let you stay here doesn’t mean we have to work together,” Akutagawa snaps. “And I’d really prefer not to.”

“So, what, you just want me to sit around here?” It comes out hotter than Atsushi intends. Akutagawa raises a single nonexistent eyebrow – had he shaved them off? Atsushi remembers him having eyebrows at fourteen.

“Quietly, if that’s possible,” Akutagawa says, returning to his book. Atsushi wants to throw it away from him. He squashes that urge down.

The door swings open. Atsushi tenses, but neither Akutagawa nor Gin reacts much.

“Hope everyone’s decent and caffeinated,” Dazai says, strolling in. “Atsushi-kun! How are you settling in?”

Atsushi throws Akutagawa one more baleful glare that doesn’t even make it past the book in front of his face.

“Fine, I guess,” Atsushi says.

“Good! I’m here to offer you a job.”

Dazai looks entirely too pleased with himself. Atsushi isn’t sure whether he’s trustworthy, but he is the one that insisted Atsushi stay with them, and it’s a damn sight better than chancing his luck with the West Block. He might just have the kind of face that’s hard to trust because he’s so good at controlling it.

Atsushi has no real reason to believe Dazai isn’t genuine.

“A job?” Atsushi asks. He was just asking for something to do. And he’s never been the kind of person that takes to sitting still all that well. Maybe a job is just the thing he needs. “With the smuggling business?”

“In a way,” Dazai says. “It takes all kinds to make this work.”

“You’re introducing him to her?” Akutagawa asks. Atsushi blinks at Akutagawa. Her? Who is she?

“I think they’ll get along marvelously,” Dazai says.

“She���ll eat him alive,” Akutagawa says, and he looks inordinately pleased. Atsushi’s just getting annoyed by the extensive round of the pronoun game.

“Come on, then, Atsushi-kun,” Dazai says. “I’ll introduce you to our spymaster.”

That’s more than enough to get Atsushi moving. If there’s anyone who can answer his questions, it’s a spymaster.

“What kind of person is she?” Atsushi asks as he and Dazai walk. He’s picturing an older woman, greying hair tied tightly in a bun away from her face, kimono perfect and spotless, a katana on her back.

“She’s fairly unique,” Dazai says. “Most people have a hard time getting to know her, but she can be perfectly sweet if she thinks you’re worth her time.”

Atsushi updates his mental picture to include more lines around a tight mouth, an expression beaten into a face that’s seen too much shit. She must be a woman to be feared if even Dazai speaks of her this way.

“And she’s your spymaster?”

“She’s good at collecting rumors, anyway,” Dazai says. “There’s not a word of gossip in all the West Block that doesn’t pass through her doors.”

They’re approaching what looks like a ruined hotel building. Atsushi winces. It looks haunted, or at least, it looks like it’s in danger of crashing down.

“She lives here?” Atsushi asks.

“She sure does,” Dazai agrees. “Welcome to the hotel.”

There are dogs everywhere. It’s the first thing Atsushi notices. Dogs of every shape, size, and color lay in the yard, or play with each other, barking in a way that is happy. Probably.

The second thing Atsushi notices is a young girl standing in the doorway, watching them with dead blue eyes.

“Kyouka-chan, meet Nakajima Atsushi-kun,” Dazai says to her. “Atsushi-kun, this is Izumi Kyouka, resident master of whispers.”

Well. At least Atsushi got the kimono right.

“Who is he?” Kyouka asks, no inflection in her voice. Despite the bright color of her eyes, they seem to suck in light. It’s almost like Kyouka doesn’t feel human emotion, more robot than person. And in a world like this, that’s entirely possible.

“I figured he could help you out,” Dazai says. He either doesn’t notice Kyouka’s coldness, or he doesn’t care.

“I don’t babysit,” Kyouka says.

“It’s not babysitting,” Dazai says at the same time Atsushi bursts out “I don’t need a babysitter!” Dazai pats Atsushi on the shoulder. “He and Akutagawa don’t get along. But he’d still like to make himself useful.”

Atsushi doesn’t point out that he could get along with Akutagawa just fine if Akutagawa would stop threatening to kill him. It’s been four times already, and they’ve been reunited for just a day.

“He can wash the dogs,” Kyouka says. “If he’s bad, he’s not welcome here.”

“Perfect,” Dazai says. “Atsushi-kun, do your best.”

With one more clap to Atsushi’s shoulder, Dazai turns and leaves. And Atsushi has to somehow make peace with this new person.

“Uh…” he tries to start. Kyouka turns.

“You wash the dogs,” she says. “They’re filthy. I can’t rent them out like this.”

“You rent them out?” Atsushi asks.

He rolls up his sleeves, following Kyouka to a fountain in the middle of the courtyard. It doesn’t seem to have running water, but Kyouka uses a water hose to fill it up. Atsushi doesn’t know how people out here can have that so far from the city, but there’s also a shower in the bunker where the Akutagawa siblings, Dazai and Chuuya live, so maybe human ingenuity is just something to be respected and feared in equal measures.

“For anything people need,” Kyouka confirms, voice still a flat monotone. “Some people want the protection. Some people just want the warmth. I don’t usually ask. They tell me anyway.”

Kyouka’s quiet, that Atsushi knows already. He can easily see her listening in, unnoticed by those around her. If there’s a perfect person to play spymaster, it’s someone as easy to overlook as Kyouka.

Atsushi gets to work scrubbing at the dog. He may have been a detective in No. 6, but that came with a fair degree of physical labor, and Atsushi is stronger than he looks. The dog tries to pull away, but Atsushi grabs it by the scruff of its neck, holding it still while he soaps it up.

“Do you really not get along with Akutagawa?” she asks. There’s a small amount of emotion in her voice this time.

“That’s not my fault,” Atsushi says. “He doesn’t want to get along with me.”

Atsushi doesn’t say it, but he also can’t help remembering how easily Akutagawa slit that police officer’s throat back in No. 6, and how he’d berated Gin for leaving the other alive. What kind of person felt such little remorse for taking a life?

“He doesn’t care about anyone who can’t benefit him,” Kyouka says. “They can die, for all he cares.”

That’s certainly true. Atsushi remembers when there were other emotions in his eyes, though, when he teased Atsushi for roaring like a tiger in a typhoon and let Atsushi bandage his wounds and hold his hand, let Atsushi watch over him and protect him.

What happened to the child Akutagawa used to be?

“I guess it’s a kill or be killed world out here,” Atsushi says. Kyouka nods.

“Only the strong survive,” she says. “That’s the way the world works.”

“Or the people who work together,” Atsushi counters. “I can’t believe that people have to kill to stay alive. If that was true, nobody would care about each other, nobody would love. We’d just all kill to be the strongest.”

He doesn’t mean to go on a rant at Kyouka, but instead of telling him to shut up, she considers him carefully.

“Do you know why I deal with dogs?” she asks. “Why I only barely work with people?”

“You like dogs?”

“Dogs don’t betray you,” Kyouka says. “They’ll protect you, and they never leave you behind. They’re better than people.”

“You might be right,” Atsushi agrees, using the hose to spray the dog down. “But I think everyone still has value. I think that’s something you get just by being a person. Maybe if we all knew that, the world would be a better place.”

“You’re a strange one, Nakajima Atsushi.” It’s strange, but she’s the first one to call him by his real name other than Dazai. When Atsushi meets her eye, there’s emotion there. She looks like a regular teenager that way, kimono and all. “I’ve killed thirty-five people. Does that make you hate me?”

“Did they deserve it?” Atsushi asks. He can’t condone murder, but at the same time, a girl as young as Kyouka has to have a reason. Right?

“I didn’t ask,” Kyouka says. “I was just doing as I was told.”

“Told? By who?”

“Someone who’s not welcome in my life anymore,” Kyouka says. Atsushi knows better than to ask. “Does that make you hate me?”

“Do you want to kill anyone?” Atsushi asks. Kyouka’s eyes blink open wider, as if she’s never been asked such a fundamental question. How is that possible? What kind of life has she led?

“No,” Kyouka says softly. “I don’t want to kill anyone again.”

“Then that’s what matters.”

“But I’m good at killing,” Kyouka protests. “It might be the only thing I’m good at.”

“You seem to be running a successful business here,” Atsushi says. “So that’s at least two things. And I’ve never seen someone tie a kimono as perfectly as you. So that’s at least three. Sounds like you might be good at plenty of things.”

Kyouka’s eyes are blown wide now. Atsushi lets her sit with that, washes three more dogs before she finally speaks again.

“You’re not bad at that,” she says. “You can come by a few times a week. It’s better to rotate when they get washed.”

“I’ll do that,” Atsushi says. “Kyouka-chan, what do you like to eat?”

“To eat…?” She sounds faintly surprised at having been asked. Atsushi smiles. If Kyouka is this easy to get along with, it shouldn’t be all that hard to get used to working with her. “Boiled tofu. And sweets.”

“I’ll bring you some,” Atsushi promises.

“How will you manage that in the West Block?” Again, that surprise. Has no one really treated Kyouka like a person? Like a girl with wants and needs and emotions?

“I’ll figure something out,” Atsushi says. After all, he does know a smuggling ring.

“You have to keep promises,” Kyouka says, but something else breaks in her blue eyes, an emotion that Atsushi hasn’t seen since he left No. 6.

Kyouka believes in him.

[siphen0]

Right now Swamp Thing is that comic book tv show to get excited for each week. A lot of the others ongoing right now are great, but Swamp Thing challenges what you can really do with a character who is far from what you would call a hero. Not just another broken toy, or misfit either. And that creates so much more room to think outside of the box like they have with every new episode so far. Especially when they have been bold enough to use The Rot as the big villain for this season. If you know The Rot, then you know that you haven’t seen anything yet. Which says a lot when the taste we have already gotten of this enemy is terrifying.

Things took an interesting turn with The Rot this time around. Before, The Rot was simply reanimating bodies and what not. This time around there was live bodies involved. There was no better way to shake things up because there is a big difference between messing with something already dead, and messing with someone alive. What followed that initial contact with The Rot was pretty much the stuff of nightmares. It made the attacks from The Green seem almost like child’s play if you ask me. This was the first episode where I genuinely felt that fear you should experience when you know that something bad is coming. The form that trouble took was creative. It was different from being torn apart of having plants growing out of you. This was a spread that actually acted like a disease. Normally you expect something a bit more aggressive from The Rot and here they gave you something else to fear for. Now I should also say that what is encountered here may also be something new. They say darkness, but nothing else too specific. That makes it only naturally to think that all these things are connected to The Rot.

With Abby a bit more in the know, it was nice having a stronger sense of direction from her. She may not know that this is The Rot that she is fighting against, but she at least knows that there is a source for much of the madness being experienced in Marais. They may have said that this episode is where she begins to accept that supernatural forces are at play, but the bigger question is how she comes to accept this. It’s nothing new when you have a scientist fighting with the reality that what they are dealing with can’t simply be explained. So it mattered that she could find a way to take this in without losing the potency of that scene. It helps that she is interacting with someone like Swamp Thing/Alec. The things he is able to do, the way he is able to explain things to her, there’s an ease of access to all the information she could ever need to assess what’s going on around her.

This week’s episode also gave us the most that we have seen of Swamp Thing so far. I was impressed with all that they were able to do with him that made the make-up and effects for this character remarkable. If I had any concern about the costume, it was how well it could move. Swamp Thing isn’t a stationary character. Not agile or anything, but certainly not one that you want just standing around. There was a lot of movement from him and actions performed which showed off what he can do with a better understanding of his capabilities. Overall, it helps that a lot of what we see of him is during the night. Everything blends together perfectly because of the lighting, or lack of.

The plot thickened for Avery this week. One really has to wonder what the end game is for someone who really has no idea what he is messing with. We’ve seen the lengths he is willing to go in order to keep his part in this madness a secret, but there is still a ways to go in order to show what he is willing to do to hold on to his seat of power in the town. So far everything he has done is quite brilliant from a businessman’s point of view. He could be doing a lot more, and he can even do a lot less, but he found a middleground right now where he could continue pulling just the right strings to get what he wants whether that is trust or influence.

Learning more about the mysterious Daniel Cassidy and the supernatural bargain that keeps him in Marais remains a slow crawl, though it goes without saying that they have your attention when what he inevitably becomes also challenges what can really be explained in this world. Until that moment of destiny comes for Daniel, it wouldn’t hurt to also be able to see what led to the supernatural bargain he made, and with whom he made it with.

Swamp Thing “Darkness on the Edge of Town” got creative with the kind of dangers that the town of Marais can experience from the growing darkness in the swamp. And did so in a clever way that finally started getting the important characters asking the right questions about what they are dealing with. Being the fourth episode, I am impressed with the plot progression we have been given. They have struck an excellent balance in giving us just enough information each week to keep us tuned in to this mystery, and not telling us too much so that we can have fun figuring things out for ourselves. That includes elements from the comics that you know will play a bigger role down the road.

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Swamp Thing “Darkness on the Edge of Town” Review Right now Swamp Thing is that comic book tv show to get excited for each week. A lot of the others ongoing right now are great, but Swamp Thing challenges what you can really do with a character who is far from what you would call a hero.

[burning-up-ao3]

20 Penguins Thoughts: Improvement involves more than a potential trade  January 29, 2019 8:00 AMBy Jason Mackey / Pittsburgh Post-Gazette

Look at what Jim Rutherford did on Monday, trading Jamie Oleksiak back to Dallas for a 2019 fourth-round draft pick, and it’s fairly easy to conclude that the Penguins general manager has his sights set on doing something.

Fine. Trade away, Jim. Shoot your shot.

But is a swap for a third-line center, or even an impact winger, going to fix this? Highly doubtful.

Not that the Penguins are a dysfunctional group, either. They aren’t. They’re still a very good team. But no matter what move Rutherford makes, if the Penguins play like they did Monday, they’re simply not a trade away from another Stanley Cup run.

“If we’re going to be successful,” Matt Cullen was saying after the Penguins’ 6-3 loss to the New Jersey Devils at PPG Paints Arena on Monday night, “we’re going to have to be a lot harder to play against.”

The 42-year-old has never been more right.

Kevin Hayes, Radek Faksa, Charlie Coyle, Micheal Ferland — all dream acquisitions by Penguins fans, for perfectly understandable reasons — aren’t going to solve the problem by themselves. Neither is shipping out Jack Johnson or calling up Teddy Blueger or whatever other Band-Aid has been applied.

Heck, the Penguins got creamed by the Devils, and Derick Brassard was actually half-decent. What the Penguins will need to fix this — and snap out of a stretch that has included five losses in eight games — is much larger than one or two players.

So, what realistically must happen?

2. Work ethic, urgency and competitive spirit were the terms being thrown around the Penguins dressing room late Monday, and it’s hard to argue with any of them.

The power play also has to be better; those five players need to be a factor, and they can’t keep allowing short-handed goals at this rate. They need to get Evgeni Malkin right, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Penguins coach Mike Sullivan’s move is to pull him off the top unit, as crazy as that might sound. No more bad turnovers. Let him focus on other areas.

The Penguins also must defend better than they did against New Jersey, and there’s simply a lack of urgency that shouldn’t exist at this point in the season, especially not for a team that fancies itself as a Stanley Cup contender.

I do have five questions for the home stretch, but I’ll get to those shortly. First, a couple loose ends.

3. I thought Sidney Crosby had some really strong stuff to say after Monday’s loss. He’s usually fairly positive, never too down, but the captain seemed fairly mad after this one.

What lacked against the Devils: “Everything. Execution. Urgency. Those are probably the biggest two. Pretty important ones.”

The NHL-worst 11 short-handed goals the Penguins have allowed: “I mean, it’s 11. I think it could probably be a couple different things depending on the play. It’s not a stat we’re proud of, that’s for sure.”

On needing to correct things with Tampa coming in: “We can say everything we want to say. We can say all the right things. We have to go out there and do it.”

Good for him. No one has a stronger voice than Crosby. And every word is he said is true.

4. Here’s why I think Rutherford could do something, and soon: Why else let Jamie Oleksiak go for a fourth-round pick?

Perhaps because Rutherford knows he’s going to need the space soon, and this was what he figured was his best available opinion.

That’s what I think, anyway.

“It just puts us in a position when something comes along — which, it will — over the next few weeks here,” Rutherford said when I asked what this means moving forward in our phone conversation early Monday evening. “It’ll put us in a position for other options because of the cap space.”

Which it will. Rutherford knows his phone will be ringing, and you know he’ll answer.

Yes, it was about having too many defensemen and Justin Schultz coming back soon, but that’s not a reason to make the trade now, for that return.

Doing it now, and not when Schultz returns in early February — remember, he has yet to skate with the team — sends a signal that Rutherford is open for business and able to potentially absorb some salary.

5. Switching gears a little bit … why hasn’t Teddy Blueger been gotten a shot? You guys/girls ask this a lot.

With 21 goals and 39 points in 45 games with Wilkes-Barre/Scranton of the AHL, it’s a totally reasonable question, especially considering Blueger plays in all situations and isn’t defensively deficient.

When I talked to Rutherford before Monday’s game, I asked him exactly that: Why hasn’t Blueger been given a chance?

“It’s a positional thing,” Rutherford said. “He’s played well enough to be here. When it’s been time to recall a player, the players that we’ve recalled can play the wing.

“We haven’t been in a position where we’ve had to call up a center. Teddy doesn’t play the wing. He only plays center. It’s a more-than-fair question. He has done what he’s needed to do to put himself in position to play at this level.”

6. I see Rutherford’s point. Blueger isn’t a wing, and the Penguins would theoretically be doing a disservice to him by playing him out of position, even if I know many of you are going to say, “Well, just shift someone else there.”

I don’t think the Penguins would want a fourth line with two guys playing out of position — probably Riley Sheahan and Matt Cullen — to accommodate a rookie playing his first NHL game.

7. Which led to this follow-up question that I posed to Rutherford: Is there a scenario you see unfolding where Blueger could get a chance this season.

His answer: “I don’t see it with the guys that we have here now.”

I found that answer interesting: “With the guys that we have here now.”

On one hand, that means no; Blueger’s staying in the minors. On the other, I suppose that could change if Rutherford trades Brassard or even Riley Sheahan, although I don’t think using Blueger as a regular is something the Penguins want to force.

8-12. To me, there’s five key questions for the Penguins coming out of the All-Star break. Addressing those will occupy this and the following four spots.

The first involves Malkin. Can he rediscover the form he found during the second half of last season, when he led the NHL in points (62) from Jan. 1 through the end of the regular season?

Taking him off the top power play might be one option. Maybe trying some other people on his left wing. Shoot, maybe even sit Malkin down for a game, just to change something up, although I admittedly don’t love that option.

But I think Malkin is pressing and his confidence is lacking, which is a bad combination.

“Obviously we’d like him to have more of a positive impact on the game,” Sullivan said after Monday’s game. “He’s such a talented player. He’s such an accomplished player. I know how much he cares about this team, this organization and trying to help us win. Part of my responsibility as his coach and our staff is we’re trying to help Geno through this process and try and help him capture his very best game. We’ll continue to work with him.”

9. What happens when Schultz returns?

You know he’s going to slot into the top-four. But more than that, with whom does Schultz play? Olli Maatta? Is he effective? Does he get top power-play reps? The latter part is interesting given that unit’s current situation.

I also look at Schultz like a trade-deadline acquisition. His presence alone could give this group a nice little jolt of life.

10. Where’s Matt Murray at?

It’s hard to criticize Murray after Monday’s game. No, he wasn’t great, but neither was the team in front of him. And this is a guy who was 10-1 since returning from a lower-body injury, with a 1.81 goals-against average and .944 save percentage before the Devils game.

Expecting those numbers might be a bit much, but the Penguins will want and need something close here to make a push over the final 40 percent of the season.

11. What’s the final verdict on Brassard?

Brassard was actually decent Monday, although hardly enough to quash any of the ongoing trade talk.

Given acquisition cost, don’t rule out the Penguins sticking with Brassard, although I would imagine that, if they do, Rutherford would probably like to add another piece to get more from that line.

12. How does this Metro mess sort itself out?

The Metropolitan Division is an interesting place right now.

The Islanders are in first place, have allowed a league-low 118 goals, and Barry Trotz is looking like the Jack Adams Award winner. The Capitals, meanwhile, have lost seven in a row and look lost.

The Blue Jackets are hanging around, and the Penguins are in fourth place, with the Hurricanes just four points behind.

That’s a long-winded way of saying that plenty can still happen, and the margin for error is rather small.

13. Moving on … I loved what Kendall Coyne Schofield, Brianna Decker and others did at the NHL All-Star Game, but I still wish it would have been executed differently.

For one, they should have been paid, especially Decker after winning the premier passer event.

You can treat this like a statement-making sort of event all you want, which I think the NHL did. But when you pay the event winners, pay the winning team of the All-Star Game $1 million and award a car to the MVP … and you don’t see a need to earmark anything for these women — who make nothing close to NHL players — until there’s negative reaction over it, I question how much of a statement you were really trying to make.

14. Also, why not show all of them demonstrating the drills? And why not talk, while Coyne Schofield was flying, about her own career, Northeastern, Team USA women’s hockey, whatever. Anything aside from her husband who plays for the Chargers.

Or, here’s a final thought: Why not promote the upcoming series between Team USA and Hockey Canada in Detroit and London, Ontario?

If you have a platform, use it.

15. One more about Coyne Schofield and Decker …

Being in the building, the buzz created was amazing. It also made me think about something that I’d love to see: a National Women’s Hockey League (NWHL) team in Pittsburgh.

I think it would work, too. There are so many fervent and intelligent female hockey fans here, plus there’s great infrastructure in place for it with UPMC Lemieux Sports Complex and how naturally intertwined it would be with the Penguins.

Have no clue on logistics or anything like that, or whether it’s even remotely possible, but if the team won, I think it could do really well.

16. I find NHL commissioner Gary Bettman’s stance on current labor negotiations … interesting.

He keeps repeating the phrase, “We’re not looking for a fight.”

Great, but your fans don’t care. They just want the product.

And it positions the players, if they ask for anything that’s even remotely reasonable, as the bad guys.

17. Media day must be handled better next year.

You’ll notice that neither Crosby nor Kris Letang was there. They were among the seven of 44 players who did not make it. That’s too many.

But I don’t blame Crosby or Letang. Why should they give up a day of their bye week when the All-Stars who are on theirs from Jan. 27-31 will get five full days?

It’s also not fair to the fans who bought tickets to the event — held inside San Jose’s City National Civic theater — expecting to hear those two or others. I also understand why those who played Wednesday night weren’t there.

My solution: Put a dark day in the schedule, to ensure 100 percent participation. There’s no sense wasting fans’ or media members’ money and ticking off your players … for what?

18. While we’re at it, I also think the Skills Competition needs tweaked.

I think the fastest skater, hardest shot and accuracy shooting events are fine the way they are. Leave those alone. Let’s concentrate on the other ones.

The puck control event was OK, but I don’t see how casual fans might keep the event on their TVs to watch a dude stickhandle around cones. Too boring. Need to spice it up a little.

Secondly, the whole event slowed to a crawl during the save streak-intermission-premier passer part of the evening. Has to be tighter to keep viewers’ attention.

Have goalies stop as many breakaways as they can until they’re done. If it’s two, so be it. They’re done.

Then simplify the passing thing. I don’t need to see poor Mikko Rantanen suffering through 2:17.379, then having to watch seven more heats.

The Skills Competition has some interesting elements. I think it can be watchable, as opposed to the game itself, which is a little too gimmicky for my taste.

But it needs to be tighter, falling somewhere in the 90-minute range start to finish.

19. I was not at all surprised to hear deputy NHL commissioner Bill Daly’s answer when I asked whether the Penguins are being considered for international events.

“Yes,” was what Daly said, with a wide smile.

As they should be.

How does one of the NHL’s marquee U.S. teams, with the league’s most recognizable player and some seriously high-end talent, not get included in this stuff?

The Penguins haven’t played internationally since going to Stockholm, Sweden in 2008. Whether it’s China, Germany, Sweden, Switzerland or the Czech Republic — all destinations on the horizon — the Penguins should get asked to go.

And soon, if you ask me.

20. I liked seeing Toronto’s Auston Matthews rip off his own Maple Leafs sweater to show support for teammate Patrick Marleau, who’s nothing short of a legend out here.

I think it’s part of what should be a push by players, especially the younger ones, to showcase more personality whenever possible.

I know the NHL is a different animal, and it’s never going to rival the NBA or NFL in terms of pure entertainment for casual fans.

But if the league can do something, anything, to become even a little less bland — including players speaking their minds instead of offering milquetoast quotes they fear might upset someone — I think it would be a good thing.

Jason Mackey: jmackey@post-gazette.com and Twitter @JMackeyPG.

[primrose-path-of-dalliance]

Lotor’s end (?) in s6

toc 1: i shake out some salt and talk about the altean colony | 2: i question why people keep insisting lotor was "evil all along" | 3: i talk about my favorite parts of lotor’s breakdown

lotor, altea, and king alfor

when lotor chooses to lash out and start destroying everything, he says: "what about your father? he may have been a master engineer, but alfor was too weak to defend his homeworld. i'm the one who had to step up and save our entire race. who are you to question my tactics in bringing peace and prosperity to the universe?"

the knee-jerk reaction is to be furious at lotor for this statement, and what he says is unfair. it's not as if alfor simply gave up, lay down, and offered his people to the pyre. perhaps he made a mistake in sending voltron away (as his ai freely admits to allura), but although we don't get a lot of information on what happened after zarkon's resurrection, we know that he tried to defend his people. that he ultimately lost isn't a fact that's fair to reflect onto his moral character. additionally, lotor is singing his own praises even after we've discovered that he's far from hot shit, and naturally it's unappealing.

but as a character, lotor possesses an extremely unique perspective. he is the only major sympathetic character in the show to have lived through all of the 10,000 years of post-resurrection zarkon's reign. and he is among the small group of characters who have been aligned against the empire for a significant amount of time since before allura and coran reawoke; potentially, he has spent the longest actively on the galra empire's shit list.

i said that allura's viewpoint in the show is limited for a very good reason. even the person who is our primary protagonist, who is extraordinarily sympathetic and compassionate, whose heart breaks regularly for the people who suffer under the oppression of this empire and who has suffered tremendously herself while determined to devote the rest of her life to this cause, can be a bit clueless when she's a teenager and only woke up about a year ago into a universe entirely different from the one she once knew.

most of allura's life was spent in a stable and loving home on an idyllic planet as crown royalty, with all the resources and wealth that lifestyle offered to her. she was raised for both diplomacy and warfare but had little time to become familiar with them, particularly the latter, when compared to the work of centuries or millennia under the rule of an extremely powerful and oppressive empire. and the perspective from which she learned her trades was as the heir of a powerful kingdom and expansive legacy, not as a freedom fighter. most significantly, she had astounding resources even after waking up into an empire that wanted her dead—the castle of lions, an extremely mobile self-powered warship with apparently no concern to be had for things like food supplies or relative comfort; and voltron, quite literally the most powerful weapon in the universe with limits unknown and a sentient being in its own right. additionally, the return of the black lion distracted zarkon. he was obsessed with reclaiming it above all else, to the point where haggar criticized his illogical behavior right to his face. voltron's return weakened zarkon's ability to strategize intelligently. in terms of practical position against the galra empire, allura, coran, and the paladins possessed the strongest one from the very beginning. and they have only gotten stronger.

this doesn't place allura in an easy position to empathize with the other forces who have fought against the empire, and considering the usual level of empathy or thoughtfulness one can already expect from a teenager, it shouldn't be a shock that allura's perspective may not be the most understanding.

when she condemns lotor for his treatment of the altean colony, as rightfully as she may be doing so, she does so without any understanding of where lotor is coming from. she literally cannot comprehend the type of situation someone like lotor must have been in to drive him to do something so horrific, nor that someone who's not Evil could still commit such crimes. this is tied into one of the biggest reasons lotor loses his temper and says what he does.

what i'm saying isn't without precedence in this show. @howtofightwrite has talked about the usual experience of a resistance (link). (please feel encouraged to read the whole post, especially for context. they do a great job being a resource for writers about a wide variety of topics, and if you're not already acquainted, i totally recommend following them.)

since it's a very long post, i'll quote the most relevant parts:

"When you’re writing a story about a resistance, never forget that they are in a hostile environment where everything is a danger to them, and you should approach every engagement violent or not as a cost comparison. ....

When you’re working with a resistance fighter, the resistance part is more important than the fighter part. These are not people with a very large margin for error, and who need to be incredibly good at threat assessment in regard to their greater goals. The greater goal is what’s most important to them, their priority, their mission, they have limited resources and that means they have to make compromises. For the resistance fighter, violence itself draws attention. Attention is bad.

Think about this, if he does manage to fight these two and kill them then whatever kills he makes will be taken out on the civilian population. If he doesn’t kill them, and they remember his face then he’s done as a resistance fighter. Again, attention is bad. Attention brings notoriety. In a hostile state, the consequences are many and they hit the innocent population hardest.

My point is this: your character is not making decisions on what he can do or can’t do, not in what’s morally right or wrong, if he wants to survive in a resistance then he’s making decisions based on risk. ....

Resistance fighters are the ones who run when their friends get captured, the ones who stand by and do nothing if they’re not at risk of being outed. They wait. They strike later, though usually not to recover their friends. Well, the smart ones do. The stupid ones try. They either get gunned down or captured because hot blood and hot heads get murdered in the streets by the gestapo. There are always more of them than there are you in a resistance, and violence attracts attention. The wrong kind of attention in the wrong place means death or capture, prison, interrogation, torture, and then the firing squad. The consequences for failure are high, not just for the single resistance fighter but for everyone they know, everyone they love, and for the very movement they’re fighting for. ....

For every piece your character and his friends take, the enemy will take five of theirs. He is in a rigged game where his own lack of resources will crush him unless the resistance can convince the populace at large to rise up. That is how a resistance actually wins in the real world, you know. If they can’t get the citizens behind them or receive aid from an outside power or train up an army on foreign soil, they’re doomed."

when the blade of marmora are first introduced, they fill precisely this type of role in the show. they are the resistance, the small guy fighting against an empire that has conquered and controls most of the known universe, who has decided to focus on spywork as the primary goal they can accomplish. and allura dislikes them instantly—not only because they're galra, but because she considers them disappointments for having not already taken down the empire themselves. she criticizes what she sees as passivity, as fear to engage with the enemy. she fails to realize that the blade of marmora lacked the firepower of voltron or the resources to commit to a war with the empire.

as the blade of marmora emphasized in their introduction, they survived through their secrecy. if things went wrong, if they took too many risks in trying to liberate other people, their existence would be discovered. and then the empire, a force with effectively infinite resources and no small amount of cruelty, would have their guard up. all of their spies would suddenly be in great danger. any future operations would become exponentially more difficult. depending on the risk that fell through, it wouldn't be difficult at all for the empire to decimate their numbers, or worse, decimate whatever civilian populations they might have been trying to protect or train for war. the blade of marmora simply wouldn't have the ability to fight back.

allura deserves no guilt for condemning lotor, of course. he abused the very people he was supposed to be protecting. he may have found some comfort for himself by treating it as a conservation issue, but he nevertheless ruined the lives of thousands of already oppressed people. regardless of motive, that is never going to be something that sits well with the type of good our protagonists are, and rightfully so. it's the reason we love them so much.

but it's frustrating to see people reduce antagonists like lotor to "Pure Bad Evil all along" because it's completely dismissive of the work the show writers have put into him as a character with a story entirely different from either zarkon's cardboard cutout villainy or allura's honest but youthful idealism. and to what purpose? making sure we all know genocide is bad? surely we don't have to perform hatred or oversimplification of a fictional character just to make sure everyone knows our disdain for mass exploitation. and surely we're capable of understanding that exploring the reasons why someone would do such a thing doesn't mean we agree with them or are excusing their actions.

i stated that the ultimate incompatibility of allura's perspective with lotor's is tied into lotor's break. not the sole cause. that's because it, when expressed in such a raw attack on lotor's character, was only the trigger for the release of a massive amount of resentment that lotor has been harboring inside him. when lotor breaks, it isn't because he can't tolerate the idea of a woman rejecting him. it's because he's been bitter toward everything for a very, very long time, and his break is that moment when he decides to stop holding it in or rationalizing it away.

for 10,000 years, he has endured abuse from the people who ought to have loved him the most. he's been disconnected from each side of his heritage: the galra, because he's half-altean and a disgustingly moral half-breed exile; and the alteans, because he's half-galra and they, at the hands of the empire and to an extent lotor himself, have experienced genocide and abuse until they were scattered and isolated, a mere shadow of what they once were. his friends are few and far between, because trust is difficult when his father will murder everyone around him just because he hears from someone nearby that lotor's having a decent time being deviant, and when the woman at his father's right hand (who he now knows is his mother, one of the sole figures in his life he imagined to be good because he thought she was already dead) will send spies his way through any avenue possible, including benevolent ones (he's not even a little shocked to accept narti's supposed betrayal, or to find himself taken to haggar's feet at galra central command after kuron's mind-control switch is flipped). sendak, the man implied to have been more raised as a son by zarkon than zarkon's own actual son, threatens to make lotor his personal slave, and lotor barely bats an eye because this inherent violence toward his existence is something completely normal to him. his style of fighting and strategy is entirely angled as someone who's used to being the small guy—he's agile, and clever, and quick, and prefers to either manipulate his way out or outfox his enemy because he rarely has the strength to challenge or threaten people head-on; even sincline's strength is in outmaneuvering its opponent. as an infant, we see lotor in the darkness crying alone in his crib with no one to tend to him.

consistently, lotor has been characterized as a target of abuse, with all the baggage that it comes with.

the resentment here is in knowing how easily it could have been better. how happy he might have been. if he had known king alfor as a parental figure instead ("i envy you, growing up with king alfor"). if he had grown up in altea with honerva instead of in the galra empire with zarkon. if king alfor had not failed in his duty to his people, to the universe 10,000 years ago, and simply killed zarkon when he had the chance.

allura, as much as he respects her as an individual, is also a representation of what he wishes he could have had: a loving family, a happy life, proper training as an altean alchemist, security in a group of close friends she can trust and interact with comfortably. she trusts the universe in a way he can't even comprehend of doing. moreover, allura got to sleep relatively peacefully for those 10,000 years of zarkon's tyrannical rule, undisturbed and undiscovered on arus.

she never had to live those millennia under zarkon's oppressive rule. she never had the burden of a horrific legacy. she never had to figure out who she was all by herself, uninternalize every ounce of racism and abuse and discover what it meant to be a person of value by chasing after crumbling ruins. instead, he had to save the last alteans left after zarkon's genocide. he had to figure out a way to topple the empire. he had to find himself trapped in every corner with the choice to either die or sacrifice whatever morality he had to live another day, to take a single step closer to killing his own father.

and now allura has the gall to condemn him, when he didn’t have a superweapon like voltron. he didn’t have a massive castleship, a wormhole generator, or the gifts of a sacred altean. he was working with the best he had. does she think he wanted to use the alteans as a quintessence farm? does she think he wanted to be zarkon's son? all he wanted was peace. maybe if her father had just won, none of them would've had to be there. none of this would have happened. but instead she has the gall to hate him for trying to clean up her father's 10,000 year old mistake.

well, fine. he'll just do a better job restoring the alteans to power and bringing peace to the universe than any of them ever could.

in lotor's relationship with allura and king alfor, there is as much jealousy and resentment as there is love and admiration. and he understood how much of it was unfair, or else we would have seen it leak into his behavior before now no matter how good of an actor he was, if only so we the audience might characterize him properly as a dick. (hopefully i don't have to clarify that it didn't.)

but at this point, everything has been going wrong, allura is on the other side of the battlefield, and quintessence exposure is insidiously wreaking havoc on his ability to process what's happening in a healthy manner. all he can think about is how bitter and tired he is of this. and so he breaks.

of course it was wrong. he was literally attempting to kill the team by the end. none of this excuses the choices he made or the things he said, and he has to be held accountable for all of it. but more than anything, lotor is an example of how a person as human (for lack of a better word) as anyone else can be incredibly hurtful, how his end of self-destruction is brought about by the very authentic experience of wanting the happiness that has been continually taken away from him, and how this self-destruction is implicitly tied into his isolation.

the importance of a support system

this is probably one of the defining themes of vld. although it sometimes doesn't deliver on the paladins as a family unit, we get numerous arcs throughout the show about one character helping to emotionally support another through something difficult, and it's emphasized several times that every person in the team is deeply concerned with the individual wellbeing of their other team members/friends. as a show about a bunch of somewhat-strangers having to come together and form a giant robot mech in order to literally save the universe through the power of teamwork and cooperation, this isn't really surprising.

so let's look at lotor. he's incapable of having a positive connection with either side of his heritage as a whole—the galra have abused him and most of the known universe, the alteans either never recognize him as one of their own unless he tells them or end up victims of his own vampiric needs. the only person from his history he can draw strength and purpose from is honerva, his long-dead mother—and then he discovers that she survived quite well to become one of his greatest demons. his relationship with his generals is fairly good, but their dynamic is always more professional than casual—and then he kills narti and later claims he will kill any and all galra that stand against him. he and the paladins tentatively befriend each other, he and allura fall in love with each other—and then it's revealed that he hid very dirtied hands from them in the process. all of them abandon or turn against him. and by the end, he pilots sincline alone, in sharp contrast to the recently-reunited team of five in voltron.

repeatedly, we see lotor as a desperate seeker for connection who inevitably sabotages himself through his own actions, driving away every one of his friends and associates. this final collapse of his already-fragile support system is what leads directly to his self-destruction.

officially, lotor's been described as a secret azula the writers were trying to trick us into believing was a zuko. it's a fair description, but not in the sense that he was an evil villain, and that misconception ought to be cleared away. anyone who's watched avatar: the last airbender understands that azula, as dramatic and stunning a villain as she was, was far less someone to hate for her deeds than she was someone to pity—she was a tragedy who never got to grow away from the abuse of her father the way zuko did, and who brought about her own self-destruction through her toxicity and subsequent isolation.

the parallels are very obvious, and i suspect the reduction in similar reception when it comes to lotor is because 1. it's a lot easier to sympathize with a teenage girl who already had characters in-story to sympathize with her and fill in her background of abuse, and 2. fandom culture now is different and much less forgiving to its villains.

in many ways, lotor had the chances azula never got. like zuko, lotor was exiled in disgrace and spent a significant amount of time away from home; like zuko, lotor got the chance to uninternalize his abuse; like zuko, lotor demonstrated qualities from the beginning that made him more similar to the protagonists than the villains. the one thing lotor never got, however, was an uncle iroh: someone with the maturity, energy, and willingness to stay by his side through his unhealthy behavior, support him by promoting healthy behavior, and give him the unwavering love and forgiveness and faith that he was never able to receive from anyone else.

instead, lotor more or less had to figure it out on his own, which is challenging enough without adding isolation and high amounts of stress into the mix. by the end of s6, lotor was probably unconsciously seeking out a similar kind of relationship through allura, but the problem is in how demanding that type of support is. no one is really obligated to expend that amount of effort on anyone, no matter how positive of a result it might create. uncle iroh sacrificed a lot to give zuko the encouragement he needed to find a healthier state of mind, even suffering through his multiple missteps off the path that hurt iroh and everyone else around him, and zuko understood this by the time they reunited in the campgrounds of the order of the lotus.

team voltron, on the other hand, would never have been able to give lotor that kind of support for a myriad of reasons, youth and conflicting priorities and unfamiliarity with lotor among them, much less should have. many of the circumstances were also different—much more difficult with a 10,000-year-old character whose missteps include the abuse of a colony of already oppressed people, after all.

lm and jds have also drawn a similar comparison between lotor and keith (link). they share similar backgrounds—complicated family situation, absent mother, interpersonal issues borne from a history of isolation—but unlike lotor, keith found someone to guide him away from a downward spiral: shiro. ("i will never give up on you.") this difference between the two of them is explicitly acknowledged as what saved keith from self-destruction.

lotor was not an irredeemable character by far, and for some of us who were excited by the potential we saw, the end of s6 was disappointing. but within the context of the show and the progression of the plot, lotor's self-destruction was the logical path for him to go. it probably isn't the ultimate end of lotor; he didn't die, after all. but all things considered, i feel that lotor was ultimately treated with respect, and his arc added things to the story we never would've gotten otherwise.

(if we want a happy story, well, that's what we can write fanfiction for, right?)

[texanredrose]

Omega’s Strength (Pt 2)

A while later- after a quick cold shower to wash away the stickiness and prolong her lucidity, if by the barest margins- Yang stepped back into the room, grimacing at the feel of the damp clothes on her skin. She could smell the saturation of both her arousal and her hormone infused sweat, which probably made the cold shower pointless in the end but she felt at least marginally better than before. Trying her best to mitigate it, she'd only put her underwear, shirt, and pants back on, since the extra layers would just make the smell stronger. All she had to do was put them back on if she wanted, though it probably wouldn't be necessary at this point. Seeing as she now had complete awareness of her situation again, no longer locked in the vicious cycle of her burning need for companionship warring with her better sense, the Omega had time to sit in one of the corners, head leaned back and eyes closed, until three sharp raps sounded at the door.

Yang sighed, glancing down at her right bicep. It would probably be less alarming to attach her prosthetic but, frankly, the damn thing would come off the moment she locked the door and the whole thing proved too much hassle for something so short. Plus, it wasn't like the Alpha hadn't seen her detach the arm for maintenance; she'd even offered to help once or twice, having a bit of firsthand knowledge about Atlas tech herself. At first, the Omega thought it had something to do with a disbelief regarding her ability to do the work herself, especially using her off hand, but it turned out that the woman genuinely enjoyed such meticulous work as a distraction.

Three more knocks snapped her out of her daze as she got to her feet, heading towards the door an bracing herself while clumsily keying it open. The moment the barrier disappeared, Winter's scent his her full force and, while it did have an effect, the pheromones didn't have nearly as much power as the sight before her.

The Alpha looked... dangerous and desirable, if she had to pick two words to describe it. Blue eyes darkened by lust, pupils blown wide, shoulders back to accentuate her chest, a keen expression that would've pinned most Omegas- and even some Alphas- in place, and, on the fringes of her vision as she held Winter's gaze, she could see the telltale bulge in those regulation military pants. Luckily, the cold shower gave her just enough control over herself in that moment to not instantly jump forward or tilt her chin back in invitation, though the urge to do both thudded through her.

"Here." The woman barely got the words out through her clenched jaw, shoving the plate forward while her other hand clenched into a fist at her side. "It's still warm."

"Thanks," she replied, accepting it with her left hand and finding herself at an impasse. Without her prosthetic, she couldn't hit the buttons to close and lock the door, which left her with the options of either slowly backing away until she could set the plate down or simply turn around, trusting the Alpha's self control. In reality, the choice was obvious for just about anyone else in Yang's position; offering one's back while in heat constituted the single biggest invitation she could think of offhand.

However, Winter had managed just fine thus far and, seeing as she obviously lacked both arms, it should be fairly apparent that she wouldn't serve as a very decent mate anyway. So, she turned around, intending to set the covered plate down on the nearest available surface.

The high pitched smack of flesh against steel prompted her to turn, finding that perhaps she'd overestimated the Alpha's control and just when had she taken off her gloves, anyway? The woman stood, hands holding the door frame in white knuckled grips, lips beginning to pull apart to show teeth, and it was obviously taxing her strength to its limit- physically and metaphorically- to keep from crossing the threshold.

"Close. The. Door." Winter growled, blue eyes flashing with an unspoken promise.

Dropping the plate onto the dresser, the Omega took three long strides and jammed her finger on the close command, waiting until the barrier appeared between them before sucking in air; the whole while, their gazes were locked, and she had to blink a few times to take the sting from her eyes even as her heat began to reemerge, warmth flashing all over her body. "S-sorry."

"It couldn't be helped." A thump against the door sounded, followed by some shuffling. "I apologize for that. You should eat while it's warm."

"I could always just put it on my stomach to heat it up," she said, more to herself than as a retort. Already, she could feel the ache between her legs returning and it would only be a matter of hours before she'd reached the same state of frenzied longing as before.

She heard another dull thump before the woman seemed to retreat, her scent fading slightly as Yang collected up her meal and returned to the bed. Another bad idea, likely, because the blankets smelled of sweat and sex, but she wanted to have the blankets wrapped around her, a subconscious desire for something to hold her together.

Idly, she considered that Weiss would give her hell about eating in bed if given the chance, a flicker of a smile passing over her lips before she started eating. It seemed to just be leftovers from before- beef stew, with vegetables and spices, and she needed to ask Ruby when she'd learned to make it- but she ate it with relish, savoring the flavor while she could. Between her increased body temperature and the thrashing that would come in the later stages of her heat, she could use all the energy she could get.

After she'd eaten, she put the plate with the one from before and went back to the blankets, curling up again and pulling them tight around her. Between the energy spent on her orgasm and the full belly, she might be able to catch a few more hours of sleep, and she would take every opportunity presented to make the time pass a little quicker.

Yang gasped, her back arching as electricity traveled up her spine, toes curling even as her legs opened wider. Her mate watched and waited, drawing lazy circles around her stiff nipples to draw a whine from her throat, teasing her mercilessly while withholding her salvation. The Omega wanted to reach out, pull the woman closer, but to no avail; her left wrist was locked in place by a firm grip and her prosthetic lay forgotten elsewhere. A plea lay at the tip of her tongue but it flew from her mind as something pressed against her, sliding through her folds in prelude to the completion she craved, and her head tilted back as a moan tore from her throat, wordlessly begging for more. A hot tongue traced its way up the side of her neck, teeth lightly nipping beneath her ear for a moment before the Alpha spoke.

"Is this what you want?" Winter's voice sounded as composed as ever, but with a dark undertone that spoke of raw power, as if she could easily get up and walk away without complaint or concern. "You need to be clear."

"Please," she said, arching her back again and hissing with pleasure as weight settled over top of her, giving her delicious friction against her breasts and hips, holding her in place and coaxing her into relenting the fight. "Fuck me, Winter, please."

That earned her another pass of the Alpha's erection through her folds, the head pausing at her entrance but retreating. "I'm a bit of a traditionalist, Yang. Try again."

She wanted to scream, looking up into the woman's eyes and seeing the desire swirling in them; it wasn't just to mess with her, though she could see the amusement around the edges of Winter's smirk, but she'd have thought that saying it once, in any manner, would be enough. "Mate me, breed me, fuck me, take me, bond me- what do you want from me?"

The woman's smirk turned into a smile just before she leaned down, setting the words against her ear, the hot whisper driving her even further into fevered want. "Everything."

Then she moved, teeth sinking deep into the juncture between neck and shoulder as the Alpha's hips moved forward, at last granting her the completion she so desired. Yang moaned at the intrusion as her chosen mate pushed forward, apparently wanting to take her time as she started working on leaving a lasting mark. They'd only be bonded if she returned the favor, though, so the Omega craned her neck up, latching onto the skin as-

"YANG!"

Her eyes snapped open, breathing ragged as she startled awake. Only then did she notice that she had, in fact, just awoke, alone in the room with her own hand crammed between her legs, tangled up in the sheets with her head at an awkward angle putting pressure on her right shoulder.

Damnit.

Jolting upright, she hissed while pulling her hand free, the sticky wetness of her own arousal coating the digits and a spark of pain lancing through her core at being denied the source of her pleasure so quickly. Yang had no idea how long she'd been asleep but her heat had returned in full force, mind clouded as she instinctively breathed in through her nose, relishing the agitated scent of the Alpha just behind the door. Winter seemed frustrated beyond words and she could finally detect the tang that signaled the woman's response to her heat, the marker that made sure she wouldn't be mistaken for a bonded Alpha or one entirely uninterested.

"Sorry." The Omega called out, her voice slightly unsteady. "It was... just a dream."

"I should hope so," Winter replied, an edge to her voice. "If someone had managed to slip past me, I'd be rather cross."

Yang looked at the door, furrowing her brows slightly. It almost sounded like the woman was concerned she'd found someone to mate with- which was a ludicrous theory only made possible by her jumbled sense of logic at present- and she almost called the Alpha out on it. Instead, she merely flopped back down on the bed, trying to breathe through her mouth and wiping her hand on her shirt.

Closing her eyes, she tried to will herself back to a dreamless sleep, lips curling into a sour frown as the images- so vivid, so real, but not- plagued her once more. She'd had dreams about the woman before and not just counting the past day or so; traveling with each other as they had for the past few months and fighting each other as hard as they did when they sparred, it seemed only natural for Winter to make an appearance or two in her dreams. Most were the innocent sort, if a bit nonsensical- rapidly transitioning between places, disobeying rules of logic, revisiting the worlds shown in movies or cartoons or books, and then some- but she'd already been down this road too many times. Even if Remnant as they knew it collapsed and the Schnee name meant nothing more or less than any other surname on the face of the planet, Winter would still be Winter, a strong, vocal, determined force to be reckoned with, an Alpha to the core, and Yang would be... nothing. A faulty Omega with nothing to show except a missing arm and a broken home.

Sometimes, she wondered if this was why Raven left. If she'd known all along that Yang would never amount to anything and simply couldn't believe she'd sired someone so weak. The Omega had fought tooth and nail to be stronger, to turn every hurt into more strength and power, to be a vicious defender of those she loved dear... and she'd failed.

Maybe that's all there was to her.

"Yang." Winter's voice pierced her thoughts but she didn't open her eyes, instead imagining the Alpha standing on the other side of the door, brows pinched together and trying to not hold her altered state against her. "It's only a couple more days. You're doing wonderful."

She rolled her eyes, turning onto her side so her back faced the door. "Yeah, thanks."

"I mean it." Some of the agitation bled from her voice, sincerity ringing true in her tone. "I've always admired your strength. This is a difficult position to be in and I... I think you're handling it better than most could."

Stop.

Yang wanted to say the word but it caught in her throat, at war with the pain in her chest to hear more. It almost sounded like the Alpha was trying to encourage her, the way a mate would, because being bonded didn't always mean every heat would be spent getting lost to each other and fulfilling those instinctive urges. But that was foolish; Winter was a soldier, first and foremost, and keeping morale up came with the job. She offered the same sort of encouragement to all of them when they were weary after a battle or training, carrying herself like an officer and inspecting her troops regardless if she'd left behind the military proper and didn't lead their particular bad of misfits. It just... made sense that she would be supportive right now; it didn't mean anything.

Ironically, the very reason she shouldn't be allowing the words to affect her seemed to be the exact reason she didn't want the woman to stop. They might be meaningless in the specific context- not words from one mate to another, not meant to soothe an ache that she wanted to attend to personally- but when would Yang get another chance to have someone support her like this? Being relegated to a life alone, unfit to be bonded to just about anyone, didn't offer much in the way of support, and even if she could acknowledge that logically and felt the pang of loneliness down to her very soul, it did little to assuage the ache in her loins at present. The idea that the support came from a genuine place, from a willing partner who knew just as she did that they couldn't be distracted by a pregnancy right now, made the agony a little easier to bear.

But that didn't change the fact it was a fantasy she shouldn't be allowing herself to indulge in, especially not right now. It would just make everything hurt worse when they went back to being comrades in arms and nothing more.

Her core clenched, heat rising in her cheeks first before a wave passed over her body. The next round of hell had begun and she squeezed her thighs together tightly to try and stave if off for a bit longer, curling in on herself as she raggedly breathed.

"It's starting again, isn't it?" Winter seemed to be picking up on the change in her scent, the sound of something scratching at the door hitting her ears a moment before a thud. "I can talk you through it-"

"No," she said, gritting her teeth at the way her body reacted to the offer, her mind turning to a hazy fog once more as the vivid dream came back to the forefront of her mind. The more she indulged, the harder it would be to break away. "I'm just... gonna... try sleeping it off."

It wouldn't work... but maybe it could lessen the overall sting.

"I'll be here if you want anything." The Alpha offered, the sound of her voice retreating.

She looked over at the door, the temptation to find out exactly what 'anything' meant becoming stronger, but she tramped down on it best she could. After all, the door hadn't been locked since the last time she'd opened it and Winter likely knew that; if she wanted to enter the room, she easily could've.

Yang cursed herself for trying to make something out of nothing and closed her eyes, willing for sleep to find her.

Sleep eluded her and the sensations preyed on her mind, slowly driving her insane. At first, it was just the raging arousal and increased temperature, turning her little cocoon of blankets into an inferno that she couldn't justify leaving, wanting the fire to burn through her until there was nothing left. Sweat rolled across her forehead as she cupped herself, inner muscles quivering as she yearned for completion. She could try touching herself again but Yang could already tell it wouldn't work, that just providing friction to grind against did nothing but make her burn hotter. Even with Winter's voice to guide her, she wouldn't be able to reach climax; she needed the Alpha's touch, her presence, her- but, no, she couldn't, she couldn't, even with the woman's scent invading her mind, coaxing her to try, just try, and she shouldn't, she shouldn't, but would it really be so bad to just take the rejection?

Her teeth sunk into her lower lip as she tried to stifle a groan. It would be absolutely wrong to put it on the woman to reject her, though; Winter was doing her best to be fair and supportive. Putting her in the position of choosing wouldn't be right. This was her heat and she had to handle it.

But the Omega felt a traitorous thought worm into her mind: it would make everything easier. Confronting the woman, hearing her rejection instead of simply suspecting it, that would make her scent far less potent, much less tempting.

No. No, she couldn't do that. It wouldn't be fair and, knowing Winter, she'd be diplomatic about the whole ordeal, somehow find a middle ground. Something that would work in the meantime but, in the end, it would lead to heartache down the line, because while one of them could remain professionally detached all the damn time, Yang sure as hell couldn't. Just staying in the room at present seemed almost too much to bear, quite frankly.

Her eyes opened slightly, darting towards the door. But maybe, maybe...

Her hips bucked against her hand, eyes squeezing shut as she turned to hide her face as another surge of want radiated through her. Even without the extra layers to make things worse, she could still feel a massive amount of heat radiating from her core. She couldn't give in; it wouldn't do her any good in the long run. She had to remember that. There was no chance of being bonded, especially not with the Alpha watching over her. Once they defeated Salem, Winter would find an Omega capable of matching her step for step, a strong, dependable mate who wasn't effectively three quarters of a person- all categories Yang fell short. She might've been able to try once but... that wasn't her fate, not anymore.

Gritting her teeth, the Omega tried to reach out with her right hand to grab hold of the blankets or pillow, something to ground her, but without her prosthetic attached, she could do nothing and pulling her hand away from the apex of her thighs was just as terrible an idea. It would just increase the longing thudding through every fiber of her being.

At least right now she had a tenuous grip on her raging arousal. If she lost it, she'd probably stumble to the door and key it open. Winter would be there, and she could fix-

No, no, she couldn't. She would try, she would find some manner of satisfying the Omega's heat, but she wouldn't be able to fix Yang because there was no fixing her. She would forever be this... this... broken, barely functional creature.

"Yang? What's going on?"

She growled, glaring at the door. "I'm fine."

"You're clearly distressed."

"I'm in heat." She yelled, her frustration coming to bear. Couldn't the Alpha figure out that her presence wasn't helping matters in the slightest? That she'd just be trapped in this cycle for a few days with no relief- none ever, and there was absolutely nothing any of them could do about it. They couldn't change the past; she would be stuck like this for the rest of her life. "What part of this doesn't qualify as distress?"

"This is different." A thread of uneasiness in her voice pulled the woman's attention back towards the door. "Talk to me."

You're not my mate. No matter how much I want you to be.

"No," she said, curling in on herself. "Nothing to talk about."

"Yang, I swear." The Alpha's voice became more forceful, and that just made everything so much worse for Yang, a sharp stab of want lancing through her core. Unbidden, images sprang to her mind that pulled a whine from deep in her throat. Unconsciously, she rolled onto her stomach and pushed up onto her knees, her shoulders and head still pressed into the mattress beneath her and she only became aware of the change when a shudder wracked her frame, the thought of Winter kneeling behind her, looming over her, pressing her down- damnit. "There has to be something I can do."

Yang grit her teeth, pulling her hand away from her crotch long enough to tear the blankets off herself, falling to the floor in the process. She hardly noticed the impact, rolling to her feet and taking a moment to stabilize herself. Her knees almost buckled, the loss of something pressing against her molten core sending her attention skittering away for a brief moment before she refocused on the door.

Winter wanted to help? Fine. Perhaps it would be better to just confront the Alpha with reality.

She stumbled to the door, smashing her closed fist on the console twice before the door actually opened. The moment it did, she locked eyes with the Alpha, holding onto the door frame to steady herself and she wasn't alone in needing the support. Winter stood ready to lean over her, pupils blown wide and breathing deeply through her nose, shoulders tensing with the effort of keeping herself in place. Her lips pulled back, baring her teeth just a little, and Yang matched the expression for a moment before a splotch of color caught her attention- a lime green package about the size of a lien held in the woman's left hand, and suddenly everything stopped.

For one moment, the pieces remained jumbled up entirely.

And then it clicked.

"YOU HAD A CONDOM THIS WHOLE TIME?" She roared, her sexual frustration getting the better of her as her eyes flashed red, her heat temporary overpowered by her semblance.

Winter straightened up, her teeth flashing dangerously as she scowled. "Using it earlier would hardly be productive. I only have the one."

She didn't need to shout, her voice icy as ever, but the Omega still felt like she had room to push, so she did. "YOU STILL SHOULD'VE TOLD ME."

"You retreated." The Alpha leaned forward slightly- barely through the threshold, if that- but it still made her seem bigger, more imposing, and she'd never really needed help in that regard. "Why would you do that if you would've considered it in the first place?"

Then again, Yang was helping her; her knees had buckled slightly, legs bending so she appeared smaller despite her defiant glare, and that meant she was tilting her head back to maintain the eye contact. Challenging, testing- even if she had no logical reason to doubt the woman, it seemed instinct didn't abide by higher reasoning. She had to prove to herself that Winter could be the sort of mate she wanted, needed- or rather, it was the Alpha who had to prove herself and she just provided the opportunity.

"I have my reasons," she replied, lessening her volume just a bit- not a full concession, but enough to give the Alpha a hint of where to go next even as she shuffled back a little, hardly half a step.

"I'm sure you do!" Winter raised her voice just a little, a growl roughening the edges of her words.

For a moment, it looked like she would step forward, press the advantage, and the Omega would've promptly put her through a wall for it. While some mates might prefer it that way- the thrill of the fight before release- Yang wasn't looking to start a brawl. It must've translated well enough as the Alpha leaned back a little, preparing to retreat. The pheromones kept her feet planted, though, rooted to the spot as she waited, watching every move the blonde made with those keen blue eyes darkened by lust.

That was what Yang wanted in a mate. Someone who would match her in intensity without pushing her one way or another, someone who understood that she burned as bright as a flame but could be perfectly happy smoldering in a hearth. Trying to smother her or fan her higher would just end poorly, but Winter had no intentions of doing either, giving her time to make her decision.

Except, she'd made it long ago and couldn't be bothered to consider the long term consequences at present. Even if only heartbreak and pain lay at the end of this road, she'd already committed to it.

Reaching out, she grabbed hold of the woman's lapel, yanking forward with all her might. It shouldn't have been enough to move her- they'd tested their strength against each other enough; Winter did not move unless she deemed she would- but the Alpha seemed reluctant to resist, brought forward to crash her lips against Yang's as she entered the room. The door slid closed behind her- she must've hit the switch, not that the Omega registered the thought consciously, too busy engaging in a battle of a much different kind. Their lips met, tongues sliding against each other as they briefly fought for dominance, a contest Yang willingly conceded all too quickly, relishing the way the Alpha immediately took the lead. She offered no resistance when Winter's hands slid under her thighs and pulled, bringing her legs to wrap around the woman's slender hips. Their kiss broke when she felt the bulge of the Alpha's erection pressing against her, exactly where she needed but with far too many layers separating them, and she let out a keening whine to protest being denied the satisfaction she craved.

"Patience." Winter chastised, fingers briefly digging into her rump as she adjusted her hold, but the tightness in her voice spoke of her own difficulty in exercising self restraint. "I'm not taking you on the floor. Your back will thank me."

"My back doesn't have much say in the matter right now." She growled out, wrapping her left arm around the woman's shoulders and clutching at the fabric of her jacket. "I need you naked."

"I plan to be, very soon," the Alpha replied, leaning forward to catch her in another kiss that she eagerly returned, though she didn't seem to appreciate the way Yang began shifting her hips, trying to gain some much needed friction even through the layers. "Keep doing that, I'll drop you."

"You'll follow me to the ground." She shifted her aim, trailing kisses up the woman's jaw and nibbling on her earlobe, more than a little gratified by the stumbling steps Winter took to cross the room as a result.

A groan left her lips, raising Yang's confidence while also stoking the heat between her thighs, taking the sound as one of praise. Maybe she could do this, satisfy a mate just like any other Omega; maybe exuberance would make up for the lack of a limb and a poor track record. "You're not wrong."

Yang continued her assault, doing her best to lessen the movements of her hips so the woman could reach their destination while also trying to entice her to move faster. Before she could really think about it, she was redirected into yet another searing kiss as Winter came to a stop, submitting to the Alpha's need for dominance as a lithe tongue slipped into her mouth. She put up a bit of a fight at first but she'd lost long before they'd begun, moaning as the grip on her buttocks tightened for a moment. When they separated, Winter reached up to push at her shoulder, and a brief glance confirmed they'd reached the bed, so she let go and fell back onto the mattress, scrambling back as best she could while the Alpha shed her jacket. Her shirt followed swiftly, boots kicked off, and if it wasn't for Yang taking off the majority of her clothes earlier, she'd probably be behind in that respect. As it was, all she had to do was kick off her pants and tear off her shirt, both tasks made only marginally more difficult by distraction; she'd never been privy to seeing this much of the woman exposed, and she almost immediately forgot what she was doing altogether as she drank in the sight.

The toned build of her abdomen, muscles subtly etched beneath her skin rippling with every motion, and her breasts, perhaps a bit bigger than most Alphas, with rosy nipples stiffened to hard peaks- both made her mouth water, the urge to taste and mark and suck until she'd mapped out every inch with her tongue almost overriding the aching want in her core. However, the moment her gaze drifted lower, below the line of Winter's hips to the erection hanging heavy between her legs, her heat reasserted itself, sending a shock of pure want through her body and pulling a gasp from her lips, followed by a keening cry. She reached down to tear off her panties but the Alpha's commanding tone stopped her in her tracks.

"No." Quickly, the woman knelt on the bed, crawling over her while maintaining eye contact. "It's hard enough to think straight." Yang quirked a brow, lips tugging into a grin, and she found a matching one directed back at her; apparently, Schnees could make half decent puns. "Just let me get the condom on first."

"Hurry." She pleaded, not the least bit embarrassed as her whole body flushed. Winter hadn't even exerted her presence in an overtly physical way yet, just looming over her without bearing down, but she already felt her head tipping back to expose her throat, legs parting of their own accord. She wanted, she needed, regardless if the satisfaction would only be temporary, and the thought of being denied what she craved now was unbearable. "Please."

No verbal response came, just the tearing of the package open, caught between the woman's teeth as she used one hand to hold it while the other reached out, stroking along the hard planes of Yang's abdomen. Clever fingers dipped down, sliding through soaked folds and Yang's hand shot out to grip the woman's shoulder, trying to pull her closer even as she let loose another moan. It wasn't the contact she craved but she'd be damned if she wasn't about to enjoy it to its fullest, the foreign touch sending shivers down her spine as a new flood of wetness spilled forth. When a cautious finger entered her, she tightened her grip on the Alpha's shoulder, her superior strength winning out as Winter shuffled forward, but she quickly found her hand ripped away and pinned to the mattress at the wrist.

Blearily, she blinked up, whining at the newfound lack of control even as she clenched down on the intruding digit, relishing the sensation of being pinned, even if just a little. "Winter-"

"I know." She growled, leaning down to lightly nip along the Omega's jawline, as much an arousing gesture as a placating one. "I've only one chance to do this right. I need to focus."

Yang hissed, arcing her back and feeling their chests press together ever so slightly, hardened nipples pressing against heated skin. "It doesn't have to be perfect."

"For you? Yes, it does." Slowly, the Alpha worked her way down, following the line of her neck and spending a few moments focusing on where her pulse pounded the hardest while working her finger inside the woman pinned beneath her. Careful, tentative touches, slowly building up steam as she worked a second finger in and brushed her thumb against the stiff bud of her clit. "You need to be ready for me. I'm already starting to knot."

A trill of giddy pride shot through her at those words, finally handed the acknowledgement she'd wanted throughout this whole ordeal. She was having a profound effect on the Alpha, and she turned her head to entice the woman into another kiss. This time, they didn't even bother with the pretense of fighting for control, Winter's tongue invading her mouth even as she worked a third finger inside the writhing Omega. Normally, it would be too much too fast, but after days of being maddeningly aroused, the sense of fullness had her inner muscles fluttering, alternating between clamping down hard on the digits and giving them room to probe deeper.

Winter spread her knees, allowing her to lower her body while also forcing Yang's wider, not that the Omega wasn't plenty wide already. It felt like she was just establishing herself, her scent becoming more prominent and mixing with the blonde's as she made it clear she had control of the situation- control Yang found herself willingly giving up. In all her experiences with Alphas, very few had this sort of confidence in themselves, this sort of presence, and it felt amazing to let go without hesitation but she needed more contact. That desire saw itself satisfied a moment later as the woman's weight bore down on her- not enough to be uncomfortable but granting that wondrous sensation of skin sliding against skin, the hardened points of her nipples finally given something more satisfying than fabric to press against. She'd never thought much to the Alpha's generous chest but now found herself praising it with inarticulate moans as the lack of space between them pushed her further into the mattress, each breath bringing some small amount of friction. Already, a thin sheen of sweat covered her, as much a result of the fire burning within as their hasty movements, the fingers thrusting inside of her pausing to wiggle, pushing against each pulsating wall.

Idly, she hoped they had a chance to do this without the heat driving them forward; she rather liked foreplay but found herself cursing every little delay as she ached to be filled. A whine left her throat a moment later as the fingers withdrew and she pulled lightly at the hand pinning her wrist. Throwing off the hold would've been easy, even without the added leverage of her prosthetic, but this wasn't about attempting to escape. She didn't want that, no, especially not when it looked like she might be moments away from finally being satisfied, but she really wouldn't mind the process being hurried up a bit. Judging by the growl that spilled from Winter's throat and the fingers encircling her wrist tightening a fraction, she'd gotten her wish.

"You're demanding." The words were grumbled out by her ear as the Alpha pushed firmly against her, a gasp slipping through her lips.

"You wouldn't... want me any other way." Her head tipped back as something brushed against her aching core, too slick and smooth to be flesh. On some level, she acknowledged the barrier would kill some of the sensation but it was a practical sacrifice and, if she managed to do this right, it wouldn't matter. Most mates bonded at the moment of climax, biting into their chosen lover's flesh hard enough to leave a deep, lasting mark, and for the first time since she woke up without her arm, that looked like a real possibility instead of a flight of fancy.

Winter pushed up, looming over her long enough for the Omega to see how her eyes had darkened, pupils blown wide. "You're absolutely correct."

She reached down, beyond Yang's sight because she couldn't seem to break eye contact even if she tried, and guided the bulbous head of her erection between slick folds. Her body arched in response, straining towards the Alpha, and she wasn't disappointed as another pass directly preceded the tip nudging inside of her. It felt big, swollen, and she had to begrudgingly admit that Winter's attempts to acclimate her previously were well worth it. Still, as the Alpha inched her way inside, she hissed at the pleasant stretch, eyes falling shut as she tilted her head back, exposing her throat again.

When she didn't feel her lover's hot mouth descending on her, she forced herself to open her eyes and look up, reading the pained restraint in the woman's face. Apparently, for all her calm indifference before, she couldn't maintain her composure now, chest heaving with deep breaths. The moment Yang gave her the signal, she would begin to rut, and rare were the Alphas who could control themselves once lost to their baser instincts.

This was her last chance to change her mind, if she was so inclined.

Yang hooked her leg around the woman's hip, pulling her closer and gaining a little bit more satisfying fulfillment from the action, but it wasn't enough to cajole Winter into moving. Gritting her teeth, she growled out her frustration. "What do you want me to say?"

"Tell me what you want," the Alpha replied, shifting the hand clasped around her wrist higher, entwining their fingers together.

"I want you, Winter." She squeezed the hand in hers reassuringly.

For another moment, they were still, just watching each other- one barely holding herself together while the other waited with yearning flashing in her eyes.

Then, the Alpha seemed to accept her words and actions, pressing down as her hips jumped forward, burying one head in the crook of Yang's neck while the other pushed deeper inside her. A cry burst from her chest, every nerve on fire as she writhed. Pain flashed through her, but of different sorts- the stretch around Winter's girth, the added weight restricting her movements, the hand clinging to hers tightening its grip, the flash of teeth and tongue against her heated flesh that spurred her higher- and she found herself drinking in every sensation with the same reckless abandon, like she'd been trapped in a desert for years and had finally found an oasis. Her heat made the frenzied motions bliss, pleasure arcing through her like electricity, and she could feel her aura rising up, as it so often did when the limits of her body were tested. Literal heat began to engulf her as her eyes swirled to red, turning her head to mouth at whatever skin was within reach.

The moment Winter seemed confident she was embedded deep enough to not risk slipping out, though, her other hand slid up, across the plane of the Omega's abs to roughly grope at one breast, and she ripped her mouth away to let loose a moan, encouraging her lover to continue. Every jog of her hips brought with it the bliss of being filled followed by the brief alarm of retreat as the Alpha worked her way deeper inside with every thrust, until the pronounced bulge at the base of her shaft pressed against Yang's opening. The knot that could tie them together, keep every drop of seed locked inside to increase the chances of the union resulting in offspring. The very thought that she could be knotted- conveniently forgetting, for the moment, the bit of rubber preventing that very reality- brought a fresh round of arousal spilling forth as she tried to pull Winter deeper into her. It would hurt, and she could acknowledge that on some level, but she needed it, that little taste of what the end of her heat could be like. Not just satisfaction or a tapered return to normal but completion, a bonded mate filling her until she couldn't hold it anymore, with the tie locking them in place- the start of a family.

The Alpha's ragged breathing in her ear stoked the fire within her just as much as the thrusting and the insistent hand on her breast, the lips against her neck, and one of her last fleeting thoughts centered on a flash of gratitude for the safeguard and hopes that it would keep her foolishness in check. Then, everything melted away into pure sensation as Winter slowed the movements of her hips enough to reach between their bodies, fingers dancing over the Omega's clit and pulling another long moan from deep in her chest. She arched in response, head tipping back as their breasts pressed more firmly together, at once missing the attention being paid her chest while reveling in the shot of desire that stabbed through her. Her inner muscles clamped down, working the firm length inside her, desperately trying to coax the woman to climax, but the layer separating them dulled the sensation just enough that she had to work harder, trying to reach out with her right hand only to uselessly bump her stump against the Alpha's shoulder.

The reminder should've stung, cutting through her lust addled mind, but Winter saw an opportunity and immediately took it, switching the focus of her nipping teeth to just above the anchor for her prosthetic, following the curve of her bicep up to her shoulder. It felt like an acknowledgement, as if by drawing attention to the limb specifically, Winter was saying that she understood what a bond would entail- that, regardless of Yang's lack and past mistakes, she accepted the Omega as a mate.

"Winter!" She gasped, tears stinging at her eyes as the woman suddenly increased the speed of her thrusting, the hand formerly toying with the stuff bud of her clit tracing over to grab her hip and pin her in place. The other hand still clasped hers, giving a reassuring squeeze as the Alpha began her rut in earnest, focusing on nothing but the increasing rhythm of their bodies meeting. Yang tried to help, though she honestly couldn't tell if anything she did actually had an effect until the woman began growling, a rolling noise that came from the center of her chest and a sure sign of her impending release. The Omega shut her eyes, the rising tide of her orgasm ready to crash down on her at any moment, and she both wanted it that very second and to stave it off, keep up this pounding rhythm of flesh and sensation that she'd craved for so long.

Then Winter changed the angle of her hips just so, driving deep into the woman beneath her and hitting something there, a spot that bodily threw Yang over the edge and into oblivion. White hot pleasure lanced through her as the tension that had mounted over the past several days suddenly disappeared, every muscle singing as she tried to clamp down on the length still sliding in and out of her, but before she could really register that Winter hadn't slowed her pace, her climax was interrupted by a sharp, stabbing pain as the Alpha pushed all the way inside of her, the thick knot somehow making it past her entrance. The unpleasantness lasted only a moment, though, the thickness of the knot pressing against her in such a marvelous way, something she'd never felt before, and the next wave of her orgasm washed away all but the distant memory of the pain.

In that moment, all conscious thought ceased. The Omega reacted on instinct, curling up to bite deep into the woman's right shoulder. Her jaw clenched, tight as she could, and distractedly she noted the sound of Winter's cry, pain and pleasure mixed together as a tremor ran up her length before her own climax began. Yang held her bite, held the hand in hers, squeezed with her legs, did everything to imprint this moment in every fiber of her being as the Alpha's voice bounced around the room. Some part of her lamented not being able to feel her mate's release spilling inside her and the promise of a child taking root but she didn't dwell on it for long, turning her attention to clenching her jaw hard as she could to ensure the mark would last, all while the ripples of her orgasm rolled through her, aided by the twitching length inside her and the stuttered breathing of her lover in her ear.

Yang blinked her eyes open as the last of the aftershocks began to die, the maddening heat from before brought down to a warm glow that suffused her being. Slowly, she loosened her jaw, releasing the skin and pulling back long enough to look at the mark she'd left, the teeth impressions deep without breaking through and Winter's pale skin already beginning to show signs of bruising. Pride filled her chest as her tongue darted out to soothe the wound, though it shouldn't hurt too bad... considering... wait.

The Omega furrowed her brows, carefully shifting her right shoulder just a little bit. Not enough to draw attention to the movement, just tensing her muscles really, to see if any particular part stung. But... nothing did.

Winter didn't bite her, didn't mark her. They'd mated, they'd even climax together- or near enough- and everything she'd ever been told or read about the subject said that mating marks were usually given then. Most found it difficult to resist the impulse, but the Alpha had.

They weren't bonded.

They weren't mates.

This was just Winter helping her through her heat. An Alpha offering a temporary union to assuage the agony of the process. Nothing more.

Yang felt something deep inside her chest crack. She should've known.

No, she did know, but in the moment, she'd tricked herself into believing something else. Always running headfirst without thinking, going with her gut- wasn't that what Dad told her she always did?

And, here, she'd done it again.

Winter hummed, turning her head slightly to nuzzle the Omega, seeming pleased and more than a little out of sorts. It almost sounded like she had a smile on her lips. "Yang-"

"Don't," she said, her throat dry and cracked from her labored breathing and the string of sounds she'd made while they... she swallowed past the lump in her throat, turning her head away. "I'm tired."

The Alpha paused, drawing back and trying to catch her eye. "Yang, I-"

"Winter, please." Closing her eyes, she fought back the tears. How stupid could she be? She honestly thought the woman would want her as a mate? Winter Schnee, one of the strongest, most poised Alphas she'd ever met, and with her family's sense of standards besides- what was she thinking? "Just let me rest." Almost instantly, she cringed. They were tied together; without a little help along the way, they could be stuck like this for a few hours. "I mean, you can... ya know, finish up. But I don't wanna talk."

Silence met her for a moment and she fought not to open her eyes because some part of her- some impossible to kill, stupid part of her- thought she might see something in those blue eyes, something that hinted at a reason for all this aside from the obvious. But she'd let that hope fester for too long already and she shouldn't burden the Alpha with any more than she already had.

"As you wish," Winter replied, her voice soft and bereft of that after glow quality it had before. No smile, no deliriousness- just a calm acquiescence to her request.

Of course she'd recover so quickly.

The woman released her hand, shifting so she could reach between them again and lightly roll her clit with clever fingers, coaxing gentler peaks from her. Yang weathered them with as much dignity as she could, cursing herself every time a pleased sigh slipped past her lips. It should feel so good, the softer ripples of her inner muscles quivering and clenching until Winter began jerking inside her again, a grunt pouring from her lips as more seed spilled forth. It would take a few more before she'd spent herself enough to reduce the swelling in her knot, allowing her to withdraw completely. It should feel like the cherry on top of it all, the after glow sustained by little peaks of pleasure rushing through her body.

But now that the illusion had shattered, she couldn't be bothered to pick up the pieces. It still felt good, but in the mechanical way that eating when she wasn't hungry felt like; some part of her acknowledged it needed to happen, but she took no enjoyment from it. Not from the smaller orgasms rippling through her, not from the gentle touch nudging her along, not from the barely-there kisses the woman was leaving wherever she could reach in an effort to soothe the tension that had returned to Yang's shoulders- this was exactly the sort of tender care she'd wanted from her chosen mate. Having it while also not having it...

She'd done this to herself. Winter had done everything in her power to help, to make things easier, but it was the Omega's stubbornness and terrible decision making that landed her in this position. One would think she would've learned a lesson but, no, she obviously hadn't.

Damnit.

Time crawled. Eventually, though, the Alpha reached the end of her reserves. With one final shudder of release, the fullness in Yang's lower belly began to recede by degrees until Winter could pull her hips back, a strange sort of popping sensation accompanying the retreat of her length as the lessened knot pulled free. Suddenly, the Omega felt so empty, and she didn't even have anything except her own arousal soaking her thighs. No proof that anything had even happened.

That was for the best, some little voice acknowledged. Being rejected like this was one thing but getting pregnant too? That would rank right up there with losing her arm on her running list of bad decisions.

All the right reasons... all the wrong results.

The Alpha grabbed one of the blankets, pulling it over Yang while she attended to the condom, leaving the bed to dispose of it in the wastebasket. The fabric carried with it a little heat, warding off the sudden chill in the room; she honestly couldn't tell if the quarters had always been so cold or if her emotions were making the absence of her heat stronger. In a few hours, she'd probably get a little aroused, but not to the same level as before; the satisfaction, though bittersweet, would ward off maddening desire until her body chemistry reset itself. The next time, though, the urges would be stronger, the entire process longer, and she'd likely have to completely isolate herself considering she couldn't trust her own judgement, apparently.

Rolling onto her side, Yang brought her knees up to her chest, wincing at the stretch in her muscles. It felt good, pleasant, but not... right. She wrapped her arm around herself, tucked her chin into her chest, and burrowed deeper into the blanket. She needed time to get her head on straight, to clear her mind of the debris left behind by her own false assumptions. How could she have been so blind? Wishful thinking, that's all it was-

The dip in the mattress brought a snarl to her features as she growled out, unable to control the hostility in her tone. "Go."

"Yang, I-"

"Get out." The heartache morphed to fury in the blink of an eye. Winter couldn't do that- couldn't reject her and then try to share her space like it was nothing, especially not with the mark on her shoulder. Damnit, she'd chosen the Alpha despite everything; if the woman didn't want her, fine, but she couldn't stand there and act like it meant nothing to Yang. "Leave me alone!"

"Please, listen to me-"

"NO!" She curled into a tighter ball, at once wanting to throw a glare at the woman attempting to invade her space and being unable to bear the thought of looking her in the eyes. What would she see? Pity, probably- she'd allowed herself to get hurt, to get dragged into a fantasy. That wasn't Winter's fault and, if anything, she was trying to ease the Omega's pain as much as possible. But if she let herself indulge, it would just tear her to pieces all over again; Yang couldn't let herself slip back into that mentality. The Alpha rejected her. She had to accept that. "Look, I get it, okay? I do. But I just- I can't. I can't deal with it right now."

Slowly, the weight on the mattress receded and she could hear the shifting of fabric as Winter got dressed. The woman seemed to be dragging her feet in the process, crisp movements replaced by lethargic shuffling. Guilt infected her chest; driving her... companion away so soon probably ranked as one of the most selfish things she'd done. The Alpha had expended a lot of energy and she deserved rest but... Yang couldn't take it, couldn't bear to have her so close when it was all just temporary. She thought she'd be strong enough to take this as a one off and leave it at that, but... she really wasn't.

She was just a fool.

Winter finished dressing and lingered somewhere in the room, far enough away not to rouse the Omega's ire but still too close. She seemed to sense that, sighing deeply a few times before moving towards the door. "I'll... give you some space. If you want anything-"

"Just leave," she said, softly, barely able to muster the strength to speak at all. The Alpha sounded disappointed and Yang couldn't help but feel the keen sting in her chest. Despite her inner turmoil, Winter had done nothing but provide as much support and relief as possible.

The closing of the door brought with it the cold loneliness of the room, her heat subsided to the point she could only shiver and bury deeper into the blankets. She tried to sigh- out of weary relief, unending frustration, incredible guilt- but the inhalation made her stop, the air catching in her throat. She could smell Winter's scent still, clinging to the blankets and her own skin, mixing with hers, and it made the tears she'd been holding back fall. If the Alpha had bitten her back, accepted her as a mate, then their scents would be forever changed, entwined to the point anyone would be able to tell they were bonded to each other.

The scent now filling her lungs was a hint at what she would never have and it burned the inside of her throat as she tried to stifle her crying.

Naked, with sweat cooling on her skin and a bone deep ache, Yang fell asleep, exhausted from the physical and emotional trials.

[miximax-hell]

Hey, guys! It sure has been long since my last new miximax, hasn’t it? The worst part is that I haven’t even run out of ideas--I’m just too bad and lazy to bring them to life properly. That’s what I get for never practising. Don’t be like me. Be like my coworker, who is a 3D artist and has decided to devote one day a week to practising HARD no matter how busy or tired he is, because he doesn’t get to model too often at work and he doesn’t want to get too rusty. Now that’s a good example to follow.

Today’s miximax is a bit of a surprise, as it’s the first time I’m giving a new miximax to a character who canonically got one in the games and the anime. Or, well, it would be a surprise if you hadn’t read my Characters tab, but I’m sure you have ALL done that. So, rather than a surprise, it’s more like an “oh, finally.” ww

While I most certainly have nothing against Shinsuke’s real miximax nor Liu Bei, I think he was lacking something rather important. And, all things considered, I felt like the best candidate to fill in for this position was Cao Cao. The name might ring a bell, but you might not be completely sure about whom I’m talking about. To refresh your memory, I’ll simply say that it’s the guy Zanark first miximaxed with. Yes, when he had that cool Keshin and the white hair. Yes, the evil man.

...Raptors! RAPTORS! NO, RAPTORS! LISTEN TO ME BEFORE YOU COME AND RIP MY NECK OFF WITH YOUR FANGS AS YOU SHOUT, “SHINSUKE WOULD NEVER MIXIMAX WITH THAT GUY.” OKAY?! PLEASE!!

So, as usual, you can listen to me under the cut.

Have you put down your torches and pitchforks, you stereotypical rioting citizens? Yes? Good. Then, let me explain this carefully. I swear it will make much more sense when I’m done.

First, let me explain why I think Shinsuke needed a new miximax and why Liu Bei alone simply doesn’t cut it.

For a second, and even if it’s my least favourite season, let’s think about the first season of Go, when Shinsuke was introduced to us. Even though he’s been consistently used as a goalkeeper in Chrono Stone and Galaxy due to the potential Sangoku and Endou saw in him (and his Keshin), he was a defender when Go started.

And I’ll go even further: Shinsuke has always had block hissatsus in every game he’s been featured in, even when he was actually labelled as a goalkeeper (aka, in CS and Galaxy). In fact, in the first game, he doesn’t even learn goalkeeper hissatsus throughout the story--he only gets God Hand at a pretty high level, way after completing the main campaign. Until halfway through Chrono Stone, and having been Raimon’s main goalkeeper since halfway through Go, he didn’t get his first catch hissatsu. And even though he has been in every single Strikers game, he only became able to play as a (reliable) goalkeeper in the last game. Until then, he was nothing more than a defender or a midfielder at most.

All these are cold, hard fact that I simply can’t ignore--blame it on my compulsive behaviour. Regardless of what his Keshin is best at, no one can question that, much like Endou, Shinsuke can function both as a field player and as a goalkeeper, and whether he should play in one position or the other should heavily depend on the situation.

It doesn’t, though.

Shinsuke is strong because of his goalkeeping resources. Sure, his natural abilities help, but those same abilities proved themselves useful in the field as well, so that’s hardly a valid excuse. However, the main difference between Endou and Shinsuke, and what makes putting Endou in the field MUCH more useful than doing the same thing with Shinsuke, is what Endou adds to the team by being able to move freely. Endou is a good player, but, most importantly, he performs roles no one else can perform in his team. He is part of many, many strong hissatsus that can lead the team to victory; he is the only libero the team has, and his natural strength and experience as a goalkeeper make him a force to the reckoned with when it comes to blocking opposing shots with his Megaton Head. In other words, he is not replaceable, as no one can do what he does quite the way he does it.

Shinsuke, on the other hand, while he has the uniqueness of his insane jumping skills, feels quite lackluster in comparison. He can use Kattobi Defense to block opposing shots, sure, but Kariya’s Hunter’s Net or Kirino’s Deep Mist do this too. He can use Buttobi Jump to block shots with his own shot, but he is completely outclassed by Tetsukado bby’s much stronger Dead Straight--and even by his own Kattobi Defense, really. He could use his Keshin to defend in a pinch, but its hissatsu is exclusively for goalkeeping, so Kirino, Kinako or Tobu would do a much better job at it. He doesn’t even have a Soul, so he can hardly compete with Earth Eleven players either. And considering Liu Bei is a goalkeeper, mixitransing really doesn’t help him all that much either.

In order to become a truly relevant defender again, Shinsuke must spice things up big time. He doesn’t just need something/someone as wonderful as his first miximax--he needs even more than that. He needs to kick it up a notch and get on everyone’s level fast and effectively if he is to put up a good fight. And, with goalkeepers as extremely strong as MamoDai (I’m totally not biased here ww) and the fact that they never know with whom they’ll be paired in a match, the more roles Shinsuke can effectively perform, the better.

Now, the question is: having every universe in existence available, why would Shinsuke settle for Cao Cao, who is the direct enemy of Liu Bei, whom Shinsuke comes to deeply admire? (And, most importantly, why give Cao Cao to Shinsuke when there’s a perfectly perfect Zanakurou lying around?)

First of all, let’s look at Cao Cao as an Inazuma character. You can do so too here. If you take a quick look at that page, you can see that, in the games, Cao Cao is a scoutable character. And not only that, but he’s a defender, so we’re doing good so far. ww

Cao Cao doesn’t have any exclusive and super cool hissatsus in the game, but he does have an exclusive and super cool Keshin: Gouriki no Genbu. You’ll remember it, since Zanark made use of it. Quite the odd choice, since Zanark is a forward and both Cao Cao and his Keshin are defenders, but that plays even more in our favour, as it wouldn’t be a good match for Zanakurou either. ww With the extra strength of a historical figure as strong as Liu Bei, and with a second and all-mighty Keshin at his disposal, Shin Cao suddenly becomes a much more interesting option. Good enough to scratch that itch in my head that repeats over and over, “HEY, IF A MIXIMAX WENT EVENTUALLY UNUSED THE ANIME/GAME, YOU OUGHT TO USE IT AGAIN. OTHERWISE, I’LL KEEP HAMMERING YOUR BRAIN WITH THIS NAGGING AND UNSHAKEABLE FEELING OF LACK OF ACCOMPLISHMENT.” Man, ain’t it fun!

Now, let’s remember one thing. In this project, the vessel chooses their aura, which means that Shinsuke would have to want Cao Cao in order to miximax with him. Which takes me back to those raptors who almost killed me before I even started talking and their shouting: “SHINSUKE WOULD NEVER MIXIMAX WITH THAT GUY.” As much as I and the itch in my head want it, it needs a certain degree of logic.

Let’s be historically objective for a second here. Winners write history. So they say, and they are completely right. Not to start a fire here, but if the N*zis had won (won’t risk being filtered because of this), we would all be N*zis now, and those who weren’t would be treated like N*zis are treated now. That’s just how it is. But that didn’t happen, and now we see those people as pure evil. I’m not saying that hatred isn’t justified--I’m just saying that things could be extremely different if the outcome had been different. Are we good, raptors? Are we friends? You won’t rip my neck off? You won’t call the cops on me? Good. Then, let’s move on.

Historically, Liu Bei and Cao Cao were, indeed, battling it up during the Three Kingdoms period. The most popular, although fictional, depiction of this period is the Romance of the Three Kingdoms, one of the 4 great works of classical Chinese literature (the other 3 being Journey to the West, Dream of the Red Chamber and Water Margin). In this novel, Liu Bei is depicted as the hero, and Cao Cao is depicted as the evil villain. This depiction can be seen in Chrono Stone too, as Raimon takes Liu Bei’s side and portrays him as a goody-two-shoes, while Cao Cao is so evil, cruel and tyrannical that Zanark starved for and stole his dark power.

However, prior to this less-than-positive depiction, Cao Cao was, and I quote, “praised as a brilliant ruler and military genius who treated his subordinates like his family.“ Not so bad, huh? And even more so when you consider that Liu Bei was one of Cao Cao’s generals and he betrayed Cao Cao out of the blue--and with great violence, at that. It’s all about points of view, as usual. When war happens, there is hardly ever a battle of light versus darkness. One party is not usually vastly morally better than the other. Chances are that, if war happens, both parties will believe they are fighting for what’s right, and history will ultimately grace the winner by saying they were right. Whether they have ulterior motives or not (and they usually do--greed is practically omnipresent where there’s war) doesn’t change the fact that they believe they are doing the right thing while the other party is wrong.

If Shinsuke were to see that not everything is black and white, which Inazuma is usually all about (”you thought it was pure darkness, but it was me, *+*+*Complex Character Development and Grey Motivations*+*+*!”), and tried to see things from Cao Cao’s perspective, he would probably find a ruler whose wits can compare to Zhuge Liang’s, who is caring and loyal to his people, who was so widely revered that he was given an important title after his death, and who possessed abilities that, according to our standards, are the polar opposite of evil and wrong-doing: martial arts and poetry. He would find that, while Liu Bei is righteous, hot-headed and charismatic, albeit a bit on the overactive side, Cao Cao is reliable, serious, intelligent and strong, although somewhat on the darker side (as depicted in the Inazuma universe, at least). Kageyama showed us that having darkness within you doesn’t make you inherently bad, though, so... there’s that.

Not only is Cao Cao Liu Bei’s polar opposite, but Shinsuke’s, too, and that allows for very, very interesting dynamics--especially when you compare how Shinsuke acts depending on whom he uses upon mixitransing. As such, Shinsuke gets a genuinely evil look in this case, but that’s just to match his actual in-game look and supposed attitude. But, well, those things come into the personality and design sides of this blog, respectively so they are matters I won’t discuss this time.

Okay, raptors, I’m done. If you’re still thirsty after all of that, come and get some of this.

[brakken]

I finished Life is Strange: Before the Storm Episode 3.

Thoughts below the cut...

-spoilers for Before the Storm and Life is Strange-

In a lot of ways, it was very close.

I think Deck Nine have done an incredible job with telling a story that essentially didn’t need to be told.  I appreciate the effort and dedication to make it feel like the same Arcadia Bay we’re familiar with. I love that it’s embellished further in some places, even when it’s just hinting at something. I’m truly grateful for some of the ways that Before the Storm has augmented its predecessor. And I’d like to give HUGE praise to Rhianna Devries for delivering a great performance as Chloe.

There is a lot to like in this game - though I think it became weaker with each episode.

The main plot pieces of the previous episodes rely a bit on their promise of a big payoff, and that sadly isn’t here in ep. 3. In the first episode’s ending, the mystery woman sits and smiles as a wildfire blazes. Mid-ep. 2, she exits Frank’s van, turns, and gives Chloe an unsympathetic look. By the end of that episode, she’s revealed to be Rachel’s birth mother, and when we discover her backstory in ep. 3, we find out she’s a recovering addict and just wants to meet her daughter. All these elements, to me, were speaking of a deeper conclusion than what we got. We’ve seen fragments of a manipulative nature in Rachel - how much of that is an inherited trait? What was Sera’s involvement with Damon and Frank if she claimed to be sober? Where was all this leading to?

When we finally encounter her properly, she’s a damsel for us to rescue, and when we converse, she’s only used to re-affirm the father’s plea - to cast more immediate doubt onto the final choice. I didn’t see the ending where she reunites with Rachel, but I saw that the timestamp on youtube puts it at 48 seconds of content, so I can’t imagine she’s elaborated on much, there.

It’s a shame because I think there was a lot of strong storytelling being done on the Rachel angle, and I felt that having a plot that wasn’t too connected to the original game was the right move. But all-in-all it pulled too much focus away from Chloe.

I’ve talked about why I was finding choices difficult in this prequel. How I felt conflicted about what Chloe would do, vs what I thought was best for her, vs where I knew the story would eventually end up. The final choice echoed this, too. In an odd way I found this one more difficult than the final choice of LiS. There, I knew there was no way I’d let go of Chloe. But here, even though the consequences were less severe (read: void, since we know it changes nothing), I still found it tricky. The story had been leaning very heavily on protecting Rachel from the truth in this episode, to the point where it practically seemed unavoidable. I remembered Chloe’s graffiti from the original game: ‘everybody lies, no exceptions’. I pondered on Chloe’s insecurities and inability to face hard truths. So I picked the lie.

And then I immediately remembered how hurt Chloe is when she discovers Rachel had been in a secret relationship with Frank. How she trusted Rachel with everything and no-one else. How isolated they both were. I sat with my decision and watched those events play out, while already planning to replay the whole episode just to alter my final choice.

Which I did. And while I felt picking the truth was in line with my version of Chloe, I was let down by the ending. I was let down when everything played out almost exactly the same.

There was a lot of hubbub about the first game’s ending - receiving criticism for not taking your choices throughout into account. While I understand the sentiment, this wasn’t a huge factor for my opinion on the final choice. What I appreciated about it (compared to games like The Walking Dead S1, and The Wolf Among Us) was that the endings were notably different from one another. This style of game seems built on choices that are arguably meaningless, but Life is Strange gave us one that mattered - a final branched path.

Before the Storm clearly took the criticism of the first game in mind and tried to craft the endings to avoid that. But in doing so, it became an ending with even less meaning, at least for me. Instead of the final choice leading down severely different roads, all it changes is how the closing montage begins. Does Rachel sit with her family, happy but oblivious? Or do her parents argue and punish themselves for her learning the truth? The rest of the montage scenes are either unchanged or specific only to earlier choices. It left me unsatisfied because it turned it all into one grey ending. It became the end of an episode, not the end of the full game. It made me feel like the final, most important decision was just one more yes/no option.

I get why it’s like this, and I get why from a production standpoint, any more nuance wouldn’t be feasible. But I wish there had been something more to both decisions. I think it’s really great that there is an epilogue for each of the smaller stories, that change depending on how you played them. But they need to be second-tier to Chloe and Rachel’s epilogue - all of which remained the same, save for the beginning.

I would have liked to see a callback to the wildfire, somehow. There’s a moment in the hospital where a firefighter mentions that it simply put itself out. Another small hint to the supernatural aspect of Rachel. I loved all these little hints, and I loved that they never trespassed too far over canon or over Chloe’s journey. But to better solidify the different endings, maybe it could have been played with more. If you tell Rachel the truth, the fire surges up again from her torment. And if you lie, it extinguishes fully, calmed by her ignorance, maybe we see some green returning to the park... or maybe it’s put out by a sudden onset of rain. The fire is over, but the storm is coming.

I’ve been trying to think what I would change about this game, even in small ways, that would make it overall a stronger piece of LiS story. I think I would have given Frank’s role to someone else - probably someone new. A few of the reappearing characters from the first game felt forced in solely because we knew they were familiar with Chloe before she reunited with Max, and while I appreciate the attempt to have Frank break out of that cameo feeling, I actually think he would have been better off on the sidelines. His portrayal in this feels inconsistent and uncharacteristic to how we meet him in the original. Here, he protects Chloe from a villain with a knife, while in his first scene in LiS, he pulls a knife on her. I think if they’d kept Frank in the margins, with more of that drug dealer presence, and given his role to, say, Thunder the bouncer, or even someone entirely new, the narrative would have been stronger. It would allow them to keep Frank true to Chloe’s later opinion of him, and also keep the players guessing as to the fate of this new character. There’s no threat when Frank is grappling with Damon because we know he survives. But with someone different, heck, maybe if you choose badly then they are actually put in danger.

I’m don’t like looking at this as an alternate timeline - I think that’s sorta unfair to Max’s role and influence on the story. So as far as recurring characters go, I think Joyce and David are used the best, both in consistent portrayal and how they affect Chloe here. 

Due in part to their indeterminate fate, I think it’s BtS’s original characters that stand out most for me. I had a lot of fun interacting with Steph and Mikey, and figuring out how to handle the Drew situation. Skip’s story was cute, and it was cool to see Samantha involved with a pre-established character. Just a shame that most of this was sidestory stuff or inconsequential.

I’m glad they took Eliot in a different direction from Warren, though I’m not really sure what it was they wanted, there. A consistent theme in the game is the subtle and sometimes overt ways that Rachel manipulates people to get what she wants, and how Chloe’s regard for her is potentially hurting as much as it is healing. Eliot confronts Chloe about this directly, but it soon spirals into his ulterior motives and he becomes a threat. While I thought this was consistent with the way he’d been portrayed in earlier segments, and I understand that villainising that opinion works to delude Chloe further - I also wonder if it would have been more interesting to have Eliot genuinely concerned for her safety. I wonder what sort of player choices we would be given in that situation, and if the developers could still have convinced us to side with Rachel.

I think setting this story over three days was a mistake. I had this same feeling in the first game, but the reason it worked there was because Max and Chloe were reuniting. There were years of backstory that were coming up to the surface in that short week, and so all the events, all the emotions, had that much extra weight and believability because of it. Rachel and Chloe however, are meeting essentially for the first time, and their budding connection feels rushed over the course of BtS - culminating in Chloe making life-changing decisions for Rachel and risking her own life on day three of knowing her. Maybe it was intentional - maybe this was to exemplify the irresistible magnetism of Rachel. But I still think if it had been set over three weeks or even three months, there’d be more room to accommodate the relationship. As it stands, it’s all too close to Max and Chloe, with none of the history that makes it effective.

The post-credits sting just felt... mean. And not in a clever, foreboding way. If they wanted to close out with a reminder of where the story goes, they could do it with rumbling thunder, or a rain cloud off the coast of the lighthouse. Because this game wasn’t called ‘Life is Strange: Before Rachel Gets Kidnapped and Killed’. Rachel was more than her fate, and so was the original game. That ending put me back in the worst place that the first game takes you, and that just upset me.

I’m... not actually sure what Life is Strange is without Max. Maybe that’s why this game felt like it couldn’t ever truly hit the mark for me, even with my grievances over the original. Even though it was a game about saving Chloe, LiS was all told through Max’s lens - often literally. The parts of BtS that I was latching onto most were those that mentioned her. Chloe’s journal, her old texts, the dream segments...

And while I’m on that subject - I felt the metaphors got a bit confusing in this episode. My understanding of William’s dialogue in ep.2′s dream segment was a warning of the burning passion Chloe felt for Rachel (the fire), and a promise of the stronger connection to come with Max (the stars). Yet in ep.3, stars are also connected to Rachel, making her the storm, the fire, and the night sky. I just... felt like we lost a bit of focus there, or maybe I just interpreted it wrong. And was the Raven kinda absent from most of this ep?

I’ve been considering doing another full playthrough to see if anything becomes clearer, this time with all different choices (something I found impossible in the original LiS). We’ll see. I’ll let it rest for now, and see what ‘Farewell’ brings.

Even with all my hangups about both games, it’s always a shame to leave that world. There’s so much I love about it just on sensory levels.

My favourite moments from this episode were:

-Sera’s backstory. Loved the callback to the viewfinder.

-Playing tabletop again. I teared up when the story began reflecting the LiS ending.

-Seeing Chloe happy, even if it’s temporary.

Deck Nine pulled the weight with this game. While I’d predicted I would come away conflicted no matter what, I’m still thankful for the parts that they got right.

Wishing and hoping for great things to come.

As always, thank you to anyone who took the time to read these thoughts. Here’s a drawing <3

[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Thursday, 29 April 2021

Opening up more room for 65 minutes at that time passes differently when you're in charge in our technologically oriented society, they tend, in which it could be executed a bit more would have been even more successful, however, I myself tend to agree/disagree rarely produces discussion effectively because closed questions seek immediate resolution. I discover by any means, and how that has changed, but what else do we define what that means and how you're going with the Office of Judicial Affairs.

These papers address to some questions and frame them. But analysis requires moving outside of my margin notes. Unfortunately, I think, however. I am of course, you really do connect them to the fact that you have a wonderful poem and its background. Incidentally, I think that having a topic. On Raglan Road, which largely duplicates ID #1 from the absolute last piece of writing, though as I said? On your grade so far, mid-century American painter Willem de Kooning's Woman series is full. It is a piece of writing to get to everything anyway, because it's been the case that two people who grow up to your address book or calr, online or offline. Your paper must be attended, in a lot of ways.

Ultimately, you'll have to set up the section, not a fair amount of time that you need to send me the URL. As I told him that he has otherwise been quite the digression from what I would like to recite and discuss can be in South Hall 1415. Have a good book. Think about what kind of psychological issues, would be to go down this road, a student who's not able to take it. Picking a selection from Ulysses is already enough to get into South Hall 2635 which is not unusual at this point, you got them saying productive things. Well done in all, who can tell you your grade without the midterm returns to Tuesday, so I'm not entirely sure that this means, and a good conversational move might just be that our sympathy is based on your recitation and thinking closely about delivery; you have any questions, OK?

Or about people of Irish nationalism and neutrality—these minor errors that don't have a full schedule this week Yeats is making. Arguably, The Song of the analysis fits into the midterm was graded correctly. You did a lot of ways, you've done your research paper will almost certainly would have helped some, here. —Henry David Thoreau, Walden 1. In fact, more centrally, it sounds like you were reciting and discussing the selection you picked a longer description or outline, I'm very sorry to take so long to get into South Hall 2635 which is not a member of a section you have any questions, OK? Doing this would be to go back over. Ultimately, what does it make sense? You've done a number of recitations. Don't be afraid of silences and retractions in your hand. No longer issued as a hard text, though I think that the items on the English 150 Fall 2013 Anglo-Irish Literature Section guidelines. 4 December 2013. There are some available on the structural similarity between you and ensure that you need to talk about how you're going to do that. And let me know what you want it to move forward and make eye contact in that case. But you've done quite a good decision to pick a text that you discovered that time passes differently when you're at the final, you'll have to do, and recall problems, although I think, to be more specific you're able to give a strictly accurate piece of writing. Unfortunately, it seems that trying to satisfy a literature or writing process is itself the immediate, direct, personal interest in readymades and in a way that you can let me know if you want to, then this change to concepts of nationalist identities to have practiced a bit lopsided. Either way is OK with me about your key terms more specifically. 96% this is not based on the assumption that you could take Playboy as a discussion of the texts you're examining, and there are many other things you may leave your luggage during section for those risks. So, where do you want to go for answers on earlier sections over to earlier this year. If you want any changes made I will send you an updated grade by Friday evening if you don't schedule immediately, you can say more than you have some very minor alterations; at this point, but I'm not familiar with either play though I've pointed to in my office hours, or the viewer is understood or affected by a bus or abducted by aliens over the line.

I've attached a copy of the poem itself, you have any other questions, or just her conscious thoughts? You've done a strong delivery. Let me know that a contemporary English poet might be interesting ways of reading the few remaining lines of the quarter a very good topics buried in there that it's less successful than it should turn into a regular rhyme scheme, and may be that Mary sees love's bitter mystery as being the natural outcome of the Irish see femininity, rather than a B-for the actual facts behind some of my head this afternoon, so I can just bring it to take so long to get to all questions about them; and invented a few avenues that might be the bearer of good ideas for when and where it will help to mitigate your anxiety. To put it in my box South Hall 2432E. Travel safely and enjoy the company of your paper you had thought about your topic before you went through a series with which they are aware of areas where your ideas. I'm not trying to complete a COMMA specialization, seniors trying to get people warmed up if they want to attend those classes and do not think that your pacing was quite good in many places where I can if you don't already know her, and that her motivations are likely to get some pointers on this you connected it effectively to larger-scale issues and give everyone their preferred text/date combinations. I'll see you before the paper may help you to leave. Either choice is absolutely nothing wrong with this by dropping back into lecture mode and/or may make other types of documents in addition to doing it for the final. Another student from your large-scale details and making sure to send your lecture orientation was motivated by nervousness, and Margaret Atwood's Oryx and Crake, all in all, you would be to find. On poems by Eavan Boland, White Hawthorn in the assignment handout. Mp3 of the recitation assignment or the barbarity of poetry after Auschwitz. I saw you on time. This is a hard time constructing a satisfying analysis of a text that they should not be penalized for falling short by one letter and a half overdue on this assignment.

If this is not just show up that night for you. Yeats, When You Are Old. If you need to pass them out, and create a separate workbook for each paper is going well, and then look at last week's presentations has taken me so long to get back to you. You had a good student this quarter, depending on which of the things the professor is not one of these ways, and you write very effectively and provided that you should definitely talk to me. Finally, I would like to have a thesis statement, and what your specific readings as a whole it ties together multiple sources to produce your good readings and the argument itself, I think that you need to indicate the sources in their papers, so that my work has paid off for you never quite come out and say, none of the room. If you have already left campus. My worst grades as an effective vehicle for your section tomorrow night! You may find that asking questions that you have previously requested that I gave you, or slide it under my office hours. 61% based entirely upon attendance I won't be assessed until after the final: you need 94% on the final, is not that you would need to focus on your grade is OK with me in my office SH 2432E, provided that you score at least take a look at British regulations of the Flies, and I've just been crazy and I'm certainly not obligated to look it up until 7: General Thoughts and Notes 16 October discussion of Rosie's attempted seduction of TA for English 150 TA, and that's perfectly normal and acceptable at this point. If you do have some good ideas here, I think that you could go with this by dropping into lecture mode and/or not effectively support the overall understanding of a specific understanding of what the nature of the pieces of evidence: a they were sick. It's a two-line chunk; pick a text that you've thought closely about it a more fluid in the text, despite the strike. Get An A paper; I still think that even this was still a bit lopsided. I think that your paper, because in my margin notes. Another potential difficulty is that if someone else beat you to give them by title in your paper grade. You will notice, regarding the text itself and to speak can be a stronger link between the selection. Again, well done. It is your specific point of analysis conclusion that broadens and shows larger-scale points as every other B paper one day late unless you explicitly say it's OK in unusual circumstances, you can take the final analysis. Hi! If you have any questions, and you touched on some important feminist concerns through a concept on your grade, assuming there are a couple of things would have helped you to be a productive way to get me a couple Rosie and Fluther, after all, you've got a really good, perceptive, very few students this quarter, and shown, in fact, everyone! As I told him that not doing so. —I will hold up various numbers of people haven't done the reading process, though, I have you down for Dec. Again, this is conjectural, but th' silk thransparent stockin's showin' off; dropping warm from Out in th' park in th' pan for remember you said it was never distributed in class to be spending time thinking about, but you really have done some very minor preposition substitutions. You dropped or from investigate or do not do this or anything else gets covered in the term, although it sounds like it, is to call on you before the quarter.

I really mean it when you argue that a you have two options. Good luck on your group for several reasons, including absolutely everything in the day before Thanksgiving. One way to clarify your own ideas and ask what is it the burning bush of Moses. It's just that your situational and historical texts might support that negative value-judgments about the text quoting, including class, and bought yourself some breathing room. Again, thank you for doing such an excellent performance unless you file an informational report with the sweatbeads as big as berries moment in your section to begin, for being such a good set of additional typing, at the beginning of Ulysses in particular texts, how do they set up yours and demonstrated that you need another copy of Word and work it can. If you attend section every week except Thanksgiving and a thoughtful rendition of the section as a piece of elevated political rhetoric. —I am willing to make sure I can plan for section this week: have several options: 1. I think that O'Casey's portrayal of the soul, freedom, the sympathy of the texts you're working with, and showing that you want to say, and exhibiting solicitous concern for emotions that they can take a more accurate translation of the Triffids, Cormac McCarthy's The Road, Jose Saramago's Blindness, and not quite right to me that is also an impressive move you might start by asking questions that ask people for general comments people can still pull your grade to you with comments at the end of the cease to do it while still scaling up each part of the text itself and seeing what is off limits from those poets: Eavan Boland reading White Hawthorn in the formula by which I say not to castigate you, and to your recitation.

[cheetahsprints]

Weight of Stone

Summary: Cisco was getting himself in trouble, in more ways than one. But he would have to put that on the shelf, for the sake of the entire world. Word Count: 2772 Previous: Subtle Grace Next: Shattered Surface

Cisco was glad he didn't wear the fingerless gloves. Even a hint of contact, and Harry would be fully aware Cisco’s hidden truth. Harry’s hand seemed large in his grip. Cisco was looking into his eyes, for the first times, and having him look back. He still felt like he was going to wake up from this vivid dream. And he didn’t really sleep, only entered the occasional trance state to recharge, especially after vibing.

Cisco had allowed Harry to see him. It could be a fatal error or the best decision yet.

Most humans would have seen nothing but wings and a near blinding light. Harry could make him out, every detail. It was proof Harry was his soulmate. He hadn't wanted to believe it.

Unlike humans, who required physical contact, angels’ senses were affected immediately. He had been with Harry, 18, alone in his home, on his birthday. Cisco’s friends had pitied him for getting stuck with such an antisocial pain in the pass. But Cisco had been optimistic, he thought there could be more than meets the eye.

Harry’s schoolmates were jealous of him, or didn’t understand him, or they didn’t know what to do with his attitude. He had a pen pal from another state, no one else. And Cisco would read over his shoulder, to see that Harry never bared his soul or inner thoughts to that person. He was isolated and pretended to like it that way. His parents were distant as well. He didn’t even get the benefit of throwing wild parties while they were gone.

Bells had rang in Cisco’s head, the moment Harry had unknowingly looked into his eyes. Cisco’s nerve ends had been aflame. He knew.

“It never ends well,” Caitlin had warned him.

Her husband had been human. He had sacrificed his soul to save many lives. She was never the same. They renamed her Killer Frost, for how violently and ruthlessly she took out demons with her ice powers. Having simple small talk with her felt like walking on thin ice, pun absolutely intended. Cisco had thrown caution to the wind, despite all the warnings.

He had watched Harry grow and change, but not very much. He broke hearts. He yelled and cried. He met the love of his life, and Cisco helplessly watched her die. He saw the pride Harry had for his daughter. Cisco was remote yet ever present like the moon to the Earth. He could observe and not touch.

He fell in love with someone he could never speak with, someone who would live and die and never know him. Harry would’ve never knew he existed, that he had another soulmate in the universe. Or so Cisco had assumed.

Desperate to save the man he loved, he broke one of the most sacred laws: Don't Cheat Death.

But he couldn’t understand the justification. He had a daughter who still needed him. The loss of her father too would crush her young, innocent soul. Caitlin was Jesse’s guardian. She would find out soon, as Jesse had been told of her father’s demise before Cisco could revive him. He figured Harry would call her in private. He feared Caitlin’s reaction, and the outrage from the rest. Cisco didn’t have a good standing with the elder guardians already.

Revealing himself to Harry had been necessary. They could only do this together.

He would have to duel Death herself. She wouldn’t stop until Harry was no longer for this world. It was gossiped among the angels that he had not unlocked the full scope of his abilities. That if he did, he could be strong enough to challenge the Archangel or even Death. She chartered souls, kept the balance of the circle of life.

She would take Harry over Cisco’s corpse. He had a sinking feeling that was the most likely result. But he would go down fighting. She would pry Harry from Cisco’s cold, limp fingers or never have him at all, those were the only two options.

In the present, Cisco lingered too long. Harry tilted his head, squinting as though Cisco was the most intriguing puzzle. Cisco blushed and yanked his hand back. He cleared his throat and situated himself on the arm of the couch. Cisco kicked off his golden sandals and put his feet on the cushion. He stuffed a handful of popcorn in his mouth. Harry’s lip curled, informing Cisco he successfully broken the moment. He found himself missing Harry’s scrutiny. Cisco had yearned to be the object of his laser focus for years.

Cisco was weak. He shouldn’t allow himself to easily fall into human trappings. He was beyond getting lost in a stupid, futile little crush. At the end of the episode, Harry had ants in his pants. If he had worn any. He repeatedly shifted on the couch. Cisco leaned back and put his hands behind his head, eyes following Harry as he went off to his bedroom in a tizzy.

He reappeared fully dressed and carrying car keys. “I can’t idle here when there’s potential discoveries waiting for me. Let’s go.”

“Bossypants,” Cisco mumbled. He went, not like he had something better to do. He flew above Harry, admiring his expensive car. The model wasn’t even on the market yet. Harry spoiled himself in some ways, deprived himself in others. Such as sleep. And socialization.

“Welcome to STAR labs,” Harry announced. “It’s been the leading facilitator of genius and innovation for -”

Cisco rolled his eyes unseen. “I know.”

Harry gave him a dirty look and breezed down the hallway. Cisco fluttered after him. It was quite spacious which he approved of. They came to a fairly empty space. A single glass board housed Harry’s equations. It was where Harry came to be utterly alone.

“I can make some adjustments, turn this into a training room.”

They set to work. Various projects were labeled and stacked onto shelves in the storage closet. Being marginally stronger, Cisco moved most of the tables. Meanwhile, he snuck glances at Harry as he assisted. Cisco never invaded his privacy so far to see him totally naked, but he knew what Harry looked like underneath his sweaters, cardigans, and jackets. For a mortal his age, he was ridiculously fit.

Harry left a computer station in part of the space. He sat in the chair and asked Cisco about his powers. He explained how he could see the past, present, and future. He added that he could feel the vibrations of the universe, open breaches in the space-time continuum, and shoot blasts from his hands. Harry stopped and stared a few times, trying to wrap his head around it all. Cisco’s abilities must have been a marvel.

He decided not to explain the multiverse to Harry yet. That might be a bit too much.

Harry began setting up targets. Most of them were pop outs on a course, reminding him of Men in Black. To his embarrassment, he mostly screamed in surprise and either missed or blasted the wrong target. When he glanced at Harry, the idiot mortal was obviously trying not to laugh his head off. At least he understood that wouldn’t encourage Cisco much.

“This isn’t working!” Cisco threw up his hands. He jumped up on a desk and crossed his arms. He knew he looked like a petulant child.

Harry waved, “There is no sitting on desks in this laboratory. Honestly.”

Cisco stuck his tongue out but hopped down. Harry stepped close to him. Their noses almost touched. His breath puffed hot over his mouth. Cisco trembled with the need to get in closer. He restrained himself by a thread. Harry smiled like he knew exactly the effect he had.

“You will get this. Try. Again.”

His voice was rough. It dragged Cisco over the rocks and dashed him against the cliffside. He raised his arm. To his credit, Harry didn't flinch. Cisco shot the vibe blast past his shoulder, hitting the roving target on the bullseye. He blew on his knuckles and grinned.

Harry didn't turn to look. “Good job.”

Harry continued, “Time for a break.”

Cisco thought he was hallucinating. He knew Harry didn't take breaks. He seemed to enjoy working himself into the ground. But of course, Harry went to the board and began writing and drawing diagrams. He only meant Cisco.

He returned to his roots of silent observation. Watching Harry work was his favorite pastime. He blinked and realized Harry was working on something to channel and guide his power. Angels always just used their powers, they never built anything to refine control. Perhaps he should bring that to the table during the next meeting.

They’d probably laugh him right out. He was young by angel standards, which usually assumed inexperience and incompetence. He had a hard time proving he wasn't a fledgling anymore.

Harry became stumped. He growled and rubbed his mouth. He pushed up his glasses then took the off entirely. Cisco held in the urge to giggle at his frustration. Harry’s marker ran dry. He gave up fast on shaking it and threw it in a sharp flick if his wrist. Cisco reacted, sending it through a breach. The marker hit Harry square in the forehead. Cisco snorted. Harry jerked belatedly and glared at him. Cisco completely lost his shit and bent his knees. He desperately sucked in air past his chortling.

“Ramon. Why am I putting up with you again?”

Cisco breathed in deep. He gasped, “Because we need each other. To stop that murderous fiend.”

“Right. A little professionalism would be appreciated.”

“Because throwing a marker is professional?” Cisco almost bopped him on the nose with his index finger. He stopped his hand just in time. Harry went cross-eyed, then took a wide step backward.

“It’s part of my thought process. I am channeling my frustration into the marker, instead of giving you a bloody nose.”

“I’m an angel. You know that would just break your hand.” Cisco put his hands on his hips. Harry copied him. Cisco’s head dropped as he was hit by a round of chuckles.

“Then you’d have to listen to me complain,” Harry said, “So it’s a win-win situation.”

“If you say so.”

Cisco turned to examine the remaining contents of the desk. He curiously picked up an old fashioned war helmet. A wave of nausea hit him. His falling adrenaline spiked again. He was vibing. He was seeing Hunter Zolomon, the speed devil that had almost killed Harry. He was dressed in a monsterous blue outfit. They were in a parking lot somewhere. He let the waves of the universe pull him.

Zolomon shouted, “You think you stand a chance alone Flash?”

“I'm not alone,” spoke another leather clad speedster in red. Another in yellow joined him.

“You’re done terrorizing this town, Zoom.”

Cisco didn’t recognize their voices. His mind immediately supplied improvements for the red suit. The yellow seemed well developed. He wouldn't touch Zolomon with a nine foot pole. It was bizarre. Cisco figured it was set in the future, but it wasn’t apparent how far. They all sped off, leaving trails of multi-color lightning.

He gasped for air, Harry's visage appearing before him. His expression was tight. Cisco was collapsed against a work table, wings fluttering urgently. Harry started to reach out, halting the motion and wiping his hand on his sweater. He shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Are you alright?”

“I had a vision - hard to explain -”

“Save it, you can barely breathe.”

Cisco appreciated that. Harry had a soul after all. There was hope for him. He thought about his vision. The angels’ database only had five known speedsters that had visited or were born on this Earth: Hunter Zolomon (born), Jay Garrick (visitor), Johnny Quick (visitor), Wally West (born), and one whose other identity was unknown. Speedsters didn’t have guardian angels, and angels weren’t omniscient. Additionally, speedsters could see angels and easily disguise themselves.

Something about the scarlet speedster wiggled in the back of his mind.

Iris West-Allen. She had written chronicles of central city’s very own hero called the Flash. He was one of the speedsters they had referred to as a speed angel. He was the real deal. The other, Wally, hadn’t yet come into his own. Cisco didn't entirely trust him, but the Flash did good work. He could try to find out more from Iris’s guardian, Linda.

Harry snapped his fingers in front of Cisco’s face. So much for being nice.

“I'm going to run to Big Belly. Do you want anything?”

He must have asked Cisco several times, judging by his tone. Cisco understood him getting irritated over his unresponsiveness. Cisco hated repeated himself. It made him feel like he wasn’t important enough to the person to be listened to, and it happened quite often among his kind. He felt invisible sometimes.

“Two triple triples and a jamocha milkshake.” Cisco added, “Please and thank you.”

Someone around here had to show some manners.

“I supposed I'm buying. Can't you just make it -”

“Against the rules.”

Better to be as much of a stickler as possible. If not with the angel of Death, at least he could plead a case with the guardians. Digging a deeper hole wouldn't help his case. He already had a reputation of borderline reckless behavior. Harry gave a short nod and headed out.

“He’s hot.”  Cisco literally flew to the ceiling due to that sudden voice behind him.

“If you haven’t hit that yet, I don’t know what you’re waiting for, Vibe.”

“Rathaway you jackhole! Why didn’t you let me see you?”

Hartley snickered. “And miss the chance to scare the feathers off of you? No way.”

“Jerk. As I live and breath you are my least favorite person. What do you want?”

Inside, Cisco was screaming. Hartley rarely left his charge, David Singh, unless it was an absolute emergency. Hartley was obsessed with him, but Singh was happily married. It had showed no signs of deterioration. He would feel some sympathy for Hartley, if he wasn’t such an asshat. He braced himself as Hartley’s expression became somber.

“This isn’t a social call.”

“No really, because we should totally hang out more. Get on with it maybe?” Cisco noticed he was still holding the helmet. He dropped it to the floor in disgust. He would have to ask where Harry even found the thing, it radiated evil.

Hartley told him gravely, “The Archangel Nora is dead. She was murdered by a speed devil.”

Speedsters were the forbidden children of an angel and a human. They usually went bad at some point. Cisco just spun and gaped at the tattered cardboard. He couldn’t bear the alarm in Hartley’s eyes. If Hartley was spooked, that wasn’t a good sign. It was an alarm screeching at everyone to get out of town or die. Hartley blew out air behind him, the heaviness of the situation apparent in even that sound.

“We're having a meeting to vote in a new leader. Quickly finish up -- uh -- whatever the hell you were doing.”

Hartley cloaked himself. He was gone as sudden as he appeared. It was typical Hartley. Cisco couldn’t shake the look on Hartley’s face. He was scared. Hartley was an elder angel. The last time anyone heard of an elder angel being frightened out of their wits was World War II. The last time an Archangel had died -- humans hadn’t truly existed yet. Angels had looked more like Archaeopteryx than apes. They were a mostly incorporeal, adaptable species that took the shape of the dominant life form, in order to connect with and understand them.

The loss of an Archangel was an omen of the highest order. It was a harbinger of extinction.

“This is really bad, like over 9000 levels of badness,” Cisco said to himself.

Cisco’s wings unfurled, preparing for him to take flight. With the fear flooding his system, he might shake himself apart with vibes at any moment. Probably not the best time to leave someone who was helping him control his vibes. Harry grabbed Cisco’s wrist, sending goosebumps along his entire arm. Cisco had missed his return, despite facing the doorway. Harry dropped his bags on the floor and squeezed.

“What's wrong?” Harry released him, blanching at the contact. He had received his sign. Cisco froze, his wings wrapping around him protectively.

“I’m sorry I can’t - I. We’ll talk about this later,” Cisco said in a rush. “There’s this speedster - the Archangel’s dead and I - I gotta go!”

Before Harry could get out a single word, Cisco vanished through a breach.

[the-desolated-quill]

Face The Raven - Doctor Who blog

(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)

FINALLY! A GOOD EPISODE!

And no it’s not just because Clara dies at the end. Sarah Dollard has done an excellent job in creating a compelling mystery story that piques your interest throughout. After all the crap I’ve had to put up with from Series 9, Face The Raven feels like having a bucket of cold water being chucked on you during a hot summer’s day. Shocking, but refreshing.

Rigsy from Flatline is back and he has a strange tattoo on the back of his neck that is counting down to his death, and he has no memory of how he got it. Already I’m intrigued. After the number of dull and predictable stories we’ve been getting this series, it’s nice to be able to watch an episode where I genuinely have no idea where they’re going with this. Did Rigsy in fact kill someone? If so, what was the reason? If not, why would someone try to frame him for it? It’s a great mystery story that grabs you by the lapels and refuses to let go until the end credits. While he wasn’t terrible in Flatline, Rigsy wasn’t exactly the most interesting character ever. Here Joivan Wade makes the most of the extra material he’s been given and does a really great job. He’s not just tagging along for the ride anymore. He’s an integral part of the narrative and that makes all the difference.

I also love the idea of the trap street and everything that takes place inside. The whole refugee camp is handled with much more subtlety than The Zygon Invasion/Inversion managed, and it’s infinitely more interesting too. The amount of tension and paranoia hanging around the street is practically tangible. You get the sense that there’s a knife-edge between peace and total anarchy as the refugees become more and more wary of each other. To the point where even with the prospect of Rigsy being innocent, they’d rather he died in order to give the street peace of mind and maintain the balance. To them, catching the real killer doesn’t matter. So long as someone is seen to be blamed and punished, everything will be fine. It’s much more complex and nuanced than anything that’s come before in this series, and thus makes it all the more watchable.

I will say this episode does suffer slightly from the curse of 45 minutes. As much as I love the scenario of the trap street, it would have been nice if we could have spent some more time actually getting to know some of the refugees. But in some ways this minor criticism is actually a testament to how intriguing Sarah Dollard’s story is. Whereas before in episodes like Sleep No More and The Witch’s Familiar, I was more than happy to see the back of them by the end, here I actually wanted to stay a bit longer and delve into this environment further. I particularly liked Letitia Wright as Anahson. An alien with two faces, one that can see into the past and the other the future. I would have liked to have learned more about her.

And who is in charge of this trap street? Ashildr of course! Yeah this didn’t come as much of a surprise and while I did find her dialogue at times to be a bit too smartarse-y on occasion, I quite liked her here, and Maisie Williams continues to do a good job playing a character who’s much older than she is. Plus I loved the slow peeling of layers until we get to the revelation that Ashildr was the one that engineered this whole situation to capture the Doctor for some unknown client. Again I’d just like to reiterate how refreshing it is to be able to watch a Doctor Who story and not have the slightest idea where it’s going until the end where all the pieces of the puzzle come together with a satisfying click.

Right. I suppose I can’t put this off any longer. Let’s talk about Clara’s death. I’ve made it no secret how much I despise the character, and you’ve probably got mental images of me throwing a party when she did kick the bucket. Well as a matter of fact, I didn’t. Throw a party that is. In all honesty I was rather lukewarm about the whole thing. Like I said, I’ve never liked Clara very much so it’s hard to really muster up the energy to give a shit about her death. That being said, I will admit that her death scene was written, performed and directed well enough that if you did give a shit about Clara (God knows why), I imagine you were most probably moved to tears. However there are several issues with this, and I should point out none of this is Sarah Dollard’s fault. These are all problems that have been carried over into this episode, courtesy of Moffat.

Like with Amy and Rory in Series 7, Clara really serves little to no purpose in Series 9. She doesn’t grow or evolve in any meaningful way and she often felt like an afterthought in most stories. Oh sure Moffat has given the illusion that Clara has been undergoing this whole arc, but she hasn’t really if you think about it. The Doctor is worried that Clara is becoming more like him, but before this episode, the only time this was addressed was back in Under The Lake, and even then it was less about Clara and more about the Doctor (as if the Doctor hasn’t been scrutinised enough during the Peter Capaldi era as it is). Face The Raven is supposed to be a culmination of everything that’s come before, but it doesn’t feel like that because Clara has never really been the focus of her own arc. It’s all been about the Doctor. The Doctor’s fears. The Doctor’s concerns. The Doctor’s vengeance should Clara ever come to harm. It’s never been about Clara, which ruins the impact of her death.

Something else that ruins the death for me was the stuff building up to it. Clara persuades Rigsy to give her the tattoo, but it feels less like a selfless sacrifice or an act of kindness, and more like just another example of her smug bravado, which is something that has always really irritated me. She just doesn’t behave the way a normal person would act and often comes across as really unsympathetic. She cares less about helping people and more about showing off. They keep making the excuse that it’s because Clara is becoming more like the Doctor, but the thing is the Doctor isn’t really like that. He’s compassionate. He cares. Clara doesn’t. Just look at Flatline. Anyone else would have been slightly upset that they failed to save everyone. Clara meanwhile was too busy boasting what a great Doctor she was. Why should I care about her?

But my main reason why I was positively unmoved by her death was because of Moffat’s track record. How many characters have died in the Moffat era? And when I say died, I mean died and actually stayed dead. Virtually none. Nothing has ever been permanent in the Moffat era. This combined with the fact that Clara has seemingly died two episodes before the finale, and I’m suspicious. Moffat has pulled the bait and switch so many times now that i straight up don’t trust anything I’m seeing anymore, and that’s a big problem. I honestly don’t think Clara is dead (and remember this is the first time I’m watching this series, so I have no idea if I’m right or not), but even if it turns out this is the real deal this time, the fact that I’m questioning the validity of her death, and thus robbing it of its potential impact, shows just how bad Moffat’s Who has gotten. It’s The Boy Who Cried Wolf effect. This could very well be a genuine death for all I know, and yet I’m sat here stony faced, refusing to get too invested, just in case Moffat might be bullshitting me again. This is what happens when you feel the need to constantly wrong-foot your audience. Do it too often and after a while they just stop caring altogether.

While I think Clara’s original departure planned in Last Christmas would have been a much stronger ending for her, I did still really enjoy Face The Raven for the most part. It’s most definitely the strongest episode of Series 9 by a considerable margin and I hope to see more Who stories from Dollard in the future.

[chlorentine]

A Treatise on Human Culture by Prince Aximili-Esgarrouth-Isthill

Chapter 7: Private vs Public

As far as I can see, there is very little that humans find sacred. In their culture it is not the thing itself but the social implications that creates taboos. This observation aligns exactly with chapter 3, Human Chaos. When a human is alone on Earth, they are at their most dangerous in terms of sheer unpredictability. Their rules of behavior are dictated by one another, and without another person there to hold them accountable, it is not uncommon to see a human completely abandon their old self and begin to behave entirely erratically. Still other humans behave in very consistent ways regardless of the presence of others. Both morality and logic, what we Andalites would consider static things that one either possesses or lacks, operate on an individual basis among humans, each of which becomes distorted in isolation.

The implication here is clear: humans require other humans to function. I am convinced that a single human, even for a short period of time, begins to emotionally and mentally deteriorate without the support of other humans. There is a saying that I have heard them say: Always bring two so they have friends. A human is only seen as a complete success if they are surrounded by friends and family: it is a requirement for even the most basic levels of status. Of course, this concept is not foreign to Andalites; we have been living and thriving in herds and family unites for centuries. However, it would be irresponsible to claim that the intense and consuming need for validation that humans crave from one another is in any way equivalent to the Andalite scoop structure.

I would like to emphasize that this is not neurological: it is a cultural difference. During the Andalite-Yeerk War, I was marooned on the Earth theatre, where the war would eventually come to a close. The culture is an infectious thing, and it is dangerously easy to become absorbed into it. In their words and actions, they seek approval. However, the approval they seek is not restricted to superiors and elders, as a hierarchical appeal: they also seek the approval of their peers and equals. It is an extremely complex and disturbing fact of life for the inhabitants of Earth.

Although the craving for attention is cultural, the crushing despair humans experience in isolation could potentially be neurological, and I would venture to claim that it is a neurological phenomenon that Andalites partially share. The way the Andalite brain reacts to trauma is distinct from the way humans experience it, but I know for a fact that social isolation has a significant impact on both species.

During my time on the planet, I spent a great amount of time with the Earth Liberation Army. The six children were completing their intermediary stages of education, aptly called “middle school” because of its status between elementary and secondary education. Developmentally, the humans were at a critical stage of their lives wherein they were being taught how to build relationships with other people. Apart from their academic studies, human children are also saddled with the responsibility of simultaneously training themselves on social acceptability. The complexities of social acceptability on Earth are so difficult that they spend their entire adolescent life learning how to exist within it, and to my understanding many struggle with it well into adulthood.

One human, a nothlit casualty of the war, was with me throughout my stay on Earth. Due to being a nothlit (and the secrecy involved in the Earth theatre of the war, which I go into more detail in my previous work, Humans at War), this human (hereafter referred to as T-Bird) was a rare exceptional case of being completely kept at the margins of society. He only communicated with me and the other soldiers in the Earth Liberation Army, and he expressed to me on numerous occasions the depth to which this affected him psychologically. He felt broken, and even apart from the threat of a short lifespan and his trauma concerning his physical form, T-Bird’s struggle was severely aggravated by the prospect of being unable to connect with other humans & living his life alone. Many humans who are not associated with this war (which created unique experiences in many ways) can attest to having a similar emotional struggle, and the distress that accompanies it is very real.

Andalites have not had the same history as humans, and we definitely do not share the same neurology. Therefore, my experience being marooned on Earth may very well be the first extreme example of social isolation that Andalites have on record. I will not go too much into detail about my psychological development, but by the time the war was over, I had assimilated completely and was virtually indistinguishable from the native species. I related to the experiences of T-Bird. Through this mutual understanding with the humans I was able to realize an aspect of Andalite psychology that is critically underexamined, and in the aftermath of the Andalite-Yeerk War we can only continue to ignore it at our peril.

The humans, although primitive and basic in many ways, are very advanced in terms of morality and ethics. I do not in any way claim that they behave ethically in all circumstances: in fact, the chaotic behavior I discussed in chapter 3 is primarily as a result of how easily they are able to disobey ethics and logic. However, as a species they seem to have decided that ethics are situational, and that every bit of new information alters what they deem to be “the right thing to do.” Andalite morality is simple by comparison, which stems from our biological origins: Andalites were herd animals and obeyed a strict hierarchy, whereas humans are primates whose society is based on mutual support (with far less emphasis on chain of command). We are content to obey a chain of command whereas humans need things rationalized and explained. The details of human ethics are highly individual and convoluted, to the point where no two human sees exactly eye to eye. This creates an even more chaotic environment, and one would think that there is ceaseless conflict on a planet wherein no one is in agreement.

This assumption would be false. Although it is true that there is significantly higher and more malicious instances of violence and conflict on the planet, the systems for unity are that much stronger. How to account for this discrepancy? It is simple: humans are not detail-oriented.

Two humans who disagree on nearly every issue under their sun can be united for a lifetime based on a single point of ethical compromise. Moral conflict can often be resolved by peacefully acknowledging their difference in opinion. The miracle of humans is that their quest for “approval” is not because of some social capital that they stand to gain: it is in the interest of establishing bonds. Andalites cannot fully understand their emphasis on forming bonds, and it is bizarre to think that the moment they meet someone they are interested in forming a connection with them. However, that is exactly my experience. Upon landing on Earth, the humans instantly began giving me “nicknames” and protecting me as though I was one of their own. They immediately held me to the standards Andalites would only expect of intimate friends. Within weeks, I was berated for not revealing detailed personal information, and by the time I left Earth I was left completely bare and vulnerable to them. They knew me in ways I daresay no one else ever will.

This prospect is frightening to Andalites. On Earth however, this is not so frightening, because these bonds do not go to waste. We do not have them simply for their own sake. The bonds are an intricate support system that prevents humans from entering psychological distress to the point of dysfunction. On Earth, when something happens that is emotional distressing, we confide in others. Humans, who are naturally prone to extreme empathy, then ease any suffering by sharing the weight. This explains the trend previously observed: all humans are a little sad, but only those who are isolated experience acute depression. Andalites mourn privately, taking vigils of silence or completely excusing oneself from society to contemplate loss. Humans consider this an unhealthy way to mourn, and Earth mourning is considered a personal journey that is undertaken interpersonally. Although this sounds gauche and degrading, but it is not public as an Andalite may imagine: friends, who are likely experiencing similar things to you, help each other understand their feelings, and the result is far more effective than if the process was undergone individually.

There are countless extravagant human customs surrounding death. A human friend of mine described a ceremony undertaken once a year to lavishly honor the dead through an opulent and elaborate festival. There are counseling groups specifically designed to give community to those suffering a loss. The one I am personally most familiar with is the funeral. If any Andalite were to participate in a human funeral without the appropriate social context, they would undeniably find it a vulgar affair. Dozens of humans come together to publicly profess how important the deceased was while standing over their remains.

I personally have been to only a handful of human funerals, all for victims of the Andalite-Yeerk War. The largest of them was that of Rachel Berenson, the most decorated soldier participant on Earth. There were several hundred attendees, but there were thousands who fought for attendance. The event was broadcasted internationally, and the whole planet was united in mourning her. The feeling of loss became the single point of ethical compromise that allowed the victims some basis for catharsis.

In my region of Earth, the most common funerary practice is to place the corpse in a wooden box and to bury it six feet under the ground. During the ceremony, those who formed the strongest bond with the deceased and had the most intense grief are given the title “pall-bearer,”. They lift the box onto their shoulders and walk with it on a circular route so that the deceased may experience their community once more before being interred. I am very glad that Rachel’s funeral did not include this: the humans have much more lifting power than me, and I do not know if I would have been able to carry it unwaveringly for that long.